Tag Archives: Wil Wheaton

The REAL Blake Shelton reads, while naked AND nude: Alpaca poetry gone wild

Recently a friend of mine posted about the tags in her blog that generated the most hits.

While I’ve ranted about my most popular tag here already, I thought it was time to a) look at the cold hard statistics, and b) reveal the little experiment I’ve been running.

When asked if I want the good news or the bad news first, I always like to reserve the good news to serve as a balm to help me heal after being kicked in the googlies by the bad news. So here’s the good news:

I’ve been running an experiment, inserting specific, unrelated tags into my blog posts to see which ones generated hits. Here are the tags I used:

  • Blake Shelton naked
  • Wil Wheaton naked
  • Rush Limbaugh naked
  • Benedict Cumberbatch naked

This is good news because science, and its use, is always good news.

Now for the bad news:

I weep for the human race.

‘Rush Limbaugh naked’ only lost to ‘Wil Wheaton naked’ by three percentage points. THREE PERCENTAGE POINTS! RUSH LIMBAUGH? How is that even possible?? Lovecraft couldn’t have imagined a horror that terrifying (or more non-Euclidean in its geometry)! Click on image to see the horror in full-sized clarity.

Clearly there is no hope for Humanity.

The only thing more disturbing than the huge landslide win achieved by ‘Blake Shelton naked’ is all the various misspelled and I-don’t-know-what versions of that phrase dumped into search engines that landed these sick freaks at my blog.

To spare my gentle readers (i.e., those not here to gawk at Blake Shelton), I aggregated them all into the Blake + Shelton + [some form of ‘undressed’] category. Here are some of the more family-friendlyish variations on this nudie Blake concept:

  • the naked blake shelton (not to be confused with all those naked Blake Shelton impersonators)
  • blake shelton gets naked
  • blake shelton nake
  • blake shelton nude fakes (oh wait, there are impersonators out there!)
  • blake shelton completely naked (look, either you’re naked or you’re not naked – none of this I-can’t-decide nonsense in your internet-posted pictures, please. If the focus is so bad I can’t tell whether or not you’re completely naked, don’t bother posting it (though in the case of Blake Shelton, I thank you for the poor focus))
  • black shelten nacked
  • blake shelton nakt

Blake shelton nakt? Is there no end to your depravity, internet?

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to rinse my eyes out in bleach, then drill some holes into my skull to destroy two parts of my brain, the section that make mental pictures out of words that I read and the section that remembers those pictures.

And now, a word from our sponsor: me! My books are available!

The Santa Claus Gang:

The Santa Claus Gang: A Marlowe and the Spacewoman short story

Marlowe and the Spacewoman:

Marlowe and the Spacewoman

Kleencut (FREE!):

So bad it won a Voidy for the next THREE consecutive years (would have been FOUR, but 2012 was a leap year)


Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Stop Treating Me Like An Idiot, Mainstream Television!

Yes, there were beautiful women in it.

Yes, I was mostly naked.

These two lines are extremely handy for starting blog posts that I don’t want friends, family, or, frankly, anyone who has seen me, reading. They see those first two lines, and assuming they don’t fall to the floor gibbering in primal horror while curling up into the fetal position, immediately take a pass on reading further.

Quite handy.

Oh sure, the next line, if I were being honest and they were still reading, would be:

No, I didn’t have any fun.

I’m talking about a dream I once had. I was hosting a bunch of people in my home: ex-girlfriends, beautiful women on twitter who I’ve never physically met before, and female strangers who were also pleasant to look at.

They couldn’t give a rat’s ass about me, even in my own damned dream. And how does this dream that started with so much potential wrap up?

With me. In bed. With a male friend and his male acquaintance.

Platonically, mind you. If I’m not having any of the funny stuff with the ladies in my dream, I sure as all heck am not having any of the funny stuff with the guys in the dream either.

I think the worst part of the dream is that I am so physically inadequate that none of the women in it noticed I wore a wide-open bathrobe and nothing else.

No admiration.

No shock.

Not even horror.

Blake Shelton Naked (not)

"Because remember, underneath our clothes, we're all ... naked!"

Yes, not even horror. Impressive physique or dreadful physique, at least that gets you noted. You register on whatever the female equivalent of the male attractiveness Richter scale is called. The Bradley Cooper Threshold? The Clooney Displacement? The Shelton Naked Scale?

