I remember the day I visited my parents to find they had torn down the wall that divided the living room and the kitchen in my childhood home. Growing up, we were not the Joads living in a shanty in some sort of 1930′s Hooverville, but I didn’t grow up in a particularly large house either. It was big enough that my sister and I had our own rooms. It was also small enough that the newly non-existent wall was very noticeable.

And, apparently, very traumatic for me at the time.

Walls don’t just disappear on their own. Nor do ceilings have the capability to fix the sizable hole that would have developed when said wall went missing. This was obviously a project that took a fair under-taking on my dad’s part. Why wasn’t I consulted? Why had they not tallied my vote on this dramatic change? Yes, it looked nice and gave the house a slightly bigger feel, but did they not realize this would do damage to me? That space was filled with wall since (at age three) I learned it existed. That wall was supposed be there.

Nay! That wall was destined to be there.

It actually shouldn’t have done damage to me. And I am probably over-exaggerating the magnitude with which omitted plaster and 2x4s harmed my life. Nonetheless, when my eyes met the lack of room division, I was worried that I had accidentally ingested LSD or that my mutant powers had finally kicked in or that I had forgotten to take off my X-Ray Specs. So I had to walk over and feel the nothingness now dwindling between the realms of the food and television.

It was actually gone. As if it had never existed. As if it were Keyser Soze.

This knee to the groin of my inner child was good for me. It prepared the adult me for the disappoints that the memory me would continue to suffer. Like today.

About a week ago I was ordering a book on Amazon. I also noticed that the 25th Anniversary Edition of Trivial Pursuit was half-price. Hooray! I love many board games, and I certainly have a big, warm, fuzzy, cuddly hammock in my heart for Trivial Pursuit to curl up and lie down in forever. Half-off? Awesome game? It was destined to be. No need to read reviews or descriptions because this is a board game staple.

Today I giddily cut the tape off of that Amazon box and pulled out my new possession. It had strange , tacky box art, but that really didn’t matter because inside was still Trivial Pursuit. My eyes soaked in the sight hungrily (of course, my belly was kind of hungry, so it might have been affecting my eyes). Shiny. New. Fresh-ish questions. Trivial Pursuit. Good ole Trivial Pursuit.

Let’s just read the back to see how they describe this quarter-of-a-century lasting classic:

For the first time ever, Trivial Pursuit cards cover one topic with three question levels: easy, medium and hard. The more challenging the question you answer, the farther you’ll move along the bonus track. And that’s not all. The zones along the track let you steal wedges, move opponents’ tokens, and more!

WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!?!?!?!

Bonus track? Stealing wedges? Three levels of questions? THIS IS NOT EFFIN’ TRIVIAL PURSUIT!

It used to be that this game was for adults with moderate intelligence. If that was too much, you could get specialized versions like Star Wars Trivial Pursuit. And if you thought high-fiving was cool you could just get the Kids version (or just get Chutes and Ladders because, let’s face it, you are probably too stupid to understand the rules of the game anyway).

And though this was not actually a game I played in early childhood it is not the first game I have found to be ruined. If The Game Of Life was an activity you enjoyed while you were young then I have news: THEY FUCKED THAT UP TO!

Why is there this new fascination with trying to make classic, time-tested things updated and hip? If something is really good, it will last, no fixing required. I know that not a whole lot of people play chess, but you still see mountains of them offered at all sorts of varieties of stores. And they didn’t need to give the queen machine guns or make the pawns squeal like pigs when they are crushed like soulless automatons for the great good. It is still the same damn game and it still sells just fine.

It is in the same vein with the movie industry’s inability to come up with new ideas, so they keep rehashing old ones (“But this time they have great visual effects!”). It seems like there is nothing new, so in an attempt to make things feel new companies need to screw with classic stuff in indescribably frustrating ways.

I know some games are reworked under a different name and while it is lame, it is fine. Because I would know not to buy Pivial Trursuit: Stupid New Reinventing The Wheel For Assholes Edition. I will not drink Coke Zero or whatever new failed version of Pepsi will be released this week. Because the old ones taste great. You don’t need to do anything more to them. Start making new drinks. Have some balls like this Indian company that is going to produce cow-urine soda.

