A lot of people think I ought to love Halloween. Someone will come up to me and say “Hey there, guy. You’re morbid, you listen to devil music, your shirt is black; you must love Halloween.” Then, he’ll stand there all dopey-eyed and grinning, like he’s waiting for me to sing a fucking song about how much I love Halloween.
Of course, being the prick I am, I can’t just be polite; I have to rant feverishly about how stupid I think Halloween is. Then, the poor bastard gets this look on his face like I just killed his dog.
The fact is, I fucking hate Halloween. It’s a dumb holiday; shit, I don’t even know why it’s a holiday at all. “Oh wow, it’s October 31st, let’s dress in really stupid costumes and prance around like retards.” No thanks, I’d rather cut out my uvula with a Swiss Army Knife. And what the fuck is the deal with guys dressing up like women? I swear, every Halloween, I see at least one frat-guy dressed in drag. Congratulations, butthole. One day out of the year you’re free to act like the homo you are without people calling you a fruit.
“Dude, you’re just being a party-pooper! Lame!” What adult uses the term party-pooper? Rabid fans of Halloween apparently; I’ve been accused of being a party-pooper by adults ever since I was a little misanthrope.
Every Halloween I sit at home while ratty children ring my doorbell every five minutes expecting me to give them candy just because they put on costumes and came to my door. You want some candy? Go clean the oil stain off of my driveway and I’ll give you some money and you can go buy some candy like everyone else.
That’s another thing. After Halloween, gigantic bags of candy go on sale. Instead of pestering me, why don’t you dumb kids just wait a few days and go buy some discount candy. You can get a seventeen pound bag of candy corn for three cents the day after Halloween. I’d rather hide in the bushes all night spraying trick-or-treaters with a garden hose than give away any candy. In fact, that’s probably what I’ll end up doing.
Then you have modern day druids and witches that like to get together in fields dressed in stupid robes and sing crappy songs about Mother Nature on Halloween. What a bunch of dorks. I wish they’d all get mauled by bears or something.
Back in college, the faculty encouraged students to dress up on Halloween. Some dickweed even dressed up as the DJ from Slipknot one year. Holy fuck, if you’re going to dress up like one of the guys from Slipknot, why on earth would you dress up as the DJ? He’s like the lamest guy in the band; he’s not even a real musician. I never dressed up yet every year I was asked the obligatory “Dude, what are you dressed as?” I’m not dressed as anything you silly bastard! Don’t you have a class to flunk out of? Leave me alone.
I’ve always hated Halloween. I’ve never trick-or-treated, I’ve never dressed up, and I’ve never carved a pumpkin. Halloween: Bah! Humbug!
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
White People are Planning to Do What?
I have a pretty simple life. I wake up, go to work, come home, and work at home. Generally, I lie awake all night wishing the world would come to an end, get in about 20 minutes of sleep, and do it all over again. I’m a pissed off insomniac that lives one day at a time with nothing to look forward to except getting wasted on the weekend.
Recently, however, it came to my attention I was shirking one of my duties as a white person. I’m supposed to be plotting – with every other white person on earth no less – to kill all the black people. Yeah, it came as a surprise to me as well. I’m 22 and I’ve never gotten the memo.
For nearly 23 years I’ve lived my life without even once plotting to kill any black people. In fact, I’ve even fraternized with black people! Now though, thanks to Kamau Kambon – an activist and bookstore owner who recently addressed a panel on “Hurricane Katrina Media Coverage” – I know what I'm supposed to do. I have to become part of the mass conspiracy among the whites of the world, to secretly enslave then exterminate the blacks of the world.
Sounds pretty fucking ridiculous doesn’t it? Any sane person should think so, but Mr. Kambon believes white people are planning to kill all the black people on earth.
As ridiculous as that sounds, Kamau Kambon said a lot of other equally ridiculous things. For example, he went on to say that white people created an “international plantation” for black people, which makes “every white person on earth a plantation master.” He even went as far as saying blacks are "at war."
He also said white people “have retina scans, they have what they call racial profiling, DNA banks, and they’re monitoring our people to try to prevent the one person from coming up with the one idea. And the one idea is, how are we going to exterminate white people, because that in my estimation is the only conclusion I have come to. We have to exterminate white people off the face of the planet to solve this problem.”
