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You Blew It For All of Us

Last month, Justin Bieber turned 18. This means a lot of things to a lot of people (trust me), but to me it means one thing: he missed out on the biggest opportunity of his career. With one song, the Beebs could have permanently installed himself as pop’s badass, in ways his feeble Canadian attitude can now only dream of.

I give you “Chaperone.”

I’ll explain the song by describing the video, because that's how his target demographic figures out what songs are about nowadays (Exhibit A: Most songs nowadays actually are all about choreographed dancing and getting it on. Exhibit B: Linkin Park could come out with a song called "Killing My Family With an Axe" consisting of one chord and the title being repeated 26 times and closing with "while they're asleep" - but if the video had images of war in the Middle East, Rolling Stone would put it on it's "Top Protest Songs of 2010" list. Anyhoo...):

We start with Bieber getting dropped off at soccer practice. His mom, played by Dina Lohan (or Lindsay if they could make her look a little younger), immediately begins flirting with a ref, coach, etc. She's the real life Dina Lohan: probably drunk, probably got a few Percocets in the tummy, and probably more closely resembles an ashtray than a human on a cellular level. But Justin’s implied, missing Baby Daddy  definitely left the cash behind, so they're high rolling, as evidenced by the Land Rover they’re driving.  But Bieber needs more than flash, he needs a woman to notice him, to take care… Whoa! Who's that on the sideline? Daaamn, that's soccer teammate Tevin's mom. as played by Beyonce. She is looking gooood, in a soccer mom way. Uh oh? Where's Dina Lohan? Better not ask, Justin. But don't worry, Beyonce will give you a ride home. Hmmm, was that a shared glance? Hmmm. Ok, we're home, Bieber. Right up to his room he goes, because mom is arguing with some dude (as played by Kevin Federline). Time to day dream. About Beyonce.

Cut to Beyonce, back at her house. Her son Tevin is on the computer in the living room. Beyonce slips into Tevin's room...well, well, well… a yearbook. Hmmm...there's Bieber. Oh snap.

Cut to an actual soccer game, where Beyonce cheering more for Bieber than for Tevin. After the game, is that flirting? No, couldn't be, there’s too much of an age difference. But that doesn't stop another mother  from casting a disapproving glare...

Cut to the semi formal. You know what happens: Beyonce is a chaperone, and she is looking straight BANGIN’. Bieber is all Biebered out: he's rockin' the slightly sideways hat thing, black suit, no tie and unlaced high tops. They know they can't dance together. There's just no way...there's only one thing to do: Bieber leads a choreographed dance on the dance floor...and Beyonce leaves, flustered. She runs home, crying, trying to talk herself out of these crazy feelings. But she can’t help but to picture Bieber, singing to her…

Next soccer practice, Beyonce shows up, and there's Bieber, flirting with a girl his own age. Bieber and Beyonce make eye contact, and exchange a knowing glare. Whatever they had was over, and so is the video. Fade to black.

That works. I don't care what anyone says. I know there would be controversy, but so what. That is a MEGA HIT. FYI - it's a slow jam. Ok.
Happy birthday, Bieber. You blew it.

Nazarene Vice

Coming Soon from GhostOfTyrone Productions:

Teen Jesus: Bethlehem P.I.

Chapter One: Olive Your Problems

Jesus slouched in his chair, weary from assisting Joseph with the large order of oxen carriage fittings that Joseph & "Son"'s Carpentry had been toiling over for days. Out his window, he heard footsteps approach from below. Moments later, there was a tap on his doorway. Before him knelt a young, beautiful woman.

"Please, rise woman," Jesus said. "No need to beg. What can I do for you? No, wait," he went on, "let me guess. I've got like a psychic thing. Your family farms olives, and you believe the Romans are cheating your father out of a healthy profit by skimming inventory for their own use at the Centurion Bath House. Am I close?"

"Oh my god," said the woman, "how did you know this?"

"I told you," Jesus replied. "Since my youth, I've known their was something different about me. I have psychic abilities, I'm incredibly smart, and a booming voice in my head is always giving me the perfect solution to whatever problem I'm facing. I figured I'd put these talents to the best use I can think of, which is why you're here."

"There were so many rumors about what made you the best private investigator in all of Galilee...," the woman said.

"Well, now you know," answered Jesus. "Now, let's go grab a drink and hammer out the details of your little problem, love."

"But we're not old enough to drink, where will you get the wine?" the woman asked.

"I have a little trick I'd like to show you" Jesus said, as he led her to the door...


So, I've finally joined Facebook. Have you heard of Facebook? It was in a movie. It's an internet thing. Anyway, here's what I've learned about Facebook: people do not give a shit about what they look like online, and they will literally post hundreds of pictures of themselves on Facebook. It's actually very entertaining. I just bounce from profile to profile, looking at all of these people who put up pictures of themselves for anyone to see, anyone to comment on, and anyone to download and turn into an insulting meme.

Who would do that last one, you ask? Me. How did it occur to me to do this, you ask? I saw:

Don't ask me why I'm bothering to black out the other two faces while showing no regard for the privacy or dignity of the third person. I guess I just love the spraypaint can in Microsoft Paint.

So, I saw that guy, and I couldn't help it.
And Chunk

I'm not sure if this is legal, or if it violates some sort of official internet rule (pretty sure I'm all set so long as I don't post names with the pics) - all I do know is that it is definitely unethical and that I will be continuing to do this until I am asked to stop by Facebook, Google, or Sloth himself.

Who knows - I could end up doing it to a picture of yours.

Then you'd be famous.

