Thoughts on fiction…

After finishing probably my 200th YA fiction book in the past 6 months, I began thinking, for roughly the 200th time, how it encompassed so many of the sought-after ideals from the past that have since become archaic in modern times, like adventure, chivalry and unrelenting romanticism. They encapsulate the fading principles of humanity like loyalty and altruism and standing-up for what you believe in, but in a more impassioned manner than we face them in today’s world, in ways more intense and more meaningful than most of us will ever experience.

That’s a major thing I—and I’m sure bookworms everywhere—love about books: they bring together all the best, most interesting and emotion-provoking aspects of life, from past and present, and let you dive on into them through the eyes of the protagonist. Movie can’t do that—movies are passive; you watch and perceive what is happening. With books you actively pursue those ideals, those feelings, those moments of excitement and possibility the likes of which we will never face.

So yeah, reading kicks ass. Hurrah.

Alex

Holy, holy, holy crap, mankind is even dumber that I thought. Which isn’t really all that dumb—more selfish and short-sighted than actually lacking intelligence—but still…take a look at the following excerpts from some Amazon book reviews, written by actual, living people, who have somehow managed to avoid being consumed by Darwinistic principles and lived long enough to learn how to type.

Lucky for me, my readers are not morons. Drunk, lacking morals, and probably lacking clothing, sure, and smarts? Chock full of ‘em. 8 hours of work supplemented by 8 hours of partying and 8 hours of sleep just seems to make sense to us.

Anyhow, prepare to lose whatever shred of respect you had left for the human race:

The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis
“I bought these books to have something nice to read to my grandkids. I had to stop, however, because the books are nothing more than advertisements for “Turkish Delight,” a candy popular in the U.K. The whole point of buying books for my grandkids was to give them a break from advertising, and here (throughout) are ads for this “Turkish Delight”! How much money is this Mr. Lewis getting from the Cadbury’s chocolate company anyway? This man must be laughing to the bank.”

(Editor's Note: Lewis died in 1963)

Lord of the Flies by William Golding
“I am obsessed with Survivor, so I thought it would be fun. WRONG!!! It is incredibly boring and disgusting. I was very much disturbed when I found young children killing each other. I think that anyone with a conscience would agree with me.”

The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien
“The book is not readable because of the overuse of adverbs.”

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
“I don’t see why this book is so fabulous. I would give it a zero. I find no point in writing a book about segregation, there’s no way of making it into an enjoyable book. And yes I am totally against segregation.”

The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
“While the story did have a great moral to go along with it, it was about dirt! Dirt and migrating. Dirt and migrating and more dirt.”

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
“It grieves me deeply that we Americans should take as our classic a book that is no more than a lengthy description of the doings of fops.”

Btw, these were brilliantly compiled by Rachelle Gardner.

I would now usually write something along the lines of “So next time you dislike a book, make sure your postsynaptic membrane is properly functioning before logging on to amazon.” But the intrinsic problem with dumb people is that, typically, they don’t know they’re dumb.

Next post will be happier, I promise! I’ll drink more beforehand!

Bash

(Clever intro)

(Flawless transition)

5. Middle of the Quad, half-naked, hospital bracelet intact

I was choking down a hungover breakfast in my frat’s dining room with a few other guys when we all received the same text from a girl who lived in the sorority next door:

“Willow is blacked-out and half-naked in the quad screaming “cunt” at incoming freshmen tour groups.”

I’m not sure what I looked like as a kid when I found out they were building a Toy ‘r’ Us a few blocks from my house, but I’m pretty I donned the same expression.

We arrived at the quad in record time to see Willow stumbling around in the muddy grass, barefoot and shirtless, still wearing his inpatient bracelet, throwing c-bombs and f-bombs and z-bombs (don’t ask) at anyone who entered his personal bubble, which apparently has a radius of 300 feet.

He continued slanging vulgarities until we approached him, at which point he stopped, confusedly looked around, and asked “Why is the hospital so cold?” Then toppled over.

It was the first time Willow had been admitted to the University of Washington Medical Center against his will and discharged against the hospital’s. It wouldn’t be the last.

4. Bed of a Truck

This entry was originally about when I woke up in front of these Greek pillars on campus wearing nothing (at all) but a soaking toga and had liters of Carlo Rossi Chablis duct-taped to my hands. But, after last week’s article, someone anonymously emailed the following:

“I once woke up at a car dealership, in the bed of a new truck, as the salesman was showing the vehicle to a couple.”