Still, I worry about what is next. I know Jeopardy‘s audience is an aging one. Does that mean they will feel the need to jazz it up?

“You know, Alex, you can be a smarmy bastard with the contestants, so why not kick it up a notch. Be a Canadian Simon Cowell to get the kids interested.”

Then, after a contestant gets one wrong, Trebeck can give him a little what for. “You stupid, little, ignorant, dick face. The correct response is ‘what is Han Jingdi,’ not ‘Han Wudi.’ Your brain cells must have withered away since learning that one foot goes in front of the other. The primordial ooze that swishes around in that soft cranium of yours should be a disappointment to your mother who I hope, for her sake, is dead so she does not have to suffer the social stigmata of your embarrassing televised answer. As a matter of fact, I am now having the producers shut off your buzzer so that you can spare what is left of your now stained family name. Please leave the stage.”

Carrot Top can co-host and a shitty techno remix of the Jeopardy theme song can play as they go to commercial.

We can make Post Offices giant ball pits so everyone can have fun while they wait for the old lady to count out eight hundred and forty pennies. We can constantly vary the frequency and time permitted at crosswalks to make it more interesting for drivers and pedestrians alike. We can secretly switch some firefighters hoses with flame throwers. Let’s add chainsaws to kickball and make it a grudge-match-style competition that can air at 2 a.m. on ESPN.

Seriously, how far are we going to go to preserve this craving for new entertainment that is not backed up with original ideas?

Trivial Pursuit might have been a boring game for some people, but then they just don’t need to buy it! Right?! And if the fine folks at Parker Brothers had any ability left after corporate life became their only life, then they could get some minds together and CREATE a NEW game for the people who don’t like Trivial Pursuit. Or they could just steal a good idea from a self-publisher who does not have the ability to mass market. Companies never have any problem doing that. As long as they are leaving my games alone then I don’t care.

But I guess one thing that really bothers me about this whole board game drama is me. Am I really becoming such a crotchety old man that I am once again saying, “back in my day, there was no need for three level questions. People who knew how to read could play the game with just one question per category per card. None of this rootin’ tootin’ three level hee-haw gibber gabber.”

I have always known that if I lived to be old I wanted to be a creepy old man in a creepy old house. Not the kiddie-molester type of creepy, mind you. I would not have any popsicles down in a freezer in my basement or drive a “rape van.” I would be the scary, angry type. Quite literally screaming at the kids to get off my very unkempt lawn. And they would bicycle quickly past my house so that the frightening gargoyles adorning my roof couldn’t catch them. If I did my job right, as they got older, they would get braver and egg my house just so they could see my coming running out in my underwear, bouncing around all willy nilly with my hairy crack exposed to the world while I fruitlessly try to throw egg shell remnants and yolky liquid back at them.

I probably will be that angry man. The reason being, of course, because by that time I would have had to hemorrhage out enough cash for the “Classic” editions of everything I loved. Because companies will have never learned to leave the good things alone. And I will be an idiot who buys the messed up “hip” version because I am stupid and will still not read the description on something I think has no reason to change.

Evolution for people. Stagnation for Trivial Pursuit. Please.

P.S. I have a spam mail for male enhancement with the subject line, “Your little friend is watching you tie your shoes?”

There is a lot of debate this year as to why The Dark Knight did not receive a Best Picture nomination. Though I have not seen The Curious Case of Boring Boredom Sleepy Time Movie I bet Batman had the better movie. Knight (as they probably say in the industry because they are cool) was a good movie. A really good movie. But was it that good?

I am going to ask you a question and I want you to be really honest with yourself. Don’t feel bad for knowing what is true. Here it goes: If Heath Ledger hadn’t died, would we be having this discussion?

Let’s be really honest now. Screw the Best Picture category. If Heath Ledger hadn’t died, would he really be up for Best Supporting Actor? I agree, he did a phenomenal job and was, in my opinion, the person that made that movie worth watching. His performance was outstanding and he was showing the world what a ranged and gifted actor he could be. But if he hadn’t died, The Joker would have been remembered as a really cool role he played between Brokeback Mountain-esque films that would have been built to be Best Picture nominees. Not the defining role of his career.

“But look at the box office numbers! The Dark Knight should be nominated on that alone!”