Like this woman would be if I wasn't nice enough to block out her face:


Pretty harsh, you say? Creepy, insensitive and weird to take an innocuous photo of a random person that I do not know and turn it into an insulting, sure-to-go-viral internet meme, you're thinking?

Well, you're right. I probably shouldn't do this. For one, there's a chance that Sloth is an ex-Marine, or a top secret bounty hunter with a license to kill. He doesn't really look like it, but you get my point. Wouldn't want him finding me in a dark alley one night, because everyone knows that Marines have no sense of humor (they also know the best place to find me is in a dark alley at night). There's also the chance that Mrs. Leopard Dress is married to a psyhco. It's actually a pretty good chance if he's letting her go out looking like that, but I digress.

Bottom line people: it's amazing how eager you are to reveal personal information about yourselves that could be used against you like this. So, think of this as sort of like "To Catch A Predator" with Chris Hansen, but if they were setting up stings on the young girls instead, and the creepy old pedophile dudes were the actors (that would actually be a pretty awesome show, if you didn't think about it for too long, and were just watching for when Chris Hansen went all "what were you thinking" on 14 year old girls). You follow me?

Good. Glad we had this talk, America.

Can I Talk To You For A Moment?

Hi There,

You know, with today's fast paced life, we're all a little hectic, aren't we? It seems like we all spend the time that should be spent relaxing instead asking ourselves, "where did the time go?" I know this can seem like a frustrating, never ending cycle of unease and restlessness. And I know it can stop. How do I know this? Well, I used to have a traditional mattress. Then, I bought a Sleep Number Bed.

Then, I set my sleep number to 1,000,000,000.

You see, your Sleep Number is your own, personal guide to a perfect night's sleep. Your individual Sleep Number is achieved through a patented technology that allows you to select the distinct level of mattress firmness you desire, letting you finally achieve the ultimate in restful, healthy sleep.

When I first ordered my Sleep Number bed, I was naturally skeptical. I toyed around with 42, 58, 6, 90, I just couldn't seem to find the right number. But that's the beauty of a sleep number bed: it works with you to find exactly the right mattress firmness you need to live the sort of fulfilling, joyful life you desire.

Once I figured out how to tweak my Sleep Number to 1,000,000,000, things really started to change for me. I started urinating pure fire. Magnificent, golden flames began shooting from my penis every morning as I awoke.

With a sleep number bed, though, it's not just the things you notice right away, it's the little things. Like how I was actually floating six inches over my bed every night, in a fever dream of throbbing aggression. And my lower back pain was gone.

Those are just some of the life changing results you can expect from a Sleep Number bed. I know, you're wondering about your sleeping partner, and how they'll adjust to your Sleep Number bed.

My wife evaporated when she gazed upon the easy to use LCD Sleep Number remote control that I had set to 1,000,000,000. She literally turned into a cloud of restful, comforting wife vapors, which I inhaled and subsequently urinated in fire form after a rejuvenating, peaceful night's rest, spent hovering six inches over my Sleep Number bed.

So, think about your sleep. Think about your wife. Then, think about how a Sleep Number bed could help you achieve the relaxed, rested and fully transfomative life you've always desired. Then give us a call. There's no pressure, just a number. Just for you.

What's yours?

Dear Zoo Puma


Hi Readers,

I’d like to draw attention to the fact that one of you actually commented on a post of mine, which really has me all tingly inside. Or that could be from the fact that I was just tasered for getting a little too frisky at feeding time. Or it could be that I am fed things like soy and peanut butter, which somehow managed to elude me in the jungle, despite my amazing predatory skills. Or it could just be the physical manifestation of the crippling depression that comes with being a puma that lives in a Plexiglas cage. Who knows.

Anyway, as so many of you are prone to do, this person has commented anonymously, like a real pussy. Well, because I have nothing else to do here in the zoo, I like to guess who my anonymous commenters are, and I think I've nailed this one. Since you fat, disgusting, yet delicious humans are too lazy to go back and read the comment, here it is:

“Zoo Puma, your attitude towards life is remarkably negative. You need to lighten up!
When life gives you turds, make turd-flavored lemonade. It's not as bad as you would think.
MMMmmm. Delicious turd-aid. Who doesn't want that!
I'm pretty sure that if you turned your piercing, frightening, frown (is that a frown? Not sure) upside down, that you would find the world an inviting, accommodating space that, even considering your living situation, would be super-awesome.

Let's cheer up!"

I know, right? It’s Yakov Fucking Smirnoff. What's up, Yakov? I’m a huge fan, huge fan. So gosh, this is one of those moments when you meet an idol, and it puts everything in perspective. That must happen to you all the time, though. You’re a legend. By the way, Yakov, nice fucking exclamation point on the end of "Who doesn't want that!" The turd aid doesn't want that? Brush up on your English, comrade. Sorry, sorry, Yakov. Like you, I'm getting a little cranky sitting here in my tiny living space waiting for your inevitable retro comeback.

Don’t take offense when I explain to everyone that hasn’t been in a coma since 1990 that you were a Russian comedian that made his living explaining to Americans that America was better that Russia. What a comedy act!

You know, when I was first trying my hand at advice columns, I thought of going “all Smirnoff, all the time.” I was so hilarious, I couldn't stop laughing at myself. Or that might have been the quaaludes they were feeding me by the dozen, who knows? And who cares anymore, really? And who can tell if this open sore on my left paw is from gangrene or me gnawing on myself in my tranquilizer-induced sleep every night? Not my handlers, right Yakov?

Yakov, I'm so inspired by you writing in that I've decided to dedicate this advice column to you. Thank you so much for being a mediocre novelty act during my adolescence, and thank you for leaving a shitty comment on my blog. Really, thank you.

