Sleeping 'til 2012

2009-03-12T15:07:00.003-04:00

It's becoming increasingly apparent that the folks in charge know what to do with the plummeting economy about as much as Toby Keith knows what to do with a picture-less book. Now I'm no economist, but I seem to have picked up on an oversight; America's claim to fame, primarily, is that we have no labor, natural resources, or innovative qualities to offer anyone. For this reason, we import everything (only after we've had poor, third world nations build it all for us.) I'm assuming, however, the fucko that came up with this scheme has never been to Utah. Our country is full of states that emulate third world nations in economy, senseless violence, and the number of goat-fucking religious zealots that oppose anything resembling a useful education. So why cross an ocean when we don't have to? In order to increase production and profits (not to mention rid ourselves of the minefield of turds in the gene-pool,) I suggest we fence off and disconnect a select few states from the union. We could sell them to other third world nations and multinational corporations, or just use them for nuclear testing and their citizens for menial labor. Here's the proposed list:

Alaska: Fuck Alaska. It has nothing to offer us that Canada doesn't already have, besides more angry rednecks with guns and a "fuck you and your poor sick grandmother" approach to healthcare. Does anybody remember how they tried to have a bridge built to a remote frozen chunk of bull-shit in the Pacific because there was a landing strip there? If that qualifies as a booming metropolis, I want an Ikea in my back yard. Give me a God damned break; Alaska had their chance...they blew it with Sarah Palin and her husband (proof that eskimos aren't really a race worth meeting.)

Utah: As I mentioned earlier, Utah blows. I'm sure I've said this before, but Mormons make Gary Busey look smart...I would become a Scientologist before listening to some bull-shit asshole as he explains that, "no, we can't see the golden tablets he found because God made him throw them out after transcribing the racist dog puke they contained." God hated Joseph Smith for being such a douche-hole, and for this reason, he made sure his state was the saddest, least appealing tract of bum-fuck nowhere a human could imagine.

North and South Dakota: I really don't know all that much about these two...I'd prefer to maintain this pleasant ignorance. It's cold as fuck up there, and I'm not a bear, moose, fat person, or any other species equipped to handle such God-awful misery. We could probably sell them to Canada for use as a prison colony.

Virginia: So gun fanatics everywhere try and cleverly break down MY argument by pointing out that Washington DC has the strictest gun control laws in the nation, yet an abnormally high rate of gun violence. Theres one reason for this: DC borders Virginia, and over there, they'd probably sell a drunken pedophile having an epileptic fit a handgun. If you don't believe me, check out the store, Full Metal Jacket; Yes it's named after the movie, and yes it's just as emotionally jarring. I don't know why people remain hung-up on the bull-shit lie that West Virginia is some sort of redneck home base as opposed to it's eastern relative. During the Civil War, West Virginia seceded from Virginia in order to remain with the Union, and usually when it comes to slavery, the folks that are fighting FOR it are the rednecks. (If you're one of the jackasses who doesn't feel the civil war was really about slavery, shut the Hell up. Yes, it may have been one of the many "details" leading to the conflict, but if you were some prick's property at the time, you'd see it as a little more than a "minor" issue.

Kansas: Kansas is unique in the fact that their schoolboard seems adamantly opposed to education. Aside from this, I'm not a fan of religion, folksy bull-shit, inbreeding, racial intolerance, or rural crap of any sort. Where some might see "quaint," I see "hideous pathetic backwoods squalor," and wonder if there's a bar nearby that I can get something besides Busch and ciphalis. The answer is no.

Alabama: Worthless, fucking worthless. Lynyrd Skynyrd blows, the song "Sweet Home Alabama" blows and only pathetic, monosyllabic redneck douche-bags enjoy it. That worthless hellscape ought to be fenced off so its inhabitants can fritter away the remainder of their days shooting one another and worshipping an intolerant, minority-hating Christ.

Texas: Texas should be firebombed severely and with more vigor than was displayed in the World War II attacks on London and Dresden combined. This goes without saying...Texas IS the Thunderdome, and we can't let that remain in case of an apocalypse.

Hey Subway: Die.

2009-02-13T15:34:00.002-05:00

Thank fucking Christ…Five Dollar Foot-longs are back at Subway. Or so say the commercials, and I’m inclined to believe everything the all-knowing television spews at me. First, I don’t care, and second, when in the Hell were they not available? They’ve been raping my brain with those God-awful commercials for what now feels like decades, and I can’t recall a point at which I wasn’t having some Asian girl or a crew of tone-deaf construction workers singing to me that, “yes, in fact, I CAN get a foot-long sub for only five dollars.”

Fuck you Subway. Your shits boring and flavorless, and your employees are stingy as shit when it comes to toppings. Not to mention you’re a bunch of douchey liars. Ever notice that when the calorie content is listed, it “excludes” in fine print cheese, sauces, and certain toppings…The thing is, when I go out from time to time, I like to treat myself to things like, say, a slice of cheese at least, and when you don’t list that as a standard feature of the sandwich, it’s called a “dick move.” Stop advertising how healthy your shit is… that’s not why I fucking go out to eat, and there’s no way I’m eating your fat-free anal leakage potato chips (no, I’m not just describing the way they taste, they CAUSE anal leakage…Shouldn’t that be fucking illegal?”

When I go to Burger King or Taco Bell, no doubt, there are a decent number of fat fuckers, but I can also find average, healthy looking people who maybe just had a craving for some fries or a nacho platter. If Subway’s patrons all looked liked Brad Pitt, I’d assume there was something highly effective about their “low-carb” menu options, but guess what? Just as many fat-asses! Probably because, no matter how inexpensive, a foot-long ham sandwich doesn’t make for a healthy mid-afternoon snack. Anyway, I’ll have nothing to do with those scheming pricks… I can get twice as much food at Taco Bell for under two dollars (and there’s nothing in this world like authentic, down-home Mexican.)

2009-02-12T14:12:00.000-05:00

I found this in Mail Call today, and wished I had a fat ass to roll around on while I laughed…except not, because that’d be embarrassing and sad: “I am asking all restaurants here in the Hagerstown and surrounding areas to please honor cards from people who have had gastric bypass surgery. There is an increase in the number of people having this surgery, and we are given a card to show when we go to a restaurant that asks the facility to let us use the senior or children’s menu. I understand some restaurants will not honor these cards, so I am asking you to reconsider this, as after surgery, we have to really watch the amount of food we eat…” Good point, Porky. You know what else would be great? If I had a card verifying that I’m an alcoholic and restaurants should use the discretion I don’t have for me. Then, if all else fails, they could turn a blind eye when I go streaking through their parking lot, or call my ex sobbing about what an emotionally abusive bitch she is.

They call us adults for a reason; primarily, we’re expected to make our own decisions. I can’t blame anyone other than myself for mistakes like unprotected sex, alcohol poisoning, or the back tattoo of James Earl Jones that seemed so fucking cool at the time; and you can’t expect someone else to tell you what you can and can’t eat. Just put the Bloomin’ Onion down, fatty. If it’s really so difficult that you require supervision, you’re problem isn’t so much obesity, but a deeper disorder which you ought to seek therapy for. I realize people have their weaknesses, and I’m not the type to be needlessly insensitive (the funny thing is, I actually am,) but the double standard that exists here is beyond fucked up.

Take the following statements as an illustration:

A) “Hey Ted, you really need to cool it on the drinking. We think you might have a problem.”
B) “Hey Ted, you ought to quit smoking man. It’s bad on your lungs and we don’t want you getting cancer.”
C) “Hey Ted, you really need to stop being so fat. You embarrass us in public and we all had to put locks on our refrigerators.

Unlike the initial two, statement C appears to be thoughtless and insensitive. Why? Because too many whiny assholes have tried to convince us that, contrary to what my mother and health teacher have taught me, the amount and type of food we eat doesn’t correlate directly to the size of our waistlines. Of course it doesn’t, dip-shit; just as when my liver finally dies, I won’t have a fucking clue what could have caused that either.

Now I don’t give a shit if you’re a lard-ass…In fact I’ve got friends of all shapes and sizes; My problem involves self-pitying douche-bags who can’t get over their own hurdles, so instead focus on the problems of others. Overeating is a problem, but really no more or less than smoking, drinking, pill popping, unsafe sexual practices, or kleptomania. One third of the US population is either overweight or obese, and only three percent of Americans have a thyroid condition. This leads me to believe that out of every thirty fat people who tell me they can’t help it, three are telling the truth.

People need to own up to their own fucking issues and stop justifying their behavior with petty excuses like, “I can’t control myself.” Yes you can, and you choose not to. I have the utmost respect for a fat person who can stuff their face, stand tall and admit, “I like to fucking eat, and I will reap the consequences, thank you very much!” For those of you who can’t make this realization, stop asking for diet menus, special exemptions, and nutritional information on your Big Macs. Face it, you know the salads going to be better for you, but you don’t want that fucking salad, now do you, Tubby? Stop eating or stop bitching…I can’t deal with both.

Let's not pussy-foot around this...

2009-02-10T11:12:00.006-05:00

There are times when tact and dignity are cornerstones in negotiation, as without them the conclusions reached may appear to be coerced or needlessly forceful. Also, however, there are times when you lend 700 billion dollars to a conglomerate of ungrateful, useless pricks, expecting them to stick to their word and fix the current mess, when in actuality they seem to have been spending the last three months slowly feeding the money, bill by bill, into a garbage disposal while shitting all over the American taxpayers and any sense of worth they still have. It's times like these it's neccesary to drop the gloves and be a little more forceful when asking the question; "Hey, you know that boatload of cash we lent you? Where in the fuck is it, you douche-nibbling ass-bags?!" Because, the situation as it stands, (and Jesus Christ does this make me want to hatchet some motherfucker in the balls...) is that every cent of that money is gone and "unaccounted for," and "there's simply nothing we can do about it."

Like shit there's nothing we can do about it! It's our fucking money...and apparently the federal government doesn't seem to realize how astronomical the number 700 billion is; I don't even know how many damn zeros go in that! "Unaccounted for" is also a stupid fucking term to use in any situation where the item in question IS accounted for. I know where the money is...pick me! Pick me! It went into bonus checks for the lousy dick-mongers who fucked shit up last year, because it's just too damn obvious they're working harder than the rest of us. Give me a fucking break...how difficult would it be to simply take their bonuses? We could take their cars, sell their children, there's no end to the expensive shit these assholes surround themselves with, and maybe we should stop being such pussies and actually stand up to the bullies making life Hell for the rest of us.

I don't understand why I'm supposed to feel such pity for some CEO who's getting his salary capped at 500 grand a year anyway, when I don't make dick. In fact, even at such a "modest" pay rate, I still think these greed ridden, self centered pigs deserve to be shot in the teeth for making so much money, losing so much for us, then acting indignant when we question their extravagant lifestyles. The federal government apparently is composed of snivelling little girls though, and will never take a stand, which is, in turn going to lead to our becoming fed up and taking care of this situation on our own. Luckily for everyone, I have a plan, and not only will it return the money to it's rightful owners, but it'll provide some entertainment as well: Woodchippers.

I'm assuming that during the French revolution, guillotines were only used due to a lack of modern technology. We need something that allows for gorier, more painful punishments suited to the pricks on the recieving end. Modern times allow us the luxury of sitting back, pressing a button, and watching these pompous jackasses that got us into this mess slowly reduced to a pulp, Fargo-style. It'll no doubt stimulate the economy as well through ticket sales, industrial labor, and a sense of overall well-being after having ceased the constant anal reaming we've been experiencing for the last eight years.

Unless you're getting some serious compensation from these cock-heads, it's hard to imagine justifying their societal worth. I for one, am not, and I know for damn sure that very few of my friends and acquaintances are either. Think of it this way: it's not murder, just cleaning up a very sloppy mess.

This place sucks...

2009-02-09T18:58:00.003-05:00

I woke up this morning brainstorming; desperately struggling to come up with a half-decent reason to leave my bed. After a solid hour I realized there was beer in the fridge and I needed a cigarette. With breakfast out of the way, (a couple non-lite beers provide the same caloric value as a bowl of cereal and some orange juice, plus the pick–me-up that convinces one for a few precious hours that life isn’t the steaming pile of shit it seems,) I sat down to watch the news.

I was wrong in my assumption that MSNBC’s unrepentant liberalism would cheer me up, as the morning time slot consists of three hours of “Morning Joe,” a show in which a stuffy old conservative prick rants about how “socialist” Obama is and consistently cuts off his co-host while slurping on a frothy Starbuck’s girly-drink that’s gayer than two republican senators with some KY jelly. I hammered off an insulting email to the producers concerning not only his flawed political ideologies, but the severe mistake they were making in having him host the show rather than one of the more liberal female co-hosts who’d surely increase male viewer-ship drastically. After this I looked up some footage on the Grammy’s, which I’m glad I missed, and regret my unfounded curiosity.

Paul McCartney corrected some of my own assumptions by proving that I was wrong in feeling that poverty, war, and global warming were some of the greater issues facing our world. There’s something far worse: Sad washed up old piles of shit that drag their previous bands’ songs from the crypt to re-slaughter them in front of a crowd of rich, hipster assholes. Other revelations included indications that Stevie Wonder is blind also to the fact that his career ate it years ago, that the Jonas Brothers blow harder than Randy Newman’s pool boy, and that Chris Brown is a fucking moron for doing anything to jeopardize his relationship with arguably the most do-able woman of all time.

It isn’t news that the world is shittier than Sally Struthers’ rectum. Hell, we live to fight wars based on asinine religious prophecies and antiquated sources of natural energy, you can’t fucking smoke in a bar, and people still listen to that asshole Jim Kramer when he tells them where to stick their hard-earned money. But please, for the love of God, can we at least keep art sacred? There is nothing…nothing left save for a pile of old vinyls, a Dead Prez poster and some scratchy CDs to remind me that at one point, music wasn’t a waste of my time. Luckily I avoided the low point of the evening, which was Miley Cyrus' performance, but on the morning news, Courtney Hazlett (my future baby-momma) described it as the screeching cacophony of a dying feline. How right I’m sure she was. I can’t escape imagining the fiasco however, and it makes my soul hurt to know that a whole generation is being blindly raised on this bile.

It used to be that you had to cut off your ear or have the balls to kill yourself with drugs and alcohol to be praised as a true artistic mind. Now these fuckers just live forever and drag sad, loyal fans behind their bandwagons of shit. Even so called “intelligent” people are catastrophically unaware of artists like Ian Curtis, Jason Thirsk and Richard Manuel, who were too busy making real music to develop moronic new publicity stunts and collaborations to keep the attention of a dim-witted populace.