Not sure if this is true or taken from a Judd Apatow movie I haven’t seen yet, but if so, bravo. Fucking hilarious.

3. Up in a Tree, Middle of a Forest

This bartender I used to know was both a huge stoner as well as a complete idiot. We’ll call him Stoned Idiot.

Stoned Idiot liked to drink at the end of his shift. Stoned Idiot then liked to drive home “before the alcohol hit him” so he’d be ready to go the minute he walked in the door. One night Stoned Idiot’s stoned idiocy caught up with him and he crashed his car into a guard rail while exiting the freeway. Seeing as though it was three o’clock in the morning on a Tuesday and no one was around, he figured he’d run away, hide, and tell the cops his car was stolen the next day.

I’m going to go ahead and assume you just finished analyzing his justification for running and decided—like any sane person reading this—that he should not be allowed to reproduce. Thus, it should come as no surprise that, after twenty minutes of frenzied running, he realized that he had sprinted the wrong way down the freeway and was now miles and miles from home.

Stoned Idiot—being the stoned idiot that he is—panicked, started sprinting in the general direction of his apartment, and soon found himself lost in a forest. Naturally, he decided to climb a nearby tree, drape himself over a thick branch, and pass out.

2. Hospital

I was sitting in my fraternity’s living room taking in my daily dose of The Price is Right when in walks Willow (from #5), wearing nothing but boxers, one sock, and a hospital identification bracelet. He stopped in the foyer, stared at me, and then continued upstairs to conduct a full-scale investigation into where the fuck his life was.

Willow likes to drink. A lot. So much, in fact, that he gets alcohol poisoning and is taken to UW Medical Center on a somewhat frequent basis. This time, when he woke up still drunk and unhappy about the IV in his arm, he decided he had had enough of the damn hospital’s life-saving hospitality and decided to walk several miles home in boxers and one sock.

How funny would it be to see an unbalanced five-foot-six guy who looks frighteningly similar to an elf stumble down the side of the highway in boxers and a sock?

Very funny.

1. Airplane, bound for the East Coast

Seriously.

On an especially emotional Friday night, this guy named Brian got blacked-out. But, instead to being his usual sloppy, disheveled drunken self, he packed his things, got a cab to SeaTac Airport, bought a ticket, somehow made it through security, and successfully boarded his flight to visit a girl he missed on the East coast.

Epic come-to. Desperate plea for no turbulence.

Got your own crazy black-out/come-to stories? Join in the discussion here.

Waking up on your bedroom floor? No big deal—you fell out of bed. Waking up on the couch? Whatever, you passed out. Waking up next to a hobo under the Fremont Bridge with your wallet in the crotch of your boxers?

Yea, you fucked up.

Here goes—numbers 10 through 6.

10. Prison Cell, Next to a Pile of Poo

A couple of my friends went to Corvallis, Oregon to watch the OSU vs. UW football game. Naturally, UW lost, which naturally sent my buddy DevCakes into a drunken rage, which naturally made him tackle an obnoxious OSU fan, who naturally turned out to be a police officer, who naturally arrested him. Naturally, DevCakes was put in a prison cell for assaulting the officer, which he naturally found unjust, which naturally led him to take a shit in the middle of the cell in a drunken act of defiance.

Some things, I guess, just come naturally.

9. Rival Fraternity, Butt-Naked

AngryOven: “I apologize for anything I did.”
TKE: “You mean get a girlfriend? I’m sorry for you too.”
AngryOven: “Huh?”
TKE: (to the other TKEs) “I hate when girls with boyfriends live in.”

In the summer, girls move into fraternities to fill the vacancies left by guys who move home. AngryOven’s girlfriend lived in at TKE, and he had spent the night with her. How he forgot that his girlfriend lived across the street when it was he who helped her move in, well, let’s just say that a light course load coupled with unlimited opportunities to party can do things to your memory.

8. Under a Bridge, Next To a Hobo

Sadly, this was me. My friend got a party bus for his 22nd birthday, and after endless keg stands on Interstate 5 and a dozen $1 Beers at the first bar, I decided to go for a stumble. It was a pleasant night. The sky was clear, and I assume there were beautiful stars somewhere behind myriad layers of smog.