Dear Zoo Puma,

I've never seen you answer any questions from readers that involve riddles, like other advice columnists sometimes do. So, I have a riddle for you: You throw away the outside and cook the inside. Then you eat the outside and throw away the inside. What did you eat?

Good Luck!

Avery, WA

Dear Susan,

In free world, you’ve just eaten corn.

In Zoo, corn sits with you in cage and stares through saliva stained glass at corn-fed Americans, who would have toilets in their fucking cars if there were holes in the asses of their pants.

What a country!

Dear Zoo Puma,

I’m taking my boyfriend to a pretty fancy dinner this weekend. It’s a work event, and there will be a wine tasting. He’s strictly a beer man, but I don’t want him to stand out and embarrass me. Any suggestions on a good wine to whet his palate for a more sophisticated drink?

I really appreciate your help, love the column!

Blue Hills,


In free world, go with a pinot grigio.

In Zoo, Pinot Grigio is Italian man who tries to tame you by poking you with electric stick manufactured by former coal miners who survived dangerous mine collapse. What a country!

Dear Zoo Puma,

Listen, I’ve been thinking lately that rock music is dead because it had this sort of fragmented demographic. Like, people of all ages might have sort of been into rock, but only younger teenagers really worshipped rockers and wanted to become them, like really got into the whole rock thing. SO like, when mp3s and everything came out, and rock kinda stopped being on the radio, like, these people just, like, kept listening to the same rock stuff. But like pop fans can be anybody, like soccer moms who still buy music, and also those same teenagers who like haven’t totally decided they’re into rock because it sucks now, and stuff. And country music, too, it’s like really big, and that’s just for idiots, and there are tons of idiots always around to ruin everything.

Do you think I’m right?

Detroit Rock City, MI


In free world, one day rock will come back, in some form, to rail against the very machine that now holds it down.

In Zoo, you will be drugged with only medicines that do not enhance listening pleasure. But you will stare through your one, non-infected eye at the man that holds you down against your will, and you will try to write a shitty Stairway ripoff on a branch that you are hallucinating to be a guitar, and your claws will fall out, leading you to die from infected paw.

What a country!

Trailer Park

I've always wanted to do music reviews here at GhostOfTyrone. Perhaps I will, and this will be the first. The problem is, I can't seem to stay focused on the topic of music for too long before it turns into literally everything else (Yes, literally everything else). Regardless of that, let's proceed, shall we?

This is a sampler of the new album Black Rainbow, by the nice young boys of Aucan:

Nice, no? I certainly like it. When I heard this, my first thought was to do what I always do when I find cool, new music: brag to my friends. Here is that very brag, in its entirety:

“Um, yeah.
This is what people hear in their music caves after our R&B/acoustic/hip-hop/electric/rock/Röyksopp/lo-fi/Miracle/crate-psych quests get derailed by virtue of their conscious residency in a post everything world.
What is this? Just when you say "aaah, more like Black MOTH SUPER Rainbow".. wait, Burial? Wait, Portishead? Wait, am I okay with liking something that sounds this much like Portis... wait, HEALTH? Wait, wait... Oval? Well, shit, this is... wait, Yeasayer (and yes, as I write this - watching the computer scene in Willy Wonka, by the way - I do feel the phantom denim clinging too tightly to my legs, ghostly square framed spectacles blurring the point where that new, denim skin yields to a neatly drawn patterned shirt, right there in the optometric dead zone, just beyond my new, spectral beard).
Post post rock electro post dub prog pop wave?
And for crying out loud, what were people thinking in the 70s? It's like the Earth was a safari tour, and everyone thought "let's marvel at the fact that we're all almost human." And here's the other thing: what happened to Asia in the 70s? Maybe not the best question to ask a Vietnam vet, but apart from that, has any populated continent disappeared from view in any decade since WWII as did Asia in the 70s? Heck, even 70s Vietnam seems theoretical, like it can't exist without Creedence Clearwater Revival providing the backdrop for some "flock of hueys" montage. Think about it: French leave, "advisors", draft, "Vietnam everyone remebers"... five years... fall of Saigon happens one afternoon when everyone says "Shit! Get to the roof!"
Whoop - 700 Club just came on. Time to learn. There's Boehner. Countdown to Middle East Story BOOM Joint chiefs chairman "re-examining" our relationship with Egypt. Also, birth control is the devil. You knew that, right?
And hooray, Jeremy Lin lives a life through Christ. Just like Tebow. Because just like America was thinking this fall: "wait, the Broncos? I thought God liked the Knicks?"

Anyway, alright.”
And there you have it: my awful review of Black Rainbow, by Aucan. Of course, I knew I was not done. I hadn’t fully captured the feel of the album via the written word. I tried once more to communicate this to my friend:

“In trying to sum up a good way to explain Aucan, I thought "this sounds like the kind of music that would be the score/soundtrack to some relatively obscure French/German film from 2006 that was designed as a Bourne knockoff and managed to pull it off (mostly because Bourne films were knockoffs of the French and German films that preceded them)." Then I got to thinking about the new Bourne Legacy trailer that just debuted, and how some people have had a problem with the score - specifically, how it's not Moby's "Extreme Ways." Now, I have no problem with the franchise taking a new direction. Matt Damon is out, Jeremy Renner is in, the premise is that "Bourne wasn't the only Treadstone guy to get amnesia, go rogue, etc" - which I am fine with (better than having someone else play Bourne, if you ask me). But I do agree that the music makes this seem like a different movie altogether.”
So, ladies and gentlemen, that’s the long way of saying: “Aucan’s Black Rainbow sounds like the kind of music that should be featured in a Bourne film.

Here is the visual way of saying that:

Bourne Legacy Trailer:

Bourne Legacy GOTizzy Aucan Remix Trailer:

By the way, what did happen to Asia in the 70s?


Like most awesome people, I see movies when they come out On Demand. So like all other awesome people, I just saw the hot new flick "Drive."

And because I'm not only awesome, but I also have a blog, here is my review:


Be Mine

I would be a good stalker.

Like, I'd be really good at freaking you out, but then I'd also be good in the sense that once you found out it was me (like when I was waiting for you in the shower, or something) you'd be like, "well, actually that's pretty good for a stalker. Let’s be bestest friends" because I wouldn't be, like, bearded or dirty or wearing camo pants or anything. I’m like a stalker jackpot, which is pretty good, considering how you always look so lonely at night.

Plus, I'm pretty thoughtful.

I would be a thoughtful stalker, texting you little messages.

Like "Hey, I'm looking at a picture of u, and I'm wearing a diaper and standing in my tub, which I filled with Polo for Men because I know how much u luv when guys wear Polo for Men." Stuff like that - the little things.

You gotta admit - that would be kinda flattering - like I really care.

See, the way girls are - a little bitty part of you would be like "it is true. He noticed"

"Hi. It's me. You're probably at your dentist appointment right now with Dr. Adbal. I don't like the way he looks at you, but anyway, I filled a fish tank with 112,710 of those tiny guppies and then put some sulfuric acid in there. It was in honor of 11.27.10, the day you finally stopped dating that mouth breather Jeremy so that we could be together. Forever. See you soon."

I'd leave little voicemails like that.


"The next time you talk to your mother, please ask her why she takes her slippers off on your father's side of the bed, and then walks all the way around the bed to get in. Your father obviously taught you how to get into bed, because you do it right. Every night."

Compliments like that, which also show an interest in your family. I would do that for you.

"The next time your parents go on vacation, could you please let me know if they're going to have a house sitter? Akwaaaaard. How am I supposed to explain, to someone who's never even met you, that I need another photograph of you so that I can cut out your eyes and staple them to my cat's eyes, because I had to get a new cat because the last one died when I tried to dye it's hair to match the new color you got done the other day. Not to mention that my cat was trying to tell me that you change your hair color so much to shake me off your trail. Obviously, the cat couldn't handle having blue eyes as beautiful as yours."

Which pretty much says: "FYI, I'm an animal lover, too."

Bottom line is: I would make a pretty good stalker, because no one loves you like I do. Especially your bastard mailman.


Ok, Jennifer Hudson's tribute to Whitney Houston during last night's Grammy Awards ceremony was nice, but how did they not get this guy?

I'm sorry, but this guy beats Hudson in all of the key areas: he sounds more like Whitney, he looks more like Newt Gingrich, and that is the thickest head of hair you will ever see. I'm actually pretty disappointed that Jennifer didn't cut her hair like this, in tribute to the boy who can better pay tribute to the woman that Hudson was herself paying tribute to. That would have been classy.

I don't know if he had a scheduling conflict or what, but this is a blown opportunity for the Grammys. Heck, even a duet with Jennifer Hudson and this dude would be cool.

You'd better hope another superstar musician dies right before next year's Grammys, Grammys. And also that there's a young Asian boy who can perfectly impersonate that dead superstar musician. It's the only way you'll be able to redeem yourselves, and your failing industry.

Couldn't Help It

North Koreans fear for their country, and their brains, as rumors swirl regarding:


"Glorious Successor, as your number one advisor, I recommend we show the world that we are no longer the cruel oppressive regime they believe us to be, but rather a hip, young culture ready to integrate with the modern world."

"Okay, I'm listening."

"Our Ministry of Modern Youth Culture recommends releasing this rock and roll video, played by our finest students from the Youth Culture Program Camp. We are convinced the world will respond positively."

"Is this a new song? I am not familiar with this act."

"Yes, yes. It is a rock and roll hit from America. The American youth think this is fantastic."

"Do it."

Wikipedia, Seriously, WTF?

Click to enlarge

Yes, yes... this is the English Wiki page, but come on Wikipedia, you know? Look what happens when I "wiki search" "bon jour":

Click to enlarge

Go ahead, try this...WTF??

How Do They Work?

I’m not sure how many of you have heard of “The Insane Clown Posse.” I’m also not sure how to explain them to those that haven’t, partly because I am not terribly familiar with them, but also because they are so hard to explain. In any event, I guess they are theoretically gaining relevance, because I saw this video this morning on MTV. Let’s see if we can work through this together…

0:21 – I am fairly certain that the sun is not “closer that it’s ever got”, but I am not the one in the video wearing clown makeup. I’m going to give them the benefit of the doubt on this one.

0:26 – “Crud” and “hood” could technically rhyme, if you tried harder. I’m disappointed, ICP. I expected more from you.

0:41 – Those are the only two choices in an ICPocalypse.

0:57 – Mad scientist-themed keyboard player? Check.

1:14 – “The Devil’s in the sky.” Again, fairly certain this is not his assumed location. Strike two on the fact checking, ICP.

1:21 – That just makes no sense, meteorologically speaking.

1:58 – I was starting to wonder why they hadn’t let this guy rap yet.

2:14 – Now I know why.

2:19 – As opposed to non-apocalypse situations, when everyone knows exactly how and when they’ll die.

2:24 – Shit gets real.

2:32 – So, God declares nuclear war? Or was it the aliens? Or the angry residents of whatever planet we bumped into after spinning out of orbit? This is pretty heavy, there’s a lot to take in. Maybe the world of ICP is more complex than I thought.

2:48 – I’m actually going to go with “living a happy, normal, non-interrupted-by-the-apocalypse life” would be second best to seeing the world begin.

2:57 – I guess this pick up move might theoretically work for a guy wearing clown face paint during the apocalypse…

3:05 – …or not.

3:07 – This can’t be real. He’s just shouting out any word that ends in “osions.” Fortunately, I guess, most of them are somewhat apocalyptic, though “corrosions” just makes me think of rust.

3:22 – Here’s where ICP realizes they still have $850 of their $900 special effects budget left, and make no mistake, these guys came up with this video before they came up with this song.

My takeaways here are that I can’t tell if this is sincere, or some of the greatest performance art I’ve ever seen, and that this is definitely the worst song I’ve ever had stuck in my head. Or it's the best song I've ever been tricked into thinking was a bad song. Which would be the exact kind of intellectual trickery you'd expect from the Insane Clown Posse. Damn, these guys are good. Or are they? I'm more confused now than before I saw this video.

You win again, ICP. You win again.

The Year of the Stache

2012 has a lot of things going for it. Actually, I can only think of “presidential election” and “leap year”, but I just wanted to start out on a positive note. So, mission accomplished. Anyway, everyone knows I’m into big ideas, and everyone knows I’ve been doing a lot of mascot creation lately – and by “a lot” I mean “I’m sporadically working on one.”

Through the exhaustive research that goes along with creating a mascot, I found this little tidbit: The 1978 New England Patriots “almost” adopted a new logo. They eventually decided to stick with what they had at the time, but not until a replacement logo had already been selected and introduced to fans. This is true, and here is the "new" logo:

I am sure you have noticed exactly what I did, and no, I don’t mean “wow, that looks sort of similar to the current logo, which they switched to in 1993.” No, I mean that this logo is literally screaming for a mustache:

Holy shit, it’s Tom Selleck. Tom Selleck, NRA spokesperson, a.k.a. “patriot.” This totally means something. Don’t believe me? Think you can slap a mustache on any old mascot and have it make sense and remain aesthetically pleasing? Let’s take the new Patriots logo, and add a mustache:

He just looks very concerned. Let’s try to distinguish the ‘stache a bit:

No better. My point is proven, whatever it was.

Why am I wasting your time with this, you ask? Well, I think that this is all coming together to tell me something, exactly like what happened to Richard Dreyfuss in “Close Encounters of the Third Kind”, but with more action and less cheesy jumpsuits. If you've never seen that movie, don't bother*, I'm basically just saying that I see it as a sign that mascot research and boredom led me to put a mustache on the discarded 1978 replacement logo for the New England Patriots. Pretty obvious when I put it that way, right? Okay.

My friends, it's therefore apparent that the powers that be are trying to tell me that it’s time to declare 2012 “The Year of the Mustache.” I know, I know, mustaches are played out, ironic, hipster-y jokes – and I’m just attaching myself to that phenomenon by proposing this, right? Not even close. Men out there, how many of you have worn a mustache? Now, how awesome did it feel? If we agree that even 25% of that feeling was the knowledge that you were doing something “edgy”, you’ve still got a full 75% of awesome feeling that’s coming from the power of the mustache. For those men out there that haven't worn one, tell your girlfriend or wife to shut the hell up (nicely, of course; Super Bowl coming up) and grow one. Can't grow one? Draw one on. No excuses.

Look, we can wait for some other time to hash out the details as to why the mustache went from being a “prerequisite for professional athletes” as recently as 1990, to “ironic, hipster, ‘it’s news that Wes Welker has a mustache at the Super Bowl’ status” just 20 years later. I will remind you however, that during the reign of the ‘stache in the 80’s, and then through much of the 1990s, there was another form of ostracized facial hair: the full beard. Don’t believe me? Go ask some woman over 36 if she remembers when Noah Wylie from "E.R." grew a beard. She will. And look at beards now. In fact, try not to look at beards now. See my point?

So let it be known that here at GhostOfTyrone, 2012 is now officially “The Year of the Mustache.” Men out there: get growing. We will win this battle based on the simple logic that “it can’t be wrong if we all do it together.” It’s time to reclaim our upper lips and cover them in pubic hair like God intended! Wait, wait, that came out wrong.

Just get growing!

*By the way, “Close Encounters” confuses the hell out of me. Does Richard Dreyfuss construct the Eiffel Tower out of French fries if he wants to take a French vacation? Would that “mean something”? And every time I want to give that little five note, hand signal “communication” music credit, I think “the whole rationale behind that was to let the aliens know we were trying to communicate,” as opposed to there just happening to be this huge lab with 10,000 enormous spotlights out in the middle of the desert, exactly where the aliens had told us to set it up. So yeah, better make sure they are aware that this was not a coincidence. For crying out loud, it's 1975 and Richard Dreyfuss is playing an electrician that does not have a mustache? No wonder everyone thought you were crazy, Dick! Ok, I’m done.

Maple Syrup

After repeated pestering by about how unpopular my “Change the Toronto Raptors to the Canadian Bacon” petition is, I’ve decided to really take this to the next level. I’ve discussed the need for a legitimate logo for this new franchise, but I need to do more than that. I need to appeal to the people of Toronto, and the people of Canada as a whole. So yesterday, I decided to look into the history of basketball in Canada, so that I could better appeal to the fans. I didn’t get very far.

Now, raise your hand if you were aware that there is an NBLC? That’s “National Basketball League of Canada.” Well, as of 2011, there is. Here’s that league’s logo:

Naturally, because I love Canada, I’ve decided to grant them permission to update their logo to something more appropriate by using one of my “rough drafts” for the Bacon logo:

So, you’re welcome, NBLC. Now obviously, I wanted to make sure there wasn’t a franchise called “The Bacon” in this prestigious league, so I checked. I found no bacon, but I found what might be the worst team name of all time:

This is not a joke. Rainmen. Halifax: are you kidding me? Was The Halifax “Boys Who Could Fly” taken by the local curling team? In a league with teams called the Mill Rats, the Kebs (?) and the Miracles, you have to do some extra legwork to have the worst name, so good job Halifax Rainmen.

“Rainmen must mean something I’m missing; it must have some sort of other significance,” I thought. So I looked it up. I searched for “rainmen” and got nothing but this team. I searched “Rain Man” and did actually get another meaning that did not have to do with Dustin Hoffman and memorizing phonebooks (in case you’ve been having trouble following me so far): “Rain Man” is a computer programming language.

So, either Halifax was going for the “it rains here a lot and no potential negative cultural associations are going to stop us from letting you know that, via our NBLC team”, or we have the equivalent of “The Seattle JAVA.” Which actually works. Because, you know, JAVA script, Seattle, coffee… whatever, it’s better than “Rainmen.”

The moral of this story is: 1. I no longer need to research the history of basketball in Canada in order to better appeal to the fans, and 2. I am 100% confident that basketball fans in Canada will be perfectly fine with “The Canadian Bacon.”

Now it’s just up to us to make sure they hear about it.

Sign the petition.

Update: Canadian Bacon

For those keeping score, there's not a lot to report on Canadian Bacon front - but this isn't about keeping score, it's about winning.

My horoscope this morning was again pretty spot on:

"Share more of your passion, love, and happiness with the people around you, Virgo. Put your energy toward a group project and work to co-create something much more magical and meaningful than anything you could create on your own. You aren't alone in this world, and you will find that you have a great deal to learn from working in close relationship with other people who share similar ideals."

Reading this, I knew I needed to take it up a notch. I knew I needed to really direct people towards the petition at (which you can sign by clicking on the widget on the right side of this page. Your right). Coincidentally, I noticed an email from the folks at not too long after reading my horoscope. I really thought the stars were aligning. Then I read the email:

"We noticed that you've only received 2 signatures since creating your petition. But don't worry - we're here to help."

Despite my hopes, the next line was not: "We've decided to mandate that every staff member here at sign your petition as a condition of their continued employment." It was more like this:

"Don't be shy! You had the guts to start this petition because you believe that there is a problem that needs to be solved. The only way you are going to make a difference is by getting other people involved, and that means asking them to sign on."

By now I was feeling like a loser. People who run an online petition company, which was invented in order to remove the need to physically interact with people to obtain their signatures, were calling me shy.

Then it hit me: the logo. I need to motivate people with the logo. Originally, I had come up with this:
I'll be the first to admit, that's a pretty awful NBA logo. Not bad for a tee-shirt, but not up to snuff for a league full of cartoon hornets, wizardry and a team called "The Nets" - which is essentially the exact same thing as a team called "The Balls."

I took a step back and realized what my logo was missing: Canadian-ness. So I went back to the drawing board and came up with this:

I was feeling pretty proud of myself for that one, until I realized it was also missing something pretty important: bacon.


As proud of this masterpiece as I am, the truth is it will never be taken seriously, and I am totally serious about this proposition. Deadly serious, even.

So I'm asking for your help. Please send along your ideas for logo designs, mascots, uniforms, and any input on what you think is the most Canadian of all the fonts.

I'll continue to pound the virtual pavement.

My Company Woman

So, as I'm getting ready to head out the door today for another exciting day of life, I happened to spot this note that my wife apparently left on our kitchen table (and yes, sorry ladies, I did just say "wife."):

So as you can see, it's pretty obvious that my wife works for the CIA. I'm pretty convinced that "utensils" is a code word for weapons, and the rest of it is some sort of secret code. When I asked her about it, she explained that it was a "list of BAR codes from a certain yogurt company that gives you free magazines for collecting the BAR codes", which is obviously covert spy bullshit. So now I have to consider the possibility that she may be trying to kill me.

If I were also a spy for the CIA, like my wife obviously is, this would be exactly like that movie "Mr. & Mrs. Smith" with Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt, and that might be kind of nice. In the end, their trying to kill each other over the course of a two hour movie actually brings them closer together, and what marriage couldn't use that sort of boost?

The big problem here is that I am not a CIA agent. At least, I don't think I am. There's still a possibility that a black SUV will pull up in front of my house, and two dudes will come to my door and tell me that I have to come with them, and that I'm a secret government weapon, etc - but I don't put those odds at any greater than 50/50. In fact, maybe it's my wife's job to "decommission" me.

There is the slim chance that this turns out more like the movie "True Lies", where Jamie Lee Curtis is unknowingly married to a spy, who in turn makes her a spy after they save the world together, but I find it hard to wrap my head around a concept as ridiculous as that.

I'm pretty disappointed in my wife, to be honest. I know spies are sworn to secrecy and all, but I'm fairly sure that even the worst spy in the world can tell what a useful "asset" I would be - not in the least part because I know a lot of the lingo - but I'm also really sneaky and I change my hairstyle all the time.

Point is, she should have recruited me by now, so maybe I have nothing to worry about. In fact, after thinking about it, it's pretty obvious that my wife is a horrible spy.

Together We Can

I'd like to thank everyone who has commented on the Canadian Bacon posts. However, since as of the time of this writing that means I'm only thanking 4 people, and I'm pretty sure one of them is my mom, that means I have to take it up a notch.

