Male duos throughout history who are genuinely great are few and far between. Lewis and Clark. Barnum and Bailey. Ben and Jerry. Bill and Ted. It was 20 years ago that audiences were introduced to this pair of aimless adolescents and taken on an adventure best described as “excellent.” Even though Ted never was never sent off to military school in Alaska, it’s about time we saluted him and Bill for their service to cinema.

Never have so many slacker shenanigans taken place in a shopping center until “Mallrats” came along (it could be argued that the Jay character from Kevin Smith’s movies is a dumbed-down, R-rated composite of Bill and Ted). For those who tend to write off the first Bill and Ted flick as nothing more than a mindless comedy, we submit it was an educational film, brimming with knowledge and bodaciousness (bodacity?).

If you havent seen it, its Keanu to you.

First, a bit about its stars. For a man portraying an airhead who was clueless about history, Keanu went on to know many things: kung-fu (did his knowledge of said martial art somehow cause David Carradine’s death? I’m sure it’s one of the many scenarios being investigated), how to make a bus maintain a constant rate of acceleration, how to send letters through time, how to win court cases with a little help from the devil, how to quarterback a pro football team, how to lose a guy in 10 days (wait, that was Kate Hudson, the female equivalent of Keanu, in that she has above-average looks but a ficus can out-act her).

Which brings us to Alex Winters. Those who say “Who?” are fair to ask that question. Those who keep saying “Who?” repeatedly and are sizing up a field mouse, are probably owls, and as such, aren’t fit for this discussion. After the sequel and the Corey-heavy vampire movie “Lost Boys,” he went on to be a lost boy, hardly appearing in anything again. Every season without him is truly the winter of our discontent.

The movie affected a comedy legend as well as a hack. What other flick could get consummate curmudgeon George Carlin to offer the affable advice, “Be excellent to each other”? If it wasn’t for Bill and Ted, what would the unoriginal, non-mass murderer Mike Myers have ripped off to create the clearly cut from the same cloth (that cloth being flannel) characters, Wayne and Garth? ‘Twas a crime our heroes would surely dub “ most heinous,” and one that the American public stubbornly overlooked, the modern-day equivalent of Bill and Ted being waterboarded (Nancy Pelosi claims she was never briefed that Bill and Ted was a film).

Bill and Ted changed technology. Is it a coincidence that telephone booths like the one that allowed Bill and Ted to travel through time are impossible to find anywhere in the country now? Ma Bell is afraid we’ll harness the ability to roam through centuries and use it do to more than ace our oral exams. Have more faith in us, phone companies. Our main goal would be to make-out with famous women. First up: Helen Keller. We’ve never bagged a babe who could read braille before.

Bill and Ted made history come alive for us in a way community college never could. The movie taught us you can’t tame a tandem of “Wyld Stallyns,” that Napoleon, like the rest of us, finds water parks irresistible, that hot stepmoms/seance participants do exist, that fictitious football programs rule, that you can add the title “esquire” to your name without having to suffer through three years of law school, and that if you hang out in the Circle-K parking lot long enough life-changing events that don’t include getting arrested for loitering will happen.

Thank you, Bill and Ted, for the “Adventure” of a lifetime.

With the release of the new iPhone 3GS, Apple has also upgraded their software for iPhones across the board, mostly so that you can spend $200-$500 on new hardware to enjoy a smug sense of superiority over people with the same software on a year older 3G phone. Big effin’ whoop.

What isn’t widely publicized are some great features and fixes that were pushed with this new recent incarnation of the hellspawn from Apple’s dark altar. For all the techies out there, here are some secret easter eggs and tools you can find in your new phone OS:

I’m not ‘mad’ at you, I’m just…very disappointed.