“Popular” music is about as stupid as democracy in a society full of so many mouth-breathing, sun-gazing assholes that would rather base their musical taste on who gets paid to sing a Pepsi commercial than who’s created a meaningful work of art. Americans are fucking stupid and wouldn’t know real artistic value if it raped them in the mouth. This, I suppose, isn’t a surprise as it corresponds with every other of our backwards beliefs. It explains also why so many pricks waste their time and money, and OUR natural resources on shitty CDs, shitty clothes, and useless NASCAR trinkets advertised in the back of PARADE magazine.

I’m sick of putting forth any concerted effort to do anything about our current situation, as it seems nobody else gives a shit anyway. Atop it all, the entire US health department is a boatload of shit-eating liars, because the only redeeming quality to my day was getting hammered, and when I look back to recall the last time I was happy, I realize I was hammered then too…and so it goes for the past several years of my life. They seem to feel this is what you'd call an unhealthy addiction, but the truth is, before drinking I was uncool AND unhappy the vast majority of the time. People are wasteful, slothish, short-sighted, and have no appreciation for the arts and other things that require some level of introspection; if I have to share an ecosystem with these dicks, I'd prefer to be passed out and piss-drunk. Art is dead and music is nothing but a bunch of show off 14-year old pop stars, because that’s all these lazy pricks can handle amidst lives full of stupid electronic gadgets that convince them that they actually aren’t just doing and talking about absolutely nothing.

If someone can think of a better way to deal with this fucking mess than drinking excessively until I die of alcohol poisoning or my liver explodes, feel free to share, but I fucking swear, if you say “God,” or a support group I’ll kick your damn teeth in. God dropped the ball on the inquisition, the slaughter of countless Native Americans and the holocaust to name a few, and there's no evidence to support the idea he'll wake up now. This world is in serious trouble, and I require a serious solution…And there’s nothing more serious than the head buzz you get from knocking back vodka tonics in rapid succession. The hangover is just an indicator that society’s ills are finding their way back into your frame of consciousness, and a trip to the liquor store is in order. If you're still trying to figure out which part of this was supposed to be funny, burn your face off with an arc welder and die, piss-on.

"Why does Jesus look so hammered?"

2009-02-03T21:38:00.001-05:00

I’d rather break my penis off in a blender than look like this guy. Kid Rock is regularly mistaken for some poor kid’s waste of life, deadbeat uncle who’s known by name at the local buffet for showing up drunk and gorging himself on crab legs. The world hates you, Kid Rock, and no amount of money or STDs can fix that. I hope you’re jailed, sodomized, brutally murdered by means of some sharp kitchen utensil, and rot in whatever segment of Hell is reserved for greasy haired redneck piles of shit. Oh and, don’t worry, Ted Nugent can’t live forever…you’ll have company.

Jesus you pricks are desperate (...and somewhat effective)

2009-02-03T21:04:00.001-05:00

So I picked up an application form for Citigroup at a career fair the other day and, for a moment, forget the company is a slimy, scamming pile of corporate shit. After having just heard that the CEO of said company was under scrutiny for using federal bailout money to fly his family on the corporate jet to Mexico, I was hesitant to apply. But fuck, who wouldn’t do the same thing in his position? (In case you were all unaware, exorbitant sums of money buy you out of any moral or legal obligations, so house arrest equals a 400 square acre resort for the next years…boo-hoo.)

Anyway, what had me so forgiving, and so intrigued were the picturesque would-be coworkers featured on the packet. In front of a bright, lively background of cubicles (no, I don’t know how they do that) sit five employees of Citigroup, who are apparently illustrating the fact that every day is casual Friday…or, they’ve just returned from a laid-back Applebee’s lunch break in which they chat and laugh just like in the campy commercials. Also illustrated is the implied notion that there is no way in Hell I’m good-looking enough to work at Citi. The two men to the left are closest to the camera and eying the viewer in a blatantly homoerotic way, while a black, Dolomite looking fellow is standing, shirt unbuttoned halfway, between two women that, I’m pretty sure I’d tell any lie in the world to get in their pants, or, at the very least, remove their clothes (preferably in unison.)

So maybe I’m no “Trent” or “Todd” or whatever kind of fuck-bagger names these guy’s parents gave them to match their stunning, yet feminine good looks, but what I wouldn’t do to be one. I’d have my bleach-tipped cohorts to style my hair and give me advice on home design, a token black buddy, but decidedly not black enough to pose any sort of a threat, and, apparently, a boatload of irresistible women who’d hopefully turn my days in the office to replays of the poorly scripted pornos which you watch and say, “oh, that’s never gonna happen!” Think again prick, I’m with Citigroup now!

It seems to me the whole corporate office must be a harem of mad sex and gay dudes buying me free drinks after work…And you know what? I’m not really above all that. The situation could only be made better by the job description, which is, more or less, calling up useless freeloaders to let them know they fucked up on their credit payments and we’ll be taking their yacht back within the week. If you can name a career more satisfying than one that involves dicking around on a computer all day, taking insanely long lunch breaks, letting cocky assholes know that “guess what? You’re poor now!” and indiscriminately sticking it to every coworker in a miniskirt, you’re full of shit ( …or I’ll take the job you’re offering.)

You won, now stop being a dick about it.

2009-01-08T14:21:00.005-05:00

To "The Man,"
If theres one thing I hate more than losing at shit, it's the sore winner on the other end. So each time I see one of the many false or exagerated anti-weed commericals where some kid's stealing from their little sibling or smashing up an ATM to score a fix of that good ol' THC, I want to shoot someone for being such a melodramatic dickstain. We've been through this before if you can't recall, and guess what guys? You fucking won. Laws were passed, restrictions were placed, and now weed is more illegal in most states than rape or manslaughter (if you don't believe me, look it up; The average rapist will spend between 8 and 15 years in prison, while a small time dealer is likely to face up to 30 in a federal penitentiary.) Now don't get me wrong; I see the similarity between smoking a joint and violently penetrating a stranger against their will (causing emotional trauma for decades to come,) but that's not the point. The point is, you've gotten your way and you don't need to be rude about it.

Smoking weed already has a social stigma attached, and carries greater risk every day. With an ever-intensifying war on drugs, we're forced to hide in dark corners to enjoy our little vice, we can't let our employers or family know, and unlike your precious "neccesities" like bad music and shitty home decorations, we can't just go to Wal-Mart to buy the stuff. As if that's not enough, now all of the sudden you're picking on us for being cordial hosts? That, at least, appears to be the message conveyed in commericals promoting resistance to peer pressure. Nobodies pressuring anyone, dicks. If I or a friend have weed, it's customary to offer this to our guests. We're not snickering behind their backs over the fact we've just ruined their lives, we're saying, "Here. This is something I rather enjoy, and because I like you as a friend, I want you to enjoy it with me!" If the guest feels uncomfortable or pressured, and has trouble saying no, it's most likely because they're uncomfortable with themselves and don't realize how laid back and okay with that we'd be...Or because they'd really like to try it, but were fed a pile of bullshit by their parents and the news media about the severe turn it will cause their life to take.

Peer pressure just covers for the fact that alot of kids are spineless little piss-ons that can't make thair own decisions, so when their parents catch them high, they cry like bitches and blabber out a roster of all their friends that "pressured them to do it" rather than manning up with a good solid response like "Don't be such a buzzkill old man, I'm trying to watch Sanford and Son...And get me a bag of funions cause I'm fuckin' out!" There are alot of awful things your kids could get into, (i.e. death metal, Magic the Gathering, Japanese animation...) so you should be thanking God they chose weed. This puts them in a positive crowd that likes good music, fun movies, and (for the most part) is avidly opposed to violence. Why aren't these other threats being addressed rather than weed? My guess would be because the average IQ in the US is somewhere around 95 (that's not actually a good thing.) Here a few commercials you don't see, but probably should:

#1 (A 30-something year old man is sitting at his computer staring vacantly at the screen, in a room cluttered with old action figures and Lord of the Rings memorabilia...)
Man: Mom, Dad...Thanks for letting me buy World of Warcraft, rather than kicking my ass and making me go play outside like good parents. It's been twenty years and I'm a lonely virgin who masturbates to cartoon fantasy porn.
Voiceover: Talk to your kids about not being pathetic before it's too late.

#2 (A 14 year old girl is sitting in the waiting rom at the doctor's office with her very own baby...)
Girl: Thanks, unrealistic, conservative Christian values. Because of you, I kept this baby that I'm completely unprepared to take care of, and in the process, ruined my life.

#3 (Several dickish looking middle-aged couples are sitting around, listening to Kenny G and drinking boxed White Zinfandel. They're all wearing matching fleece pullovers from L.L.Bean and talking about which cheese is more "worldly," Gouda or Brioche?)
Voiceover: Warn your kids about growing up to be a douche.

Long story short, you're all assholes. If you haven't noticed, this country blows hard enough as it is. There isn't shit to do, we're surrounded by self righteuous pricks, and everywhere you turn, there's a McDonalds or a Burger King (both of which suck.) Unless it's your intention to see how miserable you can make us before every decent member of the populace blows their brains out, just quit while you're ahead. Anyone who's done anything half decent for the shithole we call America, be it comedy, music, art or literature, smoked alot of weed to do it, and we turn around like ungrateful fuckers and condemn them for it. Blow me jerkoffs...Life sucks because of you.

Sincerely yours,

-Ian

Red Flag!

2009-01-01T12:26:00.006-05:00

First dates are always iffy (unless you're Clint Eastwood...then you rock hard and swift when it comes to everything.) Chances are, you're not, and there's always a possibility you'll bomb. Worse yet, your date will prove to be a "Crazy." "Crazys," in case you're unfamiliar, are a more intense breed of nuts than your average "crazy person," much like a "Jew" is simply a jewier version of a "Jewish person." Crazies make up a vast demographic and are hard to avoid, which is why I've provided you with a few red flags with which to classify and spot "Crazies."

1. Any mention of a cat. Cats are filthy, disgusting beasts and people who have an unnatural love for them (i.e. feeding one and giving it a name) are lonely, socially ackward piss-ons whom nobody wants to be around. If you own a cat and feel the need to tell me about it within our first real social encounter, you'd better be insanely attractive, or I'd rather not be seen around you at any point in the future. Cat hair makes every article of clothing look like shit, your house smells like fermented ass, and you devote at least half of your time to the happiness of a far inferior, intellectually devoid creature.

2. Multiple named stuffed animals. There's nothing creepier than a grown woman who's pillow is fortified by oddly dressed Teddy Bears whose names it's your job to remember the next time you're over. A simple solution? Avoid returning. Nothing kills my boner faster than, "well THATS Mr. Tinkleberry, and he has to stay on the bed at all times because he gets lonely...but don't worry, I cover his eyes when we-" Ewww. What the fuck? The male equivalent would be for me to keep a GI Joe perched on the bedpost..."Alright bitch, Jungle Recon Joe's got a full clip and his infrared goggles on, so if you start acting like a dumb whore, he's going to stomp your shit. You don't want your shit stomped, do you?" This has only worked once in the past three years, but even after being cool and understanding towards my strange action figure obsession, GI Joe stomped her shit anyway. So it goes. The bottom line: I don't care how important Flufkins the Rabbit is to you, I'd rather he find his way to the inside of a wood chipper.

3. The mention of "God" and "sex" in the same sentence. This is never a good sign. For example: "I plan on waiting until marriage to have sex, because then, not only will it be our love, but God's love as well!" The hypothetical girl in this example fucked up on yet another level by using the word "love" on a first date...This is when it's acceptable to simply get up from the table and walk out, leaving the check for her to take care of; There are too many promiscuous girls and untouched beers in the world to waste any more time here. People who talk about God alot give me the heebie-jeebies. People who talk about love alot strike me as dangerously detached from reality. Let's keep sex fun, and safe from these bastardizations.

4. "My ex would probably murder you if he knew we were dating." Self explanatory: Nobody likes a possessive, large, or angry ex in the picture. This may, at first glance seem to deal with something other than the girl in question being a crazy, but dig deeper...Crazies seek other crazies, and chances are this girl and her "murderous" ex fit together like two raving crazies on a crazy boat. Give it a few months, and this girl will be collecting your hair and leaving threatening messages on your new girlfriends voicemail quicker than you can say "restraining order."

5. Wikkans. Wikkans are fucking weird and I don't like them. Don't bother sending me critical emails with in-depth explanations of the deep, nature-based undertones of the Wikkan faith...BLAH BLAH BLAH, this shit is fucking stupid. The same goes for Mormons and Scientologists. Your beliefs are even less legitimate than the Bible (which is pretty damn far-fetched.) Go build an alter somewhere, fucking weirdo...

Life's too short for taxes:

2008-12-18T08:24:00.002-05:00

So I'm not sure how the logistics of this scheme would ever smooth themselves out, but here goes: Everyone realizes there are certain aspects of the world which simply do not belong, and others we don't run across on a daily basis, but really ought to. Here's my proposal to turn the tides, replace the bad with the good, and make life a little less hellish for all of us...

1. We'd replace NASCAR with giant, stadium confined sand-sculpture building contests. We'd replace the tracks with that perfect, kind of wet (but not too soggy) sand and the grass in the middle would be a lawn chair sitting area. The only rule would be one prohibiting people from getting all preachy by depicting the crucifixion or Reagan's communism speech.

2. Replace television with sex. It's been statistically proven that couples with a TV in their bedroom have a significantly less active sex life. These are the same people who grow old too soon, lose any motivation and have stale, lifeless marriages. When taking the proper precautions, sex is probably the healthiest thing you could do that feels that incredible, and it seems almost unfair to compare it to a repeat of "The Hills."

3. Cops would be replaced with baby panda bears. This one makes all too much sense on so many levels. Primarily, pandas are an endangered species, but if we were to have an abundance of them as we do police officers, abuse of power and police brutality would go down, whereas panda cuddling and adorable camera-phone pictures would skyrocket. Cops already bring down the national average with their poor reasoning skills, low IQs, and inability to communicate in a manner that doesn't come off as dickesh; What are we doing giving them all these second chances? It used to be, if you couldn't effectively pass school, and failed to acquire any remote sign of a sense of humor by 18, you got to be a septic tank cleaner. Get you're fucking scrub brush, Officer Opie.

4. Good-n-Plenty could replace taxes, and those Good-n-Plenty candies would also serve as effective, harmless, morning after pills. Once a month or so, the government would send us large boxes of Good-n-Plenty, in an inherently flawed, useless, but very pleasant approach to an economic stimulus.

5. Venereal diseases would be replaced by mutant powers (but only cool ones like super-strength and an ability to shoot lightning with your mind.) This, coupled with number four, would make condoms obsolete, and we'd never have to deal with that uncomfortable bullshit, or see a Trojan Man ad again.

6. Rednecks would be replaced by blind, autistic, paraplegics with cerebral palsy, only because they'd contribute more to society.