(At last! A legitimate reason to use ‘Blake Shelton naked’ as a tag on this blog! Suck it, Blake Shelton fans!)

And I, in my own freakin’ dream, don’t register at all with these women. Not so much as a blip.

Humiliations galore.

Well, one of them did come to me and ask that I fix a leaky faucet.

I have leaky faucets at home, and this fact has managed to creep into every single dream I have. My sleeping life is like my waking life – an unmitigated horror of bad plumbing.

Naturally, when I wake up from this recurring dream, I am depressed.



And like many unnoticed, alienated men, I turn to the one thing that might just cheer me up.

No, not the wife and kiddos. I said cheer me up!

No, not killing hookers. That’s even more depressing.

And a little creepy.

Not to mention, not something easy to do when one is feeling lethargic. At least, not if you don’t want to get caught.

Just a bad idea all around.

So yes, I turn to the only other alternative.


Oh, what a disappointment that turns out to be. Every time.

Which is why I think we need a television viewers Bill of Rights.

Plane passengers get one, right?

Consumers get one, yes?

Public utility rate payers are afforded this protection in some locales, correct?

Grover Norquist foisted one upon all the Republicans, didn’t he?

So why not TV viewers?

Therefore, without further ado, I present to you, dear readers, my TV Viewers Bill of Rights:

1) When you start a show, finish it. Don’t do a half-ass job of promoting it, then cancel it just as the fan base becomes rabid. You’ll piss off a lot of people and get a ton of hate mail.

2) If you broadcast a show on your network, and then do cancel it before all story arcs are resolved, you will make the resolution of those story lines known, either with a press release or a spin-off graphic novel or by going on The Ellen Show and announcing them.

Just don’t do it on Oprah. I don’t get OWN.

Unless it turns out the mark on the amnesic main character is an angelic glyph and his amazing intelligence came about because he was dead and in Heaven before coming back. That’s just lame and I’d prefer you keep it to yourself.

3) On a related note, if you start a sub-plot, and your show doesn’t get canceled, finish the damned sub-plot. Don’t have one of your main characters take his girlfriend into the future and then leave her there while he goes back to actually prevent that future from happening. Or if you do, at least explain why he couldn’t be bothered to go get her. Or even mention her again.

4) You will monitor twitter while your show is airing. Across time zones. Your lawyers will use the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and any other douchey legal tools at hand to force all live-tweeters to Cease and Desist. The DMCA is a crap law, but we ought to get some good out of it.

5) Never, ever, EVER have something really bad and shocking happen, something cataclysmic that guarantees astronomical season finale ratings and has people talking at the water cooler for the duration of the rerun period, only to have it end up being a freakin’ dream. You do something bad ass, own it. If you don’t have the writing cojones (or ovaries) to write yourself out of it after the fact, don’t freakin’ do it to begin with.

6) Don’t swear up and down for the first four years of your show that the characters are not in Purgatory, are in fact alive, and all the events they are experiencing are real, only to actually kill them off and have them in Purgatory for the last season. That is beyond stupid, moron, and if you do end up doing it, please get lost.

7) For the love of all that is good, so-so, average, neutral, ambiguous, and even evil, do not have characters who fight end said fight with a passionate kiss and a tumble in bed/on the kitchen table/under the desk at work/in the Men’s Room stall at Grand Central Station.

That crap is totally cliché.

8) Don’t replace a character with another actor. If you have to, don’t pretend it didn’t happen. Samantha really should have been wondering why her husband was suddenly slightly less effeminate, and, oh yeah, A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT PERSON!

And ya know what? My kids are still curled up underneath their cribs, blubbering on and on about what happened to Marina. God dammit, Nick Jr., you’re supposed to be all about the kids!

Jesus Christ, How Many Actors????

How do you plan to top eleven actors? Hire a TWELFTH?

Don’t even get me started about Doctor Who. They’re on their ELEVENTH actor playing the title role. Hello, the British pound is worth more than the dollar! You can afford to give your star a raise to keep him!

Come on! It’s not like you spent the money on special effects! At least, not for the first twenty-five years!

9) Finally, and most important, don’t insult the viewer’s intelligence. Some of us actually are smart, and can figure stuff out without being hit over the head with it. Try challenging us, make us work for the entertainment. We’ll be more vested in the show if you do. And if you’re worried about the stupid people, don’t. Just keep hiring sexy men and women in tight clothes to hold their attention.

But please, choose sexy men and women in tight clothes who can also act.

