The Legendary Knock-Down Drag-Out Blog-Off

Barbeque

2008-08-05T19:08:00.000-07:00

So. That last post of mine.

Just figured, y'know, it hadn't been while - I'd just pop in and relay an amusing Stamos Brain Invasion anecdote (amusing for you, the reader, of course - to people like me who are fully aware of his expanding sphere of influence, this is only an infinite horror). No harm in that, right? So I figure I'd indulge myself afterward in some theoretically cathartic intelligence silencing TeleVision. Only minutes after I'd watched a few hours of the tube's soothing wave-signals I was assaulted with images and sounds the likes of which no human should suffer.

I was attacked again, at just the minute I'd let down my guard.

To illustrate how crippling a blow I was dealt, I'll provide an example; remember World War II? Now, put aside those boring Non-America parts. Remember when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor with bombs, planes, and people - a no-holds-barred all-out bare-knuckle terrortastically suicidal killstravaganza (this sentence is part of a government experiment to see if short-lived Asian war victories can be debased through hyperbole)? Now, Hawaii is a place that sticks out in the middle of the Pacific ocean, roughly somewhere inside the distinction of "between America and Japan." If we're to take the position that the Japan of this age was evil with the supposition that America was a significantly lesser evil, using the example that a man who kicks babies of a certain race down the stairs is more hateful than a man who kicks every tenth baby he encounters down the stairs, we're left to assume that Hawaii's position was the most compromising. If this second man were to, for instance, place his bare ass in front the first man while displaying an "At Least I'm Not a Racist Baby-Kicker" sign, we wouldn't be quite so surprised if that first man then drove his steel-toed kamikaze boot into it.

At the same time, though, we provide for the ideal that every American should be safe behind their TV, a safety further gauranteed by Fox News and the like gauranteeing them safety from hearing any opinions they don't already agree with. I've since come to terms with the fact that it can't keep me wholly free from Stamos - if the Jews control the media, I can only assume that he's infiltrated their organization by camoflauging himself as an Israeli schmeer magnate - but surely, I'd thought, the odds of encountering another Stamos attack on the very night I'd blogged about Stamos were slim.

Further, this was Comedy Central, a channel that professes to be primarily concerned with the funny - Stamos is strictly serious business. I think we can all agree that nothing about this man has ever been funny. His program would perhaps fit better on a network dedicated to terror and disharmony, like VH1 or Lifetime. Further, the show's purported subject (let's not be fooled; of course the true subject is the erosion of my sanity) is Bob Sagat, a man whose career, while puzzling, has never been hilarious. Perhaps the Roast is intended to honor his ability to please diametrically opposed niches, but we must remember that Stamos is hosting, and therefore cannot sink to levels of discord that would be mere child's play to our coiffed tormentor.

The moral of the story? You truly never are safe. During my hyperpatriotic brain-ignoring relaxarama, Stamos dropped his largest payload yet - but lo, this was only the announcement, the call-to-arms. What real apocolypse, what eternal torment, awaits us during this otherwise wholesome section of somewhat-late-night basic cable?

I can only pray that whatever great machinations steer this world have the prudence to allow the survival of my voice, so I may utter a final "told-you-so" before our world crumbles to dust.

As always, I await Stamo's counter-argument.

UPDATE

2008-07-30T00:16:00.000-07:00

Been a while, been a while.

I just felt I needed to relay some important news.

Stamos has made further encroachment upon my life. He has given me proof that I cannot escape his gravitation, like some sort of strange B-actor celestial body.

See there? I just called Stamos a "celestial body." This is getting innapropriate and disgusting. I'm all over the place right now, so much I am shaken. He has disturbed the core of my being and left my emotions a swirling cavalcade of dementia.

So. My prior Honey Comb post. It had nothing to do with Stamos. It was just an innocent letter to the folks over at Post. I figured it needed to be said, and if the world could benefit from my vigilance, so be it; no one else seemed to be stepping up.

It was all a trap.

A friend of mine read the Honey Comb letter and paused to wonder; why would Ivan put this on his Stamos blog? Surely it's a great way to reach out to a large audience - a surefire, golden, time-tested way - but isn't this supposed to be about his battle with Stamos? His curious mind lead him where all curious minds go when their curiosity weighs heavier than their relative knowledge base; Google. I can only assume "Honey Comb Stamos," which at once sounds either like a disgusting bath aide, innapropriate condiment title, or devious South-Asian sex act, was the fateful search string that brought him to a terrible revelation.

