Pinkerton's Weblog

Batman Origin Comics

Co-written with Peter Lynn...

Read Part Two here!

Jay's Self-Deception Resolution Plan!

I attribute my failure with past New Year's resolutions to setting the bar unrealistically high for myself, in that they required me to change slightly. Lose weight. Quit smoking. Go jogging. Stop drinking. Every one of these self improvements, I realized, shared a common Achilles' Heel: small amounts of restraint and effort on my part.

This year I've decided upon an improved resolution plan that plays to my strengths: willful ignorance. Every resolution listed here clusters around the noble aim of large-scale self-deception.

Stop feeling bad about your failure, America: ignore it, with the Jay Pinkerton Self-Deception Resolution Plan!

Weight Loss

Old Resolution: Exercise and Eat Better

New and Improved Resolution 2.0: Buy Slimming Clothes, Grow Facial Hair

After my backslide last year in losing weight, I eventually grew a goatee in an attempt to hide my ever-growing number of chins. This strategy was both devious and self-deceptive — twin cornerstones of this year’s resolution philosophy. This year I’ve kicked it up a notch to Fat Alert Red, resolving to combat my expanding waist line through dark, loose-fitting clothing and the addition of a full, Kevin Smithesque beard.

Following this facial hair weight loss strategy to its logical conclusion, I've already taken steps to next year’s resolutions, when I will have to become the Wolfman. I walk around wooded parks during full moons now. I’ve been mugged twice and raped once, but so far not bitten by a werewolf. Next month I’ll start putting raw steak in my jacket pockets, which should result in either a werewolf bite or, a low probability, getting mugged and raped by dogs.

Smoking & Drinking

Old Resolution: Quit Smoking and Drinking

New and Improved Resolution 2.0: Buy Light Cigarettes and Beer

"Light" cigarettes have tiny pinholes on the filters; when tested on smoking machines, smoke escapes through the pinholes, slightly reducing nicotine and tar levels. Tobacco companies can then market their product as healthier, neglecting to mention that smoking machines don't have lips, which cover all the tiny pinholes.

Beer companies point to the low carbs of their light beers as evidence of their dietary value, neglecting to mention that the one ingredient in beer that can’t be removed — alcohol — is also the most fattening (alcohol has seven calories per gram, nearly twice as fattening as carbs). Also, human bodies recognize alcohol as a toxin, forcing the body to drop everything else — like burning fat — to eliminate it.

Two of my resolutions, therefore, will be to promptly forget both of these facts.

Resolution 2.0 Supplementary: Read Less

See above conclusion.

Becoming a Better Person

Old Resolution: Be Nicer, Reduce Stress

New and Improved Resolution 2.0: Buy Light Cigarettes and Beer

Comprehensively altering a life philosophy is a complex, lengthy and most importantly difficult process. Getting drunk and smoking cigarettes, conversely, is effortless, and the flood of alcohol and nicotine into the bloodstream tends to feel enough like happiness that for 2005, I've decided to stop mincing hairs. Psychologists and titans of medicine might argue that true happiness doesn't result in liver damage, lung cancer and runny beer shits. To them I would retort: "Toot toot! I'm drunk! Ah ha ha ha ha ha! Woo!"

Troubleshooting Guide: Backsliding

Therein lies the beauty of my new regimen. It's flexible enough to make even the most upsetting backslide seem like a soaring victory clutched from the toothsome maw of defeat. Observe:

Old Resolution
Break down by January 14th and order a pizza. Tastes like ashes in mouth. Recriminination and unpleasantness to follow.

New and Improved Resolution 2.0
Extra cheese is offered, and refused, while ordering pizza. Personal inner strength guides my hand in insisting on the regular allotment of cheese.

Old Resolution
"I'll have the double cheeseburger. Extra shame. Extra bacon too."

New and Improved Resolution 2.0
"I'll have the double cheeseburger. And a DIET soda, please!"

Sign Up Today!

If you order Jay's Self-Deception Resolution Plan today, you will receive:

• Six-pack, Miller Light
• Carton, Marlboro Lights
• Selection of loose-fitting dark-colored shirts
• Beard-trimming kit
• Steak-filled jacket, wolf-call

Order now!

Jerry Orbach (1935-2004)

Law & Order detective loses case of a lifetime

Actor Jerry Orbach, best known as streetwise detective Briscoe on Law & Order, died last week following a high-octane gunfight in Toulouse, France, the aftermath of which led to his contracting prostate cancer from a dirty gun handle. He was 69.

Orbach was famous for his trademark Law & Order catchphrases "This smells like a case for Briscoe!" "That ham was delicious!" and "Book those sons of fucking bitches."

As Detective Briscoe, Orbach was famous for his sleuthing, and for clues. Identified closely with New York City (where Law & Order was filmed), Orbach was declared a "living landmark" by the New York Landmark Conservancy in 2002. For reasons of accuracy, this award has since been rescinded.

Orbach was mourned this past Friday during a star-studded celebrity wake, where his prostate was remembered as the “quintessential New Yorker prostate” and "the heart and soul of Broadway."

“Jerry Orbach’s prostate was the best damn gland in Jerry’s reproductive system,” said a choked-up Sam Waterston, who co-starred with Orbach. “His prostate produced fluid for Jerry’s semen, which helped to transport Jerry’s sperm following his orgasms. How many of you can say you did that for Jerry?” Few in attendance could.

“Jerry’s prostate was nearly the same size and shape as a chestnut,” said Olympia Dukakis in a moving speech. “It wasn’t just located in front of Jerry Orbach’s rectum, just below his bladder, and wrapped around Jerry’s urethra. It was located here. In our hearts.” She then pointed to her heart.

“Jerry Orbach’s prostate was made up of approximately 30% muscular tissue,” said Benjamin Bratt. “The rest was glandular tissue.” Few had known this.

Orbach’s prostate won an Emmy in 1996 for Best Semen Production in Preparation for Orgasm. It is survived by Jerry Orbach’s urethra, a tube that carries urine from Jerry Orbach’s bladder out through the tip of Jerry Orbach’s penis. In lieu of flowers, Orbach's estate requests that mourners carry "as much urine as they can" from Jerry Orbach’s bladder out through the tip of Jerry Orbach’s penis.

Maybe we were too hard on Canadian Tire Guy

Having been away from Canada, it was nice to visit for a week recently to see the place as an outsider for once.

First of all: snow. There's a lot of it and Canada's freezing. I suppose I always knew that, but a few months in balmy climates brought home for me that Canada is essentially unlivable for human beings four months of the year.

I was similarly surprised to hear our Canadian accent with fresh ears, and realize with sudden clarity that we do, in fact, sound sort of ridiculous. After several straight days of aboots and ehs, I was forced to concede that, while our educational system might be firstrate, we nonetheless sound like the sort of people who could reliably entertain themselves for hours with chocolate sprinkles or shiny ribbon.

After a three-month diet of strict American television, I was also prone to revelation after seeing a TV personality I'd forgotten all about (aboot, rather): the Canadian Tire Guy. I was unable to find a photo of him, so I hope my description suffices.

Canadian Tire is a northern version of Home Depot; Canadian Tire Guy is their television spokesman, who's appeared for years in commercials touting the value of their many cheap and utterly useless MasterCraft products. Canadian Tire Guy’s appearance is that of an immaculately groomed, effete geography teacher—think Bob Vila with all the rough edges sanded off.

Unlike Vila — a spokesman who seems genuinely concerned about including you in the grand adventure that is ambitious home improvement — Canadian Tire Guy is more focused on the many products he owns that, once demonstrated in front of you, clearly illustrate his superiority to you as both a consumer and human being. The man is what the physical manifestation of smug would look like, if it wore a studiously trimmed beard and pressed its shirts.