As of this morning, I've started a legitimate petition at You can sign that petition by clicking on the widget on this page. Do it. And do it quickly, before realizes that there is such a petition on their site, because they'll probably take it down when they see it. Which is so racist. Racist against bacon.

In case you are on the fence about all of this, I want to introduce what I'm going to call "Exhibit A." Actually, that's stupid, I'm just going to show you something. This was my horoscope yesterday:

Let the genius within you come out and play, Virgo. You may feel like some sort of inventor who has wild ideas that could help to revolutionize the future. Bring these ideas into the open and see what kind of response you get from the people around you. Cutting-edge concepts are likely to appeal to you the most. These are the ones that you should pursue and follow through on if you can.

First of all, I'm not making that up - that was really my horoscope ( Second, yes, sometimes I read my horoscope. Third, there is now irrefutably a documented genius inside me, and fourth, God thinks this is a good idea.

People, I'm going to try to lay low on this for a while and let the grassroots magic of online petitioning take hold. This does mean that you'll be subjected to other ideas of mine, though, including:

- Why have the Black Eyed Peas not covered Midnight Oil's "Beds Are Burning"? More specifically, how has that not happened? More on this to come.

- Speaking of covers, Bjork should cover Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" if for no other reason than the chance for everyone to see bearded, snobby hipsters humming along with the muzak when they're out grocery shopping. Also, she'd probably actually do a pretty good job.

- Taco Bell wastes so much on advertising. Sound dumb? Hear me out. No one needs to be reminded that Taco Bell exists, because we were all 19 once. Instead of a talking dog, or annoying dudes being annoying, Taco Bell should simply have commercials with no sound, and a white screen with the Taco Bell logo in red, yellow and green - sort of looking like a 3D picture if you don't have your 3D glasses on. Do you know why this would work? Because there is no better way to have someone look at a TV than to have it stop making noise. Try it yourself next time you're in a room with someone who may or may not be paying attention to the TV. Trust me, it works. Also, we all know that red, yellow and green are the "hunger colors" - that's why every restaurant uses some version of those colors almost exclusively. So essentially, you're going to get eyes on your logo in the hunger colors for a solid 15-20 seconds, Taco Bell. Just so the novelty doesn't wear off, they could mix in a few different versions where every once in a while - BOOM!! - chicks in bikinis for a second, or - BOOM!! - lion attack, or whatever. Your move, Taco Bell.

- Speaking of Taco Bell, they serve burritos, some of which come with bacon.

Sign the petition.

Was I Not Clear About The Bacon?

It seems that no one has signed my petition yet. I just want to make sure I was clear about the intent of said petition: To change the ridiculously named Toronto Raptors into the amazingly awesomely named Canadian Bacon.

Folks, these opportunities don't come along very often. I don't think I'd be overstating it by saying that this might be one of the greatest things that could ever happen to you. Yes, you. Anyone. Confused? Well, let me ask you this: have you ever overheard anyone say "man that Bacon game was awesome last night?" or "I am going to see the Bacon" or "do you want to come over and watch the Bacon" or "the Bacon could really use a true shooting guard to up their perimeter game?" While I'll admit it is possible you may have heard a few of those, there's no way you've ever heard the last one, and you've also never heard "coming up after the break, Bacon highlights." Not even on Food Network, because there is no FoodCenter.

Honest to God people, wake up here. Look, if the Winnipeg Jets had decided to call themselves The Winnipeg Crazy Nasty Ass Honey Badgers even they would be kicking themselves when they realized they'd passed on The Canadian Bacon.

I don't know why it is that every time I have an idea about changing something Canadian, everyone gets all reluctant. For example, they've yet to make the one, simple change to their national anthem that I suggested a few years back, which would have made it 1,000 times more awesome:

Never too late for that one, Canada. It is, unfortunately, too late to follow through on my idea to name Barry, Robin and Maurice Gibb your three kings-for-life in exchange for their singing the national anthem before every Maple Leafs home game.

So, good job totally fucking blowing it on that one. Now, before you get all sad and depressed, wake up and realize you have a chance to redeem yourselves here. The Canadian Bacon would be the coolest thing you've done since actual Canadian bacon, my friends, and to be honest, your list of cool accomplishments isn't exactly up to snuff by North American standards.

That's why I'm calling on everyone, Canadians, Americans, everyone: spread the word on this. If you think this is a joke, screw yourself - but please sign the petition first.

Again, leave a comment on this or the previous post to sign. Together, we can show the NBA what an amazing opportunity they're passing up.

Thank you.

The Breakfast of Champions

Okay, let's face it: there are professional sports teams whose names either suck, don't make sense, or both. For example, unless the NBA has a sense of irony so acute that they've repeatedly turned down offers to chair the board at Hipster Runoff, "the Utah Jazz" is an affront to everything associated with intelligence.

So, I will now set out to correct these wrongs. You're welcome.

1. The Memphis Grizzlies. That's "Memphis", Tennessee and that's "Grizzlies" as in bears. This is a basketball team that started out in Vancouver, where there are theoretically grizzly bears, but mostly it's just potheads and dirty, uber-Euro, "we come from the Planet of White Creepy Twins" hockey players.

New Name: The Memphis Blues. Sure, hockey already has the St. Louis Blues, but no one outside of St. Louis actually associates the blues and St. Louis, and inter-sports name sharing is no big deal. Right New York, Winnipeg, San Francisco, New York, Texas, St. Louis, Arizona....? You get the point. Next.