Yes, occasionally the stars do align so that a film like The Godfather is a box office and critical success, but we all know that the Best Picture is about big budget art house films. Going by numbers, Mall Cop could be a contender next year. And if you want to bring in the numbers, I will show how devoid I am of emotion as I invoke Heath Ledger’s death once more: If we are being completely honest, had he not died, would The Caped Crusader have captured so much success?

Seriously. You can tell anyone you like what an evil, evil,bad photocopy of a human being I am, but inside your head, answer honestly.

There was buzz because of his great performance, but it was also his last performance. It was potentially the performance that killed him. I am not saying studios should off actors to help in tough times (unless it is somehow involving David Schwimmer [maybe in a snuff film so we can all enjoy it]), but his demise helped to raise that film and it’s profits.

Maybe if they had cut that last ten minutes of preachy, monologuing, I would call it an Oscar worthy, great film on it’s own merits. Then again, it is preachiness that gets you the nod, isn’t it? But as my friend Seth posed to me as I was asking him these questions, “And besides, Iron Man was a way better film, bro.”

I agree. It had action, it had really good comedy and it had political points that were obvious without bludgeoning you like a baby seal. So why aren’t we making the case for Tony Stark?

Because Robert Downey Jr. still lives. And he got nominated for doing black-face.

Not only did he do black-face, but he was part of an on-screen conversation that I had been arguing for years. If you want an Oscar, you have to do retard.

But what does an Oscar really matter? It ups your pay check and it gives you cred. Does it really matter for your rememberability? Probably not.

Quickly, without Google, who won the Best Actress award in 1986? 1990? 2000? 2006?

I believe Alfed Hitchcock’s only Oscar was a Lifetime Achievement award even though he was nominated 6 times.

Heath Ledger was a great actor in his own right. And I hope he doesn’t become the James Dean of our generation; just a poster hanging in dorm rooms of people who have never and will never see his unfortunately short list of films.

He might have won plenty of Oscars had he seen more days. But The Joker should not be his defining role and The Dark Knight was not an Oscar worthy movie.

Sorry.

P.S. If we are going to have that reel of pictures of movie industry people who died in the last year, can we please cut out the audience “appreciation” clapping. Just because the guy who built a better camera isn’t as known as an actor, doesn’t mean he deserves any less applause. And to hear that small smattering of polite golf clap followed by thunderous, room shaking cheers just makes me sad.

And probably the tech guy’s family too.

(Note: While I am generally a fan of the thesaurus, I used the word “gay” 219 times in this piece. I am not trying to be derogatory [more than usual, anyway]. Since I was already being callous, I figured I would just stick with “gay” as opposed to starting down the woeful path of synonyms like “faggy,” “queer,” “fairy,” etc. Just remember that gay also means happy and enjoy.)

I was going to write a piece of biting social commentary in the vein of Eddie Murphy’s classic SNL white face comedy bit. I was going to attack all those Vast Right Wing Conspiracy Theorists with their ignorant preachings of how people choose to be gay. I was going to attempt to choose to be gay and find the pleasant surprises it brought to life. Satirically.

But then I realized a number of things: A) Only a small number of friends and family actually read my strange scrawlings, so I would do absolutely no damage to the Right Wing. B) I really don’t think I want to fiddle another man’s faddle, so it would only be a very superficial, Will & Grace style homosexuality. C) The joke is already kind of tired and stupid because most people realize attraction to the same sex is not a choice and, more importantly, there is nothing wrong with it.

But probably the biggest reason as to why I never finished the piece is the fact that I already am SUPER gay.

Not really. No parades of pride or anything like that. I am not the lovable gay who can get catty with you about The Hills or whatever other things gays like to love and trash. I am not the type of gay that can redecorate your house or correct your clothing choices. I will not drink glasses of wine and eat fine cheeses. Potentially I could be one of those crazy mustache, biker-type gays, but that is not me. Though I am not afraid to boogie down like Spiderman to It’s Raining Men.

Still, I am super gay. My type of gay is one that exists, I believe, only in straight men. Let me just warn you now that it can be quite distressing, disturbing and nauseating.

