The Mockingbirds

The Stupidest Thing I Read Last Week: A Job Worth Doing Is A Job Worth Doing Right

 

"They tried a few methods to try to kill the victim."

 

At a certain point a few years ago I transitioned from being part of the younger generation to being part of the not-so-younger generation. At that time I drowned my sorrows in vodka, but took solace in the fact that The Countess had reached this point before me and would always be an elder 'Bird from my perspective. It wasn't until recently, though, that I began to realize what this transition means on a practical level. There are people out there who don't fully appreciate the joy of a John Hughes movie or the novelty of a hypercolor t-shirt. They don't even remember when Lars had hair. I just don't relate. I've become an old person.

 

And as an old person, I find it within my purview to criticize the younger generation, the one that supplanted my generation with less style and even less focus. I've noticed that they are unwilling to work to achieve their goals. They lack conviction and follow through. This does not a productive society make. One needs to learn discipline and dedication to get things done. One needs to finish what one starts if progress is to be made. As an example, take these three teenagers who were recently arrested for attempted murder. Allegedly, the three plotted to kill one of the teen's mothers, and although several murderous methods were employed (see quote above), including knocking her in the head with a flashlight (again, I don't relate) and poisoning, they failed so spectacularly that the victim of their attack(s) didn't seek medical treatment after the ordeal. Of course, since the mother was left relatively unharmed, she was well enough to accuse her would-be murderers, and it took authorities very little time to take all three them into custody. Now they are facing serious jail time and they didn't even come anywhere near achieving their goal.¹ It's just as I said: no discipline and no follow through. Murder plots require both proper planning and execution. You can't just whack someone on the head, slip something into their drink and then assume that it's all been taken care of. What if she starts feeling much better? Someone will notice. It's not the Dark Ages.

 

I weep for the future.

 

Baroness von Jeer

 

 

 

¹ Obviously, this is tragic story and the fact that the mother escaped unscathed is the best possible outcome, but it is illustrative of my point nonetheless.

The Stupidest Thing I Read Last Week: How Can You Have Any Pudding If You Don't Eat Your Meat?

 

"Somewhere out there, a team of wheel jackers lurks, waiting for their next victim."

It's a rather ominous sentence, belonging to an article about a rash of recent wheel thefts. Relatively speaking, the article itself is well written, and its subject matter newsworthy. Generally, it's not the sort of thing I would be writing about in this space. Certainly, it's not the sort of thing that makes my head explode.¹ Except that the story is set in Denver and the targeted cars are Subarus. Having grown up in and still being a frequent visitor to the Denver Metro Area, I find it difficult to comprehend why I should be alarmed there has been a sudden increase in these sorts of crimes recently. They can happen anytime, anywhere in Colorado. Every third car is a Subaru and every person who drives one is a hippie who is too busy applying patchouli, smoking weed, listening to their favorite jam band and/or organizing a pro-vegan rally to even notice that all four wheels are missing from their vehicle. It's like shooting fish in a barrel (or potheads at a Phish concert), as they say. It's not the fact that a bunch of Denver residents have awakened to discover that their beloved automobiles were defiled, but, rather, the fact that I am supposed to somehow be outraged, sympathetic or not gleeful is clearly The Stupidest Thing I Read Last Week.

 

Why should I care if a bunch of people who covet not only the same lame cars, but also the same weirdo sandals (that they insist on wearing with socks) and outdoor activities as everyone else around them are deprived of their primary mode of transportation for a few days? All that really happens when a gaggle of Subaru wheels are stolen around Denver is that traffic gets better (due to the aforementioned distractions, the hippie/Subaru owners tend to be seriously terrible drivers) and I get a good laugh. Drop these same people into LA, and I guarantee that they'd start coveting the same fake blond hair, plastic surgery and eating disorders that everyone else has out here. And then I would get a good laugh when all their hair falls out from over processing. At the end of the day, they're just willingly dropping themselves into the meat grinder of life,² and I am not particularly interested in making sure that they're interests are protected. 

Whether they know it or not, this band of thieves is targeting people who buy directly into the to the biggest "machines" in the State of Colorado. I'd like to buy them a drink. Maybe even one of Colorado's many (many) microbrews.

Baroness von Jeer

 

 

¹ My apologies for my behavior last week. I had just missed the latest episode of Sherlock and it didn't record because DVR was too full and now I have to wait for the DVD to get here before I can see it and WHAT IN THE HOLY HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH AN ARTICLE LIKE THAT? 

² Note that this reference should be particularly poignant (and frankly ironic) for the victims, because if I know anything about Subaru drivers from Colorado, I know that they listen to a lot of Pink Floyd.

 

The Mockingbird Way To Insult Someone Is . . .

. . . by throwing the book at them. I'm not talking about handing down a lengthy sentence in the pokey. (As our motto indicates, we don't judge, we just mock. Also, I have not been appointed to the bench. [Editor's note: Yet.]) I'm talking about literally throwing a literal book at the target of one's ridicule. And the book has to be the dictionary. It's likely that the he or she who receives a good mocking from a 'Bird (HA!) will need assistance deciphering the insults that have been thrown at them (PUNS!). Perhaps it is adding injury to insult (or insult to injury depending on your view) but I think we can all agree that people respond better when heavy objects are thrown at their heads.

Baroness von Jeer

Dodgeball Training
Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story — MOVIECLIPS.com

 

 

The Stupidest Thing I Read Last Week: Are Employee Meltdowns Subsidized?

"The perfect boyfriend? Or a sociopath?"

I found that quote in an article which purportedly helps one ascertain whether or not the person he or she is dating has sociopathic tendencies. With this one, I don't even know where to start or in what direction to take it. I am meant to read this and understand that people can't tell the difference between a loving life partner and Michael Myers? Shouldn't the classic warning signs of sociopathy described in the article like lying, emotional manipulation, and predatory stares be enough of a deterrent in general? Is this additional "they may be a sociopath" tip necessary to assist one in their decision-making process? 

What I am taking away from all this is that I live in a world where people a) are desperate enough to date sociopaths, b) probably don't know it, and c) may be empowered to leave this person who is potentially criminally insane by an article found on Yahoo! Shine. Fantastic. I suppose I am expected to treat these people with respect or something as well. Not likely. Look, if your boyfriend is overly possessive and fixes his gaze on you in a manner resembling the Green River Killer, sorry, but I am unable to relate. On any level. Leave me out of the human race if this level of idiocy, self-absorption and patheticness is an integral part of membership. And why should I have to even explain myself? I am clearly not the problem here. It is you, people who need this sort of counseling. YOU. YOOUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

-Baroness von Jeer

 

Marry, Fuck, Kill: Damn Fine Bunch of Men Out There

We are 'Birds living in a material world, but sometimes it's necessary to look to the virtual one for inspiration. And men. Gorgeous, gorgeous men. Yes, the rollicking adventure known as Marry, Fuck, Kill is back, now with more sci fi/fantasy/murder mystery to liven things up a bit. In this episode, our intrepid investigators are Baroness "Hey Krycek" von Jeer and Madame "Damn Fine Cup of Coffee!" Taunt, and the characters they are studying are Fox Mulder, Special Agent Dale Cooper, and Luther.

The truth is out there, in someone's pants.

The Madame quips:

MARRY:    I’m going to ignore the tons of emotional and extraterrestrial baggage involved with this man and marry former Special Agent Fox Mulder. He is smart, driven, has a perfectly dry wit and knows all the words to the Shaft theme song. We would have to evade what is left of the Syndicate and perhaps his former bosses at the FBI, but that would translate to exciting world travels, and his obsession with capital T truth would lead to spiritual enlightenment/good stories. Not a bad recipe for a marriage.

FUCK:    Luther, because he is this man, unhinged, and with an English accent. Do the math. (I can’t, I’ll be busy.)

KILL:    While Special Agent Dale Cooper is a man with intelligence, kindness, and a spiritual-like devotion to nature, coffee and pie, he is apparently morally weak, and his succumbing to evil symbolized the corruption of innocence and the general decay of society. Thusly, I should kill him before all that happens. Right? Is that how it would work? Is that an owl?! HELP.