So, according to Mr. Kambon, the problem: whites are planning to exterminate all the blacks. His solution: the blacks better figure out how to exterminate all the whites first.
Either Mr. Kambon has been drinking excessive amounts of chlorinated pool water and eating strange mushrooms in his backyard, or he’s certifiably in-fucking-sane. I mean, how delusional and paranoia-riddled does a brain have to be to make up this shit?
It wouldn’t matter very much if he was just some random wacko, but he used to be a professor of education at St. Augustine’s College in Raleigh, North Carolina! And people wonder why their kids come back from college with all kinds of crazy ideas championed by the lunatic fringe. They’re letting wing-nuts with crazy ideas run the colleges when they shouldn’t even be allowed on the property.
Anyway, in order to ease Mr. Kambon’s seemingly frazzled mind, I am going on record right here to promise I will never kill all the black people in the world. You have my word as a gentleman. I can assure you, I am neither planning, nor part of, any white conspiracy to harm the black populations of the world in any way.
What I suggest you do, Mr. Kambon, is go back to the home, take your meds, mellow down easy, and rethink your conspiracy theories. Try to come up with a more plausible theory; maybe a theory about the gray aliens forcing the species known as Bigfoot to do grunt work in their underground bunkers where bizarre experiments involving hybrid human/alien life forms are performed. More plausible indeed.
The article about Mr. Kambon’s interesting ideas can be found here.
Recently, however, it came to my attention I was shirking one of my duties as a white person. I’m supposed to be plotting – with every other white person on earth no less – to kill all the black people. Yeah, it came as a surprise to me as well. I’m 22 and I’ve never gotten the memo.
For nearly 23 years I’ve lived my life without even once plotting to kill any black people. In fact, I’ve even fraternized with black people! Now though, thanks to Kamau Kambon – an activist and bookstore owner who recently addressed a panel on “Hurricane Katrina Media Coverage” – I know what I'm supposed to do. I have to become part of the mass conspiracy among the whites of the world, to secretly enslave then exterminate the blacks of the world.
Sounds pretty fucking ridiculous doesn’t it? Any sane person should think so, but Mr. Kambon believes white people are planning to kill all the black people on earth.
As ridiculous as that sounds, Kamau Kambon said a lot of other equally ridiculous things. For example, he went on to say that white people created an “international plantation” for black people, which makes “every white person on earth a plantation master.” He even went as far as saying blacks are "at war."
He also said white people “have retina scans, they have what they call racial profiling, DNA banks, and they’re monitoring our people to try to prevent the one person from coming up with the one idea. And the one idea is, how are we going to exterminate white people, because that in my estimation is the only conclusion I have come to. We have to exterminate white people off the face of the planet to solve this problem.”
So, according to Mr. Kambon, the problem: whites are planning to exterminate all the blacks. His solution: the blacks better figure out how to exterminate all the whites first.
Either Mr. Kambon has been drinking excessive amounts of chlorinated pool water and eating strange mushrooms in his backyard, or he’s certifiably in-fucking-sane. I mean, how delusional and paranoia-riddled does a brain have to be to make up this shit?
It wouldn’t matter very much if he was just some random wacko, but he used to be a professor of education at St. Augustine’s College in Raleigh, North Carolina! And people wonder why their kids come back from college with all kinds of crazy ideas championed by the lunatic fringe. They’re letting wing-nuts with crazy ideas run the colleges when they shouldn’t even be allowed on the property.
Anyway, in order to ease Mr. Kambon’s seemingly frazzled mind, I am going on record right here to promise I will never kill all the black people in the world. You have my word as a gentleman. I can assure you, I am neither planning, nor part of, any white conspiracy to harm the black populations of the world in any way.
What I suggest you do, Mr. Kambon, is go back to the home, take your meds, mellow down easy, and rethink your conspiracy theories. Try to come up with a more plausible theory; maybe a theory about the gray aliens forcing the species known as Bigfoot to do grunt work in their underground bunkers where bizarre experiments involving hybrid human/alien life forms are performed. More plausible indeed.
