The Price is Wrong, Bitch

“The plaintiff submits that it is ‘completely unreasonable’ to suggest that the defendant could reliably hit a ‘Happy Gilmore’ shot, let alone after consuming at least nine beers and half a pint of tequila.”

Haven't we all been there?

A judge -- who hails from Canadia, where fun goes to die --has just ruled that the "Happy Gilmore shot" breaches a duty of care on the golf course. Therefore, if you hurt someone with it -- and you will -- you might be liable for damages.

As always, lawyers are the first to suck the fun out of everything. What will be the next sports move ripped off from a movie to fall? The Flying V? The Annexation of Puerto Rico?

God, what if they outlaw the knucklepuck? Is nothing sacred anymore?

Quote of the Day LVI

Lisa considers becoming a Wiccan:

Lisa: Are you a minority group as defined by Ivy League admissions?

Wiccan: Cornell and Dartmouth.

The Young and the Restless

This weekend, I found out that I am too old for this shit. Consider the following item Murtaughed:

I am too old to try to travel to NYC, stay out until six in the morning, go to a diner and get breakfast and hop on a bus back to Boston, pass out on the bus, and then be able to have a productive day back home.

I used to be able to do that. Not anymore.

Now, after about twelve hours of drinking at events surrounding the Cornell-BU hockey game at Madison Square Garden, at 3 a.m. I was ready to fall to the floor in a heap, assume the fetal position, and welcome death. Even though I did pass out on a couch for four hours, slept through most of the bus ride, and took an hour-long nap at home, I still feel like I ran two marathons. I've rarely been so tired in my life.

You know that scene in Almost Famous when the kid finally comes back home, walks into his bedroom, and approaches his bed with arms outstretched in a state of utter bliss while a choir plays softly in the background?

That's going to be me at approximately 9 pm today.

Also, I'm too old to sleep on a couch. Everything is creaking. Good Lord.

Daddy's Home

Ladies and Gentlemen, the doctors have cleared me.

I may now resume any and all alcoholic activities.

Hide your women and children.

I'm back.

Random Video of the Day LXXVI

The Muppets sing "Bohemian Rhapsody." As always, Animal steals the show.

The Day the Mustache Died

I'm afraid I have a disappointing announcement to make.

Despite my best efforts, I have been forbidden from growing a mustache by my supervisor at the criminal clinic.

I explained that they were for charity and that literally dozens of us were growing them around America.

Nevertheless, it seems that, at the courts, some judges don't take us seriously, mostly because we're students. And it would behoove us not to add fuel to the fire of not-being-taken-with-seriousness by growing sketchy facial hair.

So unfortunately I was forced to shave before I was allowed to represent our clients in a court of law. I apologize to all those who were looking forward to seeing the Chester the Molester version of me.

On the plus side, at least now parents won't take their children and flee when they see me walking down the sidewalk.

I am as disappointed as everyone. Still, you can donate to either my phantom mustache or to the actual courageous mustaches of my fellow growers by clicking here. Thank you.

Quote of the Day LV

Following my performance as an accused rapist at the mock trial today, the presiding judge came up to me and said:

"You did a terrific job. You did not come off as a rapist at all."

It's a relief to hear that, I guess. So thanks?

Trial of the Semester

Today, my trial advocacy class comes to an end.

Last week I had my own trial. My partner and I valiantly defended a department store from a litigious plaintiff - a woman who was stopped and questioned about how she might have shoplifted and was then subsequently arrested. As a result, she claimed, she suffered post-traumatic stress disorder.

I mean, come on, right? We've all been there. Who hasn't been falsely arrested? And none of us shakes and throws up and can't be alone anymore.

Due mostly to sharp questioning and a closing argument on par with Daniel Webster, our advocacy skills were enough to secure a judgment for our client on two out of three claims. The last claim was lost because we were barred procedurally from introducing a key third witness, but no matter. Although I was unable to work a mocking, "Oh the humanity!" into my closing argument, two out of three ain't bad.

Today, the other half of the class will perform their own trial. I have been commissioned as an actor in one of those trials.

My part?

The defendant in a criminal trial: a gas station attendant who is accused of raping a pregnant woman.

Yeesh.

While I am flattered that I was the first choice for this role, this is a difficult part to play. But apparently, my character didn't actually do the crime he is accused of committing. That should be a great motivation. I mean, I can't go back to prison. I'd get passed around like a pack of cigarettes.

My most pressing question about this role is, how do I dress? I would assume that this character would be in custody. However, it is probably unwise to walk around Boston in a prison jumpsuit while on my way to the courthouse.

So what do I wear instead? A suit? Gas station overalls? Lots of denim? How much chest hair do I show? I mean, I say that I seduced this woman, so there should be a little, right? On the other hand, she says that I raped her, so it should not be that much. So how much puts me on the right side of the line?

I just hope I don't get typecast.

Random Video of the Day LXXV

Neil Young covers that one song about Bel-Air that all kids our age know.

