Note: Today’s Nooner is being written immediately after purchasing Grand Theft Auto IV for Xbox 360. It is sitting unopened on my coffee table right now, and yet here I am, 100% focused on writing, not thinking about Grand Theft Auto IV at all.

My greatest regret isn’t a girl that got away, skipping my high school prom, or not getting to say goodbye to a loved one before they passed away. It isn’t running away from a problem, missing a career opportunity, or getting that tattoo of the kanji symbol for “two-car garage” that the tattoo guy told me meant “strength.” Yes, I’ve done all of those things, and sure, not a moment goes by that I’m not ashamed of every single one of them, but that’s all eclipsed by my greatest regret:

Why the fuck didn’t I commit more crimes when I was young enough to get away with it?

Sure, I broke some bottles and lit some fires when I was younger, and yeah, one time in junior high we stole my friend’s mom’s car (it wasn’t our fault - “Welcome To The Jungle” came on the radio and we got all pumped up), but we only made like two houses down an alley before we crashed into some rubber garbage cans at about 5 mph, and then we ran away and hid until the cops came. On a scale of one to “cool” that ranks somewhere between a two and a “suck.”

Why didn’t we go on a crazy crosstown rampage like this kid did? Maybe we were better behaved, more respectful and fearful of authority. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because this was the pre-Grand Theft Auto era and we just didn’t know how. Not that a rampage in GTA involving two mailboxes and two parked cars would be very impressive, but for a real life 7-year-old? That’s nothing to shake a stick at - particularly considering he couldn’t even see over the steering wheel.

Come to think of it, this might just be some crazy viral advertisement for GTA IV or something. One that, based on my ability to focus intently on writing this Nooner without thinking about GTA IV, is clearly having no effect on me. Which reminds me - I have to go now for a completely unrelated reason.

So here’s a fun little quiz for you! The other night I was watching Larry King Live. Why? I’m not sure. It probably had something to do with my testicle clamp being in the shop. Anyway, in less than a minute worth of show, I found no fewer than 10 people or things that pissed me off. I think that’s pretty incredible. Here. Why don’t you take a look at the clip and see if you can name them all before reading the answers below.

1. Larry King. I hate him. I’ve always hated him. He simply does not listen to a word that comes out of his guests’ mouths. That’s worse than being stupid or lazy. It’s downright rude. Oh, but he is stupid and lazy. See number 8 below.

2. “Is this the last year of American Idol?” Why are we discussing this on a news show?

3. Simon Cowell. Colossal douchebag who is so easy to make fun of that I will refrain. This was a gimme.

4. Ryan Seacrest (See 3)

5. Randy Jackson (See 3)

6. Paula Abdul (See 3)

7. “Kidding!” Get it? He said the opposite of what he meant. Isn’t that the kind of joke 5 year olds tell? “The teacher said you were in trouble” “Really?” “No. . . Kidding!”

8. Larry King isn’t sure if Simon is joking. Really? Really?! Where’s the confusion? Was it when he threw his hands up and shouted “kidding!” Seriously, what is wrong with you?

9. At least two more years of American Idol? Why? Why? No one has had a sustainable career coming off that show. Let me rephrase that. No man has had a sustainable career coming off that show. It is not designed to create rock stars or even pop stars. It is designed to pad the resumes of people destined to do local theater. Clay Aiken is in Spamalot now. Spamalot and he should count himself lucky that Eric Idle deigned to have him in his production. In 5 years, it’s all about Carnival Cruises, opening up for Kathy Lee Gifford. And don’t get me started on Daughtry. Is that his name? I refuse to even look that up. I promise you his next record tanks. Guaranteed. Yeah, there are some Idol women with pop careers now right? That blonde chick. And the other one? I’m not sure. I’m not a 14 year old girl.

10. Stop complaining you whiny bitch. Everyone hates their job. Everyone. But yours is easy and you get paid millions of dollars to do it. You think I like picking up Lex Friedman’s tasteful collection of macs, chapeaus, and other assorted fine head gear from the local haberdashery? No? Did I actually WANT to go to Jack O’Brien’s “come as your favorite Star Wars CGI character” costume party? Of course, not. (And Jack, Darth Maul is NOT a CGI character and if by “scary” you meant “willing to experiment sexually” then yes you looked very, very “scary.”) But it’s my job. And Simon, you have a job too. One that will keep you in tight, black, man-breast hugging shirts forever so shut up and stop whining about it.

