Joel Murphy

Every year on December 31, many of you evaluate your life and come up with a list of New Year’s resolutions. As for me, at the end of every year, when I take a look at myself in the mirror and reevaluate my life, I come up with the same conclusion year after year – I’m perfect.

But just because there isn’t a thing about myself I would like to change, that doesn’t mean that I don’t have a few New Year’s resolutions for 2009. After looking inward and finding no faults, I decided to look outward. So without further ado, here are a few things that I would like to see the world change in 2009 …

Politicians should stop being so damned shady. In 2008, Alaska Senator Ted Stevens was convicted on federal corruption charges, Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich was arrested for openly trying to sell Barack Obama’s vacated seat in Congress and New York Governor Elliot Spitzer resigned after being tied to a prostitution ring (no word on whether or not he was literally tied to a prostitute … or if you have to pay extra for that sort of thing). Even Spitzer’s replacement, David Paterson, admitted shortly after being sworn into office that he had once had an extramarital affair. Since Obama was elected on a message of hope and change, I’m hoping that we can get through 2009 without openly corrupt, prostitute-loving politicians dominating the headlines.

The economy, let’s fix it. This one is pretty self-explanatory. I’m about three weeks away from burning old newspapers for warmth and selling my vital organs on the black market.

Advertising agencies need to stop trying to be hip. It started in 2005 when McDonalds unleashed an Internet campaign with a guy staring longingly at a Big Mac with the tag line “I’d Hit It.” A few weeks ago, Burger King began airing a series of “Whopper Virgin” commercials, which basically implied that they had to go to remote third-world countries to find people who hadn’t had sex with their hamburgers.

Now, the cable network Versus is trying to jump on the “advertising agencies who attempt to sound cool, but inadvertently make sexual references” bandwagon with their new “Show Me Your V” campaign. The obscure network, known mostly for it’s coverage of hockey and rodeos (a winning combination!), is asking viewers to submit photos of their V’s to the Versus website. Now, we here at HoboTrashcan have been encouraging all of our fine female readers to show us their V’s for years now, but something tells me that Versus isn’t looking for the same type of photos that we are.

How can we prevent ad agencies who are trying to sound cool from sounding foolish? To solve this problem, I’m borrowing an idea my brother came up with years ago to prevent people from sneaking tawdry personalized license plates (like the guy who was driving around with a personalized plate that said GOTMILF) past the out-of-touch screeners at the DMV. My brother suggested that as a last line of defense, you hire two 12-year-old boys to read all of the proposed plates. If they giggle, then you don’t print that tag. Even if you don’t get it, you trust the 12-year-olds. I think ad agencies should adopt a similar strategy.

The Internets should take some time off from Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan. What do you say we give these two tired starlets a year off from all of the non-stop paparazzi coverage? I’m sure they would appreciate the breather and more importantly, it would give the other, lesser-known attractive and troubled starlets a chance to shine. In fact, my plan is to go this entire year without ever mentioning the names Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan in one of my columns … oh wait, damn it!

No more half-assed parody movies. Let’s keep 2009 Seltzberg free.

All of my favorite TV shows should do their best not to shit the bus this season. This is actually a very exciting time of year for me, since many of my favorite television shows will be returning in the next month or so. Scrubs debuted on ABC last night and 24 begins this Sunday on Fox. In the near future, Lost, Chuck, Psych, Monk and Burn Notice will all be back on the air. My hope is that all of these shows will have solid seasons and won’t start falling apart like so many good shows do.

In 2008, the writers of Heroes did everything they could to make the show unwatchable and even one of my perennial favorite shows, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, began wearing on me by the end of its fourth season. So far Chuck and Psych have been consistently entertaining and Scrubs gets a pass for now simply because I’m amazed it’s actually been given one more season; I’m hopeful that these three shows will continue to keep it together. Lost should be in good shape, but things like their Nikki and Paulo episode in season three and the terrible Sun/Jin swerve episode last season do raise a few red flags. In its past few seasons, 24, which always teeters on the edge of ridiculousness, has tried my patience and I’ve always found Monk and Burn Notice to be hit-or-miss, but I’m hoping that these three shows can avoid the suck in 2009.

One of you loyal HoboTrashcan readers needs to strap a bomb to your chest and threaten to detonate it if NBC doesn’t cancel its plans to give Jimmy Fallon a late night talk show. I would do it myself, but I have this whole “fear of dying and/or ending up in a federal pound-me-in-the-ass prison” thing.

My birthday is next month, so if you don’t know what to get me, this would be the perfect present. If you are too scared to hold NBC hostage, but still would like to get me something for my birthday, you could always show me your V.