Stamos once performed - I can only assume musically, but as the subject is irrelevant to our conversation, I'd like to submit that he was demonstrating proper water polo equipment use through pantomime - at a pub in Scotland called "The Honeycomb." I can't corroborate that story, but even if it isn't true, it's been weaseled into my life through what I'd thought were safe havens - my friend, my own blog, and Post breakfast cereal.

Truely, no part of my life is safe. This is evidence, pure, simple, and concrete, that he will wind his way into my mind with incomprehensible, insidious methods too convoluted even for a Stephen King/M. Night Shyamalan made-for-TV movie collaboration.

For the time being, I must go to sleep. To do so, I have stuffed condoms in my ears to temporarily prevent Stamos from raping my brain.

Dear Post Cereal:

2008-02-20T22:46:00.001-08:00

Re: Honey Comb

Greetings, Sir or Ma'am. It is my opinion that whoever does the graphic designing on your cereal boxes - or at least those people responsible for supervising the production of the Honey Comb box art - should be immediately fired. It seems they have not correctly communicated with the cereal production and testing departments. You see, where your new redesign should say "Now Tastes Like Nasty Ass Shavings", someone has facetiously written "Now With Better Taste!" Now, I don't want to start pointing fingers here; I find it of course possible that someone on your staff in fact likes ass shavings, and has therefore caused a miscommunication. However, given that you likely have quality control departments and take opinions of the cereal and box designs from several perspectives, it is clear that either someone is playing a terrible joke or those who should have caught the mix-up are not performing properly.

I reccomend you fix the box immediately. It strictly misrepresents the new direction your cereal is taking (a bold new direction, I might add, and certainly one that other cereal companies could do better to exploit), and I feel that, as a result, you are not appealing to the best possible audience. Further, I feel that limiting the cereal to the grocery store is stunting the product's development; you would do much better by sending a Honey Comb Newsletter, of sorts, directly to copraphiliacs.

You are quite welcome, and I await your correspondence in this matter.

Premonition?

2008-01-21T00:11:00.000-08:00

Today was a good day. Not without lack of Stamos, of course; it wasn't perfect. I didn't ascend fully, body and soul, into heaven, whereupon I was declared Grand Poobah of Fizzy Soda and my lactose intolerance removed. But to say today had major flaws would be a terrible lie.

I started the day driving to Boston to watch some movies with a friend. I like movies, I like Boston, I genuinely don't mind long drives, and I didn't have to pay gas. If pressured to define this trip in a word, I'd use "neato". And nothing there reminded me of Stamos. Sure, there was a strange guy with a headset radio in the bathroom who, for some unfathomable reason, was genuinely interested in where I came from and how far I drove to be there, but that's hardly terrible. It's quirky, and in due course, I like quirky. Maybe I'll write such a character into a novel; not a big part. A foil to larger event, perhaps. Maybe as a symbolic lean on self-presentation and self importance. Who knows. Who CAN know?

Now, I got home, and Bob Sagat - in fact, Full House itself - was mentioned on Family Guy. Not too bad. Yes, Stamos was rocketed into my mind. At any rate, I'm used to it. It's annoying, but hardly enough to ruin my night. If I'd had time to dwell on it, I perhaps would be thinking of reasons Stamos would invade my choices of late-night comedy telediversion, but I didn't and I wasn't. Because a bit later that night, something wonderful happened.

I punched a light brighter.

Be careful with that phrase; mull it over a bit. Let it wash over you. I don't mean to say I punched a Lite-Brite, mind you, or, perhaps, a machine that creates Lite-Brites. That would be senseless and uncalled for. Such colorful wiles delighted me as a child. I mean that my fist, outstretched above my head, collided with a lightbulb, and this event immediately improved the lighting condition of my room. I daresay that without looking out the window, I wouldn't be able tell the difference now between midnight and high-noon with it on. That's likely a terrific lie, but it's not far exaggerated. It's really bright in here. And that wasn't a weak punch.

This can mean only one thing - something I've suspected for years.

Stamos, look out. I am magical.

(Yeah, this didn't explain the Full House plot. Bite me. I'll get to it later. This shit is important. Someone should be contacting the military.)

Bit of a Leap.