The Baroness states, in exposition that is wittily crafted:

MARRY:    Luther. It's true that he comes with a lot of baggage- his first wife was murdered, he has a thing with a serial killer who's on the lam- but he lives in London and he's obsessed by his work. I will be left to my own devices in the best city in the world quite often.

 

FUCK:    Mulder. He's smart, cute, and has got a great sense of humor, but commitment is not an option. He's a porn-addicted, Elvis devotee whose partner/love interest carries a gun that she uses freely, sometimes even on him. Not worth it.

 

KILL:    Special Agent Dale Cooper. This is a necessary evil, as it were. While he possesses a ton of great qualities- intelligence, looks, a deeply-rooted enthusiasm for coffee- if I recall correctly he is also possessed by the scariest spirit in the history of the universe. A spirit who tortures and eventually kills his possessees. It's for the best for both Agent Cooper and my 10-year-old self who didn't sleep for weeks after the "Who Killed Laura Palmer" episode.

We are not alone in the universe, except maybe in the metaphorical sense, at least after this madness. But our pursuit of the sexy truth is unrelenting. Sorry about that.

Does it look like we're joking?

The Mockingbirds

The Stupidest Thing I Read Last Week: An Ex-Swan-keeper

 

"Maybe he didn't fight back enough when the swan attacked him."

 A man was kayaking on a lake, his kayak capsized, a swan charged at him, and he drowned. True story. But how is it possible? Well, for starters, he was kayaking on the lake because he was tending to some swans that are kept on property as a means of keeping geese away (presumably, one of the swans under his care was the very same murderous swan that ended him). He was a swan-keeper, if you will. Apparently, once the kayak capsized and he was in the water, the swan flapped its wings frantically at the swan-keeper and this somehow kept him from surfacing for air.¹ The swan-keeper's father-in-law (quoted above) is left with only his grief and his speculations as to how it all can have happened. I shall speculate no more about one thing: this is The Stupidest Thing I Read Last Week. 

Firstly and foremostly, I had to confirm that using swans as a means of keeping geese off one's property is something that people actually do. Apparently so, but I am not sold on the idea. Aren't you just trading one potentially volatile and property damaging nuisance for another? And if you insist on such tactics, why didn't this swan-keeper receive better on-the-job training? At the very least he should have had a few emergency swan attack drills. He should have been put in a controlled environment with faux swans flying directly at his head to see how he would react before he was sent out to face the live ones on his own. This tragedy could have been avoided.

We should know by now that we cannot predict and/or harness nature in any meaningful way. Just be grateful the swans haven't mobilized.

Baroness von Jeer

Crows on the Playground
The Birds — MOVIECLIPS.com

 

¹ I haven't actually done any research and/or number crunching to confirm this (it's not The Mockingbird Way to make a statement), but, statistically speaking, I may I have heavily favored stories where people get maimed and/or killed in a comical fashion as of late. In defense of me, I myself am maimed in comical fashion on a regular basis at the hands of The Madame. It's a cycle of abuse, but I guess those of you who read my column on a regular basis know all about that.

The Mockingbird Way To Spend A Friday Night Is . . .

. . . at happy hour. All week, we here at Casa Mockingbird work hard for the money (so hard for it honey), so there's no better way to end it all (ha!) than to enjoy some reasonably-priced drinks and eats with coworkers. It can be a cruel, cruel, world, and happy hour is the perfect mechanism to propel oneself into the weekend while not spending too much of that cash you just spent all week earning. And, if the preceding week was particularly difficult, happy hour ends early enough to allow you to spend the rest of the night fantasizing about how to exact the perfect revenge on your sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical, bigot of a boss. Unfortunately, my boss is an abusive, autocratic, Metallica-obsessed, tyrannical blog editrix who also comes along with me to happy hour. It makes it difficult for me to plot revenge, as any sort of verbalized dissent ends in physical violence. Still, there's cheap drinks!

Baroness von Jeer

Girl's Night Out
Nine to Five — MOVIECLIPS.com

 

Marry, Fuck, Kill: And The Band Played On

And on and on, and so forth and henceforth, et cetera, et cetera, ad infinitum. We will leave no stone unturned and no male untouched as we Mockingbirds marry, fuck and kill our way across the globe. We are still evaluating musical folk, and in this round the players are Dame "Jack White is The New Black" Derision and Baroness "Newsted Doesn't Get Enough Love" von Jeer, and the playees are, in alphabetical order, Lenny Kravitz, Lars Ulrich and Thom Yorke.

