Coming soon: Ads beamed right into your mind.

Giant monsters. Super villains. Hipsters. Everything bad happens to New York first. So, it should be no surprise that New York is the birthplace of a disturbing new form of advertising.

Imagine a beam of sound that is beamed directly into your skull. This beam can make you hear voices. Voices no one around you can hear.

It’s called hypersonic sound technology. Sound waves are shot out at a pitch undetectable to the human ear. These audio advertisements travel along harmlessly until they find something to smash into like your face. The waves then slow down to a pitch that you can hear. Since the thing slowing the waves down is your head, that’s where the voices sound like there are coming from.

It’s a powerful new technology, with a host of potentially useful applications. So of course it was first used to push a crappy basic-cable show.

The show was “Paranormal State”, and people walking by a billboard for the PS (that’s what the fans call it) in Manhattan would hear a voice saying “Who’s there? Who’s there?”

It is weird enough hearing ghostly voices, but did they have to push a show on the “Arts & Entertainment” network?

A&E shows don’t qualify as art, and barely, barely qualify as entertainment. I don’t even think A&E is serious about the ampersand anymore.

Anyway, I know that unlike their distinct seasons and their pizza, New York City won’t keep this advertising ray to themselves.

Soon there will be no way to tell if the hobo screaming about voices in his brain is a paranoid schizophrenic, or simply responding enthusiastically to an ad for “Chris Angel Mindfreak.”

In fact, I don’t see how non-hobos hit with this ray are supposed to know that they are not schizophrenic themselves. How does a normal person react when a voice inside their head commands them to watch A&E?

It’s an unnatural thought, somewhere on par with hearing your Chihuahua demand the hammer-murder of your parents.

Our only hope is that Los Angeles bans this invasive technology before it becomes commonplace. But in a city where the idea of an attractive public space is one dominated with building-sized posters for failed movies, I don’t think there’s much room for optimism.

Stay out of California

The last thing Hollywood needs is a bunch of immigrants coming in and taking entertainment jobs away from native Californians. Damn foreigners always taking our jobs! We were here first! Manifest Destiny was over 100 years ago and your ancestors missed their chance.

I don’t want to sound state-ist or anything, but GO BACK TO IOWA YOU FILTHY SANDBACKS (in reference to crossing the deserts of Nevada, Utah, Arizona and New Mexico to get to California).

Now, I’m fine with some corn-ers here and there to work in the fields like picking espressos from Starbucks for assistant directors (‘Only Starbucks God Dammit. I swear to god if you get me that Coffee Bean diarrhea water your ass is fired. And don’t think I won’t know you little shit’) or being a grossly underpaid on-set maid. But lately, I’ve seen too many foreigners infringing on actual jobs of status in Hollywood. Look who won at the Oscars this year for cryin’ our loud: all outlanders.

I demand the Academy take away the Coen brothers’ Oscar and then immediately melt it down for scrap. No one wants an Oscar tainted by the dirty, snow covered hands of a Minnesotan, let alone two of them. And don’t even get me started on that Illinois harlot Diablo Cody.

But thanks to the courageous efforts of the Republicans, there is legislation and policy being proposed to keep you legal aliens out of the Golden State. There may be some exceptions on a case to case basis but count yourself permanently banned from California if you:

Have never seen the ocean.

Have ever worn a baseball cap into a non-sports bar.

Have ever shoveled snow.

Wear cross-trainers or running shoes when not exercising.

When asked where you would go on a ‘Dream Vacation,’ the most creative and exotic place you can think of is Hawaii.

Wore cargo shorts after 2006.

Do not have a Governor that was a former movie star.

And most importantly: please disregard this article if you are an attractive woman. This does not apply to you. In fact, invite your hot friends to come with you.

Street Cynic: New York

As soon I purchased my ticket for my first trip to New York my immediate thought was “How am I single handedly going to make fun of the biggest city in America?”

I decided I would rely on all New Yorkers’ innate inferiority complex they have with California. So I bought a tape recorder and was ready for some "investigative journalism."

I walked around for a while carefully considering each candidate when I saw the perfect target by a fountain near the MOMA on 53rd. A man of Italian decent (no doubt) dressed in normal attire except for the fact that he had all sorts of shit (crosses, skulls, roses) bedazzled and embroidered on his clothing and was wearing the biggest cross necklace I’d ever seen.

I slowly managed to get the courage and walk up to him and ask him if he would answer a few questions. I went through the whole rigmarole of posing as a reporter working for an LA ‘culture magazine.’ The nearby fountain was loud so I asked him to hold the recorder.

That was mistake #1...

I started off easy by asking him if he’s ever been to LA and he hadn’t. But I could tell this fine young gentleman had lots of intelligent opinions based on empirical evidence so I asked if he’s interested in going. He said no and cited his reason as Joe Torre ‘being a west coast bitch now’ and how annoyed he is with the green movement. I decided to press on the latter.

Mistake #2...

I noted how few Priuses I saw roaming around. This lead to a series of vicious attacks on Prius owners, mainly questioning their sexuality. I almost cracked when he said, “They need the good gas mileage because they’re probably driving all over blowing dicks.”

Mistake #3...

“Do you have a favorite television show?” I asked with childlike glee in anticipation for his answer. The Sopranos. Of Course it is.

“I’m pretty sure James Gandolfini ‘drives a Prius’ if you get my drift,” gesturing a rib nudge with my elbow. After I explained further that I meant he was gay, he was in disbelief.

Final Mistake...

“Yeah, pretty much all popular actors are gay, but they keep it a secret so they don’t scare the Midwest. In fact the whole place is run by ‘The Gays.’ Have you ever heard of the Gay Mafia? Those guys are in charge and only hire gay actors for the biggest roles. It’s sort of like how Scientology works.”

I could see the epiphany he was having in his facial expression. And now I was laughing so hard on the inside that I may as well have been on the outside. He finally realized what was going on, started cursing in only a way that a New Yorker could understand, and to my dismay turned towards the water fountain and slam-dunked my recorder.

He was going to “beat the fuck out of me” but said he was too busy. No chance for a picture unless I wanted my camera to suffer the same fate. I high-tailed it out of there just in case his schedule of loitering the a park bench 20 feet away loosened up. When I returned an hour later for my photo-op, the guido was gone and so was the recorder.

Squash the Newspaper Beef!

On March 27, 2008, The Los Angeles Times apologized for publishing an article a week earlier detailing a conspiracy to kill rapper Tupac Shakur. The original story was based on fabricated documents. In response to this west coast flare up of irresponsible journalism, east coast newspaper rival The New York Times has retaliated with its own misinformed article and apology combo, detailing and retracting a false plot to kill the Notorious B.I.G, continuing the violent feud between the two print publication giants.

I’ve seen it a thousand times: this vicious cycle of newspapers publishing an article based on misinformation, only to subsequently issue an apology for said article is just a publicity stunt by both publications to gain attention and sell more newspapers. But what about the children? Our impressionable youth view these giants of print media as role models, and this ruthless feuding sets a terrible example for America’s kids.

Everyday I walk down the street I see younger and younger kids reading newspapers, dressed like journalists, taunting one another with violent threats such as “The New York Times can eat a dick!” or “L.A. Times 4 Life!” all the while wagging their genitals in arrogance over who has the better subscription to world news, events, culture, sports, and opinion sections. I can’t turn on the evening news without seeing another senseless murder over which newspaper provides better coverage of the 2008 presidential election. This morning I saw a kid get shit all over himself trying to take a dump in a New York Times newspaper stand. It’s shameful.

Please newspapers, heed the words of our late brother, Tupac Shakur: “We need to start making changes; learn to see me as a brother, ‘stead of two distant strangers.”

The Broadway Douchebag

LA does not have a monopoly on people who are annoyingly eager for stardom.

You see the zesty baristas hoping some Hollywood big shit will discover them as they wait for their reverse osmosis filtered cap with .854 pumps of caramel syrup. That's a pure shit PA waiting on that cap, bro. If you are not swapping genetic ooze, you will not be discovered in this town, no matter how dope you think you look wrapped in a green smock.

Yet, New York has its insufferable asses as well, albeit of a different sort. Among the mix are the movers and shakers on Wall Street who went long the financial stocks just before they started shitting chunky writedowns. Then there are the depressive intellectuals, writers and poets forever waiting on Knopf, who make up the city's network of criminally unhelpful booksellers.

But there is another pustule among the people of New York: The Broadway Douchebag or BD.

The BD is no pussy when it comes to being gay. With one airkiss, his glossy lips can trounce ordinary fags. He is wildly contemptuous of metrosexuals because they only flirt with gayness (though they find common ground in driving v-dubs). As for "hets," the BD believes they are as evil as an ipod that doesn't include the "Phantom" and "Les Mis" soundtracks.

At some point in your life, you knew a burgeoning Broadway Douchebag. He was that guy back in the 7th grade who excitedly remembered everyone's lines in the school play (especially the singing parts). He'd also sashay into the boys' locker-room whistling a potpourri of showtunes. His locker was the one wallpapered with Bop Magazine centerfolds of Kirk Cameron in awesomely tight acid wash jeans. He even bragged about singing and dancing on Star Search.

Even as an adult, the Broadway Douchebag boasts that back in junior high his gaydar sensed Doogie Howser made a fabulous candidate for sleepovers and wrestling matches.

Should you wonder where you can find a BD, the answer is Xanadu, baby!

Yankee Go Home!

Why I hate New Yorkers.

Let’s just get some things straight. I like New York. I like the New Yorker. I like the New York Times Sunday Edition. But I can’t stand New Yorkers. Pretty much any time a New Yorker opens his mouth, it pisses me off.

“No, you know where the best ___ is…”

Have you ever been out to dinner with more than two New Yorkers? I bet they spend the whole time talking about the where best pizza place, bagel place, or heroin connection is. But since New Yorkers are the least intellectually curious people on the planet, instead of being a free exchange of ideas, it was more like a shouting match. “Johnny’s pizza on 55^th and West End!” “Sal’s on Broadway between 103^rd and 104^th!!!” New Yorkers aren’t actually interested in finding good things, they just want to know about good things and convince you that those places are the best.

“You think this is cold?”

No, I don’t think it’s cold, my body is sending me signals that it’s cold and that I need my jacket, you asshole. New Yorkers have this whole macho thing going on with the cold weather. But they don’t admit that in New York they dress with sixteen hundred layers, and their winter jackets use NASA technology to keep warm and have a dozen different pockets. Plus, they’re always moving around because they’re cavemen and don’t have cars.

“What’s the hold up?”

New Yorkers are not laid back people. They’re thrown off when they come to LA and see us strolling, or patiently waiting for a table instead of demanding to see the manager. Remember when the cops shot that guy who was reaching for his wallet? I don’t think they were racist, I think that the whole thing was just taking too long, and they just got impatient.

“It could’ve been me in that tower.”

I wish it had been you in that tower.

“The city...”

Forget such metropolises as Tokyo, London, or Paris. For New Yorkers, there is only one city. But notice how none of them are actually in New York. If New York is so great, why don’t you go the fuck back there? I know why: because it’s expensive, crowded, cold as fuck, and the girls are hotter in LA.

Don't Hate LA, Hate Yourself

I own a t-shirt that reads "I heart LA." Almost every time I wear it, someone asks me, “Is that a joke?”

Why do people find Los Angeles so despicable? Let’s look at what the Haters have to say.

Haters: There’s no culture.

Have you ever noticed that people who say this haven’t opened a book since they dropped out of college? I’m not exactly sure what these people mean by culture- do they mean really old museums with giant whales hanging from the ceiling? Or shitty musicals based on shitty movies?

The fact is, LA has plenty of museums, small theater companies, and all sorts of “cultural” crap that no one goes to.

Haters: There’s nothing to do.

According to the LA Weekly, there are 285 things to do tonight. And it’s a Tuesday (there’s almost 500 on Friday). And these are events, like special screenings and openings. It doesn’t include eating a cheeseburger at the 101 or looking for anonymous gay sex in Griffith park.

Los Angeles is also one of the only major cities located close to the beach, the mountains, the desert, Mexico, and Las Vegas. If you’re bored in LA, you’re probably just boring.

Haters: There are no seasons.

This one is just stupid. We have no seasons because our weather is fucking perfect! I’ve been to New York in the winter. No one was talking about how great seasons were. In fact, no one was talking about anything except how fucking cold it was, and how important winter jackets are. It was fucking boring.

Haters: The traffic is horrible.

Ok, the haters sort of do have a point here. LA traffic sucks, and so does our public transportation. But it’s important to remember that when people talk about LA traffic, they’re usually driving pretty long distances. If you really want to live in Silver Lake and work in Santa Monica, sorry, you’re gonna have to deal with traffic.

And it’s not like other cities don’t have traffic. San Francisco is like a giant parking lot on the Swiss Alps. Plus, you have to be Indiana Jones to find parking. And sure, public transportation is better, but waiting for a subway, transferring, and then hiking up a goddamn cliff can take a pretty long time too.

Haters: Everyone is so "fake."

In my experience, when people say this, what they really mean is, “there are a lot of hot girls in this city that won’t fuck me.” I got news for you, buddy, she seems fake to you because she doesn’t want you to know anything about her! Because she thinks you’re a fucking creep!