What is it? Well, I don’t know why it is and I don’t know how to stop it, but for some reason I just can’t stop sexually harassing my male friends. And I am not talking about little asides. I am talking about things that would make fetish film producers blush. The homo-eroticism of tights-wearing, ass-slapping, frat boy, football teammates ain’t got nothing on me.

And I wish I could say it was some altruistic, post-feminist support of women who are too often objectified and treated as nothing more than creatures to meet the fantastical sexual needs of men. But it’s not.

And I don’t think it is because deep down I have some well-decorated closet to break free of. 9 times out of 10 I would choose a vagina over a penis. What about the tenth time? I would be choosing none of the above, because that skank’s got a nasty kooch. It would be like throwing a hot dog down a hallway. No fun for anyone involved.

For some reason, however, I just can’t stop with the comments. It starts with a simple term of affection like “honey pie,” “sweet cheeks,” or “finger puppet.” Some how it always ends with a “let me fondle you” or a whispered “I want you inside me.” And when words aren’t enough I just like to loudly smell them while I am walking by.

Yes, you are now disturbed. And being that this is the first time I have really contemplated these actions, I am even more disturbed than you.

I began thinking about this because one of my victims, who I think is most disturbed of all, has recently began promising me a list of what men are supposed to say to each other. Since he has not provided said list, and because it might be a good training course for my rehabilitation, here is what manly straight men should apparently be saying to each other, as compiled in my mind:

“Hey, Teddy, check out the boobies on that fetching lass.”

“Girls have cooties, but I do sure love to do them.”

“NASCAR might not be environmentally friendly or any fun to watch, but I love it.”

“I admire firemen for their tough work and not for their centerfold bodies that I wish I had so I wouldn’t disappoint my feminine other with my flabby bag of folding flesh.”

“Beer is only meant to come from a can, like soda and beans.”

“Cans makes me think of jugs, which is also another word for ladies’ luscious love globes.”

“Tupperware is only useful to hold my corpse until Science finds a cure for whatever ass-kicking way I died.”

“Reading is the leading cause of retardation.”

“Yes, I am an inattentive husband. And yes, the ugliest, butt-crackiest plumber could probably have a chance with my depressed, pill-popping wife. But I can still drink you under the table.”

“Diet soda leads to premature ejaculation.”

“Fuck teachers. And don’t fund them or their stupid educational system either.”

“My other car is a fishing boat which is exactly why women love me and fish fear me.”

“I retain life by eating the souls of wild creatures. (Actually, most of them are tame, raised in cages and then slaughtered some where far, far away. But I am still not afraid of mad cow disease or salmonella, fuckler.)”

“I only brake for Jesus.”

“Beers, bitches and biplanes.”

“I did not get weepy during the 7th Harry Potter book, because I already told you that reading is for retards.”

“Suckle mine wang, wench.”

“Fruit is only good when delicately chopped up and put in pancakes that I can soak with 500 times their weight in Aunt Jemima.”

“I got crabs, but I will be sanitary and Saran Wrap my junk before I come over to your house.”

OK, it got a little “bumper-stickery” in there, but I assume “real” men only learn vocabulary from tailgates and Larry The Cable Guy while they drive their 18-wheelers and slug down some Buds. Oh, and they probably picked a little something up from Hair Metal too.

Since I have no real end, I will just tack on this true story from the original “I’m going to choose to be gay piece”: I told my friend that from now on I would be gay. She said, “you will be like a unicorn.”

Sadly, while homosexuals are cut from a special cloth, they are not magical. Also, it is now proven men aren’t the only ones who say the fuckedest things. Sober.

A friend recently asked me, “do you think scientists will ever splice DNA?” This, of course, could leave mankind, while not entirely X-Men like, with wings or gills or no need for Enzyte thanks to horse genes.

My response to him was simple: not will, but when.

With cloning and stem cell research and tomatoes the size of abnormally large tomatoes, it is not a question of will scientists ever splice DNA, but when the political atmosphere will be right that they don’t need to be like mad scientists hiding in Denmark putting tentacles on giraffes just to see what happens. Like Patton Oswalt said, “Science, we’re all about coulda, not shoulda.”

And when I get to thinking about Science and the wonderfully magical things they do (thank you Doctors Frank Gerow and Thomas Cronin), I also naturally start thinking about manticores and other mythical creatures they could make or mutate people into. How awesome it would be to be described as a “creature of myth” (a title I have strived for in the bedroom, but have acquired for the wrong reasons). And when you think about mythical creatures, how can you not think about Jesus?