• Gives you directions to that farm upstate where you can find all the pets your parents have sent away since your were 8 years old. Except your cat, skittles. Your dad euthanized him with a shovel.
• In an argument, the phone can be queried for the wittiest retort to any and every insult your ex may say to you. They include “Yeah? well you’ve got a fat ass” for men and “I fucked with your brother” for women. It would have been “You’ve got a small penis” for the ladies, but upon hearing it Steve Jobs fumed “That’s not funny” and quickly stormed out of the room…
• Should your home computer be a PC, the 3.0 OS will resolve many previous compatibility issues (it no longer threatens to “sic an actual snow leopard upon you” for running Vista)
• The new people finder tool will search for all members of your 2nd grade class, most notably your bully John Parker. On top of that, it will fake several emails concerning health insurance fraud to his boss to get him fired while simultaneously ruining his credit, forcing his wife to divorce him and take the children. Under mountains of debt, he will work the red light district as “Dixie” until gambling arrears to the mob catch up with him. As the noose around his neck tightens, he will dangle from the ceiling with the last words he hears coming from your phone softly whispering “that’s for pegging me in the head during dodgeball.” (Note: OS 3.1 will have a bug fix that remembers it was actually Rob Rosen who tagged you out.)
• Among the other fantastic bar resources, an app on the phone takes the number of drinks you’ve had so far, your weight, the last time you got laid and several other factors to calculate if you’re drunk enough to take home the ugly girl at the end of the bar.
• Hate having to remember to obsessively check your phone every 5 minutes? Your new OS will ring, buzz, blink, vibrate and make every effort to annoy the living crap out of everyone within a 10 meter radius so they know how important you must be to stay ever vigilant with incoming messages
• Speaking of reminders, the iPhone has an app that points you in the direction of Steve Jobs’ house so that those of The Faith may pray to “Mac-ca” 5 times a day.
• Lastly, the most crucial feature of any iPhone is its use as a status symbol, something to clearly denote to all around you “I’m better than you”. With that in mind, the iPhone actually has the ability to find all the people that you’re superior to. Unfortunately, since you’re using a fucking phone to determine your worth, the answer is always no one (other than your equivalent iPhone super-douches)

As my esteemed and belligerent colleague Will has mentioned, I shall soon be married. Forever. ‘Til death do us part. Or at least until Leno is back on the air (she’ll Jaywalk out on me by then after she learns that, even though I said so in my vows, I can’t actually move the stars in Heaven for her and, in fact, can’t even move her car properly…stupid stick shift). What’s more is I’m taking the plunge without a pre-nup, which is as advisable as cleaning a loaded gun or trying to write a report on evolution using only a Kansas public library as a resource (the catch is Kansas doesn’t have libraries, though the state does claim to have a largest collection of Archie comics in the country). Is it for love? Yes, partly. Is it to fulfill a long-standing desire to drive around with cans attached to the bumper of my car? Well, that certainly influenced my decision. But it is also to rub it in the faces of gays nationwide who, eager as they are to have their unique bond with their partner recognized by our society and government, do not want their special celebration of love and commitment tainted by having it take place in Iowa. While it’s true that weddings can be boring, somber, fate-sealing affairs, tying the knot doesn’t have to feel like tying the noose. Here are a few ways to turn a mundane matrimony into a memorable one:

Power forward thinking. Long processions, usually accompanied by off-key organ music, are viewed by those attending as the beginning of a painful exercising in paying attention or at least not snoring audibly. Especially if your ceremony takes place in church. People have a tough enough time staying awake in church as it is, when God’s love is the topic and not the bride and groom’s love. What’s needed is a rousing introduction to get those gathered pumped and on their feet. Announce the bride, groom and wedding party like it’s a playoff basketball game. At groom, standing six-foot-one from the University of Arizona, in his third year of the relationship, the pride of Phoenix, “Jammin’” John Smith! Bonus points if you have trading cards made of everyone. You’ll want to stay away from boxing-style intros, because they list a person’s weight and no bride in the history of the world is willing to share her weight on the day of her wedding. It is a secret she will take to her grave and if Peter asks her to reveal it at the Pearly Gates, she may still refuse.