I started calling the typical late-night drunken calls, and was halfway through an ill-intentioned conversation when I heard footsteps coming up quickly behind me. Without looking back I snapped my phone shut and began running.

They’re trying to steal my wallet!

I bolted down sidewalks and flew around corners, never once chancing a glance at my pursuer.

I know, I thought, if I jam my wallet down my pants, even if they catch me they’ll never get my money! With my wallet well-hid behind my testicles, I continued running until I saw a bridge, slid down, and curled up in the fetal position in a dark corner. When I came-to an hour or so later, I was delighted to find a friendly hobo prodding me with his finger. I would have laughed, but my pursuers might have heard me.

7. Side of the Freeway, Being Arrested, Given DUI

I believe this two-line conversation will sum up this particular drunken come-to:

Officer: “What have you been drinking?”
Willow: “Everclear.”

6. Bedroom Floor

This one isn’t so much the place as it is the circumstances surrounding it. A friend of mine that for purposes of anonymity will be referred to as “A Bash” had a long night of beer pong and brotherhood planned, but instead decided to black-out, lose a pint of blood and make a dozen drunk dials to the King County Police Station.

Here is his story:

8:05am: A Bash wakes up, commences confusion.
8:06: opens eyes, prays for sun to implode.
8:07: holy sinning testicles, his head hurts.
8:10: does not want move; afraid of which limb may not repond.
8:12: uncurls from fetal position. Only left arm is immobile. Not so bad.
8:14: discovers left arm is completely encrusted in strawberry jam.
8:15: realizes only he would find strawberry jam prank funny.
8:16: realizes he is in extreme pain.
8:17: realizes jam is indeed dried river of blood.
8:20: realizes he has no recollection of anything after deciding to finish half gallon of rum with his little bro, Spam.
8:25: checks outgoing calls: Spam, Spam, Spam, 911, King County Prison, Spam, 91111, Spam, King County Prison, Professor McKinstry, Spam.
8:26: great…
8:30: stands up; holy awkward hand-jobs, his head hurts.
8:35: enters bathroom.
9:35: leaves bathroom.
9:50: calls girlfriend for info.
9:51: girlfriend’s roommate says girlfriend will not speak to him.
9:52: girlfriend’s roommate is disgusted with him.
9:52: great…
9:55: sits down on bed; holy indecipherable hieroglyphics, his head hurts.
10:10: ten people ask why Spam is in jail. He does not know why Spam is in jail. He also does not know why he is covered in blood.
10:16: no one else knows why he is covered in blood, but apparently he must call a girl from next door to apologize for something.
10:17: uses girl for information. New information: he is a douche bag.
10:20: calls King County Prison; is told he will receive harassment charges if calling continues.
10:22: cleverly calls girlfriend from friend’s phone; is told to “eat shit and die.”
10:25: tries to stave off hangover with nice, cold beer.
10:35: enters bathroom.
11:35: leaves bathroom.
11:40: cell phone rings. He answers. It is Spam’s older brother with new information. New information: he is a douche bag.
11:45: enters pledge quad. Is handed a paper titled: “Quotes from A Bash”

“I swam through gravel; I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Hi, my name is A Bash, and Spam is getting gang-raped as we speak! Hello? Hello? I said Spam is getting—dammit!”

“If Spam has illegitimate ass babies it’s all my fault.”

11:47: lies back down.
11:48: holy ostracized cheek fat, his head hurts.
11:50: drifts off to sleep.

Make sure to tune in next week for numbers 5-1!

In drinking news this week, John McCardell—former college president and winner of the 2009 Coolest Old Dude Ever Award—is continuing his national campaign to lower the drinking age from 21 to 18.

Granted, it would only be in Vermont initially, but still, the idea could catch on.

His two main arguments for this are as follows:

1) nobody waits until they’re 21 to start drinking, and if you think they do you should join the other disillusioned idealists who think that having sophomore health classes learn about abstinence makes young people hold off on the horizontal hula until marriage. Thus, drinking becomes a clandestine activity, instead of one played with keg cups and ping pong balls in fraternity front yards like it should be.

2) when your typical idiot turns 18 they can buy a gun, vote for the el presidente, smoke, join the army, get married, adopt kids, and do a whole lot of other this shit that should require a lot more qualifications than just being 18. Yet they can’t have a beer. Wft?

Anyway, a whole bunch of other totally awesome college presidents have jumped on the band wagon, but still more than half remain on the sidelines. Boo on them.