Show some love?

Man Caught Having Sex with Picnic Table

On its surface, this story appears to be pretty simple: just your average run-of-the-mill pervert-has-sex-with-a-picnic-table news blurb. Yes, this man had sex with a picnic table on his porch, and yes, this man did so within a stone’s throw of an elementary school, but there’s more to it than that.

Whether we want to admit it or not, we’ve all looked at the umbrella hole in our picnic tables at one point or another and thought to ourselves, “I bet I could have sex with that.” Some of us might have even propped the thing up on its side (just to see if the height thing would be an issue), and sure, maybe there was one particularly dark, moonless night when some among us might have even taken it a step further (just for a minute to see what it was like), but for most of us that’s as far as we’re willing to go. We’re members of a society that doesn’t permit that sort of behavior, and aside from momentary, alcohol-soaked, pontetially career-ending lapses in judgment, we play by the rules.

We understand that having sex with a picnic table in public is illegal.

Meanwhile the fat cats in Washington are in their private backyards, greedily humping away at their picnic tables and laughing maniacally. They hold crystal chalices full of Red Bull, vodka and baby blood (they call it an “Orphan Sunrise”) in one hand, and pens in the other - the very same pens they used to sign the legislation that made it illegal to have sex with picnic tables in the first place. Then they retire to their living rooms, exhausted and drunk after a long day of humping picnic tables and drinking Orphan Sunrises, and they watch this story on the news, shaking their heads and clucking their tongues as if to say, “Oh, how DESPICABLE.”

This isn’t a story about some “freak” and his bizarre sexual habits; this is a story about a class struggle in a system that rewards the rich while penalizing the poor. This is the story of an American everyman, a man who refused to let social mores dictate his behavior. This isn’t a story about a weirdo; this is a story about a HERO.

You know - a hero who dared to fuck a picnic table. On his front porch. While fully nude. In the middle of the day. Right next to an elementary school.

Hey, remember this guy?

You can call him crazy, but he did something more extreme than anything you or I (especially you) would ever even consider doing for anything, except possibly to bring about the creation of a triple-stuffed oreo.

But he did it for Tibetan independence, one of the last remaining “classic” causes. The slogan “Free Tibet” has been around so long that when you see it on someone’s shirt you can’t be sure whether they’re a political activist or just bought it at Busted Tees as an ironic throwback.

It’s been decades since then, and a couple thousand hippie love-ins, a few roasted monks and one The Golden Child later, Tibet is still under imperial rule.

Well, it must be the full moon or something, because shit is getting serious again. I’ll recap:

It’s kind of hard to sound sincere harping on something so obvious but for fuck’s sake already: FREE TIBET. China, unless you’ve got some desperate need for a supply of cheap yellow robes, you have no reasonable excuse for what you are doing.

Now they’re fighting back, and you take it as an excuse to call them “insurgents?” What the fuck were they for the last thirty years of totally peaceful protest? You suck, your coal mines suck, and your quality control guys need to get a serious talking to before they just start sending us crates of poison gas.

Remember that monk. He fucking DID that. Our founding fathers did a lot of shit for our independence, but they sure as hell didn’t light themselves on goddamned fire. This guy knows what he wants, in a way and to a degree that should get your attention, if not your respect.

And China can call him an “arsonist” all they want; he’s still way more badass than John McClane walking over the shards of glass at the end of Die Hard.

Although McClane would probably still win in a fight. Unless the flaming monk managed a good pin early on, but then it’d just be sort of a tie.

But I digress…FREE TIBET!

When not blogging for Cracked, Michael practices self-immolation as head writer and co-founder of Those Aren’t Muskets!

As the elections grow ever nearer, I find myself forced into an awkward, uncomfortable position which I don’t relish: that of being informed, often against my will, about politics.

Here I am minding my own business, innocently searching Starpulse for terms like “Madonna abortion” and “Spears fucks bear?” only to be confronted by the horrible visage of sober, reflective analysis regarding our nation’s future.

Imagine my relief then, when I stumbled upon this article about Hillary Clinton lying about taking sniper fire during a visit to Bosnia. It’s not only got all of the unnecesarry dramatics of a TMZ article, it focuses entirely on an irrelevant character flaw rather than any issue that will actually affect anything. Perfect blogging fodder!