No matter what the scenario — lawn care, bookshelf installation, weather-treating the windows — Canadian Tire Guy is sure to appear out of the shrubbery to talk with a startled neighbor, pulling some MasterCraft product from a hidden flannel pocket and proceeding to complete his neighbor's project in a fraction of the time. He'll laughingly demonstrate the inferiority of his neighbor's tool while extracting nails from a wall or stripping paint from an old chair, taking care to thoroughly emasculate him in front of his wife and children — whose image of their spouse and father as competent guardian is crushed like breadcrumbs through Canadian Tire Guy's self-satisfied, unrequested busywork.

Canadian Tire Guy: “Greetings, Joe! Repairing the deck, I see.”

Neighbor: [repressing a sigh] “Yep. Just puttering away, you know.”

Canadian Tire Guy: “You know—"

Neighbor: "I don't care, Canadan Tire Guy."

Canadian Tire Guy: [soldiering on regardless] “You know—with my MasterCraft Deck Treatment Pump-Pen, I can waterproof lumber while writing checks and making shopping lists!”

Neighbor: “That’s great.”

Canadian Tire Guy: “Check out that pressurized nozzle! That's one even spray! The onboard digital clock means I’m never late, and the built-in, handle-mounted thermometer never has me at a loss for the temperature! And look!” [clips pen to shirt] “The titanium grip means I’ll never lose it! Thanks, MasterCraft!”

Neighbor: “Uh huh.” [cell phone rings] “Hello? What? Oh my god.”

Canadian Tire Guy: “Something the matter, Joe?

Neighbor: “I can’t talk now, my wife’s going into labor!”

Canadian Tire Guy: “Really? You know, my MasterCraft Adjustable Five-Speed Birth Pump can suction a baby out of a uterus in half the time of a hospital! It can be powered by most major car batteries and fits right in the glove compartment! Machine washable? It is! And look!” [clips birth pump to face] “The titanium grip means I’ll never lose it! Thanks, MasterCraft!”

Despite the fact that every single Canadian utterly, unequivicably despises the Canadian Tire Guy, he’s been around for years and shows no signs of slowing down. In fact, he’s recently expanded his empire with the inclusion of Canadian Tire Wife, allowing the pair to be condescendingly grating to twice as many neighbors as ever before. Now, while Canadian Tire Guy stands by the fence and patiently explains to his neighbor why not owning MasterCraft’s new Magnetized Plasma Screen Brad-Finder makes him a mewling sissy, Canadian Tire Wife is free to prowl around indoors, happily illustrating to an unsuspecting homemaker why failing to buy a MasterCraft Attachable Vacuum Laser Scope necessarily means you live in filth and are a horrible mother.

Clearly the Canadian Tire Couple wasn’t originally intended to be so upsetting; yet this unanimously appears to be the case. It remains a mystery to me why Canadian Tire allows them to continue to appear on TV. Perhaps they're hoping to fuel buying interest purely through spite, hoping that people will buy their products if only to wipe the smile off their spokespeople’s faces.

I couldn’t say. However, given the general consensus, I’d advise Canadian Tire making lemons out of lemonade and transform the Canadian Tire Couple from mildly off-putting to full-blown social irritants. I’d like to see Canadian Tire thoroughly explore the love these two have for their MasterCraft products gradually transforming them into social pariahs.

Have neighbors turn off lights and pretend to not be home at their approach. Visibly show their neighbors’ soul-crushing aggravation whenever they appear. Have the Canadian Tire couple throw a Christmas party — complete with all manner of MasterCraft-brand party supplies — only to have absolutely nobody show up.

Make Canada feel guilty, in other words, for hating them so passionately. Maybe we wouldn't be so quick to change the channel on the smug bearded man after we've watched him snap at his wife after a particularly awkward meeting with the neighbors, tromp off to the study and cry softly under the dim lighting of his MasterCraft Emergency Highway Battery Lamps.

"Maybe we were too hard on Canadian Tire Guy," we'll say, finally seeing his grating attempts to push MasterCraft crap on us in our driveways for what they were — desperate grabs at friendship from a socially awkward man, who hopes to gain love from his fellow man the only way he knows how. By illustrating the versatility and portability of the MasterCraft Adjustable Insect Repellent/Hair Styling Spray-Comb.