The article about Mr. Kambon’s interesting ideas can be found here.
Friday, October 21, 2005
Re: Some Kind of Menstrual - or - Metallicunt
Ok, I posted this shit before, but that was quite a while ago. In fact, I think it was almost six months ago. The fact is, I was reminded of how much Metallica sucks now after mistakenly catching a few minutes of Some Kind of Monster. It pisses me off, so I decided to re-post this rant. Besides, I'm too busy to write something new right now.
I was recently on a trip to the bay area. It was lovely San Francisco, where gays hold hands freely in the streets, and smoking near a federal building is a crime. What a great city. Well, not really, but I was stuck there for a number of days and I had to deal with it. Needless to say, I stayed in my room most of the time. I didn't get many cable channels in my room but I did get VH1. Yeah, I know, that's not good news, but it was something to watch when they aired Some Kind of Monster.
Don't get me wrong. I've been a Metallica fan for years. I've got all the CDs (including plenty of bootlegs), I've got the Live Shit Binge Purge box, I've got tons of their shirts, a program from a live show, posters, and stickers. I've got it all. I've been a fan for years. When Load and Reload came out, I forced myself to enjoy the CDs for what they were - they were decent CDs, I'll give them that, but they were hardly Metallica.
Honestly, if that was the way Metallica wanted to go, good for them. It wasn't the Metallica I knew and loved, but it was still listenable. Who cared if their hair was short, they cold still kick ass. Then the whole Napster thing happened. Honestly, I don't blame Lars, et al. That's a whole other story though, so forget about that for now. All I'm saying is, I've been a fan of the band - thick and thin - for a long time. Then I heard St. Anger.
The production was bad, and the majority of the music was bad. I bought the CD at Target for $9.99 and I still felt ripped off. Granted, the additional DVD that came with the CD was cool, and sounded a lot better than the CD, but that couldn't make up for an overall crappy record. I've listened to St. Anger plenty of times and it does nothing for me. In fact, it's almost nu-metal. If there is one thing I cannot tolerate, it is nu-metal.
Even through all of this, I still insisted that Metallica kicked ass. St. Anger was a fluke, everyone has off days (or months in this case), and I could overlook it. Metallica would eventually make up for it by kicking ass on their next record. I truly believed this until, in my hotel room in San Francisco (where Metallica's reign began), I watched Some Kind of Monster.
I've never seen such emasculating footage. These guys, who at one point were the pinnacle of badassitude, were now sniveling, whiney, epicene old men who argued like menstruating bitches fighting for attention. It was shameless and pathetic. Metallica was actually sitting in a room with a wimpy psychologist telling them how to feel and they were listening to him. The old Metallica would have shoved a vodka bottle up his nose and punched him in the face, but this, nu-Metallica, was sitting there, teary-eyed talking about their feelings.
The whole movie was one big bitchfest, complete with pointless drama, needless emotional breakdowns, and six months of rehab for James Hetfield. Since when did men, not just men - fucking Metallica, need wimpy shrinks to make them cry in order resolve their problems? Now I can see why Jason Newsted left the band. He was probably like, "Dammit, this is Metallica. We should be kicking ass and busting balls, but all the other guys in the band want to do is cry and exchange tampons." Most of Newsted’s new bands suck, but still, Newsted was smart to leave Metallica.
Men don't solve their personal problems by crying and talking about their feelings. Essentially any problem between guys can be solved with a fight and a drink. Here's an example of what I mean:
Guy 1: Hey asshole! I heard you were talkin' shit about me.
Guy 2: Yeah? What are you gunna' do about it?
Guy 1: I'm going to beat the shit out of you.
Guy 2: Is that so. Well, fuck you, let's see you try!
Fight ensues and both guys take damage. Bloody nose is wiped clean, teeth are spit out, and they help each other off the floor.
Guy 1: *Sniff* Good fight bro.
Guy 2: You too man. Sorry about the shit talking.
Guy 1: Yeah, no biggie.
Guy 2: Wanna' get a beer?
Guy 1: Why the fuck not?
Guy 2: No hard feelings right?
Guy 1: Fuck no! What am I, a girl?
