This is the video from the review of Scorpion Brittle. Unfortunately, the video was filmed sideways or else I would have posted it sooner. Thanks to the video production skills of NiYCE, I was able to get the video turned right-side up for your viewing pleasure. Watch with glee as I eat the scorpion in timid one bite. Bask in the entertainment as I desperately try to swallow the arthropod while the crunchy soap taste intensifies and scorpion bits are wedged between my teeth.
Dear Mr. Fortune Cookie Writer,
I have noticed a disturbing trend in fortune cookie fortunes: they suck. It's as if giving us some trite Confucian proverb and randomly generated lottery numbers is supposed to somehow appease us. Well, Mr. Fortune Cookie Writer, it doesn't. You have become lazy on us and we, The People, demand real fortunes again. According to the dictionary, a fortune is “a prediction of destiny.” Telling us what the best tonic is for a long day is not a fortune—it's advice and we don't want it. We want vague sentences predicting an event in the future that we can stretch to fit damn near any event in our life. It gives us something to discuss while we wait for our check. So quit being a useless clod and go play with your Ouija board, hold a séance, do your rain dance or whatever it is you do; just give us some genuine fortunes.
I went to dinner at a Chinese restaurant recently and took a poll of the fortunes that each person received from their delectable treat. Here are prime examples of some worthless fortune cookie fortunes you gave us:
- “A quiet evening with friends is the best tonic for a long day.” The best tonic for a long day is vodka. Thanks for trying, Mr. Fortune Cookie Writer.
- “Two small jumps are sometimes better than one big leap.” What clichéd drivel. A better fortune would be, “You are about to take a big leap, two small jumps may be better.” You see? A vague prediction and hackneyed advice at the same time. You can keep that one, Mr. Fortune Cookie Writer; I'm here to inspire you.
- “The only sure thing about luck is that it will change.” The only sure thing about Mr. Fortune Cookie Writer is that he is an overpaid hack who copies pointless adages from quote books.
- “Luck helps those who help themselves.” This was my fortune. Upon reading it, I immediately started doing my impression of Rod Tidwell doing his impression of Jerry Maguire saying, “Help me help you! Help me help you!” I don't know why; I guess it's because the word “help” is used twice in one sentence and it reminded me of that movie quote.
- “Advancement will come with hard work.” Considering the competition, this one is actually not too bad. It at least attempts to portray some future event. It doesn't commit to saying that you will advance—just that you will advance with hard work. Sure it's common sense and still falls under the “Advice” category, but I'll give Mr. Fortune Cookie Writer a break here. This is a good start; we want to see more where this came from.
At the Ghost Town Museum in Colorado Springs, Colorado, I saw a candy that I absolutely could not resist reviewing: Scorpion Brittle. This candy is produced by Hotlix, a company that specializes in making insect candy like chocolate covered ants, candied butterflies, and barbeque flavored larvae. Scorpion Brittle has a real de-stingered scorpion trapped in candied tomb that is designed to look like a scorpion trapped in amber.
Scorpion Brittle in the package
I have always been fascinated with eating insects—the worm in tequila, chocolate covered crickets, contestants eating live bugs on Fear Factor, etc. What could insects possibly taste like? Am I missing out on something that is actually quite tasty? I have just never been able to work up the nerve to actually eat one until today. Well, that's not entirely true. When I was in 6th grade, I scorched a fire ant with a magnifying glass and ate it; the taste was similar to peppermint if I remember right. But that thing was so small that I don't count it.
I bought the Scorpion Brittle with the intention of eating it someday when I had nothing to write about, but the events of this day made me want nothing more than to incur my wrath upon the insect world. During a hike up a mountain today, we were nearing the top of the trail when my roommate looked up at about a 25 foot wall of rock and said, “I'd rather go up that way!” Loving a challenge, I looked at the rock and decided that this was indeed a good idea. My dumb ass proceeded to climb to the top wearing shorts, sandals, and using my bare hands.
