Proof there is a God: Steven Seagal

With a hearty bag filled of hell yesssedness I write to you today about the greatest Lawman in the 600 years of recorded American History. That’s right; I’m including the Vikings and Dan Brown’s plot minions, the Templars.

Steven Seagal has a new TV show entitled “Lawman”. Just as my angst for the Zen master was turning to an incisive itch, here comes the man himself, not to the pompous giant silver screen, but to the less pretentious 50 inch, flat screen, High Definition, LCD screens that occupy our humble American homes. For those of you misfortunate souls that have not basked in the greatness that is Seagal (hence forth “The Seag”), he can single handedly disarm a gang of Armani clad Ninja’s, without as much as breaking a sweat, or facial expression. He loves all sentient beings, especially the ones he can judo-chop into peacefulness, and is not afraid to die in movies that advertise him as staring in. What? You don’t remember that you say? I present you “Executive Decision,” where he dies in the first ten minutes. That was enough though. Ten minutes of The Seag is sufficient to permeate his Omni-presence throughout the movie. My only regret is that for the remainder of the movie we were left with John Leguizamo to fill in The Seag’s shoes. How dare they presume to replace Him with Leguizamo? Another lazy Mexican stealing the white-man’s jobs! But I digress. In “Lawman” we will be privy to the revelation of a secret: The Seag has in fact been a cop for twenty years. How cool is that shit?

Evidently, all those years of high brow acting and slightly fictitious plot lines were but a mere cover for what in reality was a man of the people. And by man, I mean superior being, and by people I mean reality TV consumers. There is no other man, alive or dead that embodies the absolute awesomeness of cool macho bravado like The Seag. He doesn’t require a frown, or a grunt to express his disgust. Not him. He simply looks at you, through you, in you. This is the kind of self-discipline that can only be acquired by being a full Japanese-English bilingual, a seventh-level aikido master, and a bonafide enemy of the California branch of the Yakuza.

His new reality show is just that: REAL. It is the culmination of twenty years of a [apparently secret, deep undercover] police career. It could be nothing other than a reality show because this earth has never, ever been walked by any man with the capacity to appropriately portray Deputy Seagal. Except maybe Jean-Claude Van Damme, maybe. Maybe. So go on and get your panty liners ready kiddies, because this show is gonna be so hot, you can do nothing but get wet over it.

Here’s to you Seag: Kampai!

What is Facebook Etiquette?

Pondering upon the new way of making contacts and friends online, meeting people whom otherwise I probably would never have come in contact with, I’m curious about how to properly establish the digital relationship. This is not to be confused with my digital-porn relationship, that’s a whole different subject.

Friend request sent, friend request accepted, and now I have a new little face in my “friends” box and a new tick under the number of friends. Which is weird in itself. I don’t recall spending my childhood days keeping account in my brown leather journal of how many friends I had. It’s not like when Javier took my wallet and dunk it in the boys room toilet, I went into my little notebook and crossed him off my “number of friends” list, scratching out 28 to 27. That asshole.

Nevertheless, here we are. And now that I have accepted the friend request, do I go and start commenting on my new friend’s pictures and posts like we are long lost buddies? Notice, I don’t ask if it was acceptable to go through the pictures, because, let’s face it, that’s happening regardless. Those pictures, the personal info wall, and the “likes” are absorbed with such scrutiny it would make the cavity search guy at the airport jealous.

Or better yet, should I initiate with a humble “I Like” on their current status, to warm each other up to our presence in one anothers life? On the hand, one could just dive right in the middle of the action, not unlike Steven Seagal, jumping in the middle of bilingual super-stealth ninjas turned yakuza-mafiosos (with outstanding Armani suits and swords): Kicking ass, not caring about names, and never, ever, losing his cool as much as to flake off his hair gel. Hmmm, I often think about this. I don’t have to worry about gel anymore, but would love to know how you approach your new, never-shook-hands-with, friends.