Bang a gong or something of that ilk.

The Dame in sotto voce: (This is a perplexing set of choices because whom I pick to kill, might in a most unfortunate ironic turn, cause not one, but two fellow 'Birds to kill me. You, readers, are my witnesses, just in case this winds up being my last post.)

MARRY:    Thom Yorke. This is not the choice for 99.9% of the masses, but I do not care nor does that keep me from choosing him as my lawfully wedded husband. I would be surrounded by musical genius and would gladly become his baby machine. Please note that I do not say this about anyone. There are only a few living, breathing men that I could say this about, so you best know I'm not kidding. Did I mention that if my soul could sing, it would sound like his voice? Mock me all you want about his uneven eyes or spastic dancing. I. Love. Him. No...really, can we make this happen? Please?

FUCK:    Lenny Kravitz, as I will gladly take sloppy seconds from Denise Huxtable if he will sing my favorite songs off of Mama Said to me after he catches his breath. While we spoon. What can I say? The man is hot, whether it's long dreads, short dreads or no hair at all. He also happens to be a Gemini, his middle name is Albert (which is a great fucking name) and his mom was on The Jeffersons.  Hel-lo, bonus points.

KILL:    Lars Ulrich. I'm sorry, Baroness and Madame, you know I, too, loves me some Metallica (METALLICA4EVA!) and all, but poor Lars just can't come into my bedroom.  Unless he's going to set up his drum set and play for me. Despite having the requisite awesome qualities like being a drummer in a band I love, unfortunately it is his physical traits (as well as the fact he's up against Thom and Lenny) that disqualify him altogether.  He just doesn't meet the minimum height requirement necessary to gain entrance into this palace.


The Baroness strums her acoustic thoughtfully:

MARRY:    Mr. Ulrich. I know this seems like it would be a knee jerk reaction for me to choose to marry a Metallican. But, in the interest of fully participating in the exercise, I considered several factors before arriving at my final decision. Like, could I marry someone when there is no physical attraction? (I share The Madame's inability to view the musicians I love most in a sexual way. Besides, he prefers women who are taller than him, and I prefer men who are taller than me. Since we are the same height, it'll never work. I guess you could say we see eye to eye. Ha!) And, could I handle his incessant talking? This is particularly problematic for me as I talk almost as much as him. I don't think we would be able to convince people to hang out with us. Except for Kirk. Kirk does whatever Lars says.
 
FUCK:    Lenny Kravitz. He's gorgeous, friendly, laid back (even if it's chemically induced), and since I can't stand his music, I won't feel like a groupie.

KILL:    Thom Yorke. As a general rule, I try not to judge artists by the quality of their fan base. But Thom Yorke fans are, for the most part, the most self-serious, self-righteous and blowhardy people on the planet. It makes it hard to see past that, and I can't resist the opportunity to see their faces upon hearing the news that their savior is no longer with us.


The end. And this truly is the day the music died.

No, we are not above making that joke,

The Mockingbirds

The Stupidest Thing I Read Last Week: A Hit and Run? Sha. Right. As if.

 

"There's no crime here. She fell down on her bicycle"

  

Recently, a Los Angeles resident and avid cyclist suffered some pretty serious injuries while riding through a neighborhood at night. For the record, I hope the cyclist (hereinafter "Injured Cyclist") makes a speedy and full recovery. Also for the record, her friend (hereinafter "Injured Cyclist's Friend", or "ICF", if you are into that whole brevity thing), who reported to the police that the cyclist's injuries were the result of a hit and run, has gone mental. See, the story Injured Cyclist's Friend gave to authorities about what went down was a partial to complete fabrication. Shortly after the incident occurred, the police issued the above-quoted statement and dispelled any rumors that a car was somehow the cause of her accident. Someone telling stories of phantom car-to-bicycle collisions that are quickly and publicly debunked easily qualifies as The Stupidest Thing I Read Last Week. Game on!

 

I don't usually speak directly to the persons who are the subject of The Stupidest Thing I Read Last Week, but I feel it prudent to make an exception in this case. It seems like this crisis could have been averted if she had handled the situation in a more prudent manner. So, if you are out there, Injured Cyclist's Friend, below please find my open letter to you.

 

Dear Injured Cyclist's Friend,

 

You should have known that unless you are a criminal mastermind, a highly skilled crime scene investigator, or the most obnoxious (and awesome) English detective of all time, this ruse would not end well. Did you think you would never be found out? Because as far as I can tell, it took the police very little time and effort to refute your story, primarily because it was supported by no evidence at all. Further, did you have an idea of what might happen after you were found out? You, as a cyclist, are the member of a group of people who oftentimes find themselves in a very vulnerable position and at great risk of injury, maiming and any number of horrible things that I would rather not mention in detail. Making up lies to implicate motorists when cyclists are injured of their own doing gives off the impression that you are abusing this position of vulnerability. It does not bring light to your struggles. It serves to discredit your community.

 

Next time, just tell the police that the accident occurred because your friend was trying to get the attention of an ex-boyfriend after he called her a psycho hose beast and refused her offering of a gun rack. Everyone's reputation would have been far less damaged.

 

Kind Regards,

 

Baroness von Jeer

 

 

The Stupidest Thing I Read Last Week: Close Encounters of the Dimwitted Kind

 
"She said she believed she had a rational mind, and just could not see how anyone could take seriously the idea that the mountain might be some sort of underground, UFO car park."

The end is nigh. That is, if the thousands of new age hippie types who, according to this article, are assembling by the thousand at the base of the Pic de Bugarach, a mountain in the French Pyrenees, are to be believed. Which, considering the fact that they also believe that the mountain is some sort of garage for alien spacecraft and that the owner/operators of such spacecrafts will emerge at the onset of the apocalypse in order to save those righteous followers who have descended upon the mountain and take them to destinations unknown, maybe we have a little bit longer than they expect? Regardless, and for the time being, there are a great many people traveling thousands of miles to make some sort of bizarre pilgrimage to this mountain under the assumption that salvation awaits them in the form of extraterrestrials (female extraterrestrials?) and the numbers are only expected to grow between now and December. Which is a timeframe based on an ancient Mayan calendar that has no apparent connection to the French mountain they have chosen to worship. For obvious reasons, it is The Stupidest Thing I Read Last Week.

Some poor unsuspecting English woman moved to the village where the mountain is located and has been inundated with these followers in recent months. Her reaction was captured quite well in the above-referenced quote. While I agree with her sentiments in principle, I myself am a bit more curious about the whole thing. I would very much like to know to what we can attribute their major malfunction. Ostensibly, they are under the impression that a) the end of days is coming in the next eight months even though over the past two millennia there have been countless predictions of a similar kind that never came true; and b) aliens have been waiting around to save them even though that has never actually come to be for all of the cults before them who had the exact same delusions. What makes them think this time is so different? Of course, I am not so curious as to engage them in conversation. I mean, these are the kind of people who chant and wear white robes (if we're lucky they're wearing robes, according to reports, there is a fair amount of nudity involved in their daily rituals) for a living.

And, would it really be that bad if they found out they were wrong? That the world as we know it will survive well into 2013 and beyond and they just spent a long time in a beautiful part of the world doing nothing of any actual import? Last time I checked, I'll be working during that time and not vacationing in the south of France. It's tragic (and mockable, if I am honest) when the desire to belong to something greater than oneself leads a person to such extremes. Surely I am not the first to point out that you, cultist, are already part of something greater than yourself. It's called the human race. Get into it.

The French government is reportedly very concerned that mass suicides will follow in the event they do not get carried off by a spaceship by the expected date. My concerns are slightly different. While the prospect of vast numbers of hippies being wiped of the face of the earth generally fills my heart with glee (I kid! It's only funny in theory, but it may be somewhat sad in practice) I prefer that the means be more poetic. Like, for instance, assuming the mountain really is an underground, UFO car park, come December, the aliens emerge to obliterate only those who worship at their feet and leave the rest of us to go about our business. That's comedy.

Baroness von Jeer