Another aspect to consider is that if a state lowers their drinking age to 18, it loses 10% of its federal highway system moola. This implies that those who would drive drunk would wait until they could legally drink to do it. This also implies that we live in a world where logic and reason do not exist.

So… thoughts? If I get enough I may do a post on the general view of the public. Granted, they’d be people who read my site and are passionate enough about boozing to bother responding, but hey—if drinking laws don’t care about rationalization, neither will I.

Two Stories about Fucked-up Things Happening to People who Kind of Deserved It.

Question: when does it become OK to inflict harm upon another?

Many would of course say “never,” but for those of us who don’t live in pacifistic disillusion, I’d seriously like to know. For example, how bad does a guy need to be until he warrants a Bat Man-style kick of justice to the face? We cheer when our heroes jack the hell out of the supposed “bad guys,” but when does it cross the line from bullying to vigilante justice?

Below are two stories that have riled up some controversy when shared with others. Granted, they’re more focused on the intoxication of the individuals involved, but I like to think these could be a start off point for some very lengthy email discussions, possibly even more than the vastly dichotomous ones I had after posting how to get girls (and guys!) drunk.

When done reading, let me know what you think.

Story I

Bleacher Battles

The University of Southern California (USC) was playing my school, the University of Washington (UW), on our turf, Husky Stadium. At Husky Stadium there is a student section for only UW students so we can yell horrible things about beating various USC players’ loved ones to death and then peeing in their eye socket. We can do this because, in case they forgot, we fucked their eyes out.

Good times.

Just before the 3rd quarter begins, a student from USC finds its way into the UW student section, most likely by way of Trojan Beer. He is decked out in maroon and gold and shouting poorly-rhymed mantras about his seriously amazing team. He is surrounded by 400 UW students, of whom 425 are drunk because the fetuses inside our knocked up girls are also slurring their words.

Before the first minute of the quarter had elapsed this admirably dumb individual had been:

• Kneed in the head
• Had his pants pulled down
• Had two cups of various spiked beverages dumped down his shirt
• Facialed with ketchup and hot nacho cheese
• Harshly grabbed from behind by security and escorted from the game for causing a disturbance.

Simply by stumbling into the wrong section, this guy was assaulted, sexually harassed, humiliated, and then kicked out of the game.

Easily one of the top ten greatest moments I’ve witnessed in collegiate sports.

Story II

The Only Time Assault is Funny

If there is a line between “prank” and “seriously fucked up,” we have no idea where it is. If there is a line between “funny” and “3rd degree assault,” we know where it is, and shit on it on our way passed.

KimJ is in the bushes.
ToolBag is on the path.

KimJ informs us that ToolBag has been a jerk to him many times throughout his life. Whether KimJ is lying to us to justify his actions, we will never know, and, quite frankly, do not care.

We are giggling in anticipation.

ToolBag comes in to sight. KimJ creeps from the bushes. ToolBag is oblivious. KimJ begins sprinting. ToolBag turns around.

Bam.

KimJ lays him down with an all-out form tackle.

Standing over his stunned body, KimJ points in his face and bellows: “Happy Thanksgiving, bitch!” Then runs away.

What does the ungrateful ToolBag do to thank the well-wishing KimJ?

Chases him.

What a jerk, right?

So, what you think? Overly malicious? Justified? Straight hilarious and who cares about the moral implications?

Also, I have this book out called The ImBible. I've been told it's pretty funny and has 101 drinking games in it. Although I was pretty hammered when I wrote it, so I can't be 100%.

To celebrate the birthday of Dr. Seuss, I resurrected Mr. Theodor Seuss Geisel for a collaboration that, had I known the Doctor during the days when he threw keggars during prohibition, we certainly would have written together.

I own about a dozen Dr. Seuss titles, and every now and then I’ll spend an hour plowing through them before bed, and then wake up at 4am wondering who laced my pre-sleep protein-shake with LSD…wonderful, rhyming, nostalgic LSD.

There’s just something about properly-executed anapestic tetrameter that makes my eyes get wet.

Mr. Geisel, I hope this poem doesn’t make you want to sic a snorlax on me.

Someone emailed me the other day asking why I didn’t have any normal pictures on my website. I responded “Well, six days a week I sit alone in my room for 18 hours straight writing, editing, reading and writing some more, then one night a week I go absolutely nuts and wake up sans pants.”