That's just how it works with guys. I've been shanked by a guy and then drank a beer with him ten minutes later when he let me use his sock to wipe the blood from my wound. Holding a grudge and bitching about it all the time is what happens with women, or men who go to a shrink. Seriously, Metallica should just be thrown in a small, poorly lit room and be forced to duke it out until they knock all the pussy out of each other.
It seems that Metallica have gotten old and wimpy. It's sad really; they used to kick ass. Some Kind of Monster does a good job of explaining why St. Anger sucked so much. How the hell are you supposed to record a decent metal CD when you're busy crying to your shrink? It is my hope that Metallica will stop bleeding out of their genitals, grow some balls, and kick ass once again. If not, I've got plenty of death and black metal to listen to - no skin off my nads. It's just a shame to see a once badass band turn into a bunch of bitchy old men who'd rather talk about their girly feelings than beat the shit out of each other and then get drunk.
I was recently on a trip to the bay area. It was lovely San Francisco, where gays hold hands freely in the streets, and smoking near a federal building is a crime. What a great city. Well, not really, but I was stuck there for a number of days and I had to deal with it. Needless to say, I stayed in my room most of the time. I didn't get many cable channels in my room but I did get VH1. Yeah, I know, that's not good news, but it was something to watch when they aired Some Kind of Monster.
Don't get me wrong. I've been a Metallica fan for years. I've got all the CDs (including plenty of bootlegs), I've got the Live Shit Binge Purge box, I've got tons of their shirts, a program from a live show, posters, and stickers. I've got it all. I've been a fan for years. When Load and Reload came out, I forced myself to enjoy the CDs for what they were - they were decent CDs, I'll give them that, but they were hardly Metallica.
Honestly, if that was the way Metallica wanted to go, good for them. It wasn't the Metallica I knew and loved, but it was still listenable. Who cared if their hair was short, they cold still kick ass. Then the whole Napster thing happened. Honestly, I don't blame Lars, et al. That's a whole other story though, so forget about that for now. All I'm saying is, I've been a fan of the band - thick and thin - for a long time. Then I heard St. Anger.
The production was bad, and the majority of the music was bad. I bought the CD at Target for $9.99 and I still felt ripped off. Granted, the additional DVD that came with the CD was cool, and sounded a lot better than the CD, but that couldn't make up for an overall crappy record. I've listened to St. Anger plenty of times and it does nothing for me. In fact, it's almost nu-metal. If there is one thing I cannot tolerate, it is nu-metal.
Even through all of this, I still insisted that Metallica kicked ass. St. Anger was a fluke, everyone has off days (or months in this case), and I could overlook it. Metallica would eventually make up for it by kicking ass on their next record. I truly believed this until, in my hotel room in San Francisco (where Metallica's reign began), I watched Some Kind of Monster.
I've never seen such emasculating footage. These guys, who at one point were the pinnacle of badassitude, were now sniveling, whiney, epicene old men who argued like menstruating bitches fighting for attention. It was shameless and pathetic. Metallica was actually sitting in a room with a wimpy psychologist telling them how to feel and they were listening to him. The old Metallica would have shoved a vodka bottle up his nose and punched him in the face, but this, nu-Metallica, was sitting there, teary-eyed talking about their feelings.
The whole movie was one big bitchfest, complete with pointless drama, needless emotional breakdowns, and six months of rehab for James Hetfield. Since when did men, not just men - fucking Metallica, need wimpy shrinks to make them cry in order resolve their problems? Now I can see why Jason Newsted left the band. He was probably like, "Dammit, this is Metallica. We should be kicking ass and busting balls, but all the other guys in the band want to do is cry and exchange tampons." Most of Newsted’s new bands suck, but still, Newsted was smart to leave Metallica.
Men don't solve their personal problems by crying and talking about their feelings. Essentially any problem between guys can be solved with a fight and a drink. Here's an example of what I mean:
Guy 1: Hey asshole! I heard you were talkin' shit about me.
Guy 2: Yeah? What are you gunna' do about it?
Guy 1: I'm going to beat the shit out of you.
Guy 2: Is that so. Well, fuck you, let's see you try!
Fight ensues and both guys take damage. Bloody nose is wiped clean, teeth are spit out, and they help each other off the floor.