My dumb ass climbing to the top of a mountain, totally unprepared for what awaits me at the top
The top of this ledge was not very wide, maybe 3 feet, and it was very gravely; I slipped all over the place with each step. The ledge I was on was about 30 yards long before it widened into a small forest at the summit of the mountain. I attempted to walk off the ledge and into the woods, hoping that I could walk through the trees and catch the end of the hiking trail to meet my wife and roommate. As I worked my way to the trees, my main fear was an attack by a bear—if there was ever an area where a bear would hang out, this was it. My thoughts were consumed with debate: If a bear jumps out from these trees should I let it maul me or should I jump off this ledge to my death? Choices.
As it turns out, a bear was the least of my worries. When I finally reached the trees, I met my new nemesis in life: Biting flies. The mere existence of biting flies has convinced me that there is no God. Or if there is, he (she?) really enjoys fucking with us. I was attacked by a horde of these little bastards. They swarmed me biting my legs, arms, and neck. I had to walk away very carefully from the trees and back out to the ledge as they feasted on any part of my body not covered by clothing. I thought for sure I was going to slip off the ledge and die a really stupid death, but I was able to keep my footing. Finally, I reached an area of the ledge that had enough of a slope where I could climb, or slip, down.
About halfway down the slope, one of the flies bit the hell out of my arm. I slapped it with all my might and saw a nice blood splat on my arm. “Aha! I got the little fucker!” I exclaimed, reveling in my victory. However, I looked at the hand that I used to swat the bug with and noticed blood all over it. The rocks I was gripping for dear life also happened to be razor sharp and left little cuts all over my hands as I climbed down to the hiking trail. Once I reached the trail, I made a run for it to escape the swarm of biting flies and caught up with my wife and roommate. The flies were biting all of us and we decided to get the hell off this godforsaken mountain.
After having a few beers later that night, I decided to go ahead and eat the scorpion candy. As much flesh as those flies ripped from me, I figured it was only fair to down one of their kind. I opened the Scorpion Brittle package, momentarily deliberated the wisdom of this review, and stuck the candy in my mouth. The candy itself tasted exactly like Buttered Popcorn Jelly Belly jelly beans—my favorite flavor. I was thoroughly enjoying sucking on the candy shell when I finally reached a part of the scorpion carcass. The taste of the scorpion was peculiar; it resembled the taste of the candy shell dipped in gin.
I thought about eating the scorpion as I sucked my through the candy, but that is so anticlimactic. For the sake of this review, I endured the gin scorpion flavor and sucked as much candy around it as I could endure so that I could eat the scorpion in one bite. After an hour of sucking around the scorpion, enough of it was exposed where I could take a bite.
The scorpion after an hour of suckage
Another view of the scorpion before I took a bite
I worked up a few ounces of courage, popped open a soda to wash it down, and chomped the scorpion down in a bite. I looked at the candy and was somewhat surprised the whole thing made it into my mouth; I expected the claws to still be stuck in the candy. It took about a minute of chewing before I was comfortable enough to swallow the creature.
I look, I bite, I chew, and chew, and chew
The taste of the scorpion was like a mix of the buttered popcorn flavored candy shell and Ivory soap. Not bad, but nothing that I care to ever do again. The worst part was after I swallowed the scorpion and discovered bits of it still stuck in my teeth. Those leftover scorpion bits tasted absolutely terrible. I needed some mouthwash to finally get that taste out of my mouth. Overall, the Scorpion Brittle isn't horrible; it's probably a better experience if you eat the scorpion as you suck down the candy—not all at once. You see biting fly: I can play this game, too.
I finally have a chance to sit down and post something. This is a clip from the Drunk Christian videos we took a few weeks ago. A little background: Christian had never before been drunk. He took an unknown number of vodka shots and hilarity ensued. In this clip, Christian divulges his fantasy of being a superhero that wields a machete and wears a cape.
Villians Be Warned
I'm in the great state of Colorado until Aug 26, but I will still try to post Mostly Dailies of some Drunk Christian videos and clips from the anime convention podcasts that “The Victim” is creating. Today's video shows a group of girl cosplayers doing the YMCA, which is apparently the only dance most of them can do—they spend most of the song awkwardly flailing their arms around. I don't have much room to talk; I have to be completely shitfaced before I'll even consider getting out on a dance floor. I didn't understand why this was done outside. These chicks were having a good time, but this occurred in the middle of a Florida summer day. It was probably 90 degrees outside, as humid as a swamp, and they were dressed up to the max in their costumes; they didn't come back into the convention hall smelling like roses.
Question of the Day: Why does some hotel soap smell like solidified piss?
The names of participants involved have been changed to protect the innocent—and guilty. Not to mention I hate labeling people like “The Victim” and “The Friend” as I have done in previous stories.
The target of Operation Wedding Bells
Let me preface this story by saying that this operation was not my idea; that's the God's honest truth! I, however, endorsed the plan wholeheartedly once Loraine suggested it at the ribbon cutting ceremony for the office that we had already been working out of for a month. As the ceremony ended Loraine had a handful of the cut ribbon and said, “We should put this on Belez's car like he just got married!”
“I'm in,” I replied after giving a moment of thought to the possibilities.
Later that day, Katrina came by my cubicle and said that she had heard about the plan for Belez's car and wanted in as well. Now all we needed was the ribbon and the operation was a go. I called Loraine and discovered that we had been completely shut down before the plan ever got off the ground. The company wanted to keep the ribbon. I figured that was the end of this tale and immediately gave up on the operation.
A few days later, the idea of doing Belez's car was brought up again. I mentioned that the ribbon had been confiscated by the higher-ups of the office, but we decided to go forward with the plan and just bring in our own supplies. Another accomplice, the sinister mind of Nikita, was brought into the operation. The final supply list included car paint, cans, ribbon, and a sweet little princess crown antenna topper I would find at Disney World later that weekend. We considered toilet paper, which I thought was a brilliant idea, but then we thought better of it. Belez usually parks right outside of the break room and the last thing any of us needed was for upper management to see a toilet-papered car sitting in the parking lot.
The car paint and streamers
The princess crown antenna topper
We set the mission date, but still needed a plausible excuse to get Belez out to his car to see our handiwork. Waiting for him to finish working was out of the question; he works way too late for any of us to wait around. We thought about having him drive us to lunch, but Corky usually drives us to lunch every day, so asking Belez to take us to lunch would be completely suspicious.
Then, I remembered that Corky was about 2,000 miles overdue for his oil change. I let Corky in on the operation and approached him with an idea, which he agreed to. Corky would take his car into the shop for the oil change in the morning and then pick it up later on. Belez could then be asked to take us to lunch without arousing any suspicion.
Mission One: The morning of the operation had finally arrived. I went to the car shop to pick up Corky and take him to work. As we arrived at the office, he asked me if I had read Belez's email from the previous night. I hadn't actually seen the message since it was wedged between 4,000 or so server warnings that were sent that night. The email read:
“I had a fantastic blowout tonight. Looks like i'll be getting some new tires tomorrow morning before coming in. Good thing I wasn't on a date.”
A fantastic blowout? Fantastic?! My initial reaction was that Belez had caught wind of the operation and was screwing with us. Corky pointed out that Belez had copied our manager on the email; that was enough to convince me that the operation hadn't been compromised. Still, we had the problem of not knowing if or when Belez would be coming into the office. I gave him a call and he said he would be in around noon—a bit too late to use the lunch plan. A few ideas were bounced around and we ultimately decided to have Corky ask Belez to drive him to the shop to pick up his car.
Mission Two: Ok, so the operation was delayed a little bit—no harm, no foul. Belez finally strolled into the door that afternoon and the operation was on. After getting a look from Katrina as she walked by, I figured we were heading outside so I grabbed my camera and princess crown and headed out. When I reached the front and met Loraine, she pointed out the torrential downpour occurring outside. No problem, we'll just wait until the rain stops and then head out.
I ran the new mission time by Nikita and she showed me that the car paint must be applied to a dry surface. This entire operation was turning into a fantastic failure. We decided to just call it quits and try again the next day.
Mission Three: The next morning Belez appeared at work bright and early—about an hour before his usual time. Once my cohorts arrived, we would strike. We set the final mission time and met out front, supplies in hand. We made quick work of Belez's car. Nikita handled the car painting, Katrina did the streamers, Loraine tied the rubberbanded soda cans to the back of the car, and I did some painting and put on the antenna topper. We decided to use his dog's name, Sabrina, for the woman that he had just married.
Belez professes his eternal love for Sabrina
The view from the front
Belez + Sabrina 4 Ever
The rubberband cans
Mission Four: We still needed an excuse to get Belez out there. My limited imagination had already been stretched the day before. Nikita brought up the idea of having Loraine call Belez informing him that somebody said one of his tires was flat, to which he would hopefully venture out to investigate. I thought this was a good idea, but Loraine wanted more deniability than that plan would allow.
I went to Corky, desperate for schemes. “The Visitor,” a fellow Gator, was at Corky's desk at the time (I know I said that I hate labels, but I like using “The Visitor”). We came up with a plan for him to ask Belez to help him bring in equipment from his car. This was a very hasty and sloppy plan. I wanted to lead Belez on and let him dwell on exactly who was involved in the operation—much like he has done to me in the past. Now, that I have had some time to think about it, we could have at least moved “The Visitor's” car to that side of the building and thrown some equipment in the trunk. Then he would have had an excuse after Belez saw his car. However, we were anxious and in a hurry for some payoff for all our efforts. So we proceeded with “The Visitor” plan.
We set up behind some tinted windows and filmed this footage of the grand reveal:
“The Visitor” had to cajole Belez into walking over to his car and checking it out. After he finally did look over his car, we ran back to our cubicles. Belez came by afterwards and immediately interrogated me. I didn't crack, but I didn't exactly put up a good front either. I knew that the reveal was careless and my alibi was full of holes. About an hour after my weak attempt at covering it up, I showed Belez the footage that was shot of him examining our creation. He deadpanned with absolutely no facial expression, “That's funny.” I've known the man for nearly 17 years; he was amused.
At the Kennedy Space Center Gift Shop I saw a brand new space food occupying the shelves: Moon Soup. Unable to resist the temptation of finding the next Astronaut Ice Cream (One of the Top 5 things I love about Kennedy Space Center—one of my next articles), I clutched the can like a kid with a new Transformer toy and eagerly gazed at the retro, blue, starry label and contemplated what in the hell Moon Soup could possibly taste like. Moon Soup is the concoction of Chalet Suzanne, a country inn and restaurant located in Lake Wales, FL. The soup is actually Chalet Suzanne's Romain Soup, which was eaten by astronauts on the way to the moon aboard Apollo 15 and 16.
One side of the space food shelf at Kennedy Space Center
Behold! Moon Soup!
After opening the can, I saw that the soup actually looked like liquid moon—a yellowish gray muck with little dark bits here and there. That's probably just the packaging messing with my feeble and easily influenced mind. I took a whiff and I was met by the most anticlimactic smell I have ever experienced— absolutely nothing. Putting my nose right up to the can, I could make out some sort of onion smell, but it was not that strong at all. The preparation of the soup involved adding ¾ cup of water and bringing it to a boil, which stretched my minimal cooking proficiency to the max.
Mm Mm Good
After the soup reached a boil I prepared a bowl containing about half of the pot. I was determined that no matter the taste, I would at least eat one serving. I was delightfully surprised that the soup was actually pretty damn good. It contains little chewy bits of mushroom and its flavor is similar to Sour Cream and Chives Tato Skins, one of the holy trinity of snack foods—the other two members of the trinity being Tom's Hot Fries and Charles Chips.
A tasty bowl of Moon Soup
I was thinking I might even waste another 170 calories on the other half of the sodium laden soup. That was, until I experienced the aftertaste. The soup leaves a layer of onion powder on your tongue that even downing a full can of soda can't remove. Keep in mind that a can of Coke has the ability to remove stains from dirty toilets and clean erosion from a car battery. The soup itself is worth trying just to be cool and say you ate Moon Soup, but I'll never buy it again. I'll just use the $4 towards another bag of Astronaut Ice Cream.
The Holy Trinity of Snack Foods
This week's Sphincter Mouse was a no brainer as soon as I came across the story of Judith Leekin and her eleven adopted children. For over 20 years, Judith Leekin (aka Judith Johnson) has adopted children and held them captive in her home so she could collect child welfare payments. To maximize her profits from taxpayer dollars, she gave the children as little care as she possibly could and still keep them alive. It is estimated that Judith amassed upwards of $2 million in that period of time—this bitch made nearly $100,000 a year torturing adopted kids.
All the children listed in the arrest warrant, three females and two males, were black. There are six victims unaccounted for in the warrant. According to the Digital Journal, there were four more children not listed in the warrant that were discovered in the house. Two others, an 18 year old female and a 19 year old male, were found outside the home. The 19 year old male was a homeless man living three hours from the house.
The abuses the adopted children suffered in this case are downright heinous. They were tied up with zip ties almost daily (as evidenced by the scars on their wrists), connected to each other, and locked in a small hallway. According the victims, they were often threatened with torture and death and were so afraid to move that they would urinate on themselves throughout the day. They would sleep on a tile floor with one sheet and no covers. These kids were never sent to school and never saw a doctor. Each of the kids had, at most, a 4th grade equivalent education level.
The anguish these kids must have endured throughout their childhood is simply unthinkable. It's baffling that this could occur for over 20 years without anybody catching on. The Department of Children and Families (DCF) did conduct an investigation in 1999, but Judith simply moved from New York to Port St. Lucie, Florida and the DCF dropped the case.
The victims in this story will never recover from the abuses Judith Leekin subjected them to. Judith, you are quite possibly the most detestable person I have ever heard of. If there is a Hell, you will spend eternity searing in it. If there isn't a Hell, then one will be created specifically for you and your sidekick(s). That's right, there may be more than one person involved in this case; it's hard to fathom that a single 62 year-old, no matter how butch, can handle this scheme solo. The warrant claims that multiple vehicles were involved in her flight from Port St. Lucie to Sanford, FL before her arrest. The police are still investigating.
The original plan for the Drunk Christian series of videos was to post a two or three minute clip each day. I gave a friend a copy of the videos to make clips, but I forgot to give her the exact times of the clips that I wanted for four days in a row now. I tried to make clips on my own, but friggin' Windows Movie Maker sucks royal ass and keeps crashing on me. Apparently if you install Nero 7 and have Windows Vista you are completely screwed; formatting your hard drive is your only hope of ever getting Movie Maker to work again.
Drunk Christian gettin' his drink on.
The following video is a clip of Drunk Christian trying to keep the buzz alive by sneaking a swig while his fiancé is in the bathroom. It's not my favorite clip, but it's the only one I have available that is less than two minutes. More to come!
A copycat “Shrimp Killer” vandal struck my cubicle today while I was on my lunch break. Here is the Post-It note that was stuck next to my EcoSphere.
The copycat signage on my desk
I revel in the fact that Clyde “The Crustacean Sensation” feels the need to credit himself in his own speech bubble. After I discovered the crime, I had three primary suspects, but since none of them were in the building I decided to get handwriting samples of whoever I happened to talk to in the meantime. One sample, that of “Security God,” was actually pretty close to the original. My primary suspect, “The So-Called Friend” was the true architect of this crime. His handwriting sample is the maniacal scribbling located on the bottom right-hand corner that actually stretches to the other side of the paper.
Handwriting analysis of various co-workers. The guilty markings are circled.
As I said in an earlier post, we went to an anime convention this past weekend where “The Victim” and “The Friend” were conducting interviews for a video podcast that will released soon. “The Victim” provided me with a sneak preview clip today. This clip is an interview where they cornered me after I bought a headband like the ones worn in the anime Naruto. I have never seen this cartoon before, but nearly one out of every three people at this anime convention was wearing this headband—so I had to have one. Besides, my sister-in-law was having a hat contest at her engagement party later that night and I figured that this headband was sure bet to win (I came in third, for what it's worth). After making the purchase, I was ambush interviewed by “The So-Called Friend.” Here is the interview and hopefully we will have more posted in the next week.