2008-01-15T08:23:00.000-08:00

Yes, a bit of time has passed since my last post. What can I say? I could say I've been busy, but I'd probably be lying. I haven't really been busy the whole time. In fact, I took large stretches staring into the wall. Mostly, I'd say it's a combination of laziness and absentmindedness. When I remembered, I wasn't here, and I didn't care enough to search for the more important things to do than stare at walls.

This is because I have been distracted. Not distracted out-of-hand, as a person walking down the street may see a glimpse of sunlight shining in the distance, reflected off a car window or parking meter. No, distracted intentional, as with a purpose, by a single entity; distracted by the wily ways of John Stamos. I don't know what he did, but I do know that whatever has been preoccupying my mind lately to keep me from writing in this blog has been a direct result of Stamos. Maybe it's those ads he was in on TV about car insurance or some such - they may have been ingrained with a message targeted at my subconscious to keep me from going into the world and attempting to achieve. In fact, this is a defense mechanism of the Stamos; if he puts these messages into our brains to keep us from pursuing our goals, it means fewer people to infringe upon his established career. Fewer people to show him up means he sticks in our minds singularly, instead of as a reference, and I assure you, Stamos registers far more power as a figment of your imagination than, say, toast and jam might. It's in his nature.

To prove my point; no one has shown him up, directly. There's never been a sequel to Full House, a defining part of his career. If, say, Shia Lebouff took the reigns of Uncle Jessie in an upcoming Full House feature-film, Stamos would then be but a footnote to another actor.

I'll explain more of the links with Full House - arguably, home to the beginnings of his dastardly plans - in the next post, and for now, I at least take solace that my life is not being haunted by Shia Lebouff. Really, ever since Even Stephens, I just can't like that kid. And I find the combination of his hair and teeth disturbing for reasons unbeknownst to be.

The First Day: Evolution of War.

2008-01-11T13:15:00.001-08:00

It's been about a day now since I started this blog. So far, all is quiet on the Stamos front. I can't blame him; he's a busy guy. He probably has agents to talk to, deals to make, demons to negotiate with. I imagine he has already seen the blog and, after mulling over a plan to destroy it, spent the rest of the evening cackling. I can't be sure. He never shows it on TV, but he seems like a cackler. I certainly wouldn't imagine him as a chuckler, and he doesn't quite have the girth required to guffaw.

Today, I awoke to the sound of my brother trying to tell me something. After I listened to his message, I realized that my car had been rained in. I had left the windows open the night before. What a silly mistake to make! Certainly not something I do often. In fact, I don't know if it was I who left the windows open or if someone had momentarily borrowed my car and left it in this perilous condition, but one thing is sure; were I in sharp mental condition, my seats would not now be moist. Something threw me off. It's true that yesterday I didn't have the greatest of days, for many reasons. A pad fell off my glasses, oh lament. A man did not return a call, oh sadness. My drink got cold rather quickly, oh odium. But why should all these things come together at once? What great force is attempting to unify the minor mishaps of my life into a daily force of gloom?

It can be no coincidence that so many petty misfortunes came to me on the day I started my blog, and continued the day after. But I shall worry not, for I know the source of these envenomed stings, and I would survive a thousand more if only in spite! A clever man you are, Stamos, but I am ever more resilient! You cannot stop this blog, no matter what convoluted and shadowy methods you use!

And as always, I invite your response.

It Begins.

2008-01-10T21:34:00.000-08:00

I am making this blog as an announcement and a call-to-arms. This serves as both a warning and a life-chronicle. You will hear, on this website, the story of a man with a life effected by means and intentions not all his own. I speak of a battle that will last until the Apocalypse. I speak of a raging torrent whose fall will stop only once the sky is eternally blackened. I speak of a timeless struggle between man and oppressor.

I speak of the silent war between myself and John Stamos.

It's a fact that John Stamos has, at the very least, contributed to a severe drop in my quality of life.

Can I prove it? No.

Am I being targeted? I would have to assume.

Has he done this to anyone else? I don't know.

This blog will tell the story of my life as I lift off my back the weight of Stamos's evil. I offer Stamos to send me any correspondence he wishes to address these concerns - and they are merely concerns, for I have no proof of wrongdoing, such a sly trickster is he - to post upon this site as a counter-argument. This blog will also contain an account of my own life and ideas, not as a personal release, as most may use a blog for, but as a log of the experiences of a man under the sly finger of Stamos.