So here we go: Are we really going to act shocked and angry when we find out a politician has embellished a story in order to impress everyone? Tall tales are the grist of the political machine. George Washington and the cherry tree, Hamilton and his tragic duel, McKinley’s robot eye.

All are beloved political tales, all surely embellished (for example, most historians now agree that the Washington story is apocryphal, and that McKinley’s eye was far less advanced than he led his cabinet to believe).

Getting pissed when a politician lies to you is like getting pissed when a grandparent dies on your birthday. It’s just not their fault; it’s what they do.

Still, the juicyness of it is awesome, and I guess it says something about HIllary’s character. Although adding “liar” to “severe, impersonal cuckoldress” doesn’t really do all that much for me.

Not that I’m against her; I think if women are allowed to vote, we might as well let them vote for another woman (what’s next? Voting horses?!).

But as a blogger and source of impartial observation, I believe it’s my solemn duty to have no political opinions whatsoever. It also keeps me from having to talk to anyone about their political views, which is a huge plus for me.

Hey, if I wanted to know your opinions, I’d eat your brain and steal your thoughts.

In the meantime, Hillary, try and stick to heroic lies that are totally unverifiable: your battles with stealthy ninja hordes, your out-of-body confrontations with Satan, your intantaneous and invisible savings of various kingdoms of gnomes.

You may not win the election, but you greatly increase the chances your life story will get optioned for film.

When not blogging for Cracked, Michael dodges sniper fire as head writer and co-founder of Those Aren’t Muskets!

The Mills/McCartney divorce ruling is in, and while I don’t have access to some of the more guarded court transcripts, I believe the official verdict is that Mills is an insufferable bitch.

At least that’s what I glean from this article, whose bias is made clear if only by the photo they chose to use of Mills looking like a gull shrieking for a bite of your hot dog.

She was able to wrangle more than 20 million pounds, which in American money is about nineteen billion dollars, which is so much money that I imagine her prosthetic leg will soon be replaced by a staff of crystal, jet-leg, or simply be fashioned out of thousand dollar bills.

And how did she manage that? First, by pissing off the judge, who called her “less than candid,” “unreasonable and exorbitant” and “a bitch on wheels.”

She also claimed to give 80 to 90 percent of her income to charity each year—and thus be stone cold broke—when in fact “her tax returns disclose no charitable giving at all.” Hey, she’s just like me! Except for her being a huge bitch, of course.

Mills then attempted to silence court documents that would reveal her as, you know, a bitch, called the 70,000 dollar a year childcare payment she’ll be receiving “inadequate,” and threw water on Paul McCartney’s lawyer.

Headlines like “Money Can’t Buy Her Love” were inevitable, although I imagine there are a few other Beatles covers Paul is humming to himself these days:

When not blogging for Cracked, Michael moves into the finals of the Youtube Sketchies II contest as head writer and co-founder of Those Aren’t Muskets! Thanks to all who voted for us!

Normally, I wouldn’t comment on a video. That’s really an art best left to semi-literate, secular, Satanists like my cohort Ross Wolinsky, but while cruising FoxNews, I saw something truly shocking. A story on Lindsay Lohan that defied all expectations.

Was she high? No. Was she having anonymous sex with a stranger? No. Was she exposing her genitalia? No. So where’s the story?

Well, according to FoxNews, LiLo was furious that photographers were snapping pictures of her from behind. Click here to watch Lindsay get mad FoxNews teased.

So I clicked. I must say, her level of anger is truly terrifying. The way she screams. The flailing of arms, the spewing of expletives, the way she devours a baby kitten alive. Or the way she actually does none of that. Personally, I’ve gotten more pissed off waiting in a fast food drive thru line.

But God bless FoxNews. Why would you ever let photographic evidence prevent you from writing a story about a “fuming” celebutante who “stormed off”? Oh, and God bless FoxNews for encrypting its vids with some code that required me to do the most awkward screen shot of all time. (And yes, I tried full screen, but it didn’t work).

Don’t know if you’ve checked the U.S. section of CNN’s website lately, but they do this thing where they split America up into four sections to help you decide which part of our great land sucks more.

