A thirst for knowledge.

A hunger for… also knowledge.

Today I will debunk popular conspiracy theories. While I attest to professing little to no knowledge in a variety of subjects, I will attempt to beat off my detractors (heh!) by implementing a simple scale of one to ten that will determine the likelihood of truth in each theory.

Here is the scale:

The number “six” wouldn’t fit with the size and font I chose. Also, the colours are meaningless.

NEXT STOP: CONSPIRACY????????????

1. 9/11 was an inside job

Google “9/11 conspiracy”. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

Holy shit, right?

There are millions of websites and even more theories, conspicuous photos and “evidence” from concerned amateurs. Everything from faux science about how steel melts or the free-fall speed of a building implosion, all spouted from the mouths of unprofessionals who desperately want to believe something complicated in place of something simple.

We’re raised in a culture of story. We’re so in tune with television and movies that we expect the truth to be just as dramatic as your standard Lifetime movie of the week. Reality, in this case, is not as satisfying as a work of fiction. The fact is that on September 11, 2001, hijackers took over four airplanes and caused irreparable loss of life at three crash sites. That’s what happened. To any 9/11 conspiracy theorist, I can only present this: the number of people that would be required to be “in” on the conspiracy is astronomical. However this blog has nothing to do with pragmatism.

Was 9/11 an inside job? GRAPH DECIDES

CONSPIRACY DEBUNKED

3. Kurt Cobain was murdered

I was nine years old when Kurt Cobain died. I didn’t listen to “Bleach” until I was seventeen. I enjoy Mr. Cobain’s music and it saddens me that he is dead and didn’t create more.You may think these musings are irrelevant. And you’d be correct.

Courtney Love is a crazy whore. I don’t put it past her to stay sober for six hours so that she could pay some pacific northwest Hell’s Angels six grand of upfront Hole money to blow away her better half (and truer words were never spoken) to gain control of one third Nirvana’s interests. That’s roughly how the conspiracy goes.

World – Cobain = Courtney Love gets the royalty checks.

POSSIBLE.

4. The JFK assassination was carried out by more than one man

True.

5. Lady Gaga has a penis

While evidence exists on both accounts, I am not about to turn bobandandrew.com into a pornographer’s playground.

But at least we know that lady/fellow can sing.

6. The world will end in 2012

I hope my simple graphs have helped you

Today I am twenty-four years old. Older than Super Nintendo, younger than the World Trade Towers. 

I’ve got more years on me than Mickey Rourke’s chin, but less than Cher’s tits.

Twenty-four years. Woopity doo.

I burst through the vagina at exactly 4:44 PM, February 16th, 1985 (consult your Almanacs). I was greasy and irey: thespians will recognize this as foreshadowing. A welcomed changed from months in the womb, I was a stand-out example of what a baby should be.  What a baby can be.

Did you bring a coat? Good, cause I’m about to take you on a journey.

Did you know: Everyone has a birthday. Even you.

So it’s your birthday: Who gives a shit?

Right. Birthdays, rather the celebration and promotion of one’s own birthday, is tacky, pathetic and sad. However I do believe and try very hard to make other people’s birthdays special. Last year I was an accessory to planning Bob Woolsey’s surprise party. I often send cards to my sister on her birthday. These are prime examples of my charity. I am a philanderer.

I’m really good withbirthday cards. Like, exceptional. I can tickle your funny-bone and touch your heart all with the same hand motion. My old standbyby is buying a card unrelated to a birthday- bat mitzvah, pet death- and crossing out select words in the card message so that it is hilarious and vaguely birth-related. Other times I’ll make a card by hand with crayons and construction paper, as a developmentally disabled child would.

If you have a birthday and a mailing address, I will send you a card: email andrew@bobandandrew.com. I also give relationship advice and Vegas over/unders for NCAA basketball. Do NOT take my advice.

24 Years Old

James Dean died at 24. He was a famous actor (a.k.a. “factor”) because he was young and attractive like Billy Crudup or Emile Hirsch. I think he was also Howard Dean’s grandfather. Or Jimmy Dean’s brother. Did he make sausages? I don’t know and frankly don’t give half a fuck.

The Notorious B.I.G. also died when he was 24. He was shot, and if memory serves me it had something to do with Tupac or Puff Daddy or Tupac and Puff Daddy.  The B.I.G. died in 1997. In 1997, I was 12. Weird!

I was born in the year of our Lord, 1985. I don’t remember much about the 80s, except that my dad had a beard and Jimmy Page-like hair that probably led to him bedding a women, a.k.a. my mother. My dad is my inspiration for my 2009 “No New Haircuts” Policy, though I strive to look like 1960s Neil Young. Look at that magnificent man.

(Editor’s note: Andrew has since gotten a haircut and disappointed his father immensely.)

