(Contributions from Jane Lane)
There has been a “controversy” rampaging the shit out of various segments of the media. The wool was pulled over your eyes, people. We’re talking cover-up you easily fooled sacks. A sham! Flim-flam! Even a semi-syndicated talk show exposed this farce. I can’t think of any synonyms for sham, flim-flam, and cover-up, so let’s get to the point.
Ren is not real.
Depend on your personal choice of media outlet, you heard it hear first. The little blonde Irish elf does not exist. Sorry, people. It was bound to be discovered sometime. FWTC did its level best backstopping a cover story for “Ren” and build a solid base for our house of lies. But, you were too smart. The Geraldo Riveras in podcast and Internet land Sherlock Holmes-ed themselves to uncover the truth. Hats off to everyone who has a degree in criminology. Degrees from un-accredited schools from Indonesia on a distance learning program. But, who am I to judge. Apparently, nobody. You can’t make judgements when you don’t exist.
No, friends, Ren does not exist. I… I mean, “SHE” is just a practical joke. A combination of industry logos and urban legend. You’ve all been duped. I am….. shit, I mean, “SHE” is a scam. No one can agree on what kind of scam or who the hell “she” really is. It could be some sort of Irish pyramid scheme. Perhaps, some twisted person or persons came up with the idea to josh an entire nation just to create a publicity stunt to sell prophylactics made of bison scrotum.
Just like Roswell and Bigfoot, there are a few leading theories about who I… fuck! Who “she” really is. Here are just a few:
1. “She’s” a fat guy
This is, probably, the most obvious I mean, come on! We all know the vast majority of the “women” on the interwebs are fat, sweaty fucks with a tiny dicks. Christ, 90% of the “women” on Facebook are guys. It’s completely conceivable that this “Ren” character is really just some fat slob desperate for attention. Come on! This “girl” likes to drink, bang her “husband,” and loves the meat. Get it? Loves the meat?
There’s NO WAY a “woman” like that in the world. Check that. NO FUCKING WAY! That shit is like turning lead into gold. It’s all a myth. Hearsay. It’s just not possible that a “female” can actually enjoy meat and meat byproducts along with alcohol and and steady stream of fucking the husband.
So, yeah. That’s got to be it. Unless…
2. “She’s” a
Bots are annoying. Bots are cunning. Bots are fucking sneaky. How many times have you gotten a message from “Eliza Dushku” or “Avril Lavigne” or.. I don’t know… “God?” Well, we all sure as hell know it’s really some sweaty programer with more body odor than appeal.
This makes sense. First, you just scour the Net, and find a random girl on Facebook and second, pirate the fuck out of any pics set to “public.” Throw in a dash of spyware and a sprinkle of rerouting virus then, fucking viola! You got yourself insta-Ren!
The main issue with these bots is that many of them are programmed to adjust to new perimeters. To adapt to new spam filters. To… evolve. If this, “Ren” is a spam bot, it’s more than just your basic con to worm its way into your hard drive. Come on, people! That’s one more fucking step towards sentience! Christ, we’re all focused on the wrong issue!
3. “She’s” a fat chick
Dude, just re-read #1 and replace all the “guys” with “chicks.” You can leave the “tiny dick” part. Depending on the fat chick.
4. “She’s” is really a government conspiracy
It’s not unusual to suspect the government, any government (except Canada, I guess) in a shit ton of covert operations and secret programs that inject nanobots into unsuspecting children’s flu shots to build a perfect combination of man and machine.
5. “She’s” a celestial or atmospheric phenomenon
The less plausible theory being proposed by the most plausible stalkers (and their sad sad lives). This “Ren” is closer to the aurora borealis or some sort of Helix Nebula… The Eye of God, if you will.
It has been proven or, at the very least, conceptually kicked around that celestial physics can theoretically influence a person’s consciousness. Don’t believe me? Fine. Don’t. I don’t fucking care. See it for yourself. Pony up the dough to attend the “Toward the Science of Consciousness “at the University of Arizona‘s Center for Consciousness. Take the kids and come on down to God’s misshapen ash can. Takes pictures of an honest-to-god astrophysicist! But what’s fun without some learning? It’s bullshit… that’s what it is. Included in this dream package you will have your choice of murderously boring lectures. Oooooooo will it be the on discussing quantum influences on the brain. No wait! The lecture about electromagnetic flares hurdling to Earth like New Jersey Governor Chris Christie warp speeding to the Buffet King. We’re onto you, “science.”
6. “She’s” a incorporeal essence within us all
How do we know God exists? How about Allah, Buddha, or whatever the fuck the Vikings worshiped?