Wake in cake. Let’s face it, having a stripper spring out of a cake for the bachelor party has become a cliche. Still, the idea of someone emerging from inside a dessert is a good one, it just needs to be tweaked. For starters, the stunt needs to be moved to the big day. If the gag is great, wouldn’t you want the most possible people to see it? Second, scrap stuffing a stripper in there. Isn’t it better to humiliate a friend more than a stranger — even if the stranger is sexy? You need to place the “winner” of the bachelor party in the cake (i.e. whoever got the drunkest). Cake cutting will now take place whenever your hungover buddy rouses from his soused sleep, adding an element of surprise to the proceedings. Bonus points if your bachelor party is not the day before your wedding, if you chose someone with Poe-like fear of being buried alive, and if you manage to fit a couple (one attending the bachelor and one the bachelorette who are dating) inside the cake.

Soda pop the question. No event will make you feel the financial crunch more than a wedding. Even if you planned for a modest affair and did everything in your power to spend no more than the amount set aside, it is a rule of nature that you will have gone over budget by $7,500. Sure you might receive a few checks from relatives, but those won’t off-set the costs. If you want to make some money from your matrimony, you need to consider corporate sponsorship. Nothing pays the bills like product placement. For instance, have your wedding bells provided by Taco Bell. Ask Uncle Ben (not your real one who’ll complain, no matter what is served, that wedding food makes him gassy) to supply the rice for guests to throw. Work it into your vows. Nikita, you’re a bonita senorita. Now let’s go grab a gordita! Or: I do…the Dew! (best used for “extreme” weddings only, like if your ceremony occurs on a cliff, slope or ramp)

Churches all booked? Consider a ceremony in a Churchs.

Flower power. Before Beyonce recorded “Single Ladies,” at a reception all women without partners had to look forward to was the prospect of shrimp cocktails, making scornful remarks about how the bride’s brastrap was showing throughout the ceremony, and, of course, the bride tossing her bouquet to them. More times than not the throw is lousy, no clean catch is made and the bouquet is picked up off the ground. If a lady really wants the flowers, she’s going to have to earn them. Invite a former college softball pitcher (or that girl at the gym who seems to enjoy the eliptical) to hurl the bouquet into the crowd — while it’s in a vase. If it’s a Jewish wedding, any resulting broken glass is no problem, you just took care of two traditions at once. The ritual states that the gal who catches the flowers is next in line to marry, but when? Let’s eliminate the uncertainty by speeding up the process. Make whoever nabs the flowers have to get hitched the next day. As a double-whammy, the bride and groom get to pick the partner. If the women in question shares a name with a type of flower (e.g. Rose, Violet), she must marry immediately after the current reception is over. Bonus points if the lady is forced to marry an ex who is a mutual friend of the bride and groom. Additional points if the man selected is wearing a pastel color tux or a bolo tie.

Dance dance retribution. These ideas are all well and good, but what about one that sticks it to the bride and groom for making you spend money on travel, clothes and a gift, not to mention the future cash you’ll have to shell out on therapy or dating hotlines to try and avoid being single at the next wedding you attend? Switching the music for the first dances (father-daughter, mother-son, and bride-groom) will elicit chuckles at the couples’ expense. There are three levels: weird, inappropriate and obscene. An example of weird: We know Mr. And Mrs. Perfect picked a classic slow ballad, but what if ska or thrash metal suddenly came through the speakers? Imagine Sinatra turning into Save Ferris or Static-X. For inappropriate, swap Stevie Wonder for R. Kelly. Bonus points if you do it for the mother-son dance. Few things are more embarrassing than an implied Oedipus complex. If you’re feeling particularly vindictive and choose obscene, you need only remember these three words: 2 Live Crew. The rest of the night, the guests will be so distracted by the music mishap they won’t even notice that your every dance move is just a slight variation of the Macarena.

Sometimes I really love getting the ads at the top of my Gmail account because they can just be so ridiculous. I think today brings me my new favorite: “Don’t Get Conned. Learn the facts behind cruel Donkey Basketball!”, brought to you by none other than your friends at PETA and certainly on the forefront of any concerned individual’s mind. Japanese whaling, puppy mills/dog fights, even possibly carnivorous diets could warrant a Google ad, but oh no, they take it to the hoop, as it were.

The “conned” part might be the key, as this of course brings up several questions: Is there a secret coalition whose sole mission is to brainwash people into riding donkeys for sport (a burro-cracy of evil?), or merely carnival barker types, complete with candy cane striped shirt, prop cane and snidely whiplash mustaches ever-twirling? Perhaps they mean Donkey Basketball is a bastardization of a more proud and noble sport like Donkey Soccer, and to be tricked into forcing such creatures to abandon their traditions besmirches its purity. Donkey Pele would not be pleased.

That said, maybe we can change PETA’s mind, if we could only make this some kind of sport you couldn’t help but love (I know, Donkey Basketball is a great start, but these people also love plague rats, so who the hell knows). Anyway, here’s my take on some mules rules for the sport:

I tried searching for an image with Donkeys and Midgets, but it would have been a very different post

• You think basketball players on donkeys and think “Man, Shaq would crush them”. So you don’t go bigger, you go smaller. Not Lebron, Lil’bron. Better still, you could probably fit a small team of little people on each donkey, perhaps 2 or 3 per animal, like a viking fleet. Helmets required, but they must also be horned.
• So you’ve got your midgets, but what’s better than 3 midgets riding a donkey? 3 drunk ones! Boozed up athletes, midgets ones mind you, are the best kind. Performance enhancing drugs? Who needs ‘em. I could watch a midget passing out off a donkey for hours nonstop.
• Taking it just a little further, at least one athlete on the court at all times must be high, so if he falls off we can all laugh and say “That midget is stoned off his ass”.
• While I don’t condone violence to animals (see that PETA?) I do believe people hurting each other is fucking funny. What I envision is some sort of Thunderdome-like Blaster Master situation, where the donkeys are the big huge dude and the riders clad in armor atop. Jousting Midgets? Yes. Possibly even small nerf cannons, but only for the Western Conference, as the Eastern will have no projectiles.
• For the half-time show, why not include a chorus of spider monkeys, perhaps clad in cheerleader outfits, doing a little routine, pooping along with the donkeys. Or hurting everyone there. Which they almost certainly would.
• The referees will be washed up American Idol contestants, scraping to get by on what charm they have left, mostly musical “talent” who can then be denigrated further by singing along to said monkeys show. What I wouldn’t give to see Clay Aiken serenading some chimps…
• Foul shots will be completely eliminated. Instead, after each infraction, an athlete will attempt to bounce off a trampoline and dunk his/herself through the hoop, with style points attributed to form, grace and any sweet moves they can pull off en route.
• Finally, because this is a) getting out of hand and b) almost too bitchin’, my last suggestion would be team names. Fuck the Minnesota Timberwolves, I want to see the Teen Wolves (barring legal recourse from Michael J. Fox and to a lesser extent Jason Bateman) along side the Miami Evil Dead, the Detroit Robocops (it’s not like they’re making cars anymore) and the San Jose Enhanced Interrogators. Expansion teams soon to follow.

We might need one of these for Marc by the end of the night

Our boy Marc is getting married. As such, he needs a proper send off before married life, and apparently this crazy sonnuvabitch thought it’d be a good idea to let me plan his bachelor party out. Seriously? Not since a miscommunication led Hannibal Lecter to act in “Cannonball Run 3″ (the food service people were very confused by the orders) has there been such a horrific miscast of personalities.

Since my only concept of bachelor parties to date comes from what I’ve learned from tv and movies, I was having a little trouble planning this out without it ending in a) the hostile takeover of a foreign nation, which would certainly end in our public executions or b) doing a bunch of coke lines off Marc’s grandma (I asked, he didn’t approve). Then it hit me: make it like a drunken scavenger hunt! It’s also important to mention his fiancee occasionally reads this blog, so I send my sincerest apologies in advance and will not be offended when my invitation is rescinded.

As with any scavenger hunt, clearly I need some kind of point system to properly gauge how to throw this little shindig of his, with one goal in mind: how far can we go without having his fiancee call off the wedding? I think if we hit the “slight hesitation before the I-do’s because of his derelict friends”, then I’ve done my job. With that said:

• For every buddy that lands in jail, add a point. If the ensuing police chase crosses state lines, add another. Should it cross into Mexico, pray your buddy knows enough Spanish to ask where the nearest toilet is.
• A point for acquiring each of the following kinds of strippers: under 4ft tall, over 400lbs, missing more than 3 teeth, missing any limbs. Should you “Connect Four” and hit all of these with one stripper, double the points.
• While said strippers perform, subtract a point for missing any of the key stripper songs: Def Leppard – Pour some sugar on me, White Snake – Here I go again, Motley Crue – Hot for Teacher (Edit: Van Halen did Hot for Teacher, Motley Crue did Girls, Girls, Girls, which I amazingly forgot. Double epic fail)
• Give 1 point for every one of the bachelor party attendees who marries a “crazy stripper wife”. Double points if he was already married.
• For any remaining body glitter that the groom still has on his face during the wedding, a point
• For every time you play “Bust a Move” while in a limo, add a point, with an additional one for every time you punch your friends in the jeans when they sticks their head out the sunroof. Only chicks may do that.
• Add a point for each shot taken within 10 minutes of the wedding, 2 points for each during the walk down the aisle, 3 points if you get the minister or any parents involved.
• For every animal freed from a local zoo, 2 points for every animal ridden to the ceremony, -1 if the flower girl is eaten.
• Tattoos are for pussies. 1 point for every one of your friends you brand with a hot iron. Nothing says “remember that bachelor party” like seared flesh.
• Any disputes must be settled by betting on stripper hot oil wrestling/foxy boxing. It doesn’t matter who you pick, everyone wins. I highly suggest starting fights simply to resolve them. +1 point.

Finally, everyone involved in said bachelor party needs to chip in to really make the night special, so I’ve come up with a few roles to pass along to friends, with the groom assigning points at his leisure:

Beer Baron: The man of the hour, the groom himself. All he needs to do is wear a fancy hat that says “Look at me everyone, I’ve got a new hat!”. And probably vomit on himself.

Prank Monkey: Always an invaluable role, whether serving a fake presidency or a simple bachelor party, the PM stirs up shit and then getting the hell out of the way before it hits the fan.

Shot Ref: Let’s be clear. You don’t need to drink to have a good time, but fuck if it doesn’t help sometimes. Clearly, a power to be abused, for sure, but we all know, with great power comes great responsibility. Too drunk too fast, not drunk enough, liquor-then-beers, all are important variables to keep in check. Really for experienced drunkards.

The Colonel: Really, I just want someone around I can refer to as that, maybe wear a large white hat and an obscene belt buckle. When things go awry, though, you need someone to put people in their place. Other drunks in the bar ruining your good time, collisional bachelorette parties, nosy law enforcement, you name it. Just point ‘em to the Colonel.

The Bullhorn: Your level of fun is only relative to the number of people knowing you’re having fun, hence the Bullhorn. You walk into a bar, you want every fucker there to know you’re raging. He should be the first guy yelling when The Boss comes on the jukebox and the last voice you hear when you get kicked out of the bar.

The Black Ops Useful in any situation where you go out with a bunch of dudes, the Black Ops are individuals highly trained in covert espionage and counter-tactics when dealing with the enemy (you know, women). You have a group of 7 or 8 girls, you don’t just send your infantry to be picked apart, oh no. These dive bar assassins divide and conquer, like drunken warrior poets. That said, you do not consort with these hobgoblins during daylight hours and should you be questioned by females, immediately disavow all knowledge of them.