Lost and Found

On or around the 25th of August, I finally succumbed to temptation and started watching Lost.

At long last, three months later, I have watched every episode in order, and have come to the end of season five.

I am now all caught up and no longer have to close my eyes and chant LALALALA every time Lost is mentioned on TV or the internet.

It is really hard to try to get into an incredibly popular show five years after it came on the air and remain spoiler free.

By the way, if you haven't watched it and think that maybe someday you will, this is where you close your eyes and go LALALALA, although I'd whisper if I were you and I were in the library, or class.

This is what I knew about the show before I started watching it:

A bunch of people crashed on an island and found polar bears and a monster made out of smoke. They fought some people called The Others, who, I assumed, were other people on the island who perhaps owned the polar bears. There was a hatch. A guy was paralyzed and then suddenly he was not paralyzed. A hobbit played a crack addict and was later killed off. A bunch of them got off the island and then wanted to go back. The island could move and you could only find it if you followed an invisible path without straying from a thin and narrow line. The island also moved through time.

It still sounds as preposterous now as it did back then, before I started watching it. Don't get me wrong, it's a great show -- I am now as addicted as a common junkie and can't wait for it to come back on the air.

I mean, it just has so many OH SHIT moments. Remember when Michael shot Ana Lucia and Libby? OH SHIT. Or when Sayid shot the young Ben Linus? OH SHIT. Or when The Others kidnapped Walt and shot Sawyer? OH SHIT. Or when it turns out Bernard is white? OH SHIT.

It does have some great moments. The opening scene when we find out there's a crazy Scottish guy in the hatch? Or when Jack is shown playing football with The Others? Or when it turns out The Others are living in a nice little village on the island? Or when we find out depressed Jack with the beard is around three years after they leave the island? Or when Arzt explodes?

BUT GODDAMNIT WHY DID THEY HAVE TO TRAVEL THROUGH TIME?

Seriously, every time anyone throws time travel into the equation it just screws everything up. I mean, I understand how it makes for a handy narrative technique -- we don't know when or where we are so everything can be a surprise and maybe we get to see Juliet again. But you know you're treading on thin ice when hey have to call in Hurley as a surrogate to ask the questions we are all asking only to have everybody shrug and says, I don't know, just roll with it.

But you know what? I'll give it to them because it's an interesting show and they have some great characters and even if it meanders it still tells a great story. Plus, there are so many questions.

What happens after the bomb explodes? Why does that guy not age? Who is pretending to be Locke? Why introduce Jacob and kill him off immediately? Did those bastards really have to kill off Juliet? Where are Claire and her baby? When did Sawyer become so much better than Jack? Why are Jin and Sun so boring? Has Sayid ever smiled? Why doesn't Hurley lose weight? Why is Kate so hot? How good are Desmond and Ben Linus? Are we done traveling through time?

And most importantly, didn't this use to be a show about people stranded on an island trying to figure out how to get food and water? What the hell happened?

The Mustache Man

Incidentally, the mustache growing has begun.

I shaved on Thursday and have not brought a razor to my face since. It will stay that way until Thanksgiving day, where I will shear off all the hair on my face, leaving the eyebrows and mustache untouched. I will repeat this four times, until I have a mustache and become indistinguishable from Burt Reynolds.

Again I will reiterate that I do not do this for fame and fortune. I do this, instead, for the children.

Any money you choose to donate in support of el mustacho goes to Donorschoose.org. Any amount you can spare, from ten to ten trillion dollars, would be greatly appreciated.

So please, click here and contribute. It only takes a minute and helps a great cause. Thanks!

You will be rewarded with pictures of my Chester the Molester impression, which you can point and laugh at and use to scare children.

We will now return to our regularly scheduled programming.

The Astronaut Charmer

On How I Met Your Mother last night, Barney Stinson, free from the shackles of a relationship, re-opened The Playbook -- a collection of tricks, cons, spiels, etc. to get women to go home with you.

Sprinkled in between gems such as the "Don't Drink That," the "Lorenzo von Matterhorn," and the "My Penis Grants Wishes," Barney unveiled the "Snasa."

The gist of it?

You tell a woman you're an astronaut.

Ladies, and gentlemen, I've used that line. I've gone up to girls at bars and told them I was an astronaut and they believed me!

So imagine my wonder -- nay, pride! -- when the most enlightened character in television history used one of my shticks to woo blondes who'll believe anything if you say it with equal parts conviction and nonchalance.

While Barney gussied it up and added the "secret" prefix to NASA (hence, "Snasa"), I feel like a young rookie QB who has just seen Tom Brady go into a game and use one of the plays I've drawn up.

I could not be prouder.

And now, for my next trick, I'll be playing the part of "The South American Vintner."

Oliver Wendell Holmes with the First Pick

Obviously, people love fantasy sports. It is so invigorating, in fact, that old folks' homes use it as a weapon to stave off death.

I myself spend entire Sundays surreptitiously checking Stattracker, cursing the underachieving Bernard Berrian and wondering whether Greg Jennings is invisible and if that's why he never gets thrown to.