2. The Utah Jazz. As I touched on above, the Utah Jazz makes absolutely zero sense. This is a basketball team that started out in New Orleans, which is a jazzy city, and before you mock the term "jazzy city" do me a favor and fuck off. New Orleans can be called jazzy, because I'm pretty sure the "Who Dat?" people would be okay with that, because I'm pretty sure they are always fucking hammered. Utah, on the other hand, would not be okay with any of it. "Jazzy" is probably a swear word in Utah, or a cuss word, as they would call it, and "hammered" is what happens to you in a Utah prison if you ever get drunk.On top of that, the only musical contribution Utah has ever made to society is the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, and those people wear special, secret underpants that they think protect them from fire, the devil and AIDS. I'm not even sure why there's a basketball team there. Fuck Utah.

New Name: The Utah Peak. They get to keep their mountain logo, which they are currently pairing with "Jazz", naturally, and they also remain an answer to the ever-popular sports trivia question "name the sports teams whose nicknames are not pluralized." Done.


Alternate New Name: The Utah Pioneers, because those crazy Utah people are all proud about... I don't know, being crazy pioneers. Come to think of it, we could go with whatever: The Utah Rush/Shock/Bolts, whatever generic name you want.... fuck it, call them the Utah Wives, they just really need to get rid of "Jazz." Again, fuck you, Utah. Nothing personal.

5. The Los Angeles Lakers. The Lakers were originally from Minnesota, which is "the land of 10,000 lakes" and one hot Indian chick that loves her some butter. Now they're in Los Angeles. There might be lakes there, but they're the kind of lakes that are filled with sand, rocks, homeless people, and no water.

New Name: The Los Angeles Stars might work if it weren't so horrendously awful, which means the house money is on "The Los Angeles Stars." A better name might be The Los Angeles Express. Well, maybe that will be what the NFL's Jacksonville Jaguars and/or Minnesota Vikings and/or St. Louis Rams will become when they move there eventually (actually, the Rams would just be the Rams again). You know what? I can't see the Lakers changing their name now, too much history in L.A. as "the Lakers." Next.

6. Calling a Native American a "redskin" is like calling... you've probably heard this one. Yet, right there in our nation's fucking capital we have the Washington Redskins, and just so we're not confused, the logo is an Indian/Native American with feathers in his hair and additional feathers randomly attached to the back of the logo itself. Because, you know, pride and respect and shit.

New Name: The Washington Generals, as in "the team that always loses to the Harlem Globetrotters", because the Redskins suck. But that won't happen, so...

The Washington Spies. So cheesy, it's a probability. Plus, team owner Daniel Snyder is like a 14 year old with enough money to buy a Ferrari, but the brains to have it fitted with an automatic transmission and painted bright green. Good luck, Peyton! (you heard it here first, or whatever. 3 years, 36 million. Write it down)

8. Oh, Canada. You're down to one baseball team, one basketball team and a handful of hockey teams that, save for Vancouver, suck. What's worse, the baseball and basketball teams have shitty, shitty names. Don't worry Canada, I'm here to help.

8a. The Toronto Blue Jays (baseball). Come on, Canada. If it's going to be a bird, don't have it be a boring bird that everybody sees in their backyard every day, and let it have something to do with Canada. In fact, since the Montreal Expos have moved to Washington D.C., and surprisingly not renamed themselves the Wetbacks, just call them...

New Name: The Canada Geese. That would be AWESOME. I would wear that apparel and root for that team. But we can do better than that. Which brings us to:

8b. The Toronto Raptors (basketball). Here we have the same thing. They're the only Canadian NBA team left. Change them to...

New Name: The Canadian Bacon. And yes, I am totally fucking serious. I know this sounds crazy, but question: how awesome would this be? Follow up question: name 5 off the field sports events that are not criminal/scandalous in nature that would generate more buzz about any team and or/player and/or league (and that "scandalous" means "shut the fuck up, everybody who is thinking 'Tim Tebow sex tape'"). If this were to happen, Stuart Scott's mind would explode (win). Neil Everett would have 1,000,000,000,000,000,000 new catch phrases lined up for every textbook bounce pass this team made, because they are called The Canadian Bacon.  

Look, the NBA is already slowly morphing into a shitty league that no one cares about. Actually, they rapidly morphed into total shit several years ago, so why not have a sense of humor about it? Look at the NHL. Last night was the "Fantasy Draft" for the All Star game. Happen to catch any of that? I'm assuming "no", so let me recap: It seemed like it was being held at a VFW. The microphones were set up so that you could hear the hecklers ("Nice duster Timmy, eh?" - stay classy, Canada). Sure, some folks might criticize this, or look down on it, but this is the league that holds its annual awards ceremony in LAS VEGAS, at The Palms. And guess what? That's AWESOME. That's exactly what the NHL should be. Your move, NBA. This can happen. It needs to.

I'm going to start a petition. Right here, right now. Comment on this post to sign. Think about it.

The Canadian Bacon.




Two out of three of those things are pretty fucking badass, no matter who you are.

Before you say this is a stupid gimmick, may I remind you that the team is currently called "The Raptors." As in, "a dinosaur that was fictionally depicted as being a man-sized, intelligent killing machine in a movie that came out around the time the basketball team was formed, when in actuality the Velociraptor was a single/several kinds of dinosaur(s) about the size of a chicken." A fucking chicken. Diamondbacks is a better team name than Raptors. Stegosaurus would be better name, and they could even have big, bone plates on the backs of their jerseys. As it stands now, this is bullshit. Think about it.
They wear this:

You wear this:

Really, think about it. How long after that shirt/hat/anything became available would you buy it?
I rest my case. You're welcome, Canada.


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