Where's the 'Bras?

Okay, now that I think about it, perhaps this headline is misleading. Then again, perhaps it will lead to 10 million hits in the next five seconds. Then, everybody can see the wonderment of the first ever fork-authored blog in American history.

However, they may be disappointed when they discover that I'm talking about Fortinbras of Norway, the character who basically comes in and mops up at the conclusion of "Hamlet." Too many adaptations of Hamlet do not include this final scene!

Now look, I know this guy isn't the sexiest of characters, as he's barely mentioned at the beginning of the tale, but let's make some sort of effort to be faithful to the play. That ending sort of completes the story and finishes the bookend. It brings everything full circle. It's like, hey -- GOOD one, Hamlet. GOOD one, Claud. Now the dude from NORWAY has to come in and take over because YOU RETARDS had to go and get yourselves killed! And over what? Who Gertrude was diddling? Really? You seriously cared that much? Well, now look! You're all compost!

See? It works. Leave that off and you just gots yourself a bunch of dead guys lying around, and that's no fun unless you're a necrophiliac.

Of course, this is a typical movie thing. Stuff always has to get edited out for one reason or another. Maybe the budget was tight. Maybe the test audiences wet themselves in distress. Maybe the screenwriter was just an idiot. It's just like with all those Bible stories and movies. You know how they NEVER include Tuney, the apostle that loved tuna sandwiches? In reality, Tuney was the apostle closest to Jesus. They could usually be found laughing and eating tuna sandwiches together while watching "Wide World of Stonings." They would often go into the market together and look for great tuna fish bargains. Of course, none of this is ever covered in the official, mass marketed Bible stories. What were they afraid of?

Yet another point worth mentioning is that, throughout the weeks of the filming of "Ben Hur," Stephen Boyd was checking out Charlton Heston's manly goodness every morning through a hole in the wall of his dressing room. And, once again, none of this footage ever made it to the final cut.

So, gentle filmmakers, I say to you: Even though I was drifting away from my point a bit there, still, cut the crap and give us reality. We can handle it!

Winning "Survivor" In Two Easy Steps

Folks, first things first. As the Ulong tribe fades into bolivian, a moment of silence.

....

....

Thank you. Okay, with that out of the way, I must bloviate on a couple of points. First of all, if I were ever on Survivor, I would have a multi-pronged strategy (ha ha). That strategy would center around two major themes:

1. Not crying during the family visit, and

2. Not reading treemail like it's a bloody nursery rhyme. People, please. Are we not adults here?

"Here's a shitty rhyme for you; So you won't have to reduce your tribe to two; Even though this verse is gay; Maybe you'll win the million going away."

No, I will not read that in a sing-songy tone. I would blast through it like an auctioneer. Yes, I'm sorry, Survivor producers, but due to the fact that I have no desire to stick my thingy in a guy's ass, I'm not going to read your crappy gay poems like I'm a kindergartener. Sweet Shirley McBurley. Does anybody over age 3 read rhymes like this? The producers must threaten them with zero airtime unless they go along with their bizarre wishes. Screw you, CBS. We bloggers brought down Rather and we can bring down your retarded Survivor producers as well.

Oh, but back to point number one. You know, it's a little known fact about the first season of Survivor (since so few saw it) that NOBODY cried during the family video reward. Well, nobody except Jenna, who didn't get a video at all -- so I guess I'll give her a pass, colossally annoying bitch that she is.

So what IS it then? You can't tell me, "Toby, you just wouldn't understand. It's tough out there, and you end up missing your family more than you realize, and you're just a goddamn fork anyway, so kiss my grits." You can't tell me that because ALMOST NOBODY CRIED DURING THE FIRST SEASON! It was only after Survivor became a national sensation that people started going, "Hey, that one girl cried. Maybe I'll look like a tool if I don't cry too, and then I won't get to roll around naked in piles of $100 bills." So, from the second season on, out come the tears! And more tears, and more, and more, and more. Even though it's like one more week until everybody gets to see the loved ones again anyway.

So, I would remain stoic. I'd go, "Hey ma. How are the Privateers doing? Lost again, huh? Ah well. Hey, listen, I gotta go do this thing I said I would do. Later. See you NEXT FLIPPIN' WEEK." I'm sorry, but I know this is how I would react. You've only been out there a month, you idiots! Suck it up and act like you're older than 3!

And that also means reading treemail in a normal, adult cadence!

G'ahhhhh!

You Take the Good, You Take the Thicke

Ever since bloggers got that withered old fruitbat Dan Rather fired, everybody and their fork has been getting into the blogging business. People are like, "Dude! I can bring down a news anchor!" Well, let me splash some hard, cold, bitter reality on all of you would-be blogger dweebs who can't get any sex. IT'S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN, okay? Here are some reasons why.

a) There are only so many wrinkled newsmen in the world.

b) Getting them canned is so yesterday, man.

c) The University of Buffalo should have made the NCAA Tournament instead of UCLA.

So, with those three points being pretty much indisputable, I started this blog with tempered expectations. We can't all kick CBS's ass. I know it's fun, but we can't. So I got to thinking about who I wanted to bring down using my blog. I did a lot of soul-searching. And now, after much consideration, I have decided to use the power of this blog to bring down 80s sitcom dad and late night sensation Alan Thicke.

Yes, that's right. Alan Thicke sucks. There are several reasons why. Despite writing several of the greatest sitcom themes of the 80s, he didn't write his own sitcom's theme song. We can only speculate on the reasons for this. It certainly wasn't because he was so preoccupied with making Growing Pains a great show. Since Growing Pains blew in a rather explosive manner, he should have had plenty of time to compose yet another Alan Thicke homosexual theme song for that program. But no. I guess he had to take extra time to perfect the art of being Jason Seaver. Well, I'm not buying it, Thicke. You're a disgrace. I hope you die.

Well anyway, that's all I got. Later.

Oh wait, he did write the Facts of Life theme, and that's awesome. Hey, never mind.

The Beating of Our Hearts is the Only Sound

Well, shoot, here we are.

Half of our writing team is now preoccupied with experimental film. Take heart -- you're all going to be in this experimental film; and even though I can’t explain it, I already know how great it is. I already know the ending; it’s the part that makes your face implode. I don’t know what makes your face implode, but that’s the way the movie ends.

Uhhh... anyway, this leaves us with the other writer, the one without any artistic talent. We tried to get this other writer to continue on with our rich tradition here at the Tobe, but his first attempt at drawing a cartoon tampon resulted in an explosion of tears and urine. So, we decided to try a blog instead. This, my friends, is why Al Gore took the initiative in creating the internet. Remember when you logged on that one time, and you got to see Alyssa Milano's boing-boings? This is better -- if you happen to lack genitalia. Which I do.

That's a brief intro. They'll be much more to come in this blog. I'll have all kinds of things to say about the latest happenings in the fork community, and perhaps even other communities, since nothing happens in the fork community.

Either way, always remember: the color of infinity is inside an empty glass.

Damn, I'm hot.