Joel Murphy is the creator of HoboTrashcan, which is probably why he has his own column. He loves pugs, hates Jimmy Fallon and has an irrational fear of robots. You can contact him at murphyslaw@hobotrashcan.com.

Ned Bitters

This week’s inductee into the “Overrated Hall of Fame” is … victims’ families’ sense of entitlement.

This December, a police video surfaced of the latter stages of Timothy McVeigh’s arrest shortly after he felled the Murrow Building in Oklahoma City. It was pretty boring stuff as far as police videos go. There was no high speed chase, no innocent by-drivers clipped at intersections, no rolling Camaros, no O.J. hiding like a bitch in the back of a white Bronco. You never even get to see McVeigh. The video starts after McNutjob is already cuffed in the squad car, and all we see is the officer searching the car.

Survivors of the victims of the Oklahoma City bombing immediately sprang into full Entitlement Mode, demanding to know why this video took so long to surface, demanding it be a part of the Murrow Building Memorial, demanding it be nominated for an Oscar in the documentary category.

The last one is made up, but if you thought for even an instant that it could be true, that helps prove my point about how the survivors of the poor bastards who die highly publicized deaths often feel they have been granted some sort of beyond-the-normal-rules entitlement. They tend to go completely overboard in what they feel they are owed.

McVeigh was caught, convicted and executed for his heinous crime. (I hope I can escape similar punishment for my lazy use of the quite trite “heinous crime.”) Millions of dollars were proffered. A beautiful, moving memorial was built at the site. Presidents visited. A movie was made. Bill Kurtis probably did 13 different versions of all those shows he narrates. A nation mourned with them. (Hey, you let me get away with “heinous crime,” so I figured I could sneak in an overused “a nation mourned.”) Yet still the demands and the “what about us!” sentiments persist.

An even more galling example of this is taking place surrounding the Flight 93 Memorial. (You know, fourth plane on 9/11 … Pennsylvania countryside …. “Let’s roll!”…) Survivors of the victims have petitioned the White House to force a Pennsylvania landowner to cede a chunk of his land for the Flight 93 Memorial. The landowner isn’t some heartless prick who refuses to sell his land or who is looking to squeeze big money out of Uncle Sam for it. He just wants a fair deal, and he’s been in negotiations with the Park Service. But the Flight 93 family members apparently feel that their loss has bestowed upon some legitimate fascism. They are whining to the Bush White House to seize the land for the memorial. This is no eminent domain issue in which the good of society will be served. It will just serve the “But I’m Entitled!” needs of 50 or so families.

I’m not so cold and bitter of soul that I don’t feel for the families who lost people in terrorist attacks. I don’t begrudge them making their quasi-victimhood their new identity and allowing it to now define who they are. Perhaps I’d react the same way. Hell, I’ve been playing the victim-of-unjust-heartbreak card for over 15 years, as I’m still whining to anyone who will listen about the unrelieved pain I suffered in the just-as-tragic-as-anything-9/11-related heartbreak I suffered in the 1992 Major League Baseball playoffs compliments of Francisco Cabrera, an up to that point unknown September call-up (and forever asshole) whose two-out bases loaded single with two outs in the ninth inning knocked my beloved Pittsburgh Pirate out of the World Series. But you don’t see me asking the governor of Georgia to seize the site of the old Fulton County Stadium home plate so that I can turn it into a piss-hole for still-grieving Pirates fans.

I’m all for memorials and remembrances and all that shit, especially if a healthy admission fee is charged, allowing the sacred ground (Cliché Number Three, for those counting at work) to at least be a source of profit as well as tears and overwrought expressions of “Oh, those poor people” from the likes of phonies Marge and Tom from Middle America, who are not thinking of the victims at all but instead just want pointed to the memorial souvenir shop and snack bar. No, I’m not anti-memorial. I just get sick of all the entitlement attitude I see and hear.

Fortunately, I’ve never lost a friend or family member to a terrorist attack, typhoon or engineering snafu. No one I’ve been close to has been murdered. The greatest losses I’ve had to endure in the past three years are the three automobile break-ins I’ve suffered at the hands of the little fuckwads from the neighborhood. However, you don’t see me going all Saudi Arabia on their asses and petitioning Congress for the severed hands of these change-drawer emptying pseudo-thugs. That would be unjust punishment and a sign that I succumbed to the very American trait of victimhood entitlement that I loathe. I’m above that.

Unless, of course, you know where Francisco Cabrera is living at the moment. In which case, someone, please, deliver his gutted corpse to my front door. I think I’m entitled.

