Why did the vodka bottle refuse to wear makeup?

Because it was always Smirnoff.

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Remember Hanson? Remember when Mmmbop was unleashed and you felt your soul seep away as you watched this insult to every man’s masculinity bounce around all jolly jolly? What happened to Hanson? And most importantly, what happened to the Hanson jokes?

I remember a small section on my little sister’s website back when she was in middle school, The Hanson Haters Page, dedicated to badmouthing everything about the plucky little trio of androgyny. She had pictures of them on there where she added on makeup and stuff. She even wrote a parody of Mmmbop. It was wonderful. I’ll never forget the dozens of flames that showed up almost instantly in her guestbook as soon as that page went live. I’ve yet to be prouder of the kid.

Why did the world stop making fun of Hanson? Did we get bored? Did we move on to easier targets? No, no, let’s not pass the buck here. Just because we have idiots like Paris Hilton and Martha Stewart to play with now doesn’t mean we can’t go back and poke a little fun at the guys that started it all. I think we’ve just gotten lazy.

That’s why I’m starting the Hanson Joke Revival Movement. The idea is simple: make Hanson jokes. That’s it. My good buddy, Craig, has even started us off already: “Mmmbop good.” See? It doesn’t even have to be good, and that one certainly is not. It just has to be a Hanson joke.

This is gonna be great, not just because we’re resurrecting old nostalgias, but also because the acronym is unpronounceable.

So today, rather than celebrating Columbus Day and commemorating the man who indirectly triggered the world’s most universally-ignored genocide, I declare October 11th Make A Hanson Joke Day! Now go out there and crack us a funny!

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Another weird dream. Granted, this one isn’t nearly as weird as the last one, but all the same, it’s:

RAY HAD A WEIRD DREAM!!

Today’s Rapid Eye Movement escapade begins in the basement of the house that my The Sims 2 counterpart lives in, which, incidentally, I never built with a basement…

PART ONE

I was watching some Disney movie, when suddenly, without warning, a 737 crashed gently - yes, gently - in front of me, narrowly missing my head by an inch or two. As it gradually burrowed deeper into the ground, the whole neighborhood started to rumble and fall apart. That’s when I decided to pause the movie and go upstairs.

My sister met me in the kitchen, asking if I’d seen the plane - which was now backing out of its hole in the ground - crash. I held my thumb and forefinger about four inches apart to illustrate the one-inch clearance I’d just had between my head and the belly of that Boeing harbinger of death. Then somebody IM’ed me and I woke up.

END PART ONE

PART TWO

My heart was absolutely pounding when I regained consciousness, but after a minute or two, I fell asleep again, and immediately found myself onboard an old World War II bomber, telling everyone about Part One of the dream, saying stuff like, “I swear to God, it was the weirdest motherfucking dream ever!!” despite it actually being comparatively tame. That’s when we noticed some bombs falling very, very slowly around us. I heard one guy say “Oh no! Bombs!” before there was a dull thud, which meant we’d just been hit.

I immediately jumped into the pilot seat, intending to bring that bird in for a safe crash landing. It wasn’t really necessary, though, because the plane simply flopped to the ground harmlessly a second later. That was the first time we crash landed, but I don’t really remember any of the other times anymore. I know I was complaining a lot about constantly being shot down, though.

Finally, my alarm went off, and that was that.

END PART TWO

As usual, while this dream really did take place, it is submitted merely for entertainment. Go ahead and interpret it how you want, but come on, you already knew there was something a little batty in my head.

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