Come baseball season, I'll happily spend twenty minutes a day setting my roster, pouncing on rookies only to later discard them like yesterday's blonde, and wishing a slow painful death on my third round pick who was injured six innings into the season.

With this I must balance my outside interests, which unfortunately includes paying occasional attention to law school.

I always thought that never the twain shall meet.

But from the shadows emerged some huge nerd who has wedded these two seemingly disparate activities.

Ladies and gentlemen, Fantasy SCOTUS.

That's right, we have now turned the Supreme Court of the United States into a venue wherein we can pick and choose justices, compete to see who has the greatest predictive ability, and bask in the glory of our opponents' defeat.

Of course, we must reconcile some unappealing facts. Fantasy sports, nerdy to being with, have now been nerded up to an astronomical degree. It's not quite Fantasy Star Trek. But damn.

Nothing illustrates this like the questions one would ask:

Who is the first round pick? OK, granted, in the league you don't pick justices in the traditional fantasy league sense, but you must still decide which justices are the linchpins. Who is going to be the key to more majorities? Chief Justice Roberts? Or Anthony "Swinger" Kennedy? Who is a throwaway vote? Breyer or Ginsburg? Imagine if we had seen this in the heady, unpredictable days of Sandra Day? Will she vote to affirm or reverse? Even the Talented Mr. Roto would cry and hide.

Just what is Clarence Thomas going to do? Will he vote like it's 1868? Or like it's 1789? In other words, will this be the one case each year where Thomas splits from Scalia? And will even Scalia go, "Daaamn?"

Is the Court going to affirm the 7th Circuit in the upcoming Kucana v. Holder, and let us know finally what is the scope of the jurisdictional stripping provision of 8 U.S.C. Section 1252(a)(2)(B)(ii) and whether the statute removes jurisdiction from federal courts to review rulings on motions to reopen by the Board of Immigration Appeals?

Or what about Kawasaki Kisen Kaisha v. Regal-Beloit Corporation, on whether the Carmack Amendment to the Interstate Commerce Act of 1887, which governs certain rail and motor transportation by common carriers within the United States, 49 U.S.C. §§ 11706 (rail carriers) & 14706 (motor carriers), applies to the inland rail leg of an intermodal shipment from overseas when the shipment was made under a “through” bill of lading issued by an ocean carrier that extended the Carriage of Goods by Sea Act (COGSA), 46 U.S.C. § 30701. Will they affirm the 9th Circuit or remand it for further consideration consistent with the present holding?

Fascinating questions like these will come up every day. Who can resist predicting? Will it be a 7-2 vote? Or a 7-1 vote?

Why 7-1, you ask? Oh, you forgot Sotomayor had to recuse herself because she heard this on the lower court? Well, SUCKS to be you, articles editor of the law review! How does it feel to forget such a simple fact? How does it feeeeel? I did remember because I'm AWESOME. Who da man? Who da man? You can all go SUCK IT.

I need a time out.

Joining the AA

During my current incarnation as a teetotaler, I have gone to several bars and parties. I have abstained from drinking during these occasions.

However, people are always surprised when they see me without a drink in my hand. And I can't blame them. It's like seeing John Henry without his hammer.

So they always go, "Whoa," and ask me, "Why aren't you drinking?"

And, because being on meds for a stomach virus is equal parts boring and TMI, I always say, "I've just joined A.A. I'm two weeks sober." And then I start digging in my pockets. "Hold on, let me find my chip."

Inevitably, I get three reactions to that:

1. Hahahaha. You? No, come on. Really, why aren't you drinking?

2. Oh! Um ... I see ... uh ... OK. I ...

3. FINALLY.

Fine, I'm lying about the last one. No one has said "Finally!" Thank God.

A surprising amount of people, however, have had reaction number two. And it's hard to blame them for that.

Because what do you say to someone who tells you that they just joined A.A.? It's such an awkward answer. What are you supposed to say? "I'm sorry?" "Oh, good luck with that?" "Oh geez, that sucks. Here, can I get you a drink?"

I deeply regret any awkwardness that my comment may have caused anyone or their family.

Random Video of the Day LXXIV

You know what today is? Let's scare the crap out of everybody day! Drunk T lady, take it away!

Charting the Jobless

Hi, folks!

The recession is over! The Dow Jones Index, long regarded as the only factor to consider when assessing the economic health of the world, surges heroically past 10,000 points! Hostile takeovers are fashionable again! Credit card regulations are soon to take place, even as credit card company push up rates to 30 percent, a benchmark of which even the mob would be ashamed!

In other words, we should soon return to the halcyon days of fifteen months ago, right? The days when dollars flowed like donuts, $350 wastebaskets were acceptable, and people could enjoy a dessert for two -- Tahitian vanilla bean ice cream in a pool of cognac, drizzled in the world's most expensive chocolate, Amadei Porcelana, covered with shaved white, black, and clear truffles, topped with edible 25-carat gold leaf?