Ned Bitters is, in fact, overrated. You can contact him at teacherslounge@hobotrashcan.com.

Tim Kelly

[Editor's Note: Last Wednesday night, Courtney Enlow partied like it was 1999. She is still recovering, so today we bring you a special guest column written by Tim Kelly.]

Allow me to say a word regarding squirrels: wretched.

I suppose I should expound on that single-word description. Many people know that humans and squirrels have been bitter enemies for thousands of years, but few know just how much things have escalated. Ask any leading scientist and they will tell you that squirrels, along with hurricanes and Orlando Bloom, make up the “Big Three” of horrifying natural phenomena endangering our way of life.

This struggle between man and squirrel, spanning several millennia with only brief periods of tenuous peace (i.e., the Chillicothe Summit in 1879; and the Sugar Creek Accords of 1984, which lasted only three days before the squirrel representative’s outlandish demands forced Ronald Reagan to end negotiations), has taken a startling turn. While it was once a heated vendetta waged openly in back yards and public parks, a news report has uncovered new and frightening details about where the conflict is heading.

According to this very real report from July of 2007, the Iranian police arrested 14 squirrels on charges of spying. For those of you who were taking a drink from your Hi*C Orange-Raspberry juice box while reading that sentence, I will pause a moment to allow you to clean up the mess caused by your spit-take …

… Alright. Now, aside from providing concrete evidence that the people calling the shots in Iran are frothing, mind-rattlingly insane, this suggests a new era in squirrel warfare. Iran’s squirrel-espionage paranoia all but confirms the existence of their own squirrel spy program. For those of us in the Midwest, the implications of undercover Iranian-trained squirrels leave us paralyzed by a fear that we are already being overtaken. For anyone unaware of the squirrel situation in Missouri, allow me to offer a crash course. According to the latest figures, it is estimated (by me) that the squirrel-to-human ratio in this region sit squarely in the area of 6 million squirrels for every one human. At this rate, future generations of humans will be subject to great herds of squirrels stampeding across the countryside. The small towns will be the first to fall under squirrel rule, becoming bases from which the squirrels will launch their attacks on the larger urban centers.

Let’s all be honest, we’ve been wary of the squirrels from the get-go, so the news that squirrels are converting to Islamo-Fascism should not come as a surprise. The whole “furry woodland creature” image is less believable the closer you look. For one thing, there’s the constant sneaking around. If squirrels would like things between them and the humans to be less tense, might I recommend a decrease in stealthy, suspicion-raising movements around us, if not a departure from such movements altogether? After all, if I were to go around sneaking silently near groups of humans (which I do), would it not make sense for them to look on me suspiciously and think me to be creepy and odd (which they do)? Likewise, when a person gets within 20 feet of me, if I were to run away at full speed and hide in a tree, would that not imply that I was up to something unsavory?

Instead of sneaking, a polite “hello” would do nicely. Perhaps an explanation of the reason or purpose of their presence, saying, “Hello, sir. I’ve just finished terrorizing some gentle sparrows and scaring them away from your bird feeder. A little bit later I’ll be scraping little divots in your freshly-sodded lawn and burying some acorns. Some of them may shoot out from under your lawnmower at twice the speed of sound and embed themselves in your shin.” Not welcome news by any means, but at least they could be up front about it.

The squirrels of course claim innocence. The last time I tried to talk to one of them, it acted like it didn’t know what I was talking about. When I called him on his phony “leave me alone, I’m just an animal” act and tried to corner him, he made a break for it. I put up a good chase, but he lost me once we were in the tree.

Tim Kelly is a mythical creature reportedly sighted numerous times in the wooded lands of North America. Actually, that’s Bigfoot. Tim Kelly’s bio and background will sound much more plausible once he puts thought into making it up. You can find more of his writing at his MySpace blog.

Hobo Stu

Hello everyone,

So another year has come and gone and we now find ourselves in that odd time of year where you rip up a half dozen checks because you accidentally wrote “2008″ instead or “2009.”

I can’t say that I will miss 2008. Sure, it was the year that HoboTrashcan switched from a weekly e-zine to a daily blog, which is certainly exciting. But it was also a year when the economy tanked and many people lost their jobs. As a hobo who gets paid in Skittles, it’s been especially hard to get by the past year.

So as we head into 2009, here’s hoping that things get better. Perhaps this will be the year that HoboTrashcan hits it big and we can all sellout and buy big houses and fancy cars. (Hey, a hobo can dream.)

Happy New Year everyone!

Here’s what’s new on HoboTrashcan.com this week:

Murphy’s Law - Sex sandwich
Burger King has recently started airing commercials where a group of “Whopper Virgins” (aborigines from small villages who have never had food from Burger King or McDonalds) sample both a Big Mac and a Whopper and decide which sandwich they like the best. Joel Murphy finds these commercials ridiculous.

Note to self - Look on the bright side
Now that the regular season of the NFL has come to an end, 20 teams find themselves out of the playoffs. If you are a fan of one of those 20 teams, having your favorite franchise miss out on the postseason can be heartbreaking. Luckily, this week Brian Murphy finds the silver lining for each of these teams.

Outside of the In-Crowd - Coming down from the Christmas crack-high
As you have most likely already figured out by now, Courtney Enlow takes Christmas pretty seriously. For Enlow, Christmas is a “typically two month extravaganza of film, food and music prominently featuring the sounds of bells.” This week, Enlow shares what happens when that two month extravaganza finally comes to an end.

Overrated - Public, tangible displays of grief for total strangers
We all know that Ned Bitters is a heartless bastard, so it should come as no surprise to any of you that he has trouble understanding public displays of grief (or public displays of affection … or doing anything in public besides ignoring everyone else on the street as you walk briskly to the next bar).

- Hobo Stu

Hobo Stu’s Weekly Recap is also available as an email newsletter. To sign up for the newsletter to ensure you never miss an update, send an email to newsletter-subscribe@hobotrashcan.com.

Brian Murphy

This is a tough time of year. Not only does society expect you to come up with resolutions that you’re supposed to keep (like remembering where your gym is actually located), but chances are you’re still broke because the economy sucks and you had to buy gifts for everyone you’ve ever met – including relatives who only show up around Christmas time ever year.

It’s no wonder that drinking and suicide rates are at their highest this time of year. Making matters worse, 20 NFL teams just ended their season. So, chances are, you’re stuck watching games involving teams you don’t actually care about from now to the Super Bowl.

So, in an effort to keep you from ending it all or hitting the bottle, I’m going to attempt to find the silver lining for all of the NFL teams that didn’t make the playoffs this year …

New England Patriots – Head coach Bill Belichick and his band of cheaters got what we in the business call a big dose of karma, with coverboy Tom Brady being sidelined for the year just eight plays into the season.

But hey, look on the bright side, thanks to the Brady injury, the world finally learned why backup Matt Cassel has been able to collect a paycheck for all these years. Not only can he hold the hell out of a clipboard, but he’s actually a pretty solid quarterback. Luckily, we just found that out in time for Cassel to become a free agent and head elsewhere.

Dallas Cowboys – The media’s consensus preseason pick to win the Super Bowl not only failed to qualify for the playoffs, but internal strife continues to be an issue. Terrell Owens hates that Jason Witten gets the ball thrown to him more. Roy Williams hates that he’s not a bigger part of the offense. Tony Romo hates that Jessica Simpson can’t come on road trips with him anymore.

But hey, look on the bright side, in years past the Cowboys made the playoffs only to lose in heartbreaking fashion. Instead of having to see hundreds of replays of Romo botching a snap with the game on the line, there’s no signature moment to serve as the stomach punch. Plus, since Romo passed out in the showers after getting knocked around in Philly, the Cowboys finally know who, between Owens and Witten, is Romo’s go-to guy.

Tampa Bay Buccaneers – Hey, look on the bright side, at least you’re not the Detroit Lions.

Chicago Bears – Another year with solid defense and mediocre offense. Another year of subpar performances by whoever is lining up at quarterback in Chicago.

But hey, look on the bright side, at least Brian Urlacher is charming in those deodorant commercials.

New York Jets – You spent a ton of money on free agent acquisitions and traded for Brett Favre only to fall apart at the end of the season and get eliminated by Chad Pennington. You know, the guy you kicked to the curb.

But hey, look on the bright side, now you’ve got an entire offseason of “Will Brett retire or not” to look forward to. So at least you got that going for you, which is nice.

Arizona Cardinals – What? They actually made the playoffs?!? Come back next week and I’ll try to make the pain go away Arizona.

Houston Texans – Hey, look on the bright side, Steve Slaton is definitely a legit running back and no one can call taking Mario Williams over Reggie Bush a bad move anymore. Plus, the bar’s been set so low for so long in Houston that just winning once a month is still socially acceptable.

New Orleans Saints – Hey, look on the bright side, you’ve got Drew Brees, the modern day Dan Marino. You know you can’t win a Super Bowl with him, but he’s still fun to watch. I look forward to watching him in the remake of Ace Ventura.

Washington Redskins – Hey, look on the bright side, Rock Cartwright had a helluva year as your kick returner. Of the dozen areas you need to upgrade, at least you know he’s dependable.

Denver Broncos – Hey, look on the bright side, the Broncos finally realized that the team was cursed as long as Mike Shanahan was still the head coach because Denver openly cheated to win back-to-back Super Bowls by circumventing the salary cap. With Shanahan gone, you might actually be able to win again someday down the line.

Buffalo Bills – Hey, look on the bright side, at least you’ve now got both the Buffalo and Toronto markets in your corner. That’s twice the potential for heartbreak.

San Francisco 49ers – Hey, look on the bright side, at least you just signed Mike Singletary to a new five-year contract, ensuring that we’ll be treated to five more years of stories of the erratic coach dropping his pants and calling out his own players for selfish reasons. Who doesn’t want more of that?

Green Bay Packers – Hey, look on the bright side, at least you lost without drama queen Brett Favre dragging you down.

Jacksonville Jaguars – Hey, look on the bright side, at least the face of the franchise, Fred Taylor (and his groin) called this the worst team chemistry-wise he’s ever been a part of. That’s what we call making memories.

Oakland Raiders – Hey, look on the bright side, at least Al Davis died years ago. Oh wait. Nevermind.

Cincinnati Bengals – Hey, look on the bright side, at least the team played well enough down the stretch to ensure that Marvin Lewis will be back for another year of underachieving and in-fighting in Cincy.

Cleveland Browns – Hey, look on the bright side … um … uh … no one got a staph infection in Cleveland today. I think.

Seattle Seahawks – Hey, look on the bright side, at least you’re not the Detroit Lions.

Kansas City Chiefs – Hey, look on the bright side, at least Herm Edwards is still the best quote in the NFL’s coaching fraternity.

St. Louis Rams – Hey, look on the bright side, you’ve got a great draft pick.

Detroit Lions – Hey, look on the bright side … okay, I got nothing.

Brian Murphy is an award-winning sportswriter who also goes by the name Homer McFanboy. Contact him at murf@homermcfanboy.com.

Joel Murphy

Burger King and I used to have a good thing going. They would run ridiculous advertisements on TV involving their terrifying King mascot and in return, when I was in the mood to order crap food that I would regret eating the next day, I would purchase one of their delicious chicken sandwiches. Things were great for years, but recently the company decided to spit in the face of our unspoken agreement and release a new series of ads promoting a taste test among “Whopper Virgins.”

If you haven’t seen these ads, allow me to explain how they work. Burger King sends a camera crew out to some remote village (one of the few small villages remaining in the world that doesn’t yet have a McDonalds, Burger King or Starbucks) and finds local townspeople who have never tasted the greasy, processed mush we refer to as fast food. Then, provided that they can convince these simple folks that the cameras won’t steal their souls, the Burger King crew videotapes these confused people eating both a Whopper and a Big Mac and asks them to choose which one they like the best. Overwhelmingly, these “Whopper Virgins” choose the Whopper over the Big Mac.

(Sadly, at no point does the Burger King mascot pop out from behind the scenes and attempt to stuff dollar bills down these villagers’ pants.)

These Whopper Virgin commercials are stupid on a number of levels. First of all, the term “Whopper Virgin” is absurd. According to my trusty dictionary, a virgin is defined as “a person who has never had sex.” Therefore, we can deduce that a Whopper Virgin is a person who has never had sex with a Whopper. Hopefully, with the possibly exception of this guy, no one has ever fucked a hamburger. I know Burger King has always said that you can “have it your way,” but I always assumed they weren’t encouraging you to actually have intercourse with their signature sandwich. Besides, if you were going to fuck a hamburger, I hope you would at least go for the Carl’s Jr. Six Dollar Burger. I mean, just because you are sticking your junk in your Happy Meal, that doesn’t mean that you have to sacrifice your dignity by banging a cheap piece of meat.

While I think that we can all agree that calling these people Whopper Virgins is a poor choice of words, I can understand why Burger King would give them that moniker. After all, it’s a lot catchier than “unwashed aborigines who have never eaten a Whopper and who can’t quite understand what Burger King is and why these people are shoving a camera in their faces.” But, putting the stupid name aside for a moment, the entire logic behind these commercials seems flawed.

Burger King claims that this is the world’s most pure taste test, since these people have never heard of Burger King or McDonalds, which means they are unbiased. Having never tasted a hamburger before, supposedly these Whopper Virgins are best equipped to judge once and for all which burger is best. But honestly, what kind of sense does that make? I understand taste tests where participants wear blindfolds and pick which soda they like best so that people who think they like Pepsi because of it’s clever advertising will discover that they actually prefer Coke (or that they can’t tell Coke and Pepsi apart, which amazingly many people seem unable to do). If Burger King had simply done a blind taste test to decide which burger was best, then I wouldn’t have taken the time to write this column. But their big selling point of the commercials – finding people who have never tasted a Whopper or a Big Mac – is fundamentally flawed.

Sticking with the virgin idea, let’s say that you and your friends were conducting a scientific experiment to find out which one of the ladies in your social circle was the best in bed (this may sound scandalous, but for the sake of this analogy, let’s assume that this is a very important and professional experiment, with lab coats, beakers and all that jazz, and that if done correctly you and your friends could win the Nobel Prize). Would you have these ladies all sleep with a virgin to determine who is the best in the sack? Of course not. The virgin would have no clue what was going on. He’d be dealing with strange sensations that he’s never experienced before and would be too nervous and confused to properly judge the situation.

That’s how I imagine this taste test played out for these poor Whopper Virgins. Assuming that the Burger King crew was able to overcome the language and cultural barriers and adequately explain to these people what the hell they were doing in their village, I assume the villagers didn’t quite know what to think of the two fast food hamburgers placed in front of them. If you had spent your whole life eating animal meat that wasn’t pumped full of growth hormones and pesticide-free fruit and vegetables, I would imagine eating American fast food would be a jolt to your system. I’d love to see the footage that ended up on the cutting room floor to find out just how many of these pour souls ended up regurgitating their delicious Whoppers and Big Macs later that evening.

Even without the flawed logic of the entire setup, you also have to consider that Burger King conducted these taste tests on their own, which makes the entire process suspect. Who knows how fresh the Big Macs were that they were handing out to the villagers – they could have purchased a bunch of them in America and just tossed them all into a bag, only to later serve them side by side with a Whopper that was made fresh. For all I know, they could have told the villagers that if they didn’t select the Whopper, it would greatly upset their gods or that the Burger King Corporation would make it so that it will never rain in their village again. Whatever actually happened during the taste test, I guarantee you that those villagers are still telling tales of the day the crazy white people came into their town offering everyone strange meat (not unlike that unsettling camping trip I had when I was in Boy Scouts, but I digress).

Since tomorrow is the start of a new year, I’m hoping that Burger King will realize the error of their way and will drop this whole Whopper Virgin campaign. In the spirit of change and new beginnings, I’m willing to still honor our old agreement – as long as Burger King promises that the next time they send a camera crew to a remote village uncorrupted by modern society, it will be to scare the shit out of the unsuspecting townspeople with their creepy mascot.

Joel Murphy is the creator of HoboTrashcan, which is probably why he has his own column. He loves pugs, hates Jimmy Fallon and has an irrational fear of robots. You can contact him at murphyslaw@hobotrashcan.com.

Ned Bitters

This week’s inductee into the “Overrated Hall of Fame” is … public, tangible displays of grief for total strangers.

They recently found the body of that three-year-old Florida girl that had gone missing. You know, the one whose mother waited a month before reporting her missing. Sure, it’s a damn sad story, and I can understand total strangers being affected by it. We’ve all known our share of three-year-olds, and even I can remember two or three who were so non-irritating that their disappearances would have left me quite sad. (Okay, maybe only two.)

News that the body was found has brought the usual herd of idiots to a makeshift, white trash memorial sight for the poor girl. I saw on the news that a pile of teddy bears is growing somewhere in Florida. I’m sure these mental defectives think they are moving us saner folks with their televised empathy. Sorry ramrods, but your furry displays of grief don’t impress me.

I’ve never felt so distraught over the death of a stranger or celebrity that I saw fit to show up with flowers or toys. The people who make a public display of their grief aren’t really mourning the death. They are engaging in a pathetic act of Me-ism, and it’s nauseating. (I especially include every English twit who showed up with flowers at Buckingham Palace after “the People’s Princess” died. These same Brits have the nerve to boast about the quiet English dignity.)

As for all you noodniks in Florida, if you’re so into three-year-old girls with (allegedly) batshit crazy mommies, go do something more worthwhile that will actually help a kid. Be a foster parent. Donate toys to a some group that will distribute them to real live living children. Throw a little money toward a respected children’s charity. But please, do it quietly, so that the rest of us don’t have to hate you as you cry for the camera and lay your toy/flower/candle at the “look-at-me!” memorial site.

Because let’s face it, these gestures are all about the griever and never about the dismembered departed. I’m not saying that the brutal death of a stranger (usually a white female, in this country) or the untimely death of a celebrity (the better looking, the more widespread the displays of look-at-me grief in this country) don’t really affect people. But to go through the act of buying flowers, writing a cliche-ridden note, then making the trip to some thrown-together memorial isn’t a sign of respectful mourning. It’s a sign of a disturbing mental imbalance and a disgusting display of narcissism.

It’s the same principle with these roadside memorials to car crash victims. While your grief was no doubt severe, the rest of us don’t need a mile-by-mile reminder of the fact that your friends or relatives became unfortunate statistics. It used to be just morbid crosses that dotted the roadside gullies, but in the past decade or so, the displays have gotten Versailles-level gaudy. Trees and telephone poles look like ornate totems.

I’m sure the poor schmuck who died in his car was given a proper burial. Go leave your tacky displays at their graves, where the flower-hearts and stuffed animals can be ignored by wine-cooler guzzling teenagers at 3 a.m. on a Friday night. At least there they won’t pose a hazard like they do on the side of the highway. Some of these roadside death extravaganzas have to cause even more twisted-metal deaths due to rubbernecking bozos trying to discern the contents of the three-foot high pile of shit just off the berm.

I don’t read comic books or graphic novels, but I do have an idea for a new type of superhero. This guy would be called Kerosene Man. He’d drive around with a trunk full of kerosene and a box of matches. Every time he comes to a roadside pity party, he’d jump out of his car, douse it with kerosene and light that sucker.

But that will have to remain just a fantasy. Instead, every trip in my car will mean I’ll have to endure another onslaught of look-at-me tackiness. Every time I see one of these mounds of morbidity, I want to stop my car and toss the entire collection of look-at-me-goods right into my trunk. But I’m sure some empty-headed do-gooder would jump out of his car and stomp me to death.

It’s not that I’m afraid of that type of death. Hell, I’d gladly become a martyr in my efforts to eradicate this roadside scourge. But it’s not death-by Doc Martins that prevents me from taking action. It’s the fear that the knucklehead who killed me would get plastered by a passing semi. I wouldn’t give two shits about him. I just know that it would result in yet another goddamn roadside memorial.

Ned Bitters is, in fact, overrated. You can contact him at teacherslounge@hobotrashcan.com.

Courtney Enlow

Well, my friends, another Christmas has come and gone. Cookies have been eaten, ham has been consumed and the now-annual feeling that I didn’t listen to nearly enough Christmas music has set in.

So what now?

As I’ve told you before, Christmas is a long process for me. A typically two month extravaganza of film, food and music prominently featuring the sounds of bells. However, this year’s holiday could not be enjoyed as much as I’d have liked. As I mentioned a few weeks back, I was recently alerted that my real-life job, the thing I do which gives my end-tag the “corporate shill” part, no longer exists. So my Christmas season consisted largely of panic-induced trips to CraigsList and Career Builder, desperately searching for anything that will save me from my near future as a financial assistant, a destiny that has caused countless nightmares and jolted sweat-dripping awakenings.

So you can gather that Santa didn’t exactly fill me with the magic he normally does.

Despite the circumstances that lead to my lessened holiday joy, the fact is that I am an addict. And nothing can change the fact that the crack of Christmas (to hence be referred to as “Christ-meth”) has lead to some pretty serious withdrawals already, leading nicely into the year-end nostalgies.

This Y.E.N. that I speak of is a very technical and scientific phenomenon, wherein one spends all of December thinking “Wow, this year sucked. Is it over yet?” and then upon watching/reading various year-end lists and specials, one realizes exactly how much good stuff happened in the past 12 months and does the classic “Aww. Good times.” One of the most common side effects of this condition is The Time Warp. Ex: “Wait, Britney only flipped out this past spring? Really? I could have sworn that was like a year ago. Huh.”

It’s true. I even had a party in her honor. A party I could have sworn was last year, but a quick trip to Facebook shows that the pictures are in fact from 2008. Good times.

Another post-Christmas/pre-New Year condition? Actual illness. Statistic I just made up but is probably totally factual: one in every four people will get some kind of severe cold or flu starting December 26th and lasting until December 30th. Truth. Last year it was a stomach situation that I don’t want to talk about, but let’s just say I lost six pounds. Good times. This year, it’s a sore throaty sniffly sneezy situation with some unrelated joint pain from sleeping on a twin bed at my parents’ house and some mild lactose intolerance flare-ups from the multiple cheese-based dishes at various Christmas soirées. Not as glamorous, but it got the job done nicely. I’ll give it a 7.

Of course the coming down period is not all sad nostalgia and frequent cramps and nausea. There’s some definite upsides. My personal favorite? TV marathons. The holiday season is a magical time during which television programmers go on vacay and just play marathons every day for a week. USA is pro at this, which is why I’ve been watching nothing but House and avoided the channel like the plague on Saturday (NCIS marathon-day. Luckily TLC was rocking What Not To Wear for eight straight hours, so I was covered.)

Another plus? New toys, obviously. As you get older, the number of presents decreases but the quality becomes magical. New DVDs, new books and, my personal favorite, new shit you don’t want and are totally returning the second Best Buy opens tomorrow. Magic.

I’ve got a theory that the unwanted present is like a more thoughtful gift card. I can’t decry such genius. My digital picture frame is about to become Doctor Who Season 4. Brilliance.

All in all? A fairly decent yule-time. Sure there are a few things I still want. A couple more pairs of Chuck Taylors, a new job, the uszhe. But I cleaned up pretty good, speaking gift-wise and comfort-and-joy-wise. I’ve got no complaints.

Except for the lactose intolerance. Yecch.

Courtney Enlow is a writer living in Chicago and working as a corporate shill to pay the bills. You can contact her at courtney@hobotrashcan.com.

Hobo Stu

Hello everyone,

I hope all of you have exciting holiday plans scheduled for next week. For all of our Jewish friends out there, I wish you a happy Hanukkaah, which I know starts next Monday. All of you Christians (and atheists who enjoy commercial holidays where you get free presents), I wish you a merry Christmas. And Ned Bitters, I wish you a happy Kwanza. For all of the rest of you out there … hopefully you will at least get a few days off of work next week.

Speaking of a few days off of work next week, HoboTrashcan will be on hiatus from December 22 - 26. The rest of the HoboTrashcan staff will be celebrating the holidays with their families and I will be busy wearing a Santa hat and drinking copious amounts of alcohol out of a festive holiday stocking in the parking lot of a strip mall.

Happy Holidays everyone, we’ll see you back here on December 29.

Here’s what’s new on HoboTrashcan.com this week:

Murphy’s Law - I bet the cake had white frosting on it
Heath and Debrah Campbell of Hunterdon County, New Jersey attempted to buy a birthday cake for their son, but their local ShopRite refused to make the cake for them. Why did ShopRite object? Because their son’s name is Adolf Hitler. Joel Murphy takes a look at this bizarre story in this week’s column.

Note to self - Susan Lucci trivia
Washington Redskins middle linebacker London Fletcher was once again denied a trip to the Pro Bowl this year. The 11-year veteran, who currently ranks fifth in tackles in the NFL, has never received a Pro Bowl nod. This week, Brian Murphy explains why the Pro Bowl voters got it wrong once again.

Overrated - George Bailey’s lending practices (and the vilification of Ebenezer Scrooge)
For years, George Bailey from It’s A Wonderful Life has been portrayed as a wonderful guy with a heart of gold, while Ebenezer Scrooge from A Christmas Carol has been portrayed as a heartless villain. This week, Ned Bitters reexamines these two iconic characters’ business practices and explains why moviegoers have got it all wrong.

Outside of the In-Crowd - I’ve got a theory
This week, Courtney Enlow navigates dangerous terrain as she attempts to get inside the heads of Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt. Enlow wonders if these two reality stars are really as shallow and vapid as they seem or if perhaps they are actually deeply committed geniuses who are pulling a big prank on us all.

- Hobo Stu

Hobo Stu’s Weekly Recap is also available as an email newsletter. To sign up for the newsletter to ensure you never miss an update, send an email to newsletter-subscribe@hobotrashcan.com.

• Introduction
• A Lars update
• Christmas spirit
• Contractually obligated Batman discussion
• Harry Potter and No Country For Old Men
• “Feliz Navidad” by Christmas with Beer

Week 70 Spotlight: We wish you a Merry Christmas

Christmas may be less than a week away, but it seems like Joel Murphy and Lars Periwinkle are having trouble finding their Christmas spirit. Instead of talking about sugar plums and snow angels, the dynamic duo seems to be focused on suicides, Black Friday deaths and a deadly new disease.

If this were a Christmas movie, Joel and Lars would be visited by three holiday spirits who would show them the true meaning of Christmas. Unfortunately, all they have is Batman, Harry Potter and No Country For Old Men to distract them from their holiday blues.

Why is the Hobo Radio crew feeling like the Grinch this holiday season? Is Lars secretly a fan of the Harry Potter books? And does he really have a deadly disease named after him? The answers to these questions and more are in this week’s podcast.

Hobo Radio is the official podcast of HoboTrashcan, brought to you by The Podcast Network.