7. While we're at it, let's replace Bill O'Reilly with a dismembered goat...He is such a mega-douche it no longer even makes me laugh, and I think the goat would be more insightful and willing to listen to the views of others.

8. Bluetooth headsets would be replaced with something that isn't entirely douchey and lame.

9. Replace texting with letter writing. It's a revolutionary new concept which hasn't really taken off quite yet, but ought to. The biggest upside, is that in writing a letter, one is usually inclined to feel like a mouth breathing, lion-poking dickslurp when they turn even the simplest phrases into acronyms and fail to employ a period, comma, or any other expected punctuation mark for the duration of the piece. "WNIEGAINFC!" That one stands for, "We're not in eighth grade and it's not fucking cute!"

10. Replace the term "love" with "hobo chlamydia dick-sneeze." People are too quick to use "love" to describe their feelings, and it's damn near desensitized the word. I don't think folks would be so cavalier about it if pouring your heart out came off as, "Darling, I can't deny my hobo chlamydia dick-sneeze for you any longer!"

If you hobo chlamydia dick-sneezed this piece, don't bother trying to leave a comment, as much like Bloomberg, Carter, and Lincoln in the past, Blogspot is fuckin' up. I wish I could replace them with a website that functions.

This music truly blows:

2008-12-14T21:13:00.006-05:00

Were the following groups and performers not to exist, the world would be a far more tolerable place. Unlike performers such as Flo Rida, Journey, and The Monkees, with their own brands of incomprehensible, lovable weirdness, these ten are in serious violation of a human being's God-given right to avoid unjust suffering. Some are known for just one song, whereas some possess vast catalogues of mind numbing, spirit crushing shit to draw from. Below, I've listed (in descending order,) each band, some background information (as I see necessary,) and one of the many things I'd rather be doing than listening to their particular brand of dick-smelling cacophony: 10. Randy Newman- If a clown’s penis had vocal chords and a sore throat, this is what it’s singing would sound like. Mr. Newman likes to play songs about friendship, America, and anything the Disney corporation pays him to, as he kissed his dignity goodbye years ago. I’d rather stay at a timeshare in Utah.

9. Smashmouth- If you haven’t suffered through Smashmouth yet, you’re a lucky individual, and I’ll try not to ruin that with details or song titles. Long story short, if I wanted a sweating, fat douche bag to give me the musical rendition of a cheap motivational speech, I’d pay the guy at the bowling alley. I’d rather watch 10 consecutive episodes of The Hills than grit my teeth through another Smashmouth album.

8. Toby Keith- You know...he wrote that song about 9/11, revenge, and all those dang “rag-heads.” You’re probably wondering where my issue would lie with a stubborn, hatemongering redneck who can’t distinguish between the multitude of separate middle-eastern cultures. Call it a whim I guess, but he’s a NASCAR loving prick and I don’t like him. I’d rather be kicked in the scrotum repeatedly by Kenny Rogers in the middle of a trailer park somewhere.

7. Billy Ray Cyrus- Billy is one of the few to popularize the well-kempt, unapologetic mullet. He looks like less of a rock star than a bass-fishing, father raping miscreant from Hell. His daughter is the notorious Hannah Montana, and his entire family is a perfect argument for the necessity of people-sized ovens. I’d rather be strangling Miley Cyrus over the sink of a dirty truck stop bathroom than listening to Billy Ray Cyrus’s monotonous white trash horse shit.

6. Creed- Vomit...What an inappropriately weird voice. I was actually invited to a Creed concert once and politely explained that I’d be busy gouging my eyes out with a plastic fork. Incidentally, this is what I would have rather been doing.

5. ABBA- If I were to make a list of the ten worst songs, “Dancing Queen,” by ABBA would most likely take the number three spot. Numbers one and two would probably be songs by ABBA as well. I’d rather spend three months in the Guantanamo Bay detention center, being alternately water-boarded and sodomized. 4. Barbara Streisand- It’s funny, most terrible female musicians have one thing in common: They’re hot. This is usually because a sleazy agent convinced them at some point that they were unique and talented, as a ploy to get in their pants. Barbara’s agent must have been blind and deaf. I’d prefer having a naked Woody Allen whine at me through a loudspeaker in a cramped kitchen than ever have to listen to that large-nosed bitch again.

3. Enya- I wasn’t familiar with the musician herself, but did a lyrics search on that shitty “Who can say Where the Road Goes” song they play during commercials for “special” episodes of FRIENDS, and Party of Five. Turns out she sings it, and when I listen and close my eyes I’m bombarded with images of sobbing middle-aged housewives hugging one another on Lifetime TV as estrogen spews from the sprinkler system. I would really just rather be dead.

2. Insane Clown Posse- The only thing surprising about this is the fact they aren’t number one. Insane Clown Posse is so excruciatingly bad on so many levels, it’s really impossible to put into words the nature of the group‘s shittiness. I’d rather attend every stop on a world tour featuring the eight groups and performers listed above than sit through an ICP show, and I’d pry my own teeth out with pliers before putting on one of their T shirts.

1. Trans Siberian Orchestra- FUCK Trans Siberian Orchestra! Jesus! Jesus! FUCK! Who came up with this awful bullshit!? Look them up...I can’t explain in words other than a stream of incoherent obscenities. Tacky, douchey, insufferably dick hattish...there is no way to do these rim-licking Fabio-haired ass-mongers justice through conventional foul language. I’d rather have a three way with Rosey O’Donnell and Whoopi Goldberg without closing my eyes than listen to this “Christmas meets Daft Punk and a bad Yanni cover-band” bullshit. Even potheads aren’t stupid enough to think this spacey ass-vomit has a redeeming quality. If the album cover below doesn’t say more than enough about Trans Siberian Orchestra, this should: From time to time, definitive proof shows up that some people should really just be burnt alive in pits while others watch.

Kill me with a fork before they bring back those pointy Madonna bras

2008-12-14T11:10:00.009-05:00

I'm no fashion guru, and I realize this. In fact, my sole intent when leaving the house in the morning is to avoid looking like a jackass. I'm sure there's something to be said for pushing the envelope when it comes to what is, and what is not acceptable; and that something is usually a grotesque dry-heaving noise. I've come to the conclusion that shows like Project Runway and America's Next Top Model are just some bizarre scam masterminded by a truly diabolical asshole who's dying of laughter over the fact these poor naive girls think what they're wearing is, in some way, sexy. I'm here to assure you that if it were, I'd be in a cheap hotel room right now, sharing a cigarette with the bag lady who hangs out in front of our local Goodwill store.

Apparently everything goes full circle, and suddenly Kanye West is dressing like Michael Jackson, while reasonably attractive women are suiting up in what are commonly known as "mom jeans." In Mr. West's defense, if you've heard Thriller and weren't inappropriately touched as a child, you still have some respect for ol' paleface...Nobody respects a woman who can't locate her own damn bellybutton and realize that the jeans should end a good deal below that. Aside from myself, the Red Hot Chile Peppers, and Ghostbusters, very little of value came from the '80s, and it should be maintained as an unconditional law that the fashion trends of that era, aside from pastel colored high tops, are never to be repeated.

Aside from the technical advantages of a girl who's jeans don't have to be tugged on for a solid hour until what may be the waistline is accessible, there's another huge upside: They don't make her appear to have the torso of a deformed midget with a shelf for an ass. The great thing about looking normal is that it works, regardless of the decade in which you live. High rise jeans are reserved for two types of people: Old men who wear Reindeer ties at Christmastime, and fugly bitches who nobody wants to sleep with anyway.

Below is a quick high vs. low jeans comparison exercise for the male portion of my readers. Try masturbating to both images in order to develop an understanding of what, exactly, is wrong with this picture. Unless you're a very impressionably and imaginative person, neither image will really be enough, but with Image B, the difference lies in the fact you'll find yourself violently projectile vomiting within the first two minutes, experiencing flashbacks of your old day-care provider.

I used to think gay males really had their fingers on the pulse of the fashion world, but with this new development, I must retract that opinion. It's maddening watching these poor, hot girls being forced into outfits which will undoubtedly make them look like middle aged housewives...Shameless, really. From here on out, let's leave decent fashion to the only demographic who really seem to understand: Guys who'd prefer to sleep with attractive girls. As for the girls who agree with me and refuse to cave to pathetic trends, I'm eternally grateful. Here's to keeping my wet dreams about you and not my fallback, Zack Efron.

I didn't know the Koran was a graphic novel...

2008-12-13T23:39:00.003-05:00

Seriously this time, I'm done picking on Islamic extremists. I'd go after the Mormons next, but then I'd have to open myself up to the cesspool that is all other bullshit religions, and be burnt out by the time I got to my first Jedi Temple. Besides, polygamy seems like a pretty reasonable policy.

P.S...

2008-12-08T20:44:00.006-05:00

This is really just an afterthought in regards to my last piece, but I feel for the sake of the man's dignity, something must be said: Mr. Bin Laden, you look like one of those homeless veterans that bitches about having fought in 'Nam for me. Fuck, man...You're an evil prick. I mean, there is no word to describe the kind of evil you keep in that furry little head of yours, but you go and blow it all by looking like crazy old Uncle Kenny who spazzes out whenever we go to an Asian buffet. If James Bond ran across you in his exploits, he wouldn't bother to put up a fight as he'd be so offended that you'd show up to do battle with such a suave motherfucker dressed like his God damned cleaning lady. Below I've included four well-known and particularly ballin' evil entities for you to draw some inspiration from. I truly hope it helps, because you desperately need to work something out before the entire middle east starts calling you Raggedy-Allah, the welfare bomber.

...I just ran out of lines to cross.

2008-12-08T12:49:00.008-05:00

I think it can be agreed by just about everyone that Al Quaeda is a busload of douche bags...not that any other terrorist organization isn't. You'll find just as many so called "Christian" hatemongers spreading their own brand of shit across an otherwise decent world, and I'd never be so arrogant or simple minded to claim that any of these groups share any real connection with the religions they affiliate themselves with. The thing is, radical Jihadists are possibly too stubborn when it comes to the gritty little details of their warped faith that they miss out on enterprising new ways to convert followers. Sure people love death and suffering, but you've got to slap a smile on top of all that dark shit if you want to make friends.

Consider this: Maybe instead of driving a car full of plastic explosives into a daycare center, in order to get the parents of the newly massacred children to join you, you ought to invite them to a bake sale. Sell some cookies, make some cash, and once you've got them hooked, do what the Christians do, and threaten eternal damnation if they don't listen to every fucking word you say. The Christians also, without necessarily meaning to, make a mockery of their own deities by portraying Christ as some sort of a Chuck Norris knockoff, and God as...Well, I'm pretty sure he's just Santa Claus's alter ego. This allows us to relate to our lord and savior in a way that people like Mel Gibson won't feel bad capitalizing on. It's a Hell of a task finding a decent picture of Muhammad on Google, which is a shame, because if you knew anything about western culture, you'd know that seeing is believing. From our pictures of Jesus, we get three pieces of pertinent information; 1. He's white, 2. He looks like a roadie for REO Speedwagon, and 3. Were he alive today, he'd most definitely drive a Chevy Silverado. Good enough, right?

Well what in the Hell can I learn about Muhammad from a brief shot of his hands carrying a salmon helmet on South Park? Not a whole lot, which is why I'm glad I came across the above picture. You see, it's the only documented image of the famous prophet smiling, which is really a historical landmark. Now if you look to his left and right, you'll notice the likenesses of a screaming Asian man, and Joey Fatone of NSync. Further explanation is not available at the moment, nor will it be at any point in the future. The ball's in your court guys. You can continue to be grumpy assholes and take your shit too seriously, or simply embrace this beautiful new culture where nothing's sacred and everything gets mocked. Me? I'm going to go enjoy some uncircumsized masturbation, because I hear God can't can't see me if I'm all the way down in the basement.

Don't like The Clash? Fuck yourself.

2008-12-05T15:00:00.008-05:00

I love menthols...more than alot of things really. They rank somewhere above chocolate chip waffles, finding four leaf clovers, sucker punching a homeless guy, and just slightly below air-drumming to Genesis on blow. Hypocritically enough, I can't include them on this list because I don't prefer that my friends smoke them (yes, I do care, and the idea of watching people that matter to me ingesting fiberglass into their lungs is not an appealing one.) The items featured below, however, are simply musts if you intend to lead a life of anything other than bitter shame and sorrow. It really all came about as I was people-watching in the food court.

I overheard a cluster of guys determining where they were going to eat. One suggested Taco Bell, located about a two minute's drive away. The others, without hesitation, shot him down and they proceeded to wait in the hellishly long McDonalds line...for the sake of convenience. If I had had a bag full of baby otters at the time I most likely would have begun flinging them at these shit stains relentlessly. McDonalds? Here's the thing: Taco Bell isn't Mexican food and I know this. However, somewhere along the line, in the same tradition as Funions, fanny packs and swivelling office chairs, a stoner managed to break into the corporate world and invent something designed exclusively for us, and our entertainment. There is no better fast food to gorge yourself on when the need to munch out consumes your soul...Don't disagree; it'd be an unwinnable argument. They invented fourth meal, for God's sake! Needless to say, this seemingly uneventful McDonalds fiasco had me perturbed, and I realized: It doesn't have to stop here. There are so many more things that I love, and everyone, absolutely everyone should share in their adoration with me.

That, my friends, is where the Clash comes in. Joe Strummer was actually the embodiment of Christ, and the Clash was the greatest band to ever grace the music industry with it's presence. Imagine if you could combine only the very best qualities of The Beatles, Bob Marley, The Sex Pistols, and Mozart, creating a mind-blowing supergroup. This would turn out to be slightly less than half as wonderful as the Clash is. Come to think of it, "band" is really not a suitable term for something so ultimately perfect. I'll call them "Ohgod-ohgod-ohgod-YESSSS!" (it's not really the sound I make when I orgasm, but I can't imagine how to phonetically spell the real thing.) In case you were curious, The Clash's opposite would be Yanni, a sick joke put in place by a hateful God.

Moving on, also wonderful is "Star Wars, The Empire Strikes Back." The other two originals are sub-par at best, and the new three are abominations. "The Clone Wars?" Well that was really just the result of a relatively creative dump taken by George Lucas and John William's less talented cousin, collectively. "Empire" is proof that elsewhere in the universe, every planet consists of only one thing; some ice, some clouds...hell, theres a swamp planet; who won the fucking lottery and moved there?! I'll tell you who. Only the greatest jedi ever, who happens to share a striking resemblance to Kermit, the frog. Billy Dee Williams practically owns the show as Space Pimp Supreme, and lives up to his name with a ballin' cape and some Dutch shoe-looking hovercrafts. This movie is flawless.

