There will always be enough material on the World Wide Web to prove at least one truth of human existence: People are strange.
Of course, we knew long before the Web emerged that oddity is a natural byproduct of life, as fundamental as breathing, but far more interesting to watch. The Web gives all forms of strange behavior a playground, especially for the extreme brand of hyper-nerdity that used to manifest itself in spontaneous Monty Python recitations and weeklong Dungeons and Dragons sessions.
These are more than just soapboxes for the growing mob of global-village idiots who have wasted innumerable hours building shrines to dead iguanas and alphabetized lists of their record collections. It takes a peculiar brand of intelligence to be deliberately foolish, and, to paraphrase the eminent philosophers of Spinal Tap, cross “the fine line between stupid and clever.”
In some cases, chemical intervention might be the cause of a site’s variation from the norm. This is likely the most plausible explanation for the Prozac Pez site, a semidetailed analysis of surprising similarities between the oft-prescribed mood elevator and the popped-from-a-clown’s-head candy.
The homepage, www.sfo.com/(tilde)costanos/ProzacPez, extols the virtues of a Pez-based society (or could that be Prozac-based?) with its motto: “The world would be a happier place if antidepressants were distributed in Pez dispensers.” There’s a detailed comparison of nutrition and side effects of both types of tablets–lower cholesterol and higher spirits!–while a great Shockwave game invites players to shoot a happy pill into the mouth of a stressed-out smiley face. It’s definitely worth a bookmark.
Boredom, or perhaps not enough reading material, is probably at the root of the Great Toilet Paper Debate site, a spirited attempt to answer the unanswerable; namely, which way should toilet paper be dispensed, over the top of the roll, or under the bottom? The case for over is strong (rolls fluidly, visually appealing), but under (accurate detachment of squares, minimal over-dispensing) also has its champions. Weigh in at expert.cc.purdue.edu/(tilde)mineart/tpaper2.html.
If sliding rocks across ice is an Olympic sport, then why not hand gliding, the practice of manually manipulating the airflow outside the window of a moving car? Hand gliding can be considered more of an art form than a true athletic endeavor (sort of like rhythmic gymnastics), but its fundamentals can be learned at www.wallaby.com/mackey/hg/ hand(underscore)gliding.html. It could be the most egalitarian of all events, requiring only a reliable car, a working window and a mini-van full of judges in the next lane.
There’s a special place on my bookmark list for those sites that endure despite the mercurial faddishness of many humorous Web sites. Everyone, it seems, has their own supposedly clever “X-Files” site, or a page slagging “Party of Five” or Jenny McCarthy or whoever is the pop icon of the moment. Longevity requires real, visceral emotion, and there are few feelings as powerful as the hatred inflamed by the sing-song gooeyness of Barney, the omnipresent purple dinosaur. One of the best oddball Web sites is run by the semisecret group Jihad to Destroy Barney, operating an information and recruitment center at www.jihad.net.
The dedication of these “jihaddi” is admirable. Some have created fictional universes in which they concoct elaborate role-playing adventures that usually end up ridding the galaxy of the saurian scourge they have renamed “B’harnii.” This is an exponential expansion of the usual weirdness surrounding the anti-Barney forces, yet the creativity and persistence is likely to amuse all but staunchest Barneyites (most of whom are too young to read anyway). Immediate gratification for Barney-phobes is available in downloadable games that enable players to use Barney as the enemy in Doom and other high-gore romps.
Even with all its detractors, Barney is but one overstuffed children’s show character. Pop culture is saturated with dozens of bone-and-flesh irritations, overpaid and overexposed and definitely overdue for a takedown. That’s the appeal of Celebrity Slugfest at slugfest.kaizen.net, which puts you and a hated celebrity face-to-face in a bare-knuckled street brawl.
How does it work? The site uses the Macromedia Shockwave plug-in, which creates a multimedia window within a small area of your browser. Simple keyboard commands allow lateral movement and punching, with the damage inflicted displayed on the steadily battered face of your famous opponent. There are three categories of villains: simple bullies (Dennis Rodman, David Letterman, Madonna); the mean-spirited and powerful (Martha Stewart, Bill Clinton, Rush Limbaugh); and ineffectual “wusses” (Hanson, Barney, Tori Spelling).
Site producer Jane Buckwalter writes, “Some of the stars are easier to beat than others, just like in real life. You might want to hone your skills on pacifists like Fabio and Tori before attempting Dave Letterman or Madonna. When you’re done, please take the time to suggest additional celebrities. We aim to please.”
And then there’s the granddaddy of them all, the Church of the Subgenius, the long-running pseudocult parody of blasphemers, hedonists, contortionists, iconoclasts, nudists and general cranks and malcontents forced to peddle their brand of religion on the Internet and in face-to-face revivals at abandoned trailer parks. These are folks who know they’re going to hell regardless of what they do, so they might as well have fun along the way.
They can be found at www.subgenius.com, the official shrine to their chosen deity, Bob, the benevolent god who will eventually stop being appeased by brazen performance art rituals and cause an apocalypse the likes of which will make Armageddon seem like a back rub.
Since the end is nigh, church members party hearty, a fact reflected on the site, which is definitely not stuff for children, teens, sensitive folks, moderately or slightly religious people, and is probably off-limits to all but the most hardened agnostics and atheists. Someday archeologists will discover these accounts of bizarre squid-manipulation rites and wonder what sort of society could invent high-definition television yet retain ties to a pagan past.
