Well, we've beaten the odds. This is our 100th show.

When you think about it, we should probably wait to celebrate until our 104th show, because that would be the full two years. But what with the handicap of our bleak

and off-putting premise in our weird production schedule, plus the unlikeability of at least two of the hosts

and the near total failure of our

un-corparate masters to sell even a handful of advertisements on our show. We need to

celebrate now in case the whole thing explodes like a series of inexplicable oil drums in a

Rambo movie and we share this anniversary with another day that will also live

an infamy known to many of you as Granddads 9-11, Pearl Harbor.

So just like the reluctant Yamamoto's that we are, we went against our own code of honor,

risking our home islands for a Pyrrhic victory and hand-picked this week's movie.

Now last year we punished ourselves by hate watching the Michael Bay Barf Fest and Softcore Melrose Place

Abomination, Pearl Harbor, a World War II

predicated on the audience never having heard of World War II.

This year, in order to keep Adam from celebrating

December 7th by watching Rocky 4, I put my hand on the scales and we bring to you one of the daddest of all dad war movies, Torra, Tora.

These days, even the simplest to explain geopolitical event is attributed by the 50 million lazy boy

pundits who did explain politics to each other online, to the behind the scenes machinations

of the soul-dead capitalist overlords and immoral Swiss bankers and bunny

marrying Texas oil barons and jackbooted aluminati police daters working on behalf of the

unnamed shadowy forces that are maybe masons, maybe

Jews that wield the bony-fingered hand of whatever made-up sinister global superstructure,

these increasingly mainstreamed pinheads prefer to substitute for the depressing to admit

...