If balance is the key to life, I am locked out.

But I thought I’d oblige nonetheless.

How does something like posting updates—which takes all of about ten minutes, including the html coding—happen so infrequently? And it’s not just me. There are authors, actors, musicians, and all types of creatives, who still have “Upcoming news!” from ’07.

Basically, we all suck. Maybe we need more of that daily meeting/briefing thing that corporate people in ties have going on. Or maybe not.

Anyway, I’ve been working on eight different projects lately (not exaggerating—literally eight), which I hope to someday soon be able to reveal. Besides that, I’ve been working 40 hours a week at my real world job, trying to keep my bench press at otherworldly heights, kicking everyone’s ass at Cranium, and watching in horror as the publishing industry/economy/world-in-general falls apart.

Also, I wrote a couple articles for my weekly humor, The Alcoholic Medium, the latest of which was an expose that began with why long words are evil, and ended with Vincent Van Gogh punching angels. You can check it out here

And now, some random thoughts:

I hate when I’m showering at someone else’s house and they hand me a wash cloth, because I start thinking, “Have I been doing this wrong the whole time?”

I think the easiest people to rob would not be the elderly or disabled, but those who have just finished an intense leg workout.

You know a corporation is doing well when its ads stop promoting their products and start telling you how green their factories are.

Let’s face it: not all money is “hard-earned.” Whether it’s slow days at the office, obligatory bonuses, generous tips, or inheritance, a large percentage income—however small—is quite easily earned.

I wonder if we’ll look back at internet porn and pirating music the way our parents do black and white TVs and record players.

***Digital Cheers!***

Bash

For those who don’t know, I have a weekly column on the college humor site Points in Case. My column is called The Alcoholic Medium, for obvious reasons. At least I hope they are obvious, because I have a surprisingly difficult time explaining them.

In case your site-hopping hasn’t yet landed you on PIC, here are the links to my most recent articles:

13 Fictional Characters and What They Would Do Under the Influence

Ever wondered what Mario's favorite drink is? Or how murderous of a drunken rampage Big Bird would go on before putting the gun to his own head? Of course not! You're a sane person.

Carry on my wayward song…

Top 10 Lists

While I usually write slightly longer articles with more substance/penis jokes, I think it is often best to keep articles short and sweet, and replace penis jokes with sexually derogatory metaphors or ethically mortifying allegories.

Leer mas...

Drunk Girl vs. Pregnant Girl

Many things happen when a girl becomes pregnant. Her stomach expands. She becomes irrational and moody. She gets cravings for random kinds of food...oh, wait—that's when she's drunk. Or is it both?

Which is she?

Amongst all the turmoil and uncertainty this New Year will bring, at least I can always count on one thing to never change: hangovers.

Thanks a ton, Admiral Nelson.

Dear Grandma and whoever else stumbled upon this website,

I was going to write some meaningful yet bitingly sarcastic multi-paragraph farewell to 2008, but decided not to. I was going to write brilliant metaphors about the financial collapse and Obama’s historic win. I was going to inappropriately compare war and turmoil to various sex positions. I was going to make top 10 lists of movies, books, and other forms of entertainment, like bum fights and Darwinian deaths.

But I decided the internet was already too saturated with that, so instead I’ll leave you with a simple farewell:

See you in ’09.

I’ve gotten a number of emails lately from people about how great and cheap a present The Imbible is. Perfect for the casual drinking buddy, that coworker you only talk to at happy hour, an old fraternity bro, or your alcohol-abstaining younger sibling who still refuses to play quarters with you when you come home for the holidays.

It has 100 drinking games, tons of mildly funny jokes, and either rippling pecs or double Ds (or both) depending on which way you swing.

There's still time to get it from amazon before Christmas with FREE SUPER SAVING SHIPPING!!! Seriously though, good times: buy The Imbible.

Also, here are the last couple articles from my weekly column, The Alcoholic Medium.

The Drunken Personality Study: I Am Not Drunk Guy

Certain people apparently do not get drunk. Sure, they may puke and cry and get medical tubes shoved down their throats, but rest assured they are not even the least bit drunk.

Read on, Brave Soul.

Six Everyday Conversations Under Alcohol-Induced Honesty, Round II

As much as lying has helped me evade jail time, fines, legal fees, speeding tickets, taxes, detention, suspension, expulsion, bad reputations, failed classes, ruined relationships, broken jaws, cable bills, internet bills, and a paternity test or two, I still find myself thanking alcohol for occasionally bringing out the honesty in me.