During the eighties, in addition to pooping in a bag and being fed by hand, I found it difficult to reach things in high places. That is my collective knowledge of that decade. We’ll move on.

Life Lessons

While I may not possess the gumption of say a 52 year old or 71 year old, I have, in my brief years, amassed some knowledge that I feel is worthsharing. And since creating a humorous list is the easiest way to wrap up a blog, I leave you with:

“Andrew’s Seventeen Life Lessons: Volume One”

1. Wear socks. Always wear socks.
2. If in doubt, go with the Olive Garden.
3. Beer is a suitable meal replacement if you drink two or more.
4. Do not take your pants off until someone else in the room has already done so.
5. Eat your vegetables. They make you strong so you can fight.
6. Do not underestimate the power of a good sandwich.
7. Drunk dialing = Bad idea
8. Batman does not exist. Do not invest in a bat-signal.
9. Never pass the dutchie on the right hand side.
10. At best racism can only seldom break a tense social situation.
11. If you can build a good snow fort, you will make it through elementary school.
12. If you’re around a whole bunch of people who like cats, do not exclaim your disdain for cats.
13. You’re not a man until you take a puck to the unprotected stomach, arm, leg, back, shin, buttocks, hand or face.
14. Any argument about music (especially with the female species) is not worth having.
15. The c-word is to be used sparingly if at all around women.
16. Invest in a good hat.
17. Anyone who quotes movies in everyday conversation is probably a rancid cunt.

I’m going to spend my special day doing all of the things I enjoy: I’ll go for a walk, eat a sandwich, stare longingly at the Burrard Inlet while lamenting my failures… I’ll probably catch a movie too.

Happy birthday, everybody. See you next year.

President.  Hawk.  Boot-stomper.

Bush was many things: A thief. A liar. A war criminal. But apart from sending young men and women into the desert to die on a God damn lie, Bush accomplished many, many great things that will stay with the world until time stops.

Today, we take a look back at the legacy George W. Bush.

But before we begin, a little about myself.

Hello. How are you? That’s good. Are you comfortable? I’m making tea. Do you want a cup? Well just let me know. I can reheat it. My name is Andrew. I have no socio-political expertise, no formal education nor credentials to speak of. I shoot from the hip. I vote with the gut. I suffered a severe brain contusion as a child that sometimes affects the way muffins. I am however a staunch advocate of history and have a strong thirst for justice.

You might be thinking, “Hey, a lot of this stuff Andrew claims Bush to be celebrated for is actually bad. Is this that fancy new ‘irony’ that my father warned me about?” The answer, Kevin, is no.  Irony is the use of words to convey a meaning that is the opposite of the literal meaning. Now go fuck yourself.

Oh that reminds me. This blog will contain no Cheney.

The Man

George W. Bush was born on July 6, 1946 in New Haven CT. Contrary to popular belief, Connecticut is not in Texas and therefor George Bush cannot and will never be a cowboy.

Bush was spawned by his father and mother, former US President George H.W. Bush, and possible chick with a dick Barbara Bush. He married grape juice baron Laura Welch in 1977.

Bush graduated Yale and owned the Texas Rangers baseball club for awhile. He often wore bluejeans.

While achieving moderate success both as a businessman and functioning alcoholic, George W. Bush reached his true calling on the morning of September 11, 2001, when two aeroplanes hit the World Trade Center in New York. Bush didn’t exactly rise to the occasion, but he did use the events to spur a false war that has since claimed some 4500 American lives.

A Brief Overview of Achievements

- Did not attend one single US soldier’s funeral
- Plunged the US into a record deficit
- Almost died from pretzel-inhalation
- Waved at Stevie Wonder
- Ducked not one but two flying shoes

Next Week

On Part Two of my eleven part series, we will look at George W. Bush’s greatest adversaries*: his father’s love, cocaine, and Barack Obama.

*Greatest adversaries subject to change

If not today, then tomorrow. And if not tomorrow, then sometime in the distant future.

But today, I offer a jaunting reality check for those of you too lazy to accept this planet’s fate.

*Not be based on fact, rather years of pop culture consumption and irresponsibly speculation.

(The “YEAH” banner, usually reserved for positive posts, has been implemented to soften the blow of the truth that’s about to be revealed. I promise you, loyal readers, far fewer lies next time.)

And the list!

Way In Which The World Will End #1 -Asteroid

Look, we all know a giant asteroid is headed towards earth in March of 2880. And sure, you might say, “But that’s eight hundred years from now. What should I care? Everyone I know and love will dead!” Well, Captain Pessimist, let me remind you of the children. Do you want to see the children burn alive as the volcanoes erupt? Do you want to see your child’s head explode when a passing chunk of space rock shoots through their bedroom window? Didn’t think so!