Guy 1: *Sniff* Good fight bro.
Guy 2: You too man. Sorry about the shit talking.
Guy 1: Yeah, no biggie.
Guy 2: Wanna' get a beer?
Guy 1: Why the fuck not?
Guy 2: No hard feelings right?
Guy 1: Fuck no! What am I, a girl?
That's just how it works with guys. I've been shanked by a guy and then drank a beer with him ten minutes later when he let me use his sock to wipe the blood from my wound. Holding a grudge and bitching about it all the time is what happens with women, or men who go to a shrink. Seriously, Metallica should just be thrown in a small, poorly lit room and be forced to duke it out until they knock all the pussy out of each other.
It seems that Metallica have gotten old and wimpy. It's sad really; they used to kick ass. Some Kind of Monster does a good job of explaining why St. Anger sucked so much. How the hell are you supposed to record a decent metal CD when you're busy crying to your shrink? It is my hope that Metallica will stop bleeding out of their genitals, grow some balls, and kick ass once again. If not, I've got plenty of death and black metal to listen to - no skin off my nads. It's just a shame to see a once badass band turn into a bunch of bitchy old men who'd rather talk about their girly feelings than beat the shit out of each other and then get drunk.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
International Cursing!
I’ve watched a number of Japanese horror movies over the past few months. These movies are usually pretty gruesome, often with sick and twisted endings, and full of graphic violence and language. Since I am prone to immature Beavis and Butthead like fits of laughter brought on by filthy language, I decided to go online and look for some more Japanese insults, swear words, and phrases.
Below are a few of the more interesting phrases I found. Some of them are pretty funny too. Some of the following phrases are so humorous – to me anyway – they’re less insulting and more entertaining. Feel free to look at this list not as more senseless filth on the internet, but as an exercise in ethnic and cultural diversity.
Note: I don’t speak Japanese at all so don’t give me a hard time if any of the words are wrong. I got them off the internet and have no real way of knowing if they are accurate or not.
Mattsu! – Oh crap!
As in, “Oh crap! I just found out all that soft roe I was eating was fish sperm!”
Hara guzuchi o tataku na – Shut the fuck up
Very important to know when you’re in a Japanese karaoke bar and some drunkass businessmen start singing the Spice Girls’ greatest hits or that fucking Chumbawamba song.
Kisama – Lord of the donkeys
I’m not sure if that’s really an insult. I mean, lord of the donkeys is a more impressive title than the one I have at work.
Kisama Tama – Lord of donkey’s balls
I’d be amazed if someone was capable of using this insult in anger, with a straight face. I know I couldn’t.
Issunboshi – One inch boy (refers to penis size)
There are a lot of small penis insults out there, and this is by far the least threatening.
Chinkasu – Dick cheese
An oldie but a goodie.
Benjo Mushi! - Shithouse insect!
Filthy, poo - bug is a pretty good insult as far as I’m concerned.
Anatano ohkaasan wa kuso desu! - Your mother is shit!
This insult sort of bypasses that whole clichéd “your mamma is so fat” stage. Saying this to someone is kind of like asking to be punched in the face.
Curry aji no unko ka unko aji no curry ka docchi ga ii? - Which is better, curry-flavored shit, or shit-flavored curry?
A question for the ages, really. Although, I think most people prefer curry flavored curry.
Anata no ketsu wa kusa da oyobi ore wa shibakariki da! - Your ass is grass, and I'm the lawnmower!
This could well be the world’s coolest threat. It’s only cool, of course, if after you say it to someone, you beat their ass royally. Otherwise, you’re going to look like a tool.
Below are a few of the more interesting phrases I found. Some of them are pretty funny too. Some of the following phrases are so humorous – to me anyway – they’re less insulting and more entertaining. Feel free to look at this list not as more senseless filth on the internet, but as an exercise in ethnic and cultural diversity.
Note: I don’t speak Japanese at all so don’t give me a hard time if any of the words are wrong. I got them off the internet and have no real way of knowing if they are accurate or not.
Mattsu! – Oh crap!
As in, “Oh crap! I just found out all that soft roe I was eating was fish sperm!”