And surely someone's plugged up the ship called Employment and made it seaworthy again, no?

No?

Crap.

It seems the vessel Unemployment is more crowded than ever. People from all walks of life have congregated on this ship, hoping their collective weight does not end up sending it, and us, to Davy Jones' locker down where the sun is but a rumor.

At least we can now know the make-up of the crew. Here, in all its graphic glory, is a chart outlining which groups are the ones most affected by the unemployment monster.

You can break it down by race, age bracket, and education. No matter what you choose, you'll be terrified.

Send help.

Mustache Up

Mustaches have long been regarded as the red-headed stepchild of facial hair. Since the end of the1970s, the mustache has been relegated to pornography and mug shots.

Look at it this way: in a full bus, every single seat will be occupied – even the seat next to the 280-pound guy who breathes with his mouth open and brought a family-size bag of Cheetos for the trip. Every seat, that is, except for the one next to Mustache Pete.

The poor girl (it’s always a girl) unfortunate enough to be the last person to board the bus will look up and down the aisle, looking for someone brave enough to sit next to the Mustache Man so that she won’t have to. But there are no longer any heroes. She will spend the entire bus ride locked in prayer, staring out of the corner of her eye at Chester the Molester, trying to will his hands to stay still and never wander.

In this day and age, mustaches simply have that connotation. They are associated with Chris Hansen, poor decisions, and a general lack of self-awareness. Legitimate newspapers have chronicled the slow decline and baffling death of the mustache. To cultivate a mustache, quite simply, is to give up.

Despite all this, I will be rocking a mustache for nearly a month. I will shave once a week, trimming everything but the areas above and next to my upper-lip. I will walk around in public like this, in the full view of my peers and acquaintances.

Why am I doing this?

Quite simply, for charity.

I have signed on with the Boston chapter of Mustaches for Kids, a charity drive that, despite its terrifying name, is a terrific cause. I will be what they call a “grower” – one among the unfortunate souls who dispense with dignity and sex life for a month, in order to grow a sweet mustache.

People, impressed by the sacrifice of the growers, would then contribute any amount they can spare to fund the charity. In the past, Mustaches for Kids has raised over one million dollars for various charities around the country. This is the first year where we have a Boston chapter, and we’re looking to kick it off with a bang.

This year, we will be growing for DonorsChoose.org, which helps support underfunded public schools throughout the country. Many of you, I’m sure, are familiar with the organization and the terrific work it does. Supporting them is a great cause.

Look, I could say I’m going to run a marathon and try to get people to sponsor me. But I’d die somewhere around mile 0.6. And that’s not fun for anyone. I could just shamelessly ask for money, but come on, I should at least make some sort of effort. A sacrifice is demanded.

And so I will mustache up for a month. I will, of course, be updating this blog with periodic photographs of my burgeoning creepiness, every week or so, beginning on November 19, 'Clean Shave Day.' If you’d like to donate and support my mustache, or that of any of the other growers, by all means click here. You can join the Facebook group. You can come meet us and bid Godspeed on the last day of our normalcy. Heck, you can even be a grower yourself. We’d love for you to join.

Seriously, contact me if you want to join. I'm more than happy to throw away your razor. And then get you a new one because these are mustaches, not beards. Aaaaanyway....

As a last incentive, I’d like to mention something that might get some of you on board.



Yes, folliculaphilia. Yes, it exists. For every 100 women out there, 2 are attracted only to men with mustaches. 98 hate it. Hate it. But if you can find the 2 folliculaphiles, they will be on you like you are a combination of Burt Reynolds and Tom Selleck. They might be few and far between, but if you find one, you’re golden.

In the Bible it says, he who hooketh up with someone while rocking a mustache will be forever blessed, and hold all bragging rights.

Who are we to argue with the Jesus?

The Last Temptation of Charlie

As many of you know, I am still mired in the middle of a three-and-a-half week stretch wherein I can't drink. I still haven't touched a drop of alcohol in almost two weeks -- a career-best stretch that nevertheless is not without its temptations.

Yesterday came perhaps the most arduous test of all. Yesterday, my buddies threw a party that both commemorated the end of the Fall MPRE and the birthday of two friends. I went to this party, determined not to drink, and now I know what it was like for Jesus when he was out in the desert and was tempted by the Devil.

As Marc said, in what is one of the Top 5 compliments I have ever received, "You not being able to drink is like when Beethoven went deaf."

I was tempted from the start. Almost immediately upon arriving at the party, I was commissioned as a beer pong partner. After explaining to my partner that I could not drink, she graciously agreed to drink for me. Terrific. I started playing, and that's when I began to have trouble. Perhaps it is instinct, perhaps it is muscle memory, but every time the opposing team made a cup, my hand reflexively went for the cup in order to drink, only to stop with a start when I realized what was going on. Pavlov could not be more proud.

The party continued in that vein through the night. I spent most of it alternating between soda and regular water packed with ice, as all those around me got progressively rowdier. The soda water was so I would have something to do with my hands. Having rarely never been at a party without the comforting anchor of a drink in my hand, I found myself wondering what the hell to do with my hands. Where do I put them? How do I use them? So instead of leaning against a column like some greaser in the 50s, I chugged soda water like it was Pepto Bismol. Surprisingly, it worked.

At some point, a group of undergraduate girls came to the party -- whether they were lost or whether one of us is a sketchy, sketchy bastard is still undetermined at this point. Then the party turned into a dance party, people started singing, someone nearly fell down a flight of stairs, etc.

And there I was, sober as a Mormon, sipping maniacally from a cup of ice water.

But you know what? I actually had a lot of fun. Despite being literally the only sober person at a huge party, and despite the certainty that, when the cops inevitably came, I would be the one to talk to them, the party was very enjoyable. Before I knew it and much to my surprise, two in the morning had rolled around.

It is comforting to know that I can still enjoy myself in a situation where I'm the only minority in the room (yes, yes, I know). I yelled at people, sang loudly and out of tune, and toasted to the passage of the Health Bill, all without the aid of the special sauce. Perhaps booze is to fun as ketchup is to fries -- all it does is put the Spring in Springfield.

Plus, you know what? This no hangover thing is kind of great.

Random Video of the Day LXXIII

I can't explain why this is funny, it just is.

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

Lessons in Stalking

Yesterday, our assignment for the Criminal Clinic involved investigations. Therefore, we were given a list of random questions and had to come into class with the answers.

These were the kinds of questions we were asked, slightly redacted:

1. What is Tom Brady's social security number?
2. Name two golf courses near Larry Bird's home in Florida.
3. Is Amy [Fisher] of Lindberg Ave. in Newton a real estate agent or a social worker?
4. Whose phone number is (617)264-[9999]?

The answer to the last question, by the way, was the Dean of the law school.

I have never felt sketchier in my life. In my mind, the better you are at this assignment, the more the rest of us should fear you.

The fact that this information is available online to anyone who can access Lexis is incredibly terrifying. I will immediately seek out new aliases so I can continue to elude capture.

Now, if you'll pardon me, I'm going to take a long, scalding shower. Ick.

Mickey the Wasteland Overlord

In their ongoing effort to burn down and raze every last vestige of our childhood (What on God's good earth is an Ace Bunny and a Danger Duck?), the powers that be seem to have set their heights on that most hallowed of hallowed grounds: the Disney Empire.

I never much cared for Mickey Mouse. I thought him bland and unnaturally cheerful. He struck me as the sort of person who would voluntarily go to his own lobotomy.

I'm a Donald Duck man, myself. I very much enjoyed his angst and uncontrollable rage blackouts. He was a much more interesting character. The whole Disney menagerie, in fact, held far more water than Mickey -- the folksy wisdom of Goofy, the resourcefulness of Chip 'n' Dale, Rescue Rangers, and Uncle Scrooge's unwavering greed and eccentricities.

But now, as the apocalypse approaches, Disney wants to retool the characters to give them more of an edge. Let's go to our paper of record:

For decades, the Walt Disney Company has largely kept Mickey Mouse frozen under glass, fearful that even the tiniest tinkering might tarnish the brand and upend his $5 billion or so in annual merchandise sales. One false move and Disney could have New Coke on its hands.

Way to subtly refer to Walt Disney's cryogenically frozen body. The implications of this statement are very disturbing: Are we meant to infer that, just like the pharaohs and their servants in ancient Egypt, upon his death Walt Disney had his characters shut in and buried with him in the Disney Vault? (Shudders).

Also, when are we going to stop using New Coke as the go-to joke for failed brand re-imaginations? We need a replacement (how ironic). May I nominate The Jay Leno Show?

Now, however, concerned that Mickey has become more of a corporate symbol than a beloved character for recent generations of young people, Disney is taking the risky step of re-imagining him for the future.

Oooooh. Future Mickey? This is awesome. I wonder if he'll run into Wall-E. And then find that all of his friends have died in the zombie apocalypse.

The first glimmer of this will be the introduction next year of a new video game, Epic Mickey, in which the formerly squeaky clean character can be cantankerous and cunning, as well as heroic, as he traverses a forbidding wasteland.

Oh crap! They are sending Mickey to the zombie apocalypse. I love the pitch of this video game. Mickey Mouse meets Cormac McCarthy's The Road. I wonder if the Beagle Boys will play the role of the cannibal den. No wonder Mickey will be "cantankerous and cunning."

In Epic Mickey, the foundation of which a group of interns dreamed up in 2004, the title character still exhibits the hallmarks that younger generations know: he is adventurous, enthusiastic and curious. “Mickey is never going to be evil or go around killing people,” Mr. Spector said.

"But if people try to kill him," Mr. Spector continued. "Mickey will answer will deadly force. He will cut up those bitches like a chef at a Benihana."