Well, in truth, that might not be their actual intent, but that’s the end result because they only seem to pick the most horrifyingly prurient stories they can find. The stories are in no way meant to be specific to the region’s particularized issues. There’s no terror alert section for the Northeast, no Hollywood minute for the West. It’s just stories about teenagers pushing grandmas down stairways for welfare checks.

So here’s the deal. I thought I’d give you four stories. One of them I’ll make up.

See if you can spot the fake.

And then vote on the most horrifying.

NORTHEAST

5 kids were removed from a home filled with feces, buckets of urine, and bedbugs. All of them were under nine. No parents were on the premises.

SOUTH

An Iraqi soldier currently at Fort Pierce, Florida was indicted for sending child porn to an undercover detective.

MIDWEST

An Ohio principal resigned after it was discovered he was writing erotic poetry under the name Antonio Love.

WEST

Cracked Blogger Michael Swaim attempted to rape his neighbor’s dog, but failed due to impotence.

Can you spot the fake story? That’s right. The Midwest. The principal’s actual pen name was Michael Swaim.

So, based on these CNN news stories, which section of America is the worst?

…and btw,

Gladstone’s Personal Weight Loss Update — Total Loss At Day 13: Three pounds.

9 more to go to no longer consider myself overweight. 19 in order to resume my old job as a Calvin Klein underwear model.

Well… That’s Horrible.

I’ll admit it: Sometimes I like to just hang out in the bathroom until well after the… err… how do I put this? Until after the… umm… proceedings have commenced. I don’t know if that’s supposed to be embarrassing or what, but there it is. When it comes to matters of the bathroom I’m usually not in any particular hurry.

Sometimes I’ll send out some text messages letting friends know what I’m doing. “LETZ DOOK IT OUT,” “DOOKLEAR EXPLOSION” and “ARCHDOOK FRANZ FERDINAND JUST GOT SHOT” are all popular ones, not to mention “DOOK THE RIGHT THING” and “PLAY ANOTHER SONG ON THE DOOKBOX.” When all else fails I’ll just go through the contents of my wallet or read the ingredients list on the back of a shampoo bottle. I do all kinds of things when I’m in the bathroom, but here’s the important part: eventually I get up and leave. I have other things to do on a daily basis that require leaving the bathroom, and to be honest, as much as I love sitting on the toilet I seriously doubt I’d want to do it all day.

Which is why when I read this article about a woman hanging out in the bathroom for TWO YEARS I was like “whoa.” What was she doing in there? Did her boyfriend bring her Sudoku puzzles to solve? If he was a good boyfriend he’d get her a Nintendo DS, or maybe move a TV in there or something. Oh wait - no, that’s wrong. If he was a good boyfriend he probably would’ve been like “Hey, uhh, you’ve been in the bathroom for a really long time. Maybe you should get off the toilet so the seat doesn’t become fused to your body.”

I could probably make a joke here about how women always take forever in the bathroom to get ready, but that’s kind of a tired and obvious joke, and I don’t know how to work the whole skin-growing-over-the-toilet-seat part into it, so I guess I’ll just skip that one altogether. Instead, I’m going to end with a question: Do you think the seat was padded? I sure hope so.

12-Year-Old Kid Breaks Computers, Destroys My Entire Belief System

I’ve always considered myself a fairly rational person. I was brought up in an atheist household, never received any formal religious training, and have always generally believed that unusual occurrences can be explained by science. Or I did, anyway, until I watched this video. Now I know that science can’t explain everything… and I’m completely fucking terrified.

Why does this kid break every computer that he touches despite appearing completely normal otherwise? They called in a guy with all kinds of testing equipment to check it out, a bunch of reporters from a local news outlet investigated it, and there’s still no answer?! How is this possible?! I need an explanation here. If we can have 12-year-old kids running around calling themselves “Magneto Man” and baffling the experts (of Richland, New York no less!), then it’s only a matter of time before I believe in ghosts, leprechauns and Jesus.

So that’s great. Thanks a lot, internet - now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to church. Yeah - that’s something I do now. Or wait… what do they call the Jewish version of church again? Whatever it is, that’s where I’m going. Either there or to the forest where all the leprechauns and ghosts hang out. I’m pretty sure they drink together there at night. I should go, get loaded and think about Jewish Jesus. Between the ghosts, leprechauns, Jewish Jesus and getting loaded, that would be… FOUR BIRDS WITH ONE STONE!

That has to be some sort of record, doesn’t it?