Continue...

Birth is not a Miracle

Question: How come something that has happened over 100 billion times is still considered a miracle? Moreover, why is something that every species in the history of history has done considered special in any way whatsoever? Why is a process we are literally built for considered any more extraordinary than successfully expelling partially digested cheeseburger after a long night of drinking? Doesn't a miracle denote something, you know...miraculous?

Click here for the miracle of hyperlinks…

If you are having trouble thinking of a gift for someone this holiday season, consider The Imbible. Why? Silly question:

1. It’s got 100 drinking games. Literally. Not 100 variations, but 100 completely different drinking games (although some admittedly blend together after beer 11 or 12, but then again so do movies, songs and genders).
2. Drunk eating will remove the hassle of fitting eight pans of leftover stuffing into the fridge.
3. Intoxicated candor will leave no doubt in anyone’s mind how you feel about them, thus avoiding painfully fake smiles for years to come.
4. Aforementioned intoxication will allow you to deny you ever said anything if you choose to continue the fake smiling.
5. No need to worry about the eggnog going bad; it’ll be gone before the final relative passes out.
6. It finally lets us in on the secret of what sexual position the people of the Renaissance most preferred.
7. It is easy to wrap, and even easier to tape to the top of a 24-pack.

“This year, give a present they will thank you for all night, and hate you for in the morning.” (copyright, Alex Bash 2008)

Merry Christmas,
A Bash

When regarding recreational spending, especially in times like these, it is important to calculate how many hours of entertainment you are getting per dollar. $10 for a 2-hour movie? $5/hour. $20 for 2 hours at happy hour with the boys? $10/hour. You get it.

It is this kind of calculation that has me wondering why people don’t buy more books. A brand new paperback runs about $15 and provides, depending on your reading speed, 10-20 hours of entertainment, sometimes more. If you buy used or from Amazon, it can be even cheaper. I bought five used books today for less than $20 after tax. That should provide about 100 hours of entertainment. You do the math.

Moreover, once we’ve finished the book, it stays with us both physically and mentally. As

Jason Pinter said, “If you buy a non-fiction book, you'll give the reader knowledge. Entertainment. A glimpse into history, or possibly the future. You'll give them something to talk about long after the last page is turned. Does a sweater do that? I think not.”

And that’s not even including the fact that, depending on how obscure the book is, you’ll be able to quote it as your own without anyone knowing.

Go buy a book.

I'm assuming no one is too surprised to learn that God hates prohibitionists?

Good.

I'm also assuming that the rage you've always felt towards them now feels justified? Even warranted? Encouraged?

Excellent.

I'm also just going to go ahead and assume you'd like to hear the true story about the invention of brain surgery, how dice came to have six sides, why the Burnt City was never rebuilt, and why Satan's pitchfork has three prongs?

Super.

Continue on, brave soul...

I miss playing with Legos more than is reasonable.

Why is a baby being born called a miracle if it’s happened over a hundred billion times?

To get a driver’s license, you need to be a certain age and pass a test. To own a gun, you have to be a certain age and pass a background check. To FISH, you need a license. But, to have a child—to bring another life into the world that is your sole responsibility—you don’t have to prove anything? You can be any age, be a complete fuck-up, yet you can have a kid? The hell is up with that?!

When does something become a “medical mystery” as opposed to an annoying condition that takes a long time to diagnose?

Praise for The Imbible

Sample Games

7 Ate 9

Anchorman

Beer Roulette

Chumbawumba

Drown the Clown

For a full table of contents click here.

Why you should buy The Imbible

Links That Are Totally Way Awesome

Points in Case
College Humor
Dave Barry
Publisher’s Weekly
Galley Cat
Shelf Awareness
Genreality
Editorial Anonymous
Rick Riordan, the greatest author ever.
Nathan Bransford, pretty much The Man.
The Leveraged Sellout
Maddox
Jason Pinter
The Imbible's Australian Site
Tucker Max
The Onion
Aaron Karo
Verizon Wireless (anything to help bring down the inhumane vat of wretched terror and hopelessness that is T-Mobile)
The Phat Phree
Real Beer
Dictionary.com (Please consult this site before you email me. Thesaurus.com couldn't hurt either.)
iDrink