When annoying push comes to asinine shove, you don’t. As a “modern” society, we tend to incredulously cast looks toward our ancestors and remark on how “quaint” their beliefs were.
Every society does that to the society that came before theirs. We’re not running around worshiping the sun or offering our children to Yahweh on a funeral pyre. Not often these days, anyway. However, we cling on to our “enlightened” (enough with the fucking quotations, already) religious philosophies. Jews KNOW God exists. Muslims KNOW Allah is watching over them. Christians KNOW Jesus was the Son of God. Throw the Dali Lama in there while we’re at it. His followers KNOW he is the reincarnation of the reincarnation of the reincarnation of the first… um… Lama?
OK, so what’s the fucking point? Each and every follower of every religion can’t produce concrete proof that their god(s) exist. Shiva isn’t in the directory and Thor doesn’t have a Facebook page.
Even atheists believe that there is no higher power to the point where that disbelief turns into their beliefs. So, is it possible that this fictitious “Ren” actually exists in the hearts of man? Does “she” exist in our actions? Our thoughts? Our dreams? Is it possible that there is a little bit of “Ren” in all of us? How the fuck should I know? I don’t exist. Ask someone who isn’t a figment of your imagination.
*When not writing for the Fuse Was Too Cold, “Ren” exists only in the world of imagination.
*When not contributing, Jane Lane exists to make you miserable to the point of embracing the sweet release of death..
The economy sucks a pair of used transvestite thongs. Trust me, I know. I’m a poor law school student. Well, “poor” is a relative term. I’m on a scholarship, my parents help me out, and I bleed my husband dry. Fucker got to marry ME. The least he can do is sign his pay check over to me. HA! Perpetuating female stereotypes is FUN!
So, what can you do about Christmas presents when you can barely feed yourself or can’t afford to put a dent in your three-bottle a day whisky habit… I mean indulgence?
You don’t want to be “that guy” during the family Christmas gift opening extravaganza. You know, the stupid shit getting gifts while NO ONE seems to be able to find ANYTHING under the tree from you. Normally, I advocate the getting without giving scenario. But, it’s Christmas! Even I can’t stand to phone it in on this one.
So, I figure there must be a shit ton of other people out there in the same boat. In the spirit of giving, I decided to give you poor schleps some help. These ideas have worked for me in the past… just not well. Who cares? It’s the thought that counts, right? Well, prepare to have that adage stretched to it ever-loving limits.
Look, we all have gotten gifts that were on the meatier side of a shit sandwich. “Oooooooooo! School supplies!” How about that box of socks from Aunt Mimi? Don’t even get me started on that goddamn tub of Oxy Clean I got when I was 16. Just what the fuck were you trying to imply, Uncle Merl? Such an asshole.
This doesn’t even have to be stuff that you, outright, threw into the “reject” bin. But, let’s face it, it’s going to be. Just mix it up a bit. Don’t give Aunt Hortense the leg wax she gave you last year. Give that gem to Uncle Pete. Remember that box of bath beads sitting in the closet collecting dust? Well, hell, that’s a great gift for you 15-year-old cousin. Kids huff bath beads these days, right?
Free stuff you got at work/school
If you travel around for work and attend various useless trade shows or subject yourself to the joy that is a vender show at a university campus, you know what I’m talking about. These places are teeming with useless bullshit people can’t stop taking. Little flashlights with their company logo. Knock off Beanie Babies with their company logo. A travel mug… with their company logo. The whole point of this is to plant your company in the subconscious. What better way of doing this than using free shit no one has a need for?
If you look hard enough, you’ll find some practical shit mixed with the fake beanie babies and mini Breathalyzers. Who wouldn’t love to get a USB drive with almost no space? What kind of loved one would not want a leaky travel mug with the Halliburton logo? Take it a step beyond and mix and match. What cousin wouldn’t be grateful with a hand sanitizer/hand lotion combo? Come to think about it, that sends out a bunch of messages not association with the Christmas Spirit.
Stuff from around your house
Are you a shut-in? Do you want to be? Are you too poor, cheap, or lazy to actually step foot outside your house to go to conventions to get free shit? Does the thought of another year of mall shopping for people you barely like sink you into a deep depression? Well, good news Droopy! There’s not need to mingle with the rabble! Just look around you house. Do it! You live in a fucking sty. You should be ashamed of yourself. God I hate you.
Where was I? Oh yeah, I hate you. No! Wait! Oh yea. Christmas presents. My article about icky shut-ins is next month. Anyhoo… your house is a treasure trove of goodies. It’s a time capsule filled with outdated interests and failed life goals. Just because you failed doesn’t mean others will. Give that pair of roller blades to little Jimmy. That calligraphy set you never opened? Well, wrap that sommabitch! Remember that typewriter you use as a door stop? Give that ancient bastard to your nephew and call it an antique.
Stuff from around other people’s houses
Okay, look, I’m not advocating the act of breaking into someone’s home and stealing their shit to use for Christmas presents. I’m merely suggesting you do it when you’re already in the house for a visit. Let’s face it, you looked around your house for things to wrap up and dump on loved ones for Christmas, but your junk is sad. YOU don’t even want it. Maybe it’s not even that. Perhaps you’re a scrappy little transient without a permanent residence. Well, jingle balls! That’s what friends are for!
Odds are that your friends’ place is a considerable upgrade from the hovel you live in. There’s no shame in that. Remember, you don’t have to enjoy the finer things in life in order for you to find good Christmas gifts. Your friends do. Next time you drop by, bring an empty pillow case. Come on, they won’t miss it. That neat little cat statue would be perfect for crazy aunt Sofia. The commemorative plate they got on their trip to Pearl Harbor? Whammo! Instant collectors item for the history buff in your family. It’s Christmas. They’ll understand. It’s all about giving.
Wait a second there, partner. Don’t forget to get something for that someone special, too. There you are, thinking about others and you plum forgot all about yourself. Awwww. That’s so sweet. Tis the reason for the season! Treat yourself. It’s alright for Santa to take a kick back every now and then. Go on, treat yourself. After all this Christmas shopping you deserve a little present of your own.
Yeah, it’s almost December and we’re just now putting this into the AMNESIA LANE chute. Don’t care. READ IT! Who wouldn’t want to read about Roode’s pumpkin carving inadequacies?
You may or may not have noticed that FWTC has been “off the air” for most of the year. Why? Why in God’s name would be deprive the world of US? I mean, this site is comedic gold! What could possibly explain WHY such a tragic thing would happen. Your reader mail has gone unanswered, there has been absolutely no East Coast earthquake coverage, and NO REN!
To satisfy your curiosity (real or imagined by us) here is a list of five potential reasons we’ve been incognito. Which ones are true? Beats the hell out of me.
- Ren finally got her Playboy shoot and ran away from us.
- Roode finally snapped and went on a killing spree.
- Adel realized that she’s has two Ph.Ds and was too good for this bullshit chuckle factory.
- Tresckow went into hiding for reasons unknown.
- Ren. That’s it. Just Ren.
Actually, it was a combination of things ranging from site glitches, author availability, family issues, career issues, clinical depression, and all sorts of other lame ass stuff. Here’s what we can promise:
- We’re going to ease back into regular publication.
- We’re going to “re-release” some of the “vintage” articles to help pass the time.
- We’ve got an assload of articles waiting in the queue.
- We wish most of 2011 never happened.
- We’ll keep listing shit for the sake of listing shit.
- Ren will be in your nightmares.
If you’re a regular or semi-regular reader of mine, you’ll know that I have a profound dislike for most everything. Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of things I like.
Perhaps, television is both my favourite and most hated of life’s little staples. It’s a harsh mistress; dressing up for you all pretty like one moment, then pissing all over you the next. God knows I hate television networks. These wonder-tards are responsible for some of the worst decisions in entertainment history. Fuck it. I’m talking about FOX. FOX has been anally raping its viewership since the dawn of Married: With Children. Let’s check the score:
- Arrested Development: CANCELLED
- Terminator- The Sarah Connor Chronicles: CANCELLED
- Lie to Me: CANCELLED
- Futurama: CANCELLED
- Family Guy: CANCELLED
- Dollhouse: CANCELLED
- Firefly: CANCELLED
Then, there are the shows that FOX execs gave a collective, “fuck it” and greenlit baffling shit like:
- Who’s Your Daddy: Fatherless child + paternity tests + slut mother + a group of guys who couldn’t keep it in their pants + TV audience + cash reward = eventual suicide
- Married by America: The viewing audience could now get involved with helping young couples fuck up their futures
- The Littlest Groom: He’s a midget! Get it? [It actually pained me to type “littlest”]
- Babes: Fat chicks. That’s it. There’s nothing else.
- House of Buggin’: John Leguizamo’s latest tragically unfunny attempt at replacing “In Living Color”
Even more ball-smashingly painful are the shows FOX, not only keeps on the air, but seem to have an L. Ron Hubbard type following. Again, let’s go to the board:
- American Idol: Definition of beating a dead horse and making it sing.
- X Factor: What they’re calling “American Idol,” but with Simon Cowell and Pepsi.
- House: Look, he’s a cranky ass, drug addicted, pompous, douchebag doctor. We get it.
- Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader: Short answer: No
- Glee: Fucking Glee
Although I can shake my fist and send human waste to FOX for the first two lists, there is no one to blame but the American people for the last. What the fuck is wrong with society? “But, Roode,” some of you are no doubt saying to your monitors like I give two shits, “if you don’t like these shows, don’t watch them.” If you’re one of the people who just said that, punch yourself in the kidneys as hard as you can. I’ll wait.
The excruciatingly painful root canal of a problem is that these entertainment equivalents to eyeball AIDS don’t just stay on TV. They’re everywhere. They spill over into every other aspect of life: water cooler chat, trite morning show coverage, bullshit marketing shenanigans, and a host of other methods designed to shove this camel piss down your throat. For fuck’s sake, you half expect the doctor to give you a rectal exam with an official “GLEE” probe.
Glee. Fucking Glee. Outside of “reality” shows, Glee has to be the prickliest cactus that has ever been shoved up my ass [figuratively, sickos]. It combines all the things I hate in life: singing, high school drama bullshit, singing about high school drama bullshit, hair styles from the 80’s, poser-hipster-geekdom, a Barbara Streisand wannabe, and all the douchebaggery contained therein.
Impossibly aggravating twirling paraplegic aside, I’m completely baffled as to how in the fuck this show became the runaway success it is. I guess it has all the ingredients of an asinine network TV show popular with the toothless public:
Unrealistically pretty high school “teenagers” + mismatched couples + painfully dubbed singing + forced and contrived gay character(s)
Alright, maybe most of that is superficial for a list of reasons why I hate this show more than a punch to the yam bag. But, it’s a goddamn TV show. What else do I need? It’s television cancer! The background music, itself, is enough to drive one into a murderous rage.
I tried to watch the show once [read: woke up on the couch while wife was watching it]. I timed myself. It was exactly one minute until I was filled with homicidal rage. It’s like fingers on a chalkboard. It’s not any ONE thing. It’s EVERYTHING. Individually, I’m pretty sure I could stomach each vomit inducing annoyance for an hour-long show. I hate singing in a television show, but I managed to put up with episodes of The Simpsons that shoe-horned musical sketches into the show. High school drama on TV makes me want to set fire to an orphanage, but I was able to sit through Veronica Mars.
But, all those little annoyances in concert is like being hit with a bag of oranges. It’s a constant left-hook, right-hook combination. It’s one of the few situations when running headlong into a wall is the better of two evils. Take the hits too long and you’ll end up like Sylvester Stallone in Rocky V. No, not the Rocky character. I really mean Sylvester Stallone.
Glee has become oh so fashionable! Why, everyone who’s ANYONE wants to have their songs shit on, ham-fisted into a “plot” then have the very essence changed to discuss the problems of kids in wheelchairs not being able to get enough blond poontang.
Ah, that’s what FOX wants you to think. Every now and then an artist is able to withstand the evil and money to protect his work from being shat out the prime time sphincter. Who? Who dared defy the FOX gods and deny them their power and inefficient hybrids?
Back in March of 2011, Dave declined to give the rights to his song, “Everlong.” [Read: Go fuck yourselves] Grohl feels that musicians shouldn’t feel pressured to bow down to Glee’s awesomeness and beg to give them any song out of their catalogue the studio wants. Check this:
“It’s every band’s right, you shouldn’t have to do fucking Glee,” Grohl, 42, told The Hollywood Reporter. “Dude, maybe not everyone loves Glee. Me included. I watched 10 minutes and it wasn’t my thing. “
Translation: Fuck you, Ryan Murphy, creator of Glee. Your shit absolutely DOES stink. Not only that, but we can see what you ate for lunch.
But, I suppose Dave Grohl’s story isn’t indicative of the norm. Well, that would be true if Slash and Kings of Leon didn’t do the same damn thing and FLAT OUT REFUSED to let their music be a part of that bile gargling sing-com. I can only hope this becomes some sort of movement within the music industry that has musicians actually KNOW what their songs are being used for when they accept a fat check. Just say NO, Alice in Chains. JUST SAY NO!
The ONLY redeemable decision this holocaust of a show ever made was just chance. Heather Morris was hired, originally, to work out the coreography for the mind numbing dance scenes. She worked with Beyoncé and knew a thing or two about choreography. It was her job to teach the cast of mouth breathers how to dance well enough for prime time television. I guess she did pretty well, because they ended up hiring her to play Brittany Pierce in a recurring role. In the second season she was made a full cast member. I wish I understood why.
Oh, yeah. I see why. Excellent job!