The Psychic Friends phenomenon first hit in the late 1980s.  I remember it well, because I was just around ten years old.  Remember this was early ESP, way before Cleo or John Edwards.  This even before Dionne Warwick.  I can’t remember how they advertised, probably the same as they do now … late night or early Saturday television commercials … but I remember being inundated by their ads.  My brother and I were absolutely convinced that they were real.

So we called them. [Read Column]

When I was a kid, after seeing Tim Burton’s Batman (1989), I had this novel idea to be a costumed crime fighter.  That’s right, I thought that with a combination of training, Eastern philosophy, and a shitload of guns I could stalk the mean streets of New York looking to do good deeds and bring criminals to justice … or at least delivering such a beating that would leave them too scared to commit future crimes.

Now don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t envisioning myself running around with tights with my underwear on the outside.  I was cool enough to see myself more as a Punisher figure, wearing biker leather, with a Zorro cape.  Okay, so I wasn’t that cool.  I was 13 years old at the time.

I’m now 33.  Unfortunately, my world view is now completely and drastically changed.  I don’t think that my desire to be the altruistic, non-profit superhero is nearly as strong as it once was.  In fact, its completely fucking dead.  Other than getting a teary eye watching RSPCA (aka Humane Society) video of abused circus bears, I have developed a strong sense of apathy for the rest of the world at large. The only uses I can conjure for my proposed superpowers is to rip off the stock market or in some other way become incredibly rich with little or no effort. Or maybe effect the outcomes of sporting events by using telekinesis to alter the flight of a football.  Or make people I hated in high school develop Irritable Bowell Syndrome.

It’s funny that the older you get, the closer you get to the dark side of the Force.  Luke, give into your Malox.  So let’s just embrace the fact that I’m past my hero days and I’m full bore on the sinister, wise cracking, pimp daddy, world conquering, smart ass Super Villian.  Deez Nuts.

[Read Column]

Graduating from college and finding a job is a lot like hooking up in a bar while being hammered.  Rumor has it that there is at least one hot chick in there, though there seem to be a lot of average to rogue-ish looking girls that can play the bitch card because there is such a bad ratio of girls to guys.  These are the kind of girls that a dude celebrates when he’s in the mug down by the pinball machine only to relive his night in ghastly horror the next day as his friends show him pictures off of their camera phones while they are lying their asses off about their own failures and roadside hags.

That’s the best analogy for getting a job straight out of college.  That’s what it was like for me.  That was Centex Home Equity. [Read Column]

I drive 2 hours to and from Melbourne (big city) and Bendigo (rural town) twice a week.  The trip is 150km of uninterrupted freeway.  I’ve been driving this trip for about two years now.  My wife and kid fall asleep, the iPod is barely audible, and I have the entire stretch of featureless black road to think. After driving this trip more than 100 times for over 200 hours, your mind starts to work in abnormal ways.

And that is how this column was born.

One of the simple truths of life is that the universe is infinite, limitless.  We are not alone.  At least not if you consider the greater expanse of the cosmos.  Statistically, its considered impossible that somewhere, somehow, that intelligent life does not exist.  Sorry for you Creationists.  I mean I’m really sorry for you.

But here on Earth?

Yeah, we’re alone.  In fact, its pretty damn lonely.  The closest we are getting to another race of intelligent beings is if the Japanese sex-bot industry takes off.  And I mean really takes off.  They are leading the race for artificial intelligence.  Believe you me, I’m already investing as many dollars as I can.  “Hello, Yumiko.  Nice maid outfit.”

That got me thinking … if I could select a second species to join homo sapien in our sentience, what would I choose from our world to join the ranks of Mensa? [Read Column]

You ever notice that in every movie that is cool, or another way to say it, any movie with ninjas there is always at least one ninja that has to dress in white?  Isn’t that weird?  Admittedly, I’m a gaijin outsider to the world of ninjitsu, but it’s pretty obvious that in the profession of ninjery stealth, sabotage, and assassination would require a less conspicuous outfit than the Saturday Night Fever starter kit. [Read Column]