Hara guzuchi o tataku na – Shut the fuck up
Very important to know when you’re in a Japanese karaoke bar and some drunkass businessmen start singing the Spice Girls’ greatest hits or that fucking Chumbawamba song.
Kisama – Lord of the donkeys
I’m not sure if that’s really an insult. I mean, lord of the donkeys is a more impressive title than the one I have at work.
Kisama Tama – Lord of donkey’s balls
I’d be amazed if someone was capable of using this insult in anger, with a straight face. I know I couldn’t.
Issunboshi – One inch boy (refers to penis size)
There are a lot of small penis insults out there, and this is by far the least threatening.
Chinkasu – Dick cheese
An oldie but a goodie.
Benjo Mushi! - Shithouse insect!
Filthy, poo - bug is a pretty good insult as far as I’m concerned.
Anatano ohkaasan wa kuso desu! - Your mother is shit!
This insult sort of bypasses that whole clichéd “your mamma is so fat” stage. Saying this to someone is kind of like asking to be punched in the face.
Curry aji no unko ka unko aji no curry ka docchi ga ii? - Which is better, curry-flavored shit, or shit-flavored curry?
A question for the ages, really. Although, I think most people prefer curry flavored curry.
Anata no ketsu wa kusa da oyobi ore wa shibakariki da! - Your ass is grass, and I'm the lawnmower!
This could well be the world’s coolest threat. It’s only cool, of course, if after you say it to someone, you beat their ass royally. Otherwise, you’re going to look like a tool.
Slipknot One Member Short
It was reported on blabbermouth.net recently, that Jim Root, one of Slipknot’s six guitarists, broke his wrist and would have to sit out the early part of the Subliminal Verses Tour. However, blabbermouth.net didn’t mention how Mr. Root broke his wrist. At first, I was just going to say he was injured while giving free hand-jobs at a drag queen convention, but I decided to meet with him and get the truth instead. What follows is my completely fictitious interview with Slipknot’s Jim Root.
Me: Hello, Mr. Root. Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to talk with me.
Jim Root: No problem, I’d do anything for my fans.
Me: Anything, huh? Would you eat a big bowl of hyena buttholes for your fans?
Jim Root: Shit, I’d do that just because I love buttholes.
Me: No surprise there…anyway, I probably should point out that I’m not a Slipknot fan. In fact, I’m resisting the urge to shove that stupid mask up your ass and laugh right in your face.
Jim Root: You know what? My mom said the exact same thing last week. Just don’t hurt me.
Me: No promises, but I’ll try to be civil.
Jim Root: So what did you want to talk to me about?
Me: How did you break your wrist?
Jim Root: Well, me and the guys were horsing around in the shower after a show, and Corey was trying to put his finger in my ass, and – long story short – I slipped on the soap.
Me: So you broke your wrist in a homoerotic shower accident?
Jim Root: Come on! When you say it like that it sounds pretty gay.
Me: Dude, you fell while playing grabass in the shower with eight other guys.
Jim Root: I suppose it’s too late to say I broke my wrist fighting a bear, huh?
Me: You think?
Jim Root: Damn!
Me: Here’s another question. What’s with Stonesour? Being in one shitty band wasn’t enough for you?
Jim Root: Now you’re just being hurtful. I think you should leave.
Me: You are such a wuss.
That pretty much ended my interview. Before I left Mr. Root’s property, I took a moment to throw a rock through the driver’s side window of one of his cars and take a piss on his front seat. That was a pretty sweet day.
Me: Hello, Mr. Root. Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to talk with me.
Jim Root: No problem, I’d do anything for my fans.
Me: Anything, huh? Would you eat a big bowl of hyena buttholes for your fans?
Jim Root: Shit, I’d do that just because I love buttholes.
Me: No surprise there…anyway, I probably should point out that I’m not a Slipknot fan. In fact, I’m resisting the urge to shove that stupid mask up your ass and laugh right in your face.
Jim Root: You know what? My mom said the exact same thing last week. Just don’t hurt me.
Me: No promises, but I’ll try to be civil.
Jim Root: So what did you want to talk to me about?
Me: How did you break your wrist?