As for the new three, there is an explanation. It was assumed by some that maybe George Lucas, at some point, had a soul. This is a lie; he's always been a soulless prick, just not a soulless money-grubbing prick. Soulless pricks are capable of great things and decent art, but as soon as money enters the equation, fuck it. Having no regard for most others or myself I realize this, and know that while my values remain in tact due to poverty, the minute I'm offered money for what I do, I'll compromise any view I have to to become filthy rich. Hell, I'll star in public service announcements defending O.J. Simpson if that murderous bastard pays me well enough. Lucas, in essence, did just that by taking a nostalgic piece of classic American cinema and lubing the tired old whore up for another solid reaming and a Burger King deal. Congratulations George, you pissed away your artistic integrity with what can only be described as a disastrous splooge of special effects. Well, at least I still have the old videocassettes, because God knows, nobody wants to watch that special edition bullshit with added scenes that "enhance the depth of the film." Well fuck me. I always try these things and realize at about this point I dislike more things than I enjoy. Taco Bell and the Clash are entities powerful enough to eclipse the negativity of my other statements though. In that regard, fuck also: The Book of Mormon, Richard Simmons, Knight Rider, Aquaman (again,) Wikkans, Karl Rove, Pontiacs, Lifetime Television, "Dancing Queen" by ABBA, Hiraldo Rivera, any movie with Richard Gere, pushy Christians, pushy Chinese people with sample trays, telemarketers, and fuzzy posters. Fall off a bridge into a river of railroad spikes please.

It's a relationship, not a Lifetime movie...

2008-12-01T11:11:00.004-05:00

Relationship double standards:

1. When my girlfriend kisses another girl, it's considered arousing and, in some circles, socially acceptable. When I kiss another girl people go ahead and call it cheating, even if I for one considered it to be a pleasant experience. What kind of bullshit is this?

2. Pet names. I've been called everything from "Shmuffins" to "Silly-Bear," yet when I develop my own terms of endearment, they're shot down, and even considered offensive. I, personally, find it important to come up with a cutesy name that best embodies the character of my mate at the time; I can't understand what's so thoughtless about, "Hey, Dick-Lips, could you grab me another beer?"

3. It's apparently not distracting and mildly annoying when she yells my name during sex, but all the sudden when I do it I'm a narcissist? I like the sound of my own name and it's easier to remember than someone else's. Besides, it's sort of a self-coaching thing. Fuck off and mind your own business. I'm trying to make love here.

4. The classic smoking argument; "You smell like cigarettes and that bothers me." Shut, up whore. You smell like cheap perfume, and there's nothing we can do about that because I don't feel like wasting money on a nice anniversary gift.

5. When she shows up unexpectedly it's supposed to be some kind of adorable surprise, yet when I show up drunk at four a.m. it's thoughtless and disrespectful. Consider my feelings for a minute...What if she caught me at a bad time? I can't be expected to stop masturbating or sneak her best friend out the back door just because Little Miss Insecure is lonely. Relationships are built on privacy and secrets, and both parties need to respect that.

6. Although I've never experienced this first hand, I take particular issue with the whole engagement ring issue. Why is it we are expected to cough up a couple thousand dollars and receive nothing in return save for a life sentence? Commitment is a two-way street. When I pop the question, she'd better have a pair of Prada high-tops waiting for me.

7. Why is it that when she gently punches or jabs me to be "cute," and I respond with a swift uppercut to the jaw, all the sudden I'm an abusive boyfriend. Don't blame me for your soft, ineffective attacks. Take a self defense lesson and fight me like you mean it or don't fight at all.

8. It's particularly irksome when I'm the only one holding my weight when it comes to picking movies. Anything starring Clint Eastwood or Daniel Craig is good, whereas shit movies about weddings and other sappy dog semen with Julia Roberts in them simply are not. If I'm going to show some discerning taste and pick nothing but excessively violent cinematic masterpieces, I expect the same thing in return.

Family: Ruining holidays since the dawn of time

2008-11-29T10:33:00.002-05:00

Winter holidays are overrated. In a world of selfish, ego maniacal pricks, we set aside two to three months every year in which we can cultivate a sense of contrived togetherness with gifts and useless decorations. I, for one, don't buy it. Anyone who truly believes Christmas is about Jesus and family, rather than mauling the greeter at Wal-Mart for the last set of Rock-em Sock-em Robots is either poor or Jewish. Thanksgiving, ironically enough, is followed by statistically the biggest shopping day of the year; an orgy of uninhibited commercialism, want and greed. And nobody, absolutely nobody, wants to waste precious money on a gift without getting something in return, but you still see jack-holes claiming, "Oh, no...It's the giving that matters to me." Shut up assholes. We all love expensive shit, and we all want a lot of it. you know what I don't want? Family.

As is the tradition every year, I spent Thanksgiving in St. Clairesville OH with family. St. Clairesville is located right on the border between West Virginia and Ohio, and can only be described as that ratty hanging strand on the end of the bible belt. There are no redeeming qualities and the night life consists of a Kroger's supermarket and a 24/7 Wal-Mart. I've never been to Jersey, but I can imagine the people who criticize it have never been here. We're always the only family staying at the run-down old Knight's Inn with a faulty smoke detector, aside from the couple Chevy Suburbans down the row unloading several coolers into their room, which I can only imagine contain dismembered bodies or something equally unsettling. When the rates are $50 a night for two beds and a "continental breakfast," you can expect to be tossed in with a rough crowd. If it's any indicator of the hell I have to suffer though, I'd prefer an evening with these guys than the Thanksgiving feast I'm guilted into enjoying.

Dinner consists of an overcooked turkey, several casseroles consisting of a clever combination of A: Vegetable, B: Cheese product, and C: Some crunchy shit, and a table of store-bought pies. We celebrate in a stark, dingy church basement that has the effect of plunging me into an even deeper melancholy than the thought of a booze-free holiday and dealing with a bunch of ugly children I'm related to but don't know or care about. My family never seems all that happy, and I can't help but assume their attachment to church functions is a direct cause. Being devout teetotalers doesn't help either, and the lack of any sort of hard beverage makes for absolutely zero conversation regarding anything short of marriage, oil changes, or how to deal with a rowdy child. As the only liberal non-parent in the bunch, I make it a point to contort my jaw into the most convincing of fake smiles and sit in the corner drinking old, flat punch wishing at any moment a loaded gun would misfire and catch me in the side of the head.

I find it ironic that Thanksgiving should be celebrated in such a masochistic fashion; so as to remind me that yes, it is possible to remove entirely one's will to live in the span of a day, and that none of the self-righteous bible-beaters known as my family can detect human suffering when it's sitting five feet away. It's common practice for us to go around the table and list what we're thankful for at the end of the meal. It's also common practice for me to slip outside and smoke a cigarette because I'd rather not have to explain that the things for which I'm grateful do not and will never exist in this crummy hell-hole. The list of items that bring me joy (or that I care about, for that matter,) is a short one, consisting primarily of alcohol, sex, nicotine, expensive shoes and a select group of friends who share these passions. Life is too short and too fucking boring to try and make do on clean living, and I'd rather be dead at thirty than alive at sixty and worrying about the catastrophe sure to be brought on by every new black man involved in politics.

Call me a skeptic as well, but I don't like to lose things I care about; an unlikely issue to deal with when one is devoted only to opiates, stimulants and material pursuits. Throughout history, people have never ceased to disagree, separate and die, while alcohol and sex seem to possess an inexhaustible novelty factor. I'm not claiming some moral high ground here, just don't come crying to me when your Aunt Judith dies and I'm still getting wasted on the only family that's done right by me. I realize I sound like an uncaring prick right now, but in my defense, there's a valid reason: I don't care about these people. In fact, it makes me want to dry heave just thinking that somehow I share the same lineage with such a close minded group of stubborn, conservative assholes. Holidays suck. Family sucks. And next year I'm going to do something about it.

I'm spending the holidays in better company, with better food, and enough beer and cider that I'll be talking coherently to my dog by the end of it. I had to think for a minute or two of who I'd spend my holidays with, if the not the cock brigade that is my family, and I came up with a brilliant solution. I ran through a quick inventory of some of my favorite individuals, and realized it's not really such a vast database. "Me" came up as number one, and as a close second; hot Russian girls. Simple enough, I thought. I can enjoy the luxury of a language barrier that'll allow me to pretend I'm completely alone, a team of cooks, and uh, who doesn't love hot Russian girls? There are several other advantages over this years suck fest known as the months between October and January as well. Namely; no gifts, no sobriety, no shit-eating fake smiles on my part, and no sitting alone in a church nursery, writing this and coming up with constructive and messy ways to kill myself.

Fuck...The world really does blow.

2008-11-20T10:03:00.013-05:00

Holy Jesus. What...is this? I spent nearly twenty minutes gawking at this image, utterly speechless. It hurts to imagine the scenario which made those costumes seem so necessary. She's wearing elf ears, for God's sake. I thought I'd seen it all, but somehow this simple rendering of a happy, socially maladjusted couple in medieval garb ruined an otherwise decent day. Call it a moment of clarity, but I think I've truly witnessed how little one can fathom their own pathetic nature and hurt so many in the process. My mind keeps returning to this poor boy's father, who surely wanted little but for his son to be normal. I mean, Why this, of all rebellious behaviors? It wouldn't hurt so badly if he spiked his hair, or thought he was black, but this? I'm sure ol' Dad would be more inclined to brag to his buddies at work that his son was a successful carjacker then Lord Dick-vomit, ruler of the butter-faced elfin princesses.

Every time I reference the picture, I'm overcome with a sweeping despair, interspersed with the violent urge to dry-heave. I wish I still had the humanity to cry, because these two make me want to spend the entirety of my day in a fetal position under a running shower head, weeping. Weeping for the sake of these poor, corny douche-hats, and every other perpetual virgin seduced by a world of tights, chain-mail and poorly crafted softball bat swords...Weeping because when you type in “lame role-playing games” on Google image search for one funny picture, you get over ten pages worth of results. Maybe “funny” no longer exists. I’ve alienated nearly everyone with “funny” material, ripped on vast demographics such as Lord of the Rings, Nicholas Sparks, Superman even, and now, what should have been the damn funniest thing I’ve ever seen is quickly chiseling away at all that I once believed in. The biggest question is why? I’ve never been to a renaissance fair and I’ll try not to judge too harshly, but the real kicker is that your average renaissance festival isn't even a tribute to the renaissance, but the dark ages. It's like some prick just scoured the timeline in search of the worst, most violent, disease ridden, and progressively backwards era imaginable. Grand fucking idea! Let's re-enact the period in which women looked like men and men dressed like hideous women! I'd rather stick my penis in a bear trap than spend an entire day listening to pompous morons prance around calling each other lords and ladys. You don’t look like William Wallace, fuck-hole, you look like a dude in a dress and too much S&M gear...Not even the biggest electrical tape-wrapped sword will change that. The medieval era blew. There, I said it. Knights look stupid, Prince Valiant is gayer than a parade of technicolor wangs, nobody wants the fucking plague, and dressing like an elf isn’t historically accurate, or a good idea if you ever intend on attracting the opposite sex.

Of the three items pictured above, one is a hellish abomination of all things good and holy in this world. Can you guess which one? Here's a hint: It's the douche-bags in the silly costumes.

There’s got to be a better period in time to constantly relive. How about the mid-80’s cocaine boom? I’d get in on that. We could form teams, replace “elves” with Cubans, dig up some Pleather at Goodwill, and just run around, wide eyed and sniffling, shooting whatever the fuck we want. Euro-dance clubs would become the new renaissance festivals (because everybody knows that E pills and Joy Division are better than some repetitive bullshit lute music any day,) and we'd be too fucked up to remember our actions, eliminating the guilt brought on by wasting your youth with any kind of role-playing which doesn't involve sex. I guess it’s inevitable that this garbage will continue to plague the earth, and I’ll be forced to continue seeking reasons for getting up in the morning. There's nothing in the Wikkan bible about cartels, the legalities of role playing with controlled substances are still iffy, and clubs are usually hesitant to allow ugly, pasty-faced chodes inside. At this point, if Danica Patrick were to ask me to sleep with her, I would respond between muffled sobs with, “No...point, there is no point...that...picture,” sob, sob, etc...“ just hold me Danica, hold me and show me some sign of masculinity in this world that can transcend that horrible image of those two sad, sad people.” And she’d show me that clip of Danny Trejo asking the ever-relevant question: “Are you a Mexi-can? Or a Mexi-can’t?!”
And all would finally be better in my world. We'd then go a few rounds before she let me show her off to my friends. Problem is, this is an unlikely scenario seeing as Ms. Patrick doesn’t know me, so I really can’t get my hopes up.

On the brighter side of things, Danny Trejo will be appearing in a new movie, Machete, which should be coming out soon. If you’re relatively cute, don’t have a lazy eye or any STDs, and preferably have a vagina, you should really consider taking me to see this cinematic masterpiece. I myself, can’t face the effort of making this happen on my own accord, as when I attempt to rise to a standing position, I’m reminded of that horrible elf/dumbass couple and lose even the motivation to breathe. Danny Trejo however (also known as simply "The Big, Scary Mexican,") is a man amongst men, and his movies never cease to rule. He could star in a film consisting of nothing more than him, tossing kittens into a wood chipper, and I’d still almost cream my pants when I saw it. Long story short, take me to see this badass movie. It’s necessary for my mental and physical well-being. Just hold me, and tell me it'll all be ok as I watch the biggest, baddest Mexican tear fuckers apart in ways only Tarantino could devise. I may not be able to sew a tunic from old bed sheets, but I can cut a hole in the bottom of a popcorn bucket. This is all for now; The thought of social degenerates frolicking through my backyard like it's Middle-Earth is too much for me to bear, so I'm off to take a shower with a car battery and some jumper cables.

U X-treme, Bro?

2008-11-19T14:38:00.001-05:00

Who are you, and will I hate that person? » Quiz School

In Dog We Trust

2008-11-17T09:01:00.006-05:00

I always wanted to believe God was a caring and forgiving creator, like the one invented by Unitarians. I can't stand the Christian right or any of their bigoted and senseless social viewpoints. If they hold the answer to salvation, I'd assume, considering my own track record, that I'm going to Hell when all's said and done. Well, as dismal as it may seem, the fundamentalists are right; God is a prick. In fact, he's not just any old prick, but the kind of prick Barry Bonds becomes when stuck in traffic on his way to the Human Growth Hormone clinic. He's an intolorant, moody, unforgiving, and unrelenting savior, and all but a few of us are probably going to burn.

I was probably about seven when I realized that when you mix up the letters in Santa, you get Satan. Soon after boarding up the fireplace, I made a similar connection between God and dog. What a revalation! God is a furry, smelly beast that mates indiscriminately...Then I came to my senses and thought, "no, this couldn't be, he must be some sort of a canine." Fourteen years later, however, I realized I was right on my first guess; God is Duane Chapman, also know as Dog, the Bounty Hunter.