Feel free to print this out, sign it, get your kids and neighbors and pets to sign it, and then send it to:

Wil Wheaton
c/o NBC Universal
Quality Assurance Division
30 Rockefeller Plaza
New York, NY 10112

Because NBC, through Wil Wheaton, is responsible for all TV shows. The illusion of other networks and foreign programming? All a vast conspiracy. But that’s the subject of a future blog post.

Now don’t any of you suggest a Blog Readers Bill of Rights. I can’t live up to those sorts of standards.

And now, a word from our sponsor: me!
My book, (the edited) Marlowe and the Spacewoman, is out!

Marlowe and the SpacewomanClick here to learn more or order a copy!

Leave a comment

Posted by on 20 March 2012 in Life, Other Blogs, Story


Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

An Open Letter to Wil Wheaton

Funny, or crime against Humanity?

Funny, or crime against the working man? Image source: (and Wil Wheaton, of course)

As a voice for the unheard, a seer for the unseen, a lightning rod for those without electricity or other forms of power, I receive a lot of letters and emails from those whose views are underrepresented in the media and pop cultural at large. I feel both joyous pleasure and a heavy responsibility as I page through these myriad fan letters, their authors pleading for my help.

Usually I laugh and delete these amusing cries for succor after I’ve finished reading them, but today, today one stood out as worthy of my attention and, less importantly, of course, yours.

I now present to you this important missive, raw and unedited except for the parts I disagree with, which have been omitted.

Mr. Wheaton, I am not writing to you as the local chapter head of the Paper and Parchment Collators Union Local 420, though that ought to be reason enough.

I am not writing to you as a passionate paper collator, a lover of that art form who studied its precise movements under his father, who, in turn, studied the practice under his father.

I am not writing to you as a professional who attended three years of collation trade school.

I am writing to you as a husband and father, as a man who has mouths to feed:

Please, stop collating paper yourself and leave it to the professionals.

Sure, you Hollywood types think it’s ‘fun’ and ‘gritty’ to jump down in the trenches and get your hands dirty. But what you fail to realize is that when you, as an amateur, collate paper for a photo-op or to help out a blogger, you not only are taking that job away from a licensed collator who needs the money, especially in this economy, but you’re also propagating a terrible myth, a myth my fellow collators and I have spent years combating, have shed blood and tears trying to dislodge from the American psyche.

What myth is that?

That you don’t need years of schooling, you don’t need to work as an apprentice under a seasoned master for decades, to be an adept paper collator.

Have you no sense of decency? Of honor? Or, failing that, of simple social justice?

When you posed for that thoughtless picture, you told the world that anyone who spent a couple of years ‘slumming’ it at Juilliard or some other ‘acting’ school can collate paper.

You told the world, “No, you don’t need to pay top dollar to an expert to get your paper collated correctly. Just go down to the nearest casting session at a studio to collect one of the rejects, or, if you must, call a temp agency.”

You committed the sin of implying that collating paper is easy.

Is your family warm at night? Are you all well-sated when you all leave your table at Cafe La Boheme? Are you able to wear the latest in sturdy, comfortably clothing?

For my family, the answer to all those questions is “No!”

My wife and I shiver at night in the cold because I can’t afford to heat my home.I assume my children shiver too, but since our house is too small for my family, they sleep out back with the dogs, who thus far have kept them warm enough to survive.

My children cry for more at dinner because Cafe La Boheme only has so many leftovers to hand out after they close each night, and it isn’t enough for a family of four. Who also have three dogs to feed.

Our clothes are the most disgustingly two-seasons-out-of-date styles, which regularly results in my young children being beaten on the playground.

By their teachers.

Mr. Wheaton. I can’t tell you the number of jobs I failed to get where the hiring manager clapped me apologetically on the shoulder and said, “I’m really sorry, but we looked into it, and even Wil Wheaton is cheaper than you are. If we can’t get him, we’ll call you.”

They haven’t called me, Mr. Wheaton. Which means not only are you destroying the reputation of paper collators world-wide, but you’re also a union-busting scab.

For the love of all that is good and sweet in this world, please, Mr. Wheaton, stop collating paper!

Audio version of this blog:

And now, a word from our sponsor: me!

Marlowe and the SpacewomanClick here to check out my forthcoming book, Marlowe and the Spacewoman, coming out January 9th, 2012 (Balloon Ascension Day)!


Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

%d bloggers like this: