All Your Contents Belong To Us
White represents content available on more than one service. Red represents content only available in one place, i.e., the stuff you actually think you want.
I hate to be the bearer of bad news (actually not true) but I think I’ve figured out how it works. (I don’t just bitch, either. I’ll also include solutions. I’m proactive that way.)
- Netflix is the only source for Netflix Original programming: House of Cards and Orange Is The New Black.
- Hulu is the only source for Hulu Original programming: None come to mind but I do know they’ll have commercials.
- Amazon Prime has mostly the same shit.
- iTunes offers the same content but at premium ala carte prices.
- HBO is the only source for HBO Original programming: The Newsroom and Game Of Thrones.
- CBS is a bunch of greedy dillholes: Survivor and Big Bang Theory.
- MLB is the only source for most MLB Original programming but only if you have enough money. Otherwise they won’t even stream the goddamned World Series. (I was actually surprised by this, but only for a nanosecond.)
I prognosticated to my wife a long time ago that the days of accessing “content” would soon be coming to a close. This week we moved much closer to that reality. You like some shows on Hulu and some on Netflix? You’ll have to buy both even if the remaining majority of their DNA is essentially the same. Exclusivity is the ticket to getting customers to pay more than once. And make no mistake, it is all out global thermonuclear war on your wallet. That is the only thing that matters. They don’t do this for fun.
Such Nice Boys
We photobombed ourselves before it was cool.
As a pubic service, from time to time, I take the lyrics from hit songs, roll ’em around in my head a bit, think and ponder, and run them through the universal translator.
Do they mean something? I’ll find out.
“Hey, nonny, ding, dong!”
Yikes. Something tells me this one is going to be far too easy. As easy as drilling for oil in the quiffed pompadour of a 50s doo-wop singer.
Today’s blue plate special is a rockin’ little ditty from 1954 called Sh-Boom as performed by The Crew-Cuts.
Trivoids: Sh-Boom was originally an R&B hit for The Chords.
Sh-Boom
(excerpt)
Now every time I look at you
(hey you, across the room, i’m creepin’ from a distance)
Something is on my mind
(i’ll give you a hint, it’s sex!!)
Dat-dat-dat-dat-dat-duh
(is my clever onomatopoeia subtle enough?)
If you do what I want you to
(romance is doing what the man wants)
Baby, we’d be so fine
(by “we” i mean he who must be obeyed)
Think about these lyrics. Really think about them. I think you’ll see what I mean. If this song doesn’t make you want to Elvis your pelvis you don’t know diddly.
Proud sponsor of the American Scream
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: What of Mediocre Fred?
For newbies, Mediocre Fred is a decent, honest, hard-working guy. He doesn’t cheat on his taxes, obeys the law and is kind to small furry creatures. As such, he’s not exactly rewarded like a paragon of the American way.
Here in America we base our entire system of government on one simple principle: No freeloaders. You have to work for a living. As a nation we abhor the notion of those who work the system to get the promised land of freebies without pulling their own weight. Well, at least on the bottom end of the scale.
Mediocre Fred has worked every week of his life since he was 16. When still in school he worked part-time. After graduating with his high school diploma, he went full-time and has never looked back.
Over the decades Mediocre Fred has always worked. He’s had no pension, 401k plan, health insurance, vacation or paid days off. He just works. And when his fellow workers tried to unionize and the company closed and bulldozed the store and built a new non-union store across the street, Mediocre Fred always seemed to land on his feet. He’d just get a new job and keep his nose to that grindstone.
That’s what you’re supposed to do, right?
Continue reading →
Storage Whores
You can find the profit in human misery if you look for it.
We watched a few episodes of a so-called reality show about people who turn over storage units for a living, like it’s a career or something. It’s like the modern version of treasure hunting. Except it’s not.
One time a friend told me how she had lost a bunch of her possessions. It was mostly junk like furniture and knickknacks that wouldn’t fit at her house but it also included irreplaceable family heirlooms and stuff like family photos.
She stopped paying for the thing and – poof – her stuff was gone. “Why didn’t you tell me,” I cried. “I’d have paid your account so at least you could get the important shit.”
It was too late. The shit was gone. As in forever gone. There had been an auction. They sure didn’t waste any time.
Oh well. Easy come and super easy go.
I decided right then and there that I had to get me one of those shiny storage unit things. But I also had to remain true to myself and my core values. I was going to do this the Tom B. Taker way.
Continue reading →
Scream Within A Dream
Dimly I slowly become aware that I’m no longer asleep. When did that happen? I’m not really sure. My eyes become imperceptible slits just enough to perceive a bit of the world external to my body. That level of activity in my eyeballs takes an amazing amount of effort. Holy shit it’s dark. I suddenly realize I am curious. The burning question in my mind is obvious: What time is it? I pierce through an entirely new level of consciousness and become aware my body is in the wrong position if I ever hope to see the clock. What an incredible perception on my part. Some time later I realize this means I’m going to have to physically move if I’m ever going to obtain an answer to my question. Continue reading →
Living the dream – nevermore
It was a dark and stormy night. My wife and I were going to bed. Suddenly, a shot rang out.
This is the true story of last night.
We were fluffing our pillows and on final approach for nitey nite. Then my wife did something that happened to irritate me. No, I don’t remember now what it was. That isn’t germane to this tale. But I do remember quite clearly what I said in response.
“Just for that I’m going to close my eyes and repeat the name ‘Jessica Alba’ over and over again as I drift off to sleep.”
Hey. Never once have I ever claimed to be mature! A little directed dreaming as a method of revenge. What can I say? That’s just the way I roll.
I’m still baffled by what happened next, but this actually seemed to irritate my wife. The next thing I heard was my wife gently and quietly repeating these words as I was falling asleep: “mom … your mother … Beatrice.”
No!!!
She was trying to push Jessica Alba out of my dream. How rude.
This morning I woke up and realized that I did dream and I actually remember it. It went a little something like this:
I had gone back in time with Kirk and Spock. A terrible future was waiting for us and we had one chance to make things right. It was decided that I would be disguised as a Romulan and would sneak onto a Romulan ship. Meanwhile none of us were aware that Jean-Luc Picard was also planning a trip to the same moment in time, and was about to accidentally interfere with our plans. We were going to have to adapt quickly or it would be the end of the universe…
I’m not making this up. That was the actual dream. I must have woken up because that’s all I remember. I do remember thinking while I was dreaming, though, “I’d better remember this, because this shit is good. This will make an awesome movie!” Then I woke up and I have to admit, it all sounds a bit lame.
So I guess now we know what happens if you compromise between mom and Jessica Alba. Your mind doesn’t know how to cope so it settles on Star Trek as a defense mechanism.
Please enjoy the musical selection that our chef has paired with this article.
Shouts from the Abyss 
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