At first I assumed he was just an old roadie from Motey Cru, but the excessive evidence all but proves my hypothesis. He's a giant with flowing blonde hair, as self-righteous as they come, and he never shuts up about himself, or Jesus for that matter. This really is bad news for the rest of us, because it's proof that God isn't some groovy peacenick, but a cruel, racist, bounty hunter on a search for our souls. Cleverly disguised as Mr. Chapman, God fights evil on his A&E television show and converts bail-jumping crack-addicts and trailer trash to the straight path of the lord. He's been accused of being a racist and has faced his own share of legal hangups, yet always comes out unscathed. Why? Because A, he created us and is all powerful, and B, Dog ain't goin' out like no bitch.

Think I'm crazy? Take, for instance, the rarely mentioned 11th commandment. Only recently translated from Hebrew, it states: "Thou shalt nurture his mane to do business in the front, and swell onward in the back, like a gleaming festival of locks." Thus, the mullet was born, and stands today as a mark of true believers (or pedophiles.) The DVD collection of Dog's show is actually a companion volume to the Bible served up in a 21st century format, much like the book of Mormon over a century ago...Except for the fact A&E is a refutable source for information, and Joseph Smith was just a total dick-lasso, and nothing about Mormonism makes sense. I realize this is all a little hard to swallow, but aren't all religions that way? There are actually cockstains out there who believe in a faith based on a shitty sci-fi movie starring John Travolta. Until they have their tax-exempt status revoked, I'm sticking to my story. Besides, the pictures speak for themselves.

Daddy had a sleepover buddy last night...

2008-11-16T11:45:00.004-05:00

What can I say? It's hard to stay on the straight and narrow when you're the father of four little shits who have the bone structure of deformed midgets. And their names...Jesus Christ; Jeffrey, Billy, Dolly and PJ? Sounds like the lineup of a folk-rock band in Branson, Missouri. Maybe if his wife didn't look so much like a lesbian he wouldn't have to rely on meth-addicted prostitutes for company...

Let's see what happens when Dolly realizes she's a pudgy little chode with sausage legs, and the kids go trick or treating. They seem to be dressed as Batman, Sarah Palin, and the gayest looking robot Billy could find in the costume shop:

Some people are just rude...

2008-11-15T14:50:00.008-05:00

There is no worse thing you can do to a person than send chain letters. Especially when they include demands to spread the garbage to each and every one of your contacts, regardless of how sure you are that your friends despise unfunny bullshit just as much as you. Not only is this obnoxious; it's pushy, coercive, and as dangerous as a sting-ray in a room full of loud-mouthed Australians. The most recent bit of poorly spelled, adolescent blabber I received drove me to take action:

"Re: if u snd this to 12 ppl u care about in the nxt 10 min u will find ur tru luv. if u dont u will be haunted by the spirit of a lttle girl who died 10 yrs ago on this vry nite."

Holy fuck. I had to do something. Why would this scum-sucking bitch put such responsibility on my shoulders? I couldn't bear the thought of placing this burden on twelve of my own friends, and knew immediately what I had to do. The joke would stop here. I'd deal with this maniacal whore myself, exact my revenge, and face the bitter little ghost-child when the time came. But why had it come to this? Did this hoe-bag really hate me so? Did she assume I'd be ok with this near-death sentence she'd dished out so cavalierly? What if I'd been away from my phone and missed the ten minute time frame...Shit! Maybe I had anyway! I composed a response:

"You'll get yours, you sadistic sociopath..."

To which she replied with the complaint that I was being thoughtless and rude, that it was just a big joke..."Dont flip out! I thought we wre friendz : (" Don't flip out? Don't flip out?!

"Bitch, you have dug your own grave. It's too damn late for your redemption!"

Just as it was too late for me to put out the flames engulfing her gasoline-drenched grandmother, somehow reapply her cat's head to it's body, or fuse together her severed brake lines. The thing is, some people just don't know when to quit. She continued to call and text, pleading, bargaining, then eventually, trying to convince me I had a real problem. Skank, my problem is the undead rugrat you've maliciously sicked on me. Some people don't even see how lopsided their own selfish views of the world really are. And I'm the crazy one? Think again, bitch. I spent the night wide-eyed and jittery, just waiting for the ghost to arrive, wondering how someone could be so selfish.

Thing is, it turns out Karma really does work; The text-happy girl apparently died in an auto accident involving a steep hill the very next day. On an unrelated note, Happy Acres Retirement Home is now a smoldering hole in the ground. That little girl's spirit? Well I'd like to think she's finally at peace, because she never did show up. The message? Well, it seems in a world of pranks and bullying, this mean, mean girl took it too far, and as a result, people were hurt. Chain letters: They're not just douchey, they're dangerous.

Proposition 8...And Beyond!

2008-11-13T10:01:00.004-05:00

Let me first clarify, I am not a supporter of Proposition 8. It was developed and is supported by assholes who, for whatever asinine reason feel that the happiness and rights of others somehow diminish their own. It's their belief that a gay couple's marriage will somehow bastardize the sanctity of their own loveless, soul-ridden third marriage in the eyes of God. Personally, I'd like to think God has bigger things on his agenda. As a supporter of constitutional rights, I can't force others to stop doing things I don't approve of, as much as I may like to some times. Supporters of the proposition really ought to retreive their heads from their rectums and deal with their own sad lives before determining how others should live theirs. If you ARE a supporter of Prop 8, and I can't convince you to stop behaving like a three-pound douche, may I at least propose a few more prevalent issues we could attack:
Prop 9- This bill, if passed into law, will make it illegal for people to promote falsities on cheap t-shirts, be they male or female. Shirts emblazoned with rhetoric such as "You say bitch like its a bad thing," "Princess," "Real men vote McCain," or "Big Dawg" will be outlawed, unless worn for the sake of being ironic. To clear a few points up; yes, bitch IS a negative term, you're not a princess unless you're an inbred European, real men DON'T vote for senile babbling old men, and a more accurate term for "Big Dawg" is "fat ass redneck."
Prop 10- This would prohibit Hollywood from making any more comedies about thin black men dressed as fat black women. They're never funny, and have already oversaturated the market. I'd rather see Rob Schneider pretend to be a goat.
Prop 11- This bill would make it illegal for AC/DC to produce another album, or appear in public ever again. Their old albums would be banned, and paraphenalia such as t-shirts, posters, and CDs would become contraband. Nobody gives a shit how hard you can rock...each song still sounds the same, and still fails to meet even the standards of my reasonably cheap musical pallette.
Prop 13- This is an idea I've had for some time, and serves as a compromise between those for and against reparations. The bill would promote a system where white supremacists convicted of hate crimes, rather than being incarcerated would be tagged and collared, and donated to low-income black families in order to serve a life sentence as their slaves.
Prop 14- This would prohibit fat males from brandishing bumper stickers with slogans such as "No fat chicks" on their vehicles. Any man in violation would be stripped naked and laughed at by supermodels until his ego had sufficiently declined.

That's it for now...Any new suggestions are greatly appreciated. Together, maybe we can all bring attention back to the really important issues, rather than forcing others to lead lives as unfulfilling as our own.

Wooden snowmen make me want to cough up my lungs...

2008-11-12T15:18:00.005-05:00

It begins like this:

Manchester Cottage Country Crafts,

I realize "Manchester" is a common English name, and be it a family name for you, or simply an attempt to get at your base, it's obviously a better choice than, say...Feldstein or Jackson. Your customers want something old-timey and reminiscent of back when being a street urchin was fun and tuberculosis didn't hurt, and I suppose they deserve this, but here's the thing: I saw what happened to Barack Hussein Obama, and can really grasp the extent of damage done by character defamation. My second middle name happens to be Manchester (yes, a second middle name, how folksy...) and I'd appreciate it if you would cease and desist from using it to market your wares. I took a moment or two to peruse your site, went to the bathroom and threw up for several minutes, hacked at my arm with a boxcutter, then realized that there is absolutely nothing of value in the hellish little Christmas Village you call your store. Wooden snowmen, handcarved signs, and farm-themed embroideries are actually what make me hate holidays, flea markets and old people. My apologies for any inconvenience, but I take the same level of offense to your use of my name as I would if I found that Al-Quaida was distributing pamphlets supposedly written by me...more in fact.

Regards,

Ian Charles Manchester Blair IV

I've received no feedback yet, and I'm sure if I did it could be found in a cardstock envelope that smelled of cinnamon. Fuck it. Folk art is utterly worthless and nausea inducing. There's nothing cute about making shit from sticks and leaves unless you're a small child with severe autism. There is absolutely no use for miniature rocking chairs, and nobody (no matter how well they fake the "thank you,") wants something that looks like a painted, lopsided bird's nest to hang from their kitchen ceiling. This shit is all moronic, overpriced, and a waste of perfectly good materials. Perusing the last craft fair I went to (and the last I'll ever attend,) I saw nothing but broken, hollow lives amongst the wreckage of doll clothes, NASCAR embroideries, and painted gourds. Even the stand that advertised "Blown-Glass Art," had nothing but christmas tree ornaments, which was decieving to say the least. After a day trip like that, there are only so many online videos of bums fighting for money, and never enough to get the images of dancing wooden snowmen out of my head.

My Senior Thesis: Aquaman should drown himself.

2008-11-12T11:14:00.016-05:00

Don't be fooled by the movies, the Punisher fucking rules. Chuck Norris tried to roundhouse kick him and he shot the prick's leg off. He'd shoot God's leg off too if he gave him any lip...that's just how the Punisher is, and why he's the greatest super hero ever to live. His costume doesn't look like something from a middle school pageant and he doesn't wear a cape, because capes don't get you laid. He also has the common sense to understand that being able to talk to fish isn't a superpower, and homeless schizophrenics across the country have been claiming this ability for years. The entire Justice League (Superman, Batman, Wonderwoman, The Flash...and a bunch of asshats I've never heard of,) look like a bizarre gathering of transvestites and Village People, and the bad guys they fight are no improvement. Every one of them could easily kill their arch enemies and be done with it (save for Aquaman, that sad, pathetic shell of a lonely human being...) yet they refuse, and instead rely on a ruff shod prison system that can't hold anybody in. If I wanted to be entertained by morals and thinly veiled homosexuality, I'd read "Peanuts." I'm normally no big fan of the death penalty, but Jesus guys, when the villain almost blows up the world...take his fucking head off, he's earned it. It's common practice amongst people with nothing to do to wax philosphical on the pros and cons of different super heroes, determining who would win in some epic, hypothetical battle. These people suck, almost as much as the Justice League, and I can tell you right now that the Punisher is flat out cooler, better, and tougher than anyone. He'd kick the shit out of the Justice League in an afternoon and still make it to happy hour, where he'd wipe the bar down with Superman's cape. If you disagree, it probably just means that you lost your vigrinity to the family cat, and know nothing of the world. Batman's got to be the only half decent one on the roster, and even he can't hold a candle to the destructive firepower of a Desert Eagle. More time on the gadgets, less making sure your bat-ears stick up, dumbass. Superman...He just lacks common sense. Every plotline is the same: Lex Luthor tries to take over/blow up/or somehow fuck with the world, and while Superman could just zap him in the sternum with his laser eyes, he waits, instead, until he's bombarded with Kryptonite and almost dies. Learn a lesson from your past, dick. Nobody thinks its cool when their city's on the constant brink of destruction. The anxiety-induced suicide rate in Metropolis has got to be through the roof.

Wonder Woman, hotness aside, is just a poor bag of shit. Invisible jet my ass...The producers of your low budget TV show ran out of money and didn't think we'd catch on that you were sitting on nothing and flying across a moving backdrop. Lame. As. Hell. Instead of wasting every second of your useless time trying to get in Superman's tights, try this: Get a job, whore. Of course, for those of you who like Kenyans, theres The Flash. Yeah, he runs super fast. "What else can he do?" you might ask...Nothing, aside from premature ejaculation. We've already got a nation full of fast runners we can import every time the Olympics come around, leave us the fuck alone. And what's the costume all about? He looks like a Soviet Captain America. The last thing we need in this country, let alone on a national super hero team, is a super fast pinko. Maybe he can outrun a speeding bullet, but he'll never catch up with his quickly fading masculnity. I don't actually know what the Green Lantern does, so uh, he just wins for having the most obscure, asinine name for a super hero. It sounds like the name of an upscale Chinese restaraunt, so unless he can fry me up some delicious Lo Mein, I hope he burns in Hell.

Last, and also least (there are more but they blow too hard to bring up,) is Aquaman. Holy shit...Aqua man is gayer than Ace and Gary fucking the cast of RENT, and more useless than Barbara Streisand. If reincarnation is real, I'd imagine he was Hitler in his previous life, and his punishment is being the worst, most pathetic bottomfeeder in the ocean. He looks like an extra for Little Mermaid on Ice that got booted because all the male figure skaters said he wasn't straight enough.

Bottom line? Every one of these chode-munchers is a waste of space in my head, on paper, even in the fictitious world in which they reside. As a public service to my imagination, I think the Punisher ought to murder them all, because it's a source of amusement, and because I want to cringe every time I see some asshole wearing a "quirky" Green Lantern shirt from Hot Topic. WHAT DOES HE FUCKING DO, ANYWAY?!

Drug Abuse Questionnaire:

2008-11-11T09:57:00.013-05:00

So it's been suggested by the state that I consider some form of rehabilitation for my addiction to marijuana. I wasn't sure this was the appropriate course of action, so I took the Health Department's screening questionnaire in order to determine if I was, indeed, "hooked." The results were staggering, much due to the fact that the US department of health seems to believe weed should fit into the same classification as all other scheduled drugs, such as crack, meth, and heroin. I've included below an image of a meth-head, and an image of a pothead. Take a minute to try and guess which is which:

The above image is a meth-addicted prostitute's mug shot. Note the creepiness. Below, of course, is Dave Chappelle; funny, smart, attractive, and loves the ganj. With this in mind, let's look at my results...

1. Do you use any illegal drugs, including marijuana and non-prescribed doses of prescription drugs?
Unfair- Marijuana is not classified as a drug, but a cannaboid. Our bodies actually contain natural receptors for this...I don't use it in the sense that I'm shooting THC into my eyeballs, I smoke it like any other normal human being. I don't like being put in the same category as weird, sad, high schoolers who take too much DXM. This is similar to likening a peaceful protester to someone like Timothy McVeigh, assholes.
2. Do you regularly exceed the dosage recommendations of over-the-counter medicines, like pain-killers, cold medicines, laxatives, diet aids or sleep aids?
No- Who am I, Cindy McCain?

3. Have you ever gone to a different doctor to get more of a medicine than your doctor has prescribed?
No- This is just adding insult to injury. I don't have the health insurance to see one doctor. I know what you're thinking, and NO, I didn't spend that money on weed... this one is the fault of beer, cigarettes, and CDs.