Jim Root: Well, me and the guys were horsing around in the shower after a show, and Corey was trying to put his finger in my ass, and – long story short – I slipped on the soap.
Me: So you broke your wrist in a homoerotic shower accident?
Jim Root: Come on! When you say it like that it sounds pretty gay.
Me: Dude, you fell while playing grabass in the shower with eight other guys.
Jim Root: I suppose it’s too late to say I broke my wrist fighting a bear, huh?
Me: You think?
Jim Root: Damn!
Me: Here’s another question. What’s with Stonesour? Being in one shitty band wasn’t enough for you?
Jim Root: Now you’re just being hurtful. I think you should leave.
Me: You are such a wuss.
That pretty much ended my interview. Before I left Mr. Root’s property, I took a moment to throw a rock through the driver’s side window of one of his cars and take a piss on his front seat. That was a pretty sweet day.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Another Movie I Refuse To See
Below is a link to an article written by Debbie Schlussel about the movie "The War Within." Now, since I have not seen it, I can't write anything about it. But after reading Schlussel's article - she DID see the movie - I know I don't want to see it, and I know I would be furious if I did.
Here's the article.
Here's the article.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Sound Advice
I haven’t had much free time to post lately, and today is no different. But, I stumbled upon a bit of advice I received years ago and it still makes perfect sense.
When someone annoys you it takes 42 muscles in your face to frown. But, it only takes 4 muscles to extend your arm and bitch-slap the motherfucker upside the head.
Of course, for every bit of sound advice I’ve gotten over the years, two or three idiots thought they could be really cool and give me some bad advice. As I’ve noticed, most bad advice is disseminated by way of crappy bumper-sticker. Here is one such bumper sticker someone thought I would appreciate.
Life is short. Don’t be a dick.
Nice try, buttmunch; but life is too short and irritating to go around being nice to everyone. Which is why instead of graciously accepting the dopey bumper-sticker, I followed the good advice I was given previously and bitch-slapped the misinformed motherfucker. He’s lucky I didn’t tie the long hair on his head to the short hair on his nuts and kick his ass down the street.
You’d think he would have learned his lesson, but a few short weeks later, I noticed this gem on his bumper.
Stop pissing me off. I’m running out of places to hide the bodies.
It is my long-held theory that if you have to go around telling people how crazy and dangerous you are, you’re probably not that crazy and even less dangerous. The principle is the same when it comes to nu-metal bands. I can’t even count the number of these shitty bands who sing about how mentally unstable they are. Really? You’re crazy? Is that why you got that shitty tribal tattoo on your face, or are you really just a stupid asshole?
Point is, if you’re really fucked up in the head and dangerous to your fellow human beings, the only advertising you need is the live news coverage after you get arrested for eating three people and dry-humping corpses down at the cemetery. Chances are, no one who’s ever gone batshit crazy and murdered a bunch of people had a stupid bumper-sticker like that on his car. And if he did, it was partially acceptable because of the irony.
In summation, there’s no point fucking around when kicking someone’s ass would do the trick. Then again, there’s no point in going to jail for aggravated assault when you could just as easily call someone a dickless pansy and walk away. Or you can provoke someone until they hit you first; then it’s self-defense. Actually, in the lawsuit-happy society America has become, you’re probably just better off staying home and yelling at people on TV.
When someone annoys you it takes 42 muscles in your face to frown. But, it only takes 4 muscles to extend your arm and bitch-slap the motherfucker upside the head.
Of course, for every bit of sound advice I’ve gotten over the years, two or three idiots thought they could be really cool and give me some bad advice. As I’ve noticed, most bad advice is disseminated by way of crappy bumper-sticker. Here is one such bumper sticker someone thought I would appreciate.
Life is short. Don’t be a dick.
Nice try, buttmunch; but life is too short and irritating to go around being nice to everyone. Which is why instead of graciously accepting the dopey bumper-sticker, I followed the good advice I was given previously and bitch-slapped the misinformed motherfucker. He’s lucky I didn’t tie the long hair on his head to the short hair on his nuts and kick his ass down the street.
You’d think he would have learned his lesson, but a few short weeks later, I noticed this gem on his bumper.
Stop pissing me off. I’m running out of places to hide the bodies.