The best way to combat a giant asteroid is to train roughneck oil workers to be astronauts and send them to the surface of the asteroid to drill a hole and plant a nuclear bomb to shatter the rock into millions of football sized pieces that will harmlessly pelt our planet without relent. This has been proven to work and will most likely be done last minute, maybe February 26 of 2880.

Way In Which The World Will End #2 -Machines Taking Over

Machines are scary. For one, they can often take the form of humans. And two, they’re everywhere.

Can opener. Fridge. iPod. Computer. Electric sex aid. Toaster oven.

Did I just blow your mind? Probably. We have to be weary of the machines, and ready to destroy them with pliers and hammers.

“DO NOT BECOME A MACHINE’S FRIEND.”

Way In Which The World Will End #3 -Aliens

If there’s one item on this list of terror, the one humans are most prepared to combat, it is an alien invasion.

Earth-people (re: humans) are really good at killing each other. We have nuclear arms, tanks, guns, rockets and lots of other expensive shit that will explode and ruin families. If the time comes when little green men descend from the sky, we as a people will be ready to forgo diplomatic negotiation and murder them without regard.

Way In Which The World Will End #4 -Virus/Zombies

The evidence is massive: Dawn of the Dead, The Day of the Dead, The Night of the Living Dead… zombies-  created either from the “no more room in hell” theory or even a mere smallpox outbreak- would cripple the economy.

Zombies eat necks and reproduce like poor white people from West Virginia. They can be both slow-walking or super fast modern zombies. It’s impossible to predict which version will attack first, so it’s best to set into motion the two step method of zombie disposal as soon as possible:

1. Separate the brain from the body.

2. Chill out in a mall.

If you’re elderly, a baby, or somehow physically challenged, well, you’re screwed. Those of us with two working legs and youthful vigor will be able to run and hide, while the undead feast on your brains.

Sorry, Grandma!

Way In Which The World Will End #5-Shitty American President

Old man and new hotness. Fine, we get it.

He’s a war hero and she looks like the aunt you harbour disgusting feelings for. But this is not the future, America. This is terrible.

Terrible terrible terrible.

I’m not endorsing Barack Obama. In fact both candidates are backed by some of the same corporate lobbies and have voted for and against bills they’ve recently come out for or against. But since there’s no Jack Layton in America, you might as well pick the guy who seems hip and isn’t in his seventies.

I don’t hate pigeons. I like their shape. If the mood struck, I feel I could easily grab a pigeon with one hand. Birds in general, I like. Sometimes their light chirping sounds of music; a nice accent to a walk through the park on a warm summer‘s eve. Sure they poo everywhere, and have the ability to poo on you from the clouds above, but that’s fair trade for the shape and acoustics.

I didn’t notice the pigeons in the car park until a few weeks ago. While on my way to the local convenience store, several pigeons swooped down, startled no doubt at my intrusion to their natural habitat. One merely grazed my shoulder, while a second came within inches of my face. There were others- I could see pairs of beady eyes in the darkness- but only two chose to attack. I could have fought back, but opted to run. (I didn‘t spend twenty-three years on this earth drinking and chain smoking just to lose it all to a pair of fucking birds.) Since the incident- which I have taken to calling my own personal 9/11- I’ve largely avoided the car park of hell.

Fast forward two weeks. I’m returning home late from an evening of culture and debate (playoffs and beer), when I find myself under the cover of doom. I freeze: do I power through and make a dash for the door? Or do I step back into the light and go the long way around? As I weighed my options, my eyes darted around, waiting for the first attacker. I cocked my fists, spat out my gum, and prepared for war.

But it was for naught. The crevices, the spaces between the beams where the pigeons would stalk were bare. Rather, plastic spikes had been placed inside, preventing any sort of bird from setting up shop. Clever, I thought.

Yesterday I passed a small market near where I work. Usually between the cement pillars, homeless men would make their camp, protected from the rain in an alcove just large enough to lay down. Though I do not support charity I do admire a resourceful hobo. Sometimes I make note of certain practices, storing this information in case I ever end up on the cold, hard streets. How surprised was I to see that these small alcoves now had horizontal metal poles laid through them effectively blocking out any chance a hobo had to make a bed.

Is this what we’ve come to? Warding off unsavoury vagrants with pigeon technology?

I can’t say I’m surprised. People generally despise the homeless. I can understand a business not wanting beggars outside of their doors, but this total sign of disregard- spending hundreds of dollars in an epic “Screw you!” to those who have little to nothing. (I once saw a hobo with a shopping cart full of tires.) What is so wrong with allowing a man a nice spot to nap or to cover himself from a light afternoon rain?

I can’t offer an idea to rectify this problem. Boycott said business? No. Donations to the local homeless shelter? Nay. Tying a pigeon’s legs together and tossing him around like a football? Perhaps.

I don’t have all the answers.