But Mickey won’t be bland anymore, either. “I wanted him to be able to be naughty — when you’re playing as Mickey you can misbehave and even be a little selfish,” Mr. Spector said.

Oh my God! Naughty Mickey? It's a Japanese cartoon artist's wet dream. Parents, hide your children.

In many ways, it is a return to Mickey at his creation. When the character made its debut in “Steamboat Willie” in 1928, he was the Bart Simpson of his time: an uninhibited rabble-rouser who got into fistfights, played tricks on his friends (pity Clarabelle Cow) and, later, was amorously aggressive with Minnie.

"Amorously Aggressive" might be the worst euphemism I've ever heard. I will adopt it forthwith. "Your honor, I was not sexually harassing the plaintiff. I was merely being amorously aggressive. As established in the landmark Mouse v. Mouse, this kind of behavior is non-actionable."

Epic Mickey, designed for Nintendo’s Wii console, is set in a “cartoon wasteland” where Disney’s forgotten and retired creations live. The chief inhabitant is Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, a cartoon character Walt Disney created in 1927 as a precursor to Mickey but ultimately abandoned in a dispute with Universal Studios.

Fun fact: Oswald the Lucky Rabbit was traded for Al Michaels (yes, the Al Michaels) a couple of years ago. This was so that Michaels could call football games on NBC. It is yet unclear as to whether NBC primetime is the barren wasteland referred to as the Epic Mickey setting.

In the game, Oswald has become bitter and envious of Mickey’s popularity. The game also features a disemboweled, robotic Donald Duck and a “twisted, broken, dangerous” version of Disneyland’s “It’s a Small World.” Using paint and thinner thrown from a magic paintbrush, Mickey must stop the Phantom Blot overlord, gain the trust of Oswald and save the day.

This might be the craziest paragraph in history. Let's break it down:

1. A "disemboweled, robotic Donald Duck?" Dear sweet baby Jesus! They killed Donald! Is this an example of what happens to you when you piss off the new Mickey and he cuts you? What did Donald do that made Mickey gut him? Hit on Minnie? On the plus side, it seems Cyborg Donald is the new Disney's version of the terminator. Oy.

2. A "twisted, broken, dangerous" version of "it's a Small World" differs from the original incarnation in that the new one, America is represented only by Detroit and the tram cars are made by Ford.

3. Mickey's weapon of choice against cyborg Donald is paint and thinner? Has he joined Charlie and begun huffing glue? Seriously, paint thinner is dangerous. I can't wait for the first liability suit stemming from some kid dumping a full can of thinner on the school bully.

Consumers will not be able to buy the game before fall of next year. Anticipation is intense. “Wow! This is amazing,” said Eli Gee on GameInformer.com. “I’m really... REALLY excited."

That Eli Gee of GameInformer.com does not start all his sentences with "Gee!"is a wasted opportunity of the highest order. I mean, he works for GameInformer.com. He's not getting laid anyway.

Considerable effort has gone into instilling a backdrop of choice and consequence. Players can either behave in an entirely happy way and help other characters — and have an easier go of it in the wasteland — or choose more selfish, destructive behavior with a harsher outcome, including a Mickey that starts to physically resemble a rat.

Ah! There we have it! You can be good and beat the game! Or you can be evil and turn into a rat!

What a complete and utter cop-out. They're not retooling the character at all. They're only conditioning children into pursuing the Disney way of life willingly. In essence, to beat the game, you either behave the way Mickey has always behaved and win, or you give him an edge and turn him into Mickey Rat. All they've done is add the illusion of choice into the brainwashing.

And if you don't believe that, perhaps you also believe that the priest in The Little Mermaid had a weird pleat in his pants.

A Tale of Two Evils

There was no good resolution to this. While not the abomination that was the 2000 Subway World Series, a clash between the Yankees and the Phillies was like pitting Freddy v. Jason, or Alien v. Predator. Whoever won, humanity lost.

That said, I would like to begrudgingly congratulate the Yankees on their victory today. You bought the fastest car and didn't crash it. Congratulations.

By the way, this doesn't change the fact that A-Rod is so incredibly weird, words can scarcely do it justice.

Pop Quiz, Hotshot

As I have mentioned before, my depositions class not only teaches us how to depose unfortunate bastards, but also fulfills the "professional responsibility" requirement that every law student must complete before he is loosed upon the world.

That said, the syllabus is such that we spend about 99 percent of the class on the depositions part of the equation.

Last week, the opportunity to explore the other 1 percent relating to the ethical rules and regulations that would cover "professional responsibility" finally arrived.

I am happy to report that, in this 1 percent of the time, we not only failed to learn professional responsibility, but as a whole demonstrated that we are highly unprofessional and very irresponsible.

Our professor attempted to teach us professional responsibility through a 30-minute, ungraded, anonymous clicker quiz. It did not go well. It went so badly, in fact, that now we have to take the quiz again, for real.

If I may offer several facts in our defense:

1. The quiz about the rules was actually scheduled for the week before the quiz actually took place. We actually studied for the quiz on the original date, only to be told that we would be doing it next week instead, for no readily apparent reason.

2. The professor, in what proved to be the turning point of the game, then mentioned that the quiz would be done anonymously through the use of a clicker. Therefore, it would be impossible to grade us on our performance.

3. What do you expect will happen when you say that to a bunch of 3Ls?

4. By the time the quiz rolled around, our "studying" had happened 15 days before. Expecting any of us to retain any information for more than 15 minutes following something borders on the absurd. Today, in fact, I walked into the bathroom and had forgotten whether I needed to use the stalls or the urinals. So I just left instead.

5. The quiz itself was preposterous. For most of the questions, she would give us the text of a rule, and then ask us whether the text was in rule 26(b) or 26(d)(3).

6. Yes, those really were the questions.

7. When she asked us the substance of the rules, we actually did quite well. Unfortunately, these were the minority of the questions.

8. Some of us discovered that, although we were usually only given 3 or 4 options, all 9 buttons on the clicker worked. Some of us thought that, when asked if it was option 1,2, or 3, and we answered with option 8, it would be funny. Some of us -- most of us, in fact -- are over 25 years old.

9. It was funny.

10. She had never told us which rules to actually study. No, not the numbers. We didn't know whether we need to study the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure, the Federal Rules of Evidence, or the Rules of Professional Responsibility, or any combination thereof.

So now we face a re-quiz, in what some of us call an unconstitutional procedure, because of double jeopardy and who will uphold the Fifth Amendment and whatnot, and plus, really?

In fact, there is talk of insurrection. Some have floated the idea of a sort of protest -- we actually didn't do badly on the quiz, and did well when asked what the rules meant. We only slipped when she asked which rule corresponded to which number. Knowing this might be a good party trick, but it is largely irrelevant in actual practice.

So now, it's protest time. While I'm opposed to a hunger strike, I will gladly picket outside the classroom while chanting "We Shall Overcome."

My hope is these protests do not become violent, but if I must die in the name of a worthy cause, so be it.

Damning Evidence

And then one day, I woke up, and I found out that I was 549 pages behind in my Evidence reading.

Holy Jebus.

I really don't know what happened. I feel like a guy who just showed up for his flight from New York to Japan only to find out his plane is already over the Hawaiian islands.

I guess things really got out of hand in a hurry.

On the plus side, I'm less than 550 pages behind on my reading.

Random Video of the Day LXXII

I have never cried so much and so loudly as I did after watching this video. All that beer. That beautiful, beautiful beer. Gone, like so many beers of their generation, before their time.

The Good Ship Temperance

Today, I find myself in an unfortunate situation. There's no easy way to say it, so I'll just say it.

I must refrain from drinking for almost a month.

Of course, I do this under the utmost duress.

Unfortunately, I seem to have some sort of stomach bug. According to the doctor, this bug is powerful enough that it can only be destroyed with almost a month's worth of medication. As a result, drinking is forbidden until the medication has completed its war against the bug.

(By the way, I'm fine. It's no big deal).

I should be good and ready to go by the time the Cornell-BU hockey game at Madison Square Garden rolls along, which is a great relief.

I still find myself, however, staring at what might be the longest three weeks of my life. Although periods of LOCKDOWN have exceeded this time period, on those occasions I could still mollify myself with the occasional and much needed drink after long study sessions or the finals themselves.

So why would I undergo this trial? Why wander out into the wilderness unarmed?

Simply put, my stomach is perhaps the most important part of my body. Those who have seen me eat and drink know I do it enthusiastically, indiscriminately, in abundance, and with no short measure of abandon. Often, people will even take pictures of me while I engage in some self-appointed culinary challenge. It's that entertaining.

I would say at least 90 percent of my happiness derives from my stomach. Therefore, it is of the utmost importance that whatever is wrong with my stomach gets fixed quickly, so that I may resume my normal activities.

It will certainly be an interesting three-and-a-half weeks. In fact, I'm kind of excited. I have never been a teetotaler. I have never been acquainted with such temperance. This, in a way, is my own personal prohibition -- an 18th Amendment that applies only to me. Let's see where this takes me.

I feel like an explorer, standing at the prow of a newly-departed ship that sails for oceans unknown.

Pray for me.

How to Ruin Halloween in Ten Days

As part of their ongoing coverage of Halloween, the NYT has ignored the fact that Halloween is a day where parents all over America are fraught with worry and fear, particularly if they are the parents of children aged 17-34.

Instead, they have produced an in-depth investigation of recent trends concerning the continued infringement of students' first amendment rights.

In elementary schools across the nation, children are no longer allowed to wear Halloween costumes that are, in a word "scary." This is, of course part of the same movement that wants to do away with the "competitive" part of competitive sports and the "food" part of cafeteria food by replacing scoring with polite applause and mac & cheese with peas & carrots, respectively.

Little Bo Peep would make the cut at the Halloween parade at Riverside Drive Elementary School here on Friday, but the staff she used to menace her sheep would probably have to go.

I never thought of Little Bo Peep as a figure that was particularly "menacing" to sheep. I always thought she had just lost them. Apparently, however, they ran away, probably in horror. I'm just glad that we finally know why those lambs would not stop screaming.

In a school district in Illinois, students are being encouraged to dress up as historical characters or delicious food items rather than vampires or zombies.

Historical characters or delicious food items? Why not combine both? Ladies and Gentlemen, today's costume winner is 10-year old Sally Perkins, who came in dressed as a tart!

In Texas, a school has issued suggestions for “positive costumes” for the annual Halloween dance.

This is, of course, the opposite of "negative costumes," which include Eeyore, Daria, and Joseph Lieberman. The criteria? Costumes that bum everyone out.

At Riverside Drive, a Los Angeles public school in the San Fernando Valley, the Halloween parade is being defanged right down to its jagged fingertips.

Anatomically, this sentence makes little sense. If anything, it is suggestive of unspeakably horrific acts. You not only defang something, you keep going until you reach the jagged fingertips? Are we talking mutilation of the whole head, arms, and torso here? I thought the whole point of this was for Halloween to stop being scary.

“We’re balancing a tradition here with the times we live in,” said Tom Hernandez, a spokesman for District 202 in Plainfield, Ill., where costumes depicting animals and food (preferably carrots or pumpkins) are in favor.

Wait, what happened to the defanged parade in Los Angeles? All of a sudden we are back in Illinois? What purpose did the anatomically confusing sentence before this one serve? Also, any kid who shows up dressed as a carrot should be hung from their underwear until dead.

Even at a public school named after the man who practically invented cloak and daggers for children, there are restrictions.

Wait. What?

“Children are not allowed to bring any weapons or masks to the costume parade, no swords, and they can wear moderate face makeup — nothing extreme,” explained Addys Gonzalez, the office assistant at the Walt Disney Elementary School in Burbank, Calif.

OK. Now I'm really confused. Walt Disney practically invented cloak and daggers for children? I thought he invented the single greatest merchandising icon known to mankind. When did he start giving kids cloaks and daggers? Maybe he did it during Jew hunts.

And now we're back in California? Is this the defanged parade? Did Walt Disney have fangs? Help!

A memo about costume appropriateness sent home recently by Riverside Drive’s principal made the following points:

Ooh, a memo! Great!

¶They should not depict gangs or horror characters, or be scary.

Your son cannot dress up as a crip. He especially cannot dress up as a blood. Also, the Halloween costume cannot be scary or depict a horror character. This includes, but is not limited to, Frankenstein monsters, wolfmen, vampires, zombies, serial killers, mummies, leatherfaces, invisible people, dragons, dinosaurs, giant animals, mutants, Dick Cheney, creatures from black lagoons, cousin Itt, Hulk, Shrek, Elmo, Dr. Jekylls, Mr. Hydes, aliens, goblins, orcs, communists, reds, elves, Jasons, Freddies, Them, bigfeet, witches, wraiths, deaths, gremlins, and bat boys.

"Be Scary," actually, is all inclusive. Somewhere out there, someone (raises hand) thinks brides are scary.

You know what, I'm not even going to bother listing the rest of the rules. They are as superfluous and unnecessary as that sixth pitcher at last call.

Riverside Drive goes beyond the guidelines, written a few years ago, said Monica Carazo, a spokeswoman for the system. Those guidelines discourage fake weapons, costumes that mock race or gender and anything too sexy; French maids are explicitly discouraged.

Isn't this discriminative of the French? The French have as much a right to employ a maid as any other country. Heck, call them Freedom Maids if you have to. Just don't ruin it for the rest of us.

“Several years ago, there was some push back in our community,” said Mr. Hernandez, the school district spokesman in Plainfield, Ill. “Some people thought Halloween was a Satanic ritual. Well, let’s not say Satanic — let’s say they were not comfortable with what it represents.”

That's right, unless people are dressing as angels and/or highly ornamented candles, nobody should ever dress up.

“If someone shows up in a witch costume, we’re not going to tell them to take it off,” he said, but the district will not countenance claws of any sort.

He continued, "We are well aware that we should not tell children to take their clothes off."

At James F. Bay Elementary in Seabrook, Tex., costumes are forbidden outright, according to the school’s principal, Erin Tite, but an exception was made for the Halloween dance. “The purpose for the dance was to allow them a safe place to wear their costumes in place of trick or treating for some of our students,” Ms. Tite said in an e-mail message. “We established the guidelines of ‘positive costumes’ from the beginning, knowing what we might see if we chose not to establish boundaries.”

In an entire article full of ridiculous statements, the last paragraph is perhaps the most ridiculous one of all. They forbid costumes. Except on Halloween.

For our next measure, we will prohibit the distribution of beads. Except on Mardi Gras.

Random Video of the Day LXXI

Christopher Walken covering Lady Gaga might actually be better than James Lipton covering Kevin Federline.