If there is one thing that I think both Science and Christianity can agree on, it is that we should clone Jesus.

Yes, the religious people are inevitably crying “Blasphemy” right now, but they know deep down that they want to see Jesus on Oprah. Doing some of his little parlor tricks. “And you get some water to wine! And you get some water to wine!” Fuck Tom Cruise’s “memorable moments,” this would be some shit that would revive the ad revenue of local affiliates. And VH1 could make tons of I Love The Jesus and Charm School: Disciples, etcetera. Hell, Oprah should have Jesus smiting Tom Cruise for being a Scientologist and then releasing the Church of Scientology’s warehouse of legal team funds to the meek.

You know you want to meet Jesus, so shut the hell up and just hear me out, Christians.

Now, scientists are inevitably also crying out. But it is more along the lines of, “Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.” Translated from science speak, this means that even if Jesus were real, what remnants do they have to clone him from? It also means they think it is kind of bullshit.

You scientists can also drink a nice tall glass of Shut Your Face Malt Beverage for your answer is simple: The Shroud of Turin.

This revered piece of cloth is believed in some circles to be Jesus’ burial cloth, because it kinda has a sorta Jesus-ish looking face on it. And for some reason it is more believable than that Jesus-shaped mold in a Floridian bathroom that people pay five dollars to see and touch (because the mold will heal them for it is the magic of Jesus [and also penicillin]).

For the sake of argument, let us all agree for a moment that Jesus existed. Whether he was the son of God or a sorcerer in the vein of Merlin or just a really good, pre-Barnum con man who was hittin’ that kooch left and right and side to side, Jesus existed.

Debate goes on about the Shroud and what it actually is and how old it is. I am not here to argue one way or the other. The part that interests me is the stains that appear and are believed by many to be made of blood. If this is Jesus’ death blankie, than this is Jesus blood. What harm would it do to take a little off and see what we can do?

OK, their would surely be a big outcry about outright cloning the Lord and Savior. So we start small. Jesus was all about healing, right? So let’s use that Jesus blood to make a be-all-end-all cure to everything. I’d even be fine with all Christian faiths splitting the profits of Jesus’ Magical Topical Rubbing Lotion: Great for cancer, herpes, gangrene, far-sightedness, ass pimples, cleaning off those nasty grease stains and even a lubrication (to be used only in acts of marital procreation, otherwise it will cause burning like the fires of Hell).

Society would be healthy, maybe even in Africa, if profit could be made. And once society is healthy, we can take all that money that is given by the government to medical science and apply it to something useful. Like more of those sensible rebate checks, because I need a PS3, dammit. There would be no more 5K walks. All that donated, good-faith money could then go to internet porn and the porn industry would no longer need a big government bailout. Then the economy would be fixed. Because if there is one industry that knows “trickle down,” it is porn.

But why just deal with healing the sick and the meek with an enchanted potion? That is boring. That does not make for good reality TV or a great Discovery channel documentary. Let’s just clone Jesus and get it over with.

Why? Because it will end a whole lot of bullshit.

Think about it. Say the Shroud of Turin is really the cloth Jesus was wrapped in before he took his stairway to heaven. If Science is right, then a test-tube-baby-mini-Christ will be born, watched with the fervor only matched by American Idol or The Superbowl commercials. If Science were to prevail, eventually Jesus V 2.0 would be exposed as a fraud. Sure, Christians would call the little freak of nature a false profit and shout how they were wrong about the Shroud just like how the Pope was late to the game on the Holocaust, but the rest of us would know.

What, however, if Christians are right? Then it would bring about their blessed Second Coming. How poetic would it be for the Armageddon to be brought around by Science attempting to play God? It’s a much better potential ending brought by Science than a nuclear winter.

It’s a big gamble, but I think it’s one Christians should take. If only to prove that they haven’t become soft since the days of witch hunts and burning people at the stake.

Because religion is all about leaps of faith. So why not go all in with your pocket aces, Christianity? Or are you just bluffing and waiting for that logical comet to hit the Earth and bring about the End Days for you?

Pussies.