4. Do you purchase drugs or medicine from or through unlicensed strangers?
Unfair- Nobody in the state of Maryland is licensed to sell weed, so this is an unfair question, cock-stain. And no, I don't buy from strangers, except this one guy we met in the Rita's parking lot once, but Rita's sells amazing custard, so I'd say he's a good guy by association.

5. Are some of your closest friends recreational drug abusers?
Yes- I prefer the term, "not a tool-bag," but we won't split hairs on this one.

6. Have you failed to keep a promise to yourself or a loved one that you would quit?
No- I have been asked to quit, mainly by exes, and I've found that weed remains excessively more enjoyable than their companionship ever was.

7. Imagine you are out of your favorite drug and also out of toilet paper...you only have enough money for one. Would you buy the drug?
Unfair- How much toilet paper do I need? Jesus...If I'm that strapped I'm just staying home and finding some damn paper towels. This is like comparing apples to oranges. Anyway, you can take toilet paper from a gas station bathroom. I'd feel damn guilty about stealing bud.

8. Do you hide your drug use from friends, family, your employer or the Government?
Unfair- Friends, family no...As soon as the government stops being such a bunch of pricks about it, I'll let them in on the secret as well.

9. Do you combine drugs with drinking for more of a "buzz'?
Yes- Does Natty Ice taste like water?

10. In the last year, have you done anything while using drugs that you regret doing?
Unfair- Yes, but I've done countless things I've regretted while not doing "drugs." This is hardly fair.

11. Do you hide your drugs while carrying them in the car or on your person?
Yes- Only because handcuffs make my wrists itch. This doesn't really seem like an addiction related question...More along the lines of privacy. I also hide my money in a bank so people don't take it. Do you people have a problem with that? Fuck you.

12. Have you missed work in the last year because of a drug hangover or withdrawal?
No- Obviously this quiz is meant to encapsulate weed and a plethora of other substances, because anybody who's smoked pot knows there is no such thing as a "pot hangover." The worst day-after symptom I've experienced is called "I want cold Chinese food," and this can be quickly remedied.

13. Have you ever developed an unfair and biased questionnaire while under the influence of drugs?
No- I'm not a dick-hole.

14. Have you ever taken an unfair and biased questionnaire while under the influence of drugs?

Yes- It's like talking to a misinformed asshole intent on making himself feel better by encouraging otherwise normal people to believe they have a problem which, in actuality, is nonexistent.

The test, of course, is a pile of steaming dog shit. With an answer of yes even once, I was deemed a possible addict who must seek help. Although I may not be the best candidate for marijuana advocacy, history has produced some truly remarkable pot smokers over the years. I've created a photo compilation of a few of the intelligent, successful, and world-changing tokers of the grass as a final argument. All things considered, I'd like to think I'm in good company:

As a final note, I'd like to point out that the questionnaire I took contained exactly five grammatical errors, all of which I noticed and fixed. I was high at the time. When they learn to write on something higher than a fifth grade level, maybe I'll believe it's me with the problem.

A glimmer of light:

2008-11-09T22:31:00.008-05:00

So here's some shit that's very cool, because it's Sunday night and I'm drunk. And, ummm...ok, no, those are really the only viable reasons. Besides, maybe the fact I come off as a negative douche bag over half the time and want you jerks to know I'm not a complete buzzkill. Sadly, it may be noted that a few of the things I love may be construed as negative to you, but if you feel this is so, you may blow more than I, so don't speak up. Just to clarify; heart disease is good, taxes are bad, and being high? Well, that's a neccesity if you intend on navigating the shit bucket that is today's world. And here we go:

*Gravity bongs...Some hellishly addicted reefer head thought to himself, "I'd like to get five times as high in half the time! (Regardless of how useless and impractical this may be...)" and you know what? He didn't just sit there, he made it happen. Congratulations, you unsung hero.

*Wesley Snipes. He carries a sword, is the only human being you don't make fun of for wearing tribal tattoos, and he could care less about paying his taxes. Need I say more?

*Holograms. There is no reasonable application for holograms unless you're trying to foil a superhero with an identical replica of yourself which will dissapear the instant he leaps into action, but fuck, how neat? I love holograms, and anybody who doesn't is a terrorist.

*David Bowie, simply for making homosexuality seem like a logical approach to scoring with supermodels. It doesn't work if you can't fit in spandex, but he could, because he's better than the vast majority of us.

*Double standards. I'd hate these if I were a girl, but I'm not, and maybe as an agent of change I ought to fight against them...Maybe I will, but as long as double standards are in place, I can be grateful that the world is easier on white males, because that is what I am at all times...Except those that I dress as Dianna Ross. Then, I feel black on the inside.

*Legos. If you don't like Legos, you're a cock-herder.

*Sparks (or any other alcoholic energy drink.) I've never seen someone so successfully market the formula for heart failure.

A new take on some not-so-classic material:

2008-11-08T16:10:00.005-05:00

Nothing taints my Sunday morning like Family Circus...If morals were funny I'd read the Bible more often. Go to Hell Jeffrey, Billy, and that bitch with the fat legs whose name escapes me. Your comic strip thinly veils a life of abuse and sexual perversion. On second thought, I did come across a few frames of interest. In an attempt to catch up with modern times, Family Circus is reinventing itself...

Stay tuned for the kids' exciting new adventures in an ever changing world. The strip is sure to shake things up with mysteries such as "Why does Mommy need pills to be happy?" and "What's Magic Johnson doing in the White House?"

A strong case for the death penalty...

2008-11-08T10:49:00.005-05:00

I used to be a big fan of large, bizarre, belt buckles. The type you could find at flea markets and yardsales, with strange references to old country bands or some brand of chewing tobacco. I'd like to consider myself an adult now and don't wear these as often, but I've noticed a growing trend amongst the cunt-bucket crowd, (thank you Becca, for the addition to my arsenal of insults.) A good many assholes wear shining, obstentatious belt buckles on a daily basis, and not only do they do this, but they actually tuck their shirts in to brandish it for the world to see. Here's the thing, unless their sucking you off, nobody wants a closer look or even cares that you're wearing a belt buckle. In fact, if I were a girl and I noticed the pile of corny shit pretending to hold your pants up, I would most likely vomit on you, then leave. What's worse is that these buckles are rarely found at quaint little used-shit stores, but places like Spencer's Gifts, where you can find mock John Deer and Chevey memorabilia in order to be a redneck, "but only ironically..." The thing is, if you find yourself regularly shopping at Spencer's Gifts for anything more than gag presents and halloween costumes, (I'm talking wardrobe articles: belly button rings, dragon pendants, etc...) you're something worse than a redneck; you're white trash.

As cool as Insane Clown Posse necklaces and Corona hats are, resisting the temptation doesn't seem all that tough. I'm not the kind of arrogant prick who finds himself walking into Hollister on a daily basis, I just like to look myself in the mirror and think, "THAT doesn't look like a future meth-head." Also, in Hollister's defense, at least the customers there are not as difficult to look at as the short, flabby, androgenous girls with shitty dye jobs you find in Spencer's. In short, well-dressed, uppitty bitches may be equally maladjusted, but I wouldn't have to hide it from my friends if I slept with one. Funny anecdote, (actually disastrous and sad...) I dated a seemingly normal girl who worked at Spencer's. She gradually began buying into their merchandise; dying her hair, thinking the glowing weed leaf on her belly button was somehow Bohemian, and before I knew it, she could distinguish between Papa Roach and My Chemical Romance songs. It was a slippery slope from there, and I'm pretty sure she now sleeps with truck drivers for crack-cocaine...Youth is such a magical time.

All-in-all, there's really no redeeming quality to the store or this breed of people. There's nothing novel about lighters and shot glasses that say unfunny shit, tacky trucker's hats are, in fact, NOT cool, and nobody gives a damn that you have the entire Iron Maiden action figure collection. The people themselves are really just as worthless; the type to spend hours in the mall for the sheer sake of hanging out. Every shit-wiper in a moronic black t-shirts with a "quirky" statement about their anti-social behavior scrawled on the front in a third grader's handwriting should be shot in the skull with a nail gun. Strange, asemetrical haircuts, and death metal bling suck, and we can tell you bought your shoes at Wal-mart. Where are your priorities? I can't grasp such an intense level of self depracation. To be ugly and fat, and not even try to remedy or hide it, but instead flaunt these traits for the world to see? Why? Below is a quick cheat sheet of products found in the store that would never allow me to be your friend or date you, and what these items may say about your personality.

*Black t-shirts, white writing:

Male- You are not funny and will never receive so much as a hand job from a female, unless said female is A: your cousin, or B: ugly as sin.

Female- You are as large as a Chevey Suburban and assume that we can't see the rolls of lard under such a flowing, ambiguous shirt. You're actually wrong, fatty.

*Body Jewelry:

Male- You actually like Whitesnake, and this is unforgivable. Grown men should NOT be seen wearing skull rings.

Female- You have daddy issues and all it takes to get in your pants is three shots of Hypnotiq and the claim that I met Billy Joe Armstrong once.

*Trucker hats featuring beer logos:

Male- You don't drink, but apparently alcoholism is chic these days. I can tell you from experience, drinking is actually just a sad fact of life, and neccesary for me because of people like you, Republicans, Crocs, racists, stores like Spencer's, Family Circus, Creed, Bill O'Reilly, Carlos Mencia, Suze Orman, etc...Many people and things would have to be erradicated in order for me to justify not drinking.

Female- I can probably find a blurry picture of your vagina on the internet somewhere.

*Anything pertaining to ICP:

Male & female- If God cared, you'd be dead.

*Belt buckles, especially the ones with bottle openers on them:

Male- You're a dick helmet, and if you're girlfriend is remotely attractive, I'll probably sleep with her then provide a wrong phone number, simply to remind myself and the world that I'm superior to you.

Female- Do girls wear big belt buckles?

*Shot glasses/lighters with jokes:

Male- This is sort of a double standard. If it's actually funny, fine. They usually aren't though, so this would make you the sad prick at a party who doesn't get why nobody wants to take shots or have you light their cigarettes for them.

Female- Your dumbass boyfriend probably bought it for you as a late, two month anniversary gift. He should feel blessed to be in such a committed relationship with a drunken whorebag.

This tirade has made me think of Steinbeck's lesson in "Of Mice and Men." If you're one of the people I described above, you've heard of neither the author or the book because you're valueless to society and your IQ is the same as the age I'll die, (I'm celebrating my midlife crisis with suicide.) The point is, for those of you who are scholastically inclined, there's a difference between pity killings and murder. As a once staunch opponent of the death penalty, I can tell you: having had too many friends die, all of whom were good people, God is not a wise decision maker. Once it's determined that a human being has no capacity to have an even remotely useful impact on society, it may be high time they stop wasting our air. Hopefully the majority of the aforementioned will wipe themselves out with STDs, liver failure, and random acts of stupidity. I can't stress enough, though, the dangers Insane Clown Posse fans. They, like zombies, are a scourge upon the earth and should be dealt with in the same manner. If you come across one of these worthless pricks, it's best to avoid asking questions and apply excessive force to the base of the spine until you can detect no pulse.

Fire in the Hole...

2008-11-07T12:53:00.003-05:00

Apologies in advance, I actually took that title from a video featured on http://www.military.com/ of an explosives "demonstration." This is what I found upon opening my email; a message from a recruiter with a link to the video. The heading to the message was "check this out!" As enthralling as the video was, I didn't really need such a demonstration. I did graduate from elementary school, and at some point, early early on, I believe I was aware of the fact explosives blow things up. In fact, even a weak understanding of mathematics led me to understand that the more explosives there are, the more of a blast there is. The demonstration involves 249 tons of explosives in the middle of a desert somewhere. Nothing fancy, no new technology...It really just looks like somebody got a grant to see how much shit they could blow up and video tape it for a recruitment video. I'm sure a number of meatheads jacking off to the notion of 249 tons of explosive power would question my skepticism. I'd probably be tagged a faggot for not thinking this is an example of our tax dollars hard at work, but I strongly believe there's actually a difference between masculinity and stupidity.

There is, of course, the practical aspect of all this, being: why the fuck are we blowing our money like this when there are ill-equipped soldiers being blown apart by the same dark-ages technology every day? Or, the all-out pacifists might ask, "how many supplies could we buy for an inner city school with that money?" Answer? It doesn't fucking matter, because playing GI Joe kicks ass! Who knows, maybe we recieved a reliable tip that Osama's hiding somewhere in the Nevada desert. I'm not going to tell them how to do there job. I will argue in my defense, that not thinking this is so awesome doesn't make me a little girl.

Don't get me wrong, I love fire-works and used to make napalm out of gasoline and styrofoam when I was young. Explosions are cool, but kind of old hat. It's something you fuck with before puberty because theres nothing else to do besides pay attention in school or be a sluggish lard-ass in front of the TV. A normal, well adjusted adolescent transcends this phase and focuses more on age appropriate activities. I, and the vast majority of my friends discovered weed, booze, and sex. Now, explosions only please me if I'm drunk or high...it's kind of moot point if I'm having sex I suppose, but that's the way it's supposed to be. Only glue-sniffing miscreants receive such unbridaled joy over a damn explosion, especially one that wastes otherwise good money. Jesus, people are dumb.

Human Beings: A Dim Species

2008-11-07T08:42:00.005-05:00

Why is it that skateboarding isn't allowed on sidewalks within most cities, but lazy pricks on their "Segways" seem to pose no problem at all? I realize comparing the two things is impossible, as they are vastly different: The skateboard, unlike the two wheeled douche-mobile, implies that the rider has or will lose their virginity at some point. Skateboarders are also commonly more athletic, and aren’t as intent on impressing small children with their wealth and novelty. If you don’t believe this is one‘s reason for buying one, go ahead, try and pick up girls riding a Segway. After this scheme has failed miserably, drop by a day-care center and enjoy being chased around the block by little snot-noses begging for a ride. Personally, if I had kids, I’d rather be inconvenienced by the rattle of skateboard wheels than the wandering eyes of Tim, the bug-eyed pedophile any day.

What irk me even more are the logistics of this whole bullshit contraption. I think the advertising has been nothing but lies. I’m told it’s more convenient, which I don’t believe. A month or two back, I saw a man dragging his home on foot because it‘s battery had run low. I felt worse for this sad asshole than I did the homeless meth-head on the corner; At least he wasn’t lugging around what looked to be the Star Trek equivalent of a package dolly. I’m also told they can reach incredible speeds, such as thirty miles an hour. This either isn’t true, or is just proof that most Segway owners are lame, because I’ve never seen this claim verified. And where the fuck do you keep the thing? I’m assuming it’d feel right at home in the vacuum closet at the office, but the two products might mate and create an even more useless gadget, (either a super-quiet riding dust-buster or a loud-as-hell mobile liposuction unit...)

The real question of this whole affair, however, is what constitutes a pedestrian? Is it in the number of wheels? Electric motor versus gasoline? A person’s natural physical handicaps maybe? If anything with two wheels and an electric motor is acceptable on the sidewalk, I’m getting a scooter. Of course, if the rule is simply that anyone with no noticeable physical handicap aside from apathy and a desire to be noticed may ride whatever the fuck they want on a public sidewalk, I’m buying a four wheeler. It’s an equally prickesh contraption with more room for passengers and a briefcase. If someone gives me shit, I’ll rebuke them for being insensitive to the fact I have a low self esteem, and an irreversible weight problem, (this will be the case as soon as I’ve made walking obsolete.) The moral of this whole situation? You can get away with just about anything as long as you’re fat, pathetic, and financially stable...on that note, Vroom-Vroom dickholes, I’m richer than you!

Drawing a blank...

2008-11-06T12:45:00.004-05:00

I suppose the most frustrating thing right now is that, no matter how far and wide I search, I'm finding it difficult to be angry. Sure, Dog, Bounty Hunter, Family Circus, and Crocs had nothing to do with the Bush administration, McCain, or Sarah Palin, but I saw them as little manageable last straws. With so much to look forward to, these things have found a home somewhere in the back of my head, (even the fur lined Croc boots.) The purpose of my writing isn't to preach to the choir, but rather to instigate others or blow off steam, so at least within this forum, I won't be spending the next four years patting our nation on the back and weeping about hope. Don't get me wrong, I am THRILLED...this is re-fucking-diculously good, and exactly what we need, but those of you with a cerebral cortex already know that. I know, my title should have been "A time for change, blah blah blah...) Hell, I'd have settled for Gary Coleman over the dimwitted simpleton we've got now. Being led by George Bush was like dating Sally Struthers; After eight years, your expectations diminish drastically. If I were to try and prove that God wasn't a scam, Obama would be exhibit A, because all we wanted was a minor break from the pig-headed idiocy, and somehow we stumbled upon the perfect leader. Hooray, us!

Of course, scam or not, if God is real, and if by some stretch, W wasn't lying about the whole "manifest desitiny" thing, I'd like to think we kicked the old man's ass. I mean, look at our respective track records for a minute. God picked George W Bush, (with a little help from a few racist cops,) and then we the people elect Obama. Here's when I fucking will deliver a pat on the back. We are far wiser, and have better judgement than God. Congratulations to the rest of you scandalous, heritic evolutionists. When I heard the news, I was actually in a hospital waiting room, baked out of my mind, and wondering if the guy next to me was gradually morphing into a zombie; an anxiety inducing situation if I ever saw one. The funny thing is, I could finally, for once in a long, long time (without the aid of having my penis touched,) relax. I didn't care, because I knew we were better off, and the cop down the hall could go fuck himself...the zombie? Well I'm sure Obama'll have a plan for that soon enough.

P.S.-
And this has absolutely nothing to do with the election, but I was watching one of those awful commercials for the Buzz Ballads cds and noticed that Rob Thomas has the facial structure of a midget. Don't ask for specifics, he just looks...I don't know, midgety.

The Kenyan Threat...

2008-11-02T11:13:00.003-05:00

Holy fuck! Jesus H.-sodomized-Christ, I don't even know what to say...What is wrong with you people?! Obama's aunt is an illegal alien? What, is she trying to nab our launch codes by cleverly coercing her nephew into devoting his life to becoming the president? You shamelessly desperate mother fuckers. Here is how the article begins, and I quote, "Barack Obama’s aunt, revealed this week to be dwelling in a Boston slum, is living in the United States illegally..." A Boston Slum? Who won the lottery?! Give the woman a Goddamn break! She is a 60 year old Kenyan woman living in the ghetto; I assure you with devoted confidence that this poor woman presents absolutely NO threat to homeland security. Those who flaunt these facts as relevant, however, are terrorists on a most fundamental level. They receive, it seems, some sick sexual pleasure from knowing we're pissing ourselves with fear twenty four seven. These are the same ass wipes who flipped out over the Aqua Teen Hunger Force "terror scare," told us to buy pounds of duct-tape in the wake of 9/11, and that if we leave Iraq, a seven headed beast will arise from the sand and devour all that's holy, while raping the Virgin Mary and Billy Graham with it's multiple genitalia.

Go do something you fucking weirdos. I don't like to be bombarded with fear, especially unfounded fear such as that felt by 50 something year old women with more than seven cats. I don't watch Fox News, I don't read the Wall Street Journal...In fact, I ignore even legitimate sources of concern in an effort to make life a little more bearable. I like to pretend the only side effect to smoking is coolness, and that my liver is somehow invincible. I pretend marijuana is legal, and that this whole Bush thing is some bizarre prank, and we're really being led well by a fair and just leader, (jokes up, Supreme Overlord Clinton...) My reason for behaving in an equally illogical manner is simple: If I don‘t, life blows harder than a straight-to-DVD Disney film. I know there's a lot of bad shit out there, but not everything's bad, and you're targeting the wrong things anyway. Look, the Republicans in charge right now are evil. There's really no other word; In fact, evil doesn't quite sum it up as succinctly as I'd like. To describe a group who would consider a poor 60 year old Kenyan's struggle to attain the American dream a threat is very difficult. In fact, I think such a title would simply be a series of roars and expletives screamed in unison by a herd of possessed wildebeests.

So here’s the thing, you insane, quivering, fear-mongers: Go to your basements and don’t come out until I give the ok. I hear Osama (or Obama...one of those scary colored people) will be attacking the U.S. with an army of Kenyans, gays, and abortion doctors...and MY GOD, will it be scary. So hunker down, watch your 60 Minutes and read Family Circus to your heart’s content folks, they can’t take these things from you. And don’t leave to vote, because that’s what they want you to do. You sure as hell don’t want the pedophiles and dope heads getting to your children, do you? I’d say that all will be well in a few years time, but you know what? From the fear-monger’s perspective, all will never be well. We’re always going to need safety packaging, warnings that our coffee’s hot, witch hunts to let us know who’s a dirty Muslim, Kenyan, Mexican...and the funny thing is, the only thing I’m afraid of is you people. You‘re the type to actually call that number on the overpass signs when you see me lighting a bong in my car, the type to lock your doors when some black children cross the street, or the kind of asshole who has to point out to the gas-station attendant that I smell like burnt grass and alcohol. Fuck off and mind your own business, you scary, conservative pricks.

R.I.P. Curt Bannon

2008-10-28T12:01:00.002-04:00

"Don't Push." I have an odd feeling this may become somewhat of a mantra for much of our generation, as so many people feel the need every day, to push things to happen, push things to move, push good things and good people out of the way, where a few of us have learned from the Jesus Christs, the John Lennons, the poets, artists and thinkers of the world. Two words can mean so much when stated in such a simple, commanding manner. They can transform a song, or make someone realize the true nature of freedom. Life is such a fluid thing, which moves on it's own, and sometimes those who go with the natural flow are coerced and shoved aside, while the irony lies in the fact that these people are the truly mobile, the genuinely progressive forces in all of our lives. Curt was a creator, not a pusher. He didn't waste his efforts, or his time in life, attempting to accrue money, or some meaningless stature, which in the long run would do nothing to expand his own scope of the universe. He not only noticed, but felt the beauty in art, and the art in everyday life, which is why he sometimes had trouble translating these revelations into words.

Someone who truly feels art, must develop a new language through which to translate their findings, because words can't define the glory of an addictive melody, a perfect verse, or a mind rendering Salvador Dali. One must commit these things to memory until they are so engrained that the inner beauty can be used to convey love through the observer. Anybody who saw Curt playing his guitar, skating, acting, or just wearing that laid back, ever present smile, knows that he knew exactly how to do this. He never dominated a conversation, and constantly sought advice, but unlike others, he was likely to take it. I never felt like Curt put himself on a pedestal, or let his talents affect his ego; two things, if given his gifts, I may well have done. He was genuine, adventurous, and possessed an old soul with a still very youthful curiosity.

I have trouble still wrapping my mind around what just happened, and how life cycles through these periods of ups and downs, but leaves us with so much more to yearn for in the down times. I'm not one to mourn in a conventional sense, and rarely cry. I didn't cry when I first found out, I reacted simply with anger. I was spiteful towards God, wanting nothing more than to be able to grasp upwards and find something meaningful to him, meaningful to anybody and break it. I wanted to share the pain I felt, the confusion, and the notion that I was somehow being thoroughly cheated. Since then I've cried, almost to a confusing degree as I'm so unused to it. I see a skateboard, a guitar, hear the right song, and I well up with sadness and rage. Even an abandoned Taco Bell wrapper leaves me lost for words at this point. I've been told there's a lesson somewhere in all of this, but there isn't. Anyone who truly knew Curt knows that the lesson resides in how he lived his life, not how it ended.

For those of you who feel that God is all knowing, and such things are predestined to occur, I beg to disagree. Even God falls asleep at the wheel, and this is proof. Curt had more to offer all of us, and it's going to be difficult to accept the idea of never seeing him again, especially after growing close enough to consider him such a solid friend and confidante. As much of a paradox as this may seem; life's too short not to take your time. Soak up every moment, because If you don't, you'll find you did nothing but a lot of useless running. Don't push, don't ever let others push you, and try to keep smiling. Curt did, even in the worst of times, and that may be what I'll miss more than anything else.

Artistic Integrity: Fuck it.

2008-10-27T08:19:00.005-04:00

Neil Young loves Exxon, Guns, and John McCain...

Why is it that to this day, auto makers and advertising agents continue to act as if they understand anything about music? First it was Mercedes, using Janis Joplin's classic, sarcastic plea to the lord for a Mercedes Benz. First of all, double fuck yous for that, you excrement licking rim-whores. Did you even think about the song? Its a joke, a fucking statement! About yoooou people, asscracks! She is, in as satirical of a manner as possible, begging for a chance to be a Dockers-wearing, Crate & Barrel-shopping, tie-your-cardigan-around-your-shoulders-while-playing-golf piece of useless societal foreskin in a plastic house with a trophy of a car. I'd assume Janis's family would have just taken turns shitting on her grave if they were told they could recieve royalties for that. I hope she haunts them all, the selfish pricks. However, I can't wait to hear the Dead Kennedies' "Kill the Poor" drowning out the voiceover on a Wal-mart commercial.

Almost just as bad, today I saw a commercial for the Lincoln MLK...ML-fuck, something or another with numbers or letters, (because rich people are too superior for names,) and in the background is David Bowie's "Space Oddity." This leads me to a few conclusions as to the nature of this vehicle. Logically, I'd assume that If I purchase this car, I will be very, very sad at all times...or dead, or just strung out, heart-broken, and digging behind the couch for change because I need another GODDAMN FIX! I hope BMW outdoes all those mother-lickers simply by having a quick video of Keith Richards fucking Iggy Pop in the backseat of one, doped out on God-knows-what, singing along to "Nazi Punks, Fuck off!" Stop taking our music! We already have to deal with the fact yuppies and other worthless hemorrhoids drive around in your cars listening to our shit to feel edgy and young, so don't rub it in.

Even when David Bowie tells you it's all right...That's not the real David Bowie, just like new Bob Dylan isn't the real Bob Dylan. Somewhere along the line, they were stopped and told that they weren't artists, but cash cows, and I'm assuming Dylan's love for rural shit convinced him to eat the whole cow thing right up. So now we have some shitty commercials, and a senile old man who never sings a song the same way twice. The moral here? Kill your favorite musician. I kid you not. Do it, before they discover the earning power of their works. Of course, you'll have to off their families as well, or buy the rights to their music. But it just might be a worthwhile price to avoid wanting to blow your brains out while your hero is being used to sell fucking washing machines.

After all, as time goes by, not only can they change the meaning of a song, but the lyrics as well. It's a little known fact that "This Land is Your Land" was considered as a possible national anthem. It's an even lesser known fact that this song is also criticizing the American way of life and stressing the values of communism. "Wha-wha-whaaat?" You think, "how could this be so with those harmless lyrics?" Simple, if you hack off the last three verses about trespassing, squatters rights, and starvation, you're good to go. If you take it a step further and publish it in children's school music books across the nation like that, well then you're just a douche-bag for raping one of the most powerful songs written. Nevertheless, you can't hide behind clever edits like this all your lives, dick hats, because the kids will grow up to see their music accosted at the hands of some corporate logo as well, then old Woody won't look so crazy after all.

As I've already pointed out, some of the sellouts are alive and well, others, the true artists of the bunch, have been royally ass-raped by their money grubbing families. In dedication to those no longer with us, who's music has been used to support causes and corporations they would NEVER stand for, I'm going to freely use a few high profile names in support of my own causes. Why? Because they're dead and I can...First of all, Ronald Reagan, just before he died, told me that he wants Pat Robertson and Rush Limbaugh beheaded with very small, very dull, hatchets. I think we owe the man who made ketchup a vegetable this small favor at least, guys. Also, believe it or not, Jerry Falwell was an avid Dennis Kucinich supporter, but kept it well concealed, fearing alienation from his fans. So there you have it, Mr. Falwell was, in fact, a homosexual sado-masochist...I mean, Kucinich fan, shit, well...cat's out of the bag on that one too I guess. Oh, and Charleton Heston was dating Jane Fonda right before he passed away...he is dead right?

I forgot these...

2008-10-23T00:38:00.006-04:00

Sorry, but a few of the things I utterly despised seemed to miss the ol' top ten list. I'd make another, but I fucking hate top ten lists, so I'll instead string together a slew of incoherent rants...Family Circus, for starters. Those children are brutally ugly and probably the result of incest. There's absolute nothing funny about Christian values, and I'm beginning to think they rotate the same three or four frames, adding a new caption each time. Why is it that Jeffrey's always fucking something up, anyway? The kid's got to be forty-something by now, and he still doesn't know shit about how to be a half decent person. His father should beat him relentlessly and be done with it. Airbrushed shit is a problem as well, be it monster trucks, t-shirts, or those jackoff looking trucker hats with "Princess" scrawled across the front, (the kind worn by the boozed up spring break whores in Girls Gone Wild videos.) Airbrushing is simply a way of making white trash waste money on the Ocean City boardwalk, "Well damn, mom would probably love an airbrushed t-shirt with Tinkerbell on it because fuck, shave off 340 pounds and the two are practically twins." Choke on a funnel cake, ass guzzler. Airbrushing looks cheap, and it makes your mother look cheaper than the Tweety Bird tattoo on her cellulite infested thigh.

Moving on; Dog, bounty hunter is a number one, grade A cock-wipe...At first I was confused by the title of the show and assumed the man captured runaway dogs, or was himself a dog. Turns out, instead he's just some weird asshole with a mullet who happens to have enormous bitch tits. Don't wear mesh shirts you hideous chode. Not to mention, he's a racist, and the only thing I hate more than a racist is a Native American. So many people claim to have Native American blood that this simply can't be true all the time, or I'd have to wonder why the hell they don't just buy back New York with beads and tobacco. Regardless, I don't think much culture is passed on when your history is one of being raped and brutalized by a bunch of fat, pasty liars. Try claiming your heritage in a job interview, but expect slightly below the minimum wage, you tribal tattoo rocking fuckwad. As Magic Johnson would say, "Nah, but really..." I don't hate indians, Pow Wows kick ass, but the fact you drive a Cherokee gives you no special rights.

Speaking of Magic Johnson, however, I don't hate him but feel he is a genuinely disrespectful man. Either one of two things has happened with Mr. Johnson. A: He's been lying for all these years about having HIV as some sick publicity stunt, which is positively unforgivable, or B: He's somehow come across the cure for AIDS and isn't sharing it with the rest of the world. Fuck you, you selfish prick! I go to bed every night wishing I could wake up to be as healthy as Magic Johnson, and that is NOT how you're supposed to feel about someone with a life threatening illness. Becoming the spokesman for an ailment when you possess none of the symptoms is like me speaking at a Hispanic-American women's rights rally; Innapropriate, and deserving of some kind of explanation.

People who hate Mexicans irk me more than most, as I just can't fathom it...Hell, they insist upon nap time every day, brought us the margarita and Robert Rodriguez, provide cheap labor, pinatas, and have any of you eaten a friggin' fajita? Or a burrito? Tamales, tacos...Jesus, the list goes on. Mexicans actually DO have all things that are good, marijuana included. Anybody who says they don't enjoy Mexican shit has never killed a bottle of Cuervo while listening to "Caress me Down." In fact, having done that, I can say the only time I hate Mexicans is the day after for a few hours in the morning. I'll say it flat out, I'd like to convert to Mexicanism. Well, it's just occurred to me that I'm drunk so bed time is in order. Before I go, let me remind everyone that, although he appeared on my previous list as well, Jerry Falwell is still dead, still awful, and I can't wait until cloning becomes a feasible process so I can build an army of slow, deformed Jerrys to hack up like zombies when I'm having a bad day. I really, really hate him.

Stuntin' Like a Beauty Queen

2008-10-23T00:20:00.004-04:00

$150 thousand?! Really? This, apparently, is the amount of money spent so far to keep Sarah Palin looking like a second-rate middle school vice principal throughout the campaign. Ok, so I can imagine dropping a few G's on the gaudy, iced out American flag pin she sports, (the likes of which even Andre 3000 may be jealous of,) but as for the rest, I'm just not seeing it. Every time the woman is paraded about, she's wearing one of three things: A red sport coat and skirt, a black sport coat and skirt, or some bullshit Columbia looking fleece zip up that, I presume, is what the Alaskan natives wear while riding the ever indigenous snowmobile. So where's the Prada? The Louis Vuitton handbags? This is like finding out my gym teacher's warmup suit cost a thousand bucks...

Now I would assume her fashion advisors were simply hosing Mrs. Palin and skimming some cash off the top of the budget if it weren't for the fact she was a one time Alaskan beauty queen, (which, of course, is comparable to being the most intelligent student on a Bob Jones University campus.) However, she obviously knows something about fashion, so I have to assume they're dressing her down in order to look like the Wal-mart shopping hockey mom she claims to be. This, however, is almost as sad as the fact that John Edwards was spending $500 a cut on his cheesy ass mop of hair. Now I could care less about the expenditure, as the money was provided by the campaign and the Republican party. If it hadn't gone to this, it would have supported some more vile cause, like purchasing more kittens for Cheney to dismember, then eat, Mongolian barbeque style.

It's just, well, being an avid reader of GQ, and somewhat of a snob when it comes to decent fashion, I may have some inkling of respect for the woman if she showed up in something classy, because, God knows, she has very little else to offer. With Hillary Clinton, it was obvious her shit came from the Sears women's department, but that could be overlooked by the fact she brandished a reasonable, intelligible platform and had some genuine experience in politics. Sarah Palin has no such advantage, and the sooner she realizes this, the better. Utilizing one’s strengths is an important aspect of being a politician, and having only one strength, she ought to exploit it by pulling the wool over the media’s eyes with a glitzy fashion show. Go on Barbie, dress it up and kick some ass. The bigoted, goat-fucking degenerates known as your fan base are counting on you, and you wouldn’t want to disappoint.

Give me a lobster hat, it's my fucking birthday!

2008-10-19T12:55:00.004-04:00

You know what I think's sort of cute...in a down home, faded cut offs and mullet sort of way? People who think Red Lobster is a fancy place to go for a special night out; like, say, an anniversary, or when the Home Depot car wins the Daytona 500. It seems nobody really treats TGI Fridays and Chiles with the same reverence, but somehow the presence of seafood and one of those nifty lobster tanks means somebody won the fucking lottery. Following are a few indicators to the contrary. When they give you a special foam lobster hat on your birthday, you can rest assured that this place is not rated in any culinary magazine. Also, the presence of all-you-can-eat anything sends off alarms right away. I've never been to a four star restaraunt in which I ordered the all you can eat, fried popcorn shrimp, or where the dress code was, "shirt and shoes required."

Now don't get me wrong, it's not a bad place to eat, it just somehow seems to be a haven for airbrushed t-shirts and screaming, food hurling toddlers. Red Lobster will always have a place in my heart, for those special occasions though. Like when I go out with the family for fast food, and the Long John Silver's is closed because the health department dropped by, or first dates in which I don't expect any physical compensation, and would rather not drop a great deal of cash. And my favorite; sometimes I'm just baked out of my skull, and there's nowhere like Red Lobster when you need a few cheap beers and an infinite supply of cheesy biscuits to gorge yourself on.

Still, I feel like an elitist dick on these occasions, despite the blood-shot eyes and my juvenile table manners. Every time I make the mistake of scanning the booths around me, I think to myself, "I'm better than these people," and then I pray that Hell isn't real. Yeah, Red Lobster's got things like "Scampi" and french wines (that come in little mini four packs with twist off lids...) but don't let the atmosphere fool you, this isn't Paris, you're just across the interstate from The Ground Round and Mattress Warehouse. So if you're planning on popping the question to that special lady in your life, think twice before making those pain in the ass Friday night reservations, because while you're mustering up the nerve to get on one knee in your lucky '69 Chevette t-shirt, some stoned asshole across the room will be judging you...I'll be needing another Bud lite too.

Vince, the crap shoveler from Jersey

2008-10-16T11:23:00.012-04:00

So Billy Mayes just got dickslapped in the face by the emergence of a new TV hustler. In what seemed to be a day's time, Shamwow commercials filled every slot in primetime, and I was left wondering who the hell this pedophile looking Vince prick was, and if some 7-11 in Jersey was now missing it's parking lot loiterer. I can't say I'm a fan of Billy, but the man really gets into it. I feel like hes going to cream himself over the incredible deals he's giving us, if only we'd "act now, before supplies run out!" Dent poppers, weed pullers, really sticky glue; this is some mundane garbage but damn if he doesn't sound as thrilled as an inbred at a Toby Keith concert. Not to mention, he actually knows how the shit works, or acts like it, and thats all I need to hear. Just listen to the half assed, somewhat confused shrug of a testimonial poor Vince gives: "I don't know...I don't even know, Shamwow practically sells itself." Well get off the set, moron. Crack sells itself too, because if it didn't, you would have been the first person they called.

You'd think they'd give him a briefing or something rather than just tousling his faux-hawk and shoving him on stage with the reassurance that, no, his parole officer doesn't need to know what he's doing with those paychecks. I don't even feel like the target audience, maybe because every time he opens his mouth, all I can imagine is him using a similar pitch to get some teenage girl to go all the way with him at the bowling alley. Clean that with a Shamwow, you greasy degenerate. Anyway, still curious about this tool, (and I'm referring to vince, not the shammy) and having a great deal of time on my hands, I looked Vince up on IMDB, and found that he has family in showbiz. Carl Brutoninonilewski, the next door neighbor to Shake, Meatwad and Frylock is Vince's father. He only recently discovered his son by making accidental call to what he thought to be 1-900-TRAN-NOW. So, uh, I guess that just goes to show you, sons aren't always as intelligent or succesful as their fathers...Luke Skywalker, George W. Bush, and now Sham-douche, the slimy new face of the infomercial. We're all very sorry to see it happen like this, Billy.

A quick top ten list of things people should never do, believe, or wear:

2008-10-14T20:14:00.007-04:00

This is a simple game used to determine whether or not you're worth the air, water and food expended to keep you living. If you think to yourself, "hey, I do (believe, or wear) that," in regards to one or more of the items listed, stop pretending things in your life will progress anywhere but downwards. I'd suggest you employ some means of killing yourself, but am afraid I'd find myself in a courtroom at some point trying to explain my indiscretion. Besides, to waste any materials available would be pointless when you could simply crawl into an empty closet and chew on mothballs until the world forgets you. So here it is, a brief compilation of things that are NOT acceptable:

10. Oakley sunglasses

9. Sweatpants (classic, cuffed, like the type Carl wears...)

8. Enjoying the music of James Blunt

7. Thinking Joe Leiberman is a Democrat

6. Thinking Richard Gere isn't a complete douche-bag

5. Crocs

4. Believing the world is only a couple thousand years older than the point at which the bible was written

3. Sending your kids to Bob Jones University

2. Wearing those Sarah Palin glasses

1. Believing (thanks again Sarah,) that dinosaurs existed in Biblical times and were referred to by God as Satan's Lizards

Rocket Man...

2008-10-14T18:20:00.007-04:00

So I heard on NPR today that some bright young mind has spent years constructing the first semi-functioning jet-pack (yeah, to hell with something useful like AIDS research...) So anyway, it was taken for a test run and managed to fly 35 miles on an exorbitant amount of fuel, but that's not the best part. The jet-pack doesn't actually launch, per say. He had to be dropped out of an airplane in order to glide (or jet...whatever) down. This brings a few questions to mind, the first pertaining to the safety and well-being of this brainy fellow. If this was a test run, what was he going to do, after having jumped from the door of an airplane, if his jet-pack didn't work? Darwin would have his own answer and I probably have mine already, which brings me to question two of three: How, exactly, is a jet pack which doesn't launch from the ground even remotely useful? And the big number three: What the hell guys?! We've got smart bombs, cars that run off solar power, and we've shot more shit into space than NASA can count. We're living in Mad Max meets the Jetsons and we don't have a working jet-pack? Shoulda been here ten years ago...pathetic.

You know what really "grinds my gears?"

2008-10-14T10:30:00.001-04:00

(Jerry Falwell now resides in Hell as one of

Satan's henchmen. He's really found his niche...)

Books by Nicholas Sparks. If you haven't guessed, I'm taking a mental inventory of all things that make living in this world a little less bearable. His books, and movies, are simply not good. This isn't a matter of opinion but a matter of fact. If you disagree, you're mistaken...you're also probably a fourteen year old girl; case in point. I hated God for the longest time after watching The Notebook, longer than I stayed with the girl who made me watch it. I just couldn't understand, in a world full of death, disease, and reality shows about who gets to be Paris Hilton's next best friend, how a loving God could allow such a blubbering mass of confusing, weepy, horse vomit to exist. The only redeeming quality is that watching such a film makes being circumcised with a fork seem that much more tolerable.

How is it that Aqua Teen: The Movie lasted in theaters for no more than a week and his worthless bile keeps spewing back up and making box office history? It's like having a migraine and reading an eighth grader's love letter while sawing your leg off at the ankle with a plastic knife. Every night I pray that Mr. Sparks is fatally gored by a bull before he manages to jot down the makings of my next date from Hell, in which I sit, impatiently wondering if the heartrending story of two wrinkled old people with Alzheimer's will make this girl want to touch my penis in the back seat of a car later. For the record, the ability to make unsatisfied middle aged housewives leap for their Kleenex is not genuine criteria for literature.

What else irks me? Well here’s a good one...people who call weed a drug. These people took DARE way too seriously and let their mothers coddle and protect them until it was far too late to morph into a normal, well adjusted adult with reasonable understandings, such as the knowledge that one should not attempt to lead a decent life without being high for much of it. This would be more boring than two plain boxes of Special K fucking in the missionary position on their wedding night. The people who call potheads such negative terms as “junkies” and “maladjusted” have little grasp of reality and are the same tools that think three drinks a night makes you an alcoholic and anal sex is somehow “immoral.” Leave morality to Davy and Goliath, douche-hole.

But wait, there’s more. Far, far more...in fact I nearly wrote a top ten list, but guess what else annoys me? Top ten lists. Also, when somebody asks a question in their writing, and then answers it directly afterwards. Write the answer on the bottom of the page upside down or something. Jesus, give the reader time to think. It also bothers me to hear others complain, especially in written form. This, however, is therapeutic. Oh, before I go, one last big pain in the ass: Jerry Falwell! RIP buddy, and even in death, I wish there was some way you could be more dead.

Secret Muslim?

2008-10-12T15:00:00.000-04:00

According to the Washington Post, race is "creeping into this election." Not that I don't find this bothersome, but I'd love to meet the oblivious shmuck who sees it as a "creeping" sort of racism. Maybe he (or she) wasn't there for the two McCain supporters who asked him what his stance was on the fact Obama is a possible Arab. Now, in McCain's defense, he corrected them and pointed out that Obama is a solid, nation loving American, as well he should have. I'm sure he still feels the bitter sting of Carl Rove's disgustingly blatant attempt at smearing him in 2000 with phone calls to southern republicans warning them that he had a black child out of wedlock.

Although he and Cindy McCain did parent a black child, it was adopted, and nothing changes the underlying racism implying that somehow a black bastard child is less moral than a white one.

Racism has been galloping along since the very start of this campaign, with claims that Obama is a Muslim, "too unconventional" to be elected, oh, and my favorite...did you hear his middle name is Hussien and his last name is very similar to that of the head of Al Quaida? The good folks at the Republican headquarters in Hagerstown actually have a picture they like to share of Obama with a long beard and turban. Shit! I almost voted for Osama Bin Laden. What a clever ruse that tricky bastard pulled, hiding over here and even trying to become our president! If all of this isn't racism, it's at least cultural bias, which correlates directly with race and is just as damaging to reputations and interpersonal relations.

Living in Boonsboro I hear my fair share of "I'm not a racist, but I'm not ready to vote for a black man." Pull your head out of your ass and own up to what you are. A pedophile can't go ahead and ask people not to call them that if they're still looking up thirteen year old Hannah Montana fans on Myspace...Realize that your title is based on your actions and if you're "not ready" for a black president, maybe your not ready to climb out of your bigoted, small minded little hole after all.