It is my long-held theory that if you have to go around telling people how crazy and dangerous you are, you’re probably not that crazy and even less dangerous. The principle is the same when it comes to nu-metal bands. I can’t even count the number of these shitty bands who sing about how mentally unstable they are. Really? You’re crazy? Is that why you got that shitty tribal tattoo on your face, or are you really just a stupid asshole?
Point is, if you’re really fucked up in the head and dangerous to your fellow human beings, the only advertising you need is the live news coverage after you get arrested for eating three people and dry-humping corpses down at the cemetery. Chances are, no one who’s ever gone batshit crazy and murdered a bunch of people had a stupid bumper-sticker like that on his car. And if he did, it was partially acceptable because of the irony.
In summation, there’s no point fucking around when kicking someone’s ass would do the trick. Then again, there’s no point in going to jail for aggravated assault when you could just as easily call someone a dickless pansy and walk away. Or you can provoke someone until they hit you first; then it’s self-defense. Actually, in the lawsuit-happy society America has become, you’re probably just better off staying home and yelling at people on TV.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Random Stupid Asses
There are a lot of stupid asses out there. I just want to point out a few that have been pissing me off lately.
Jackasses that rave in the convenience store parking lot near my house: This is probably the dopiest thing I've ever seen. These clever fellows have found a way to have fun even though they're so lame they couldn't get invited to a rave. They decided to pack the rave up (them, their mom's shitty, old, faded, red Honda, and a tape with gay trance music) and take it with them to a stupid parking lot. Congratulations, you're hanging out in a parking lot on a Friday night. These three geniuses actually play their trance tape with the windows rolled down and dance around next to their car; twirling glow sticks around like a bunch of fairies for several hours at a time. They must have some idea of just how fucking ridiculous they look; but then again, they might just be idiots.
Stupid group of guys that rap to a beat CD in the convenience store parking lot near my house: These shit-eaters should meet up with the raver kids and have a parking lot party. Hell, they’re already hanging out in the same damn parking lot. These guys hang around their "pimped-out rides" (old trucks and SUV's with shiny rims) and take turns "free-styling" to a CD full of random drumbeats. It's terrible. "Professional" rappers suck as is, but there's something about a bunch of white guys struggling to rhyme "fo-shizzy" while flashing gang signs at each other in a parking lot that is especially awful.
Kids that hang out in front of the liquor/grocery store and try to get me to buy them shit they’re not old enough to have: Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for underage drinking and smoking, but I’m not going to put my ass on the line so some dipshit fourteen year old dressed like one of the morons from Good Charlotte can impress his girlfriend with wine coolers and Black & Milds. Lots of people have been busted in this area for buying for minors. It may have something to do with how they go about asking adults to get them liquor/smokes.
These stupid kids hang around in front of the store and watch you when you walk into the store. I go the back of the store to get my usual bottle of Evan Williams, and when I pay at the register I see two or three of these little idiots, looking in the window and pointing at me. That’s about as subtle as punching a cop in the mouth.
Now they know I’m old enough to buy them stuff, so as soon as I emerge from the store, barely before the automatic doors have had a chance to open, these overgrown fetuses swarm around me like I’m a pile of raw hams and they’re Rosie O’Donnell.
Kid 1: “Yo, Homie. Can you go in and buy us some booze and smokes?”
Me: “I thought being straightedge was in these days.”
Kid 1: “What?”
Me: “Never mind.”
Kid 2: “Dude, come on!”
Me: “Fuck off kid.”
Kid 3: (summons up some courage) “You’re a dick man.”
Me: “Yeah, and you’re a little shit. Get lost.”
Then they usually leave me alone, or they’ll follow me to my car threatening me until I threaten them back. What the fuck is it with kids these days? Back in my day, we minors were smarter than that. We’d either drink with some hobos, or crash some college party when all the college kids were too fucked up to know – or give a shit for that matter – who we were. We used to walk out of these parties with backpacks full of liquor. But kids these days, they’re a bunch of tactless nimrods.
Anti-smoking Nazis: Some of the anti-smoking people are loony-toons. I’ve actually seen someone driving pull over just to bitch at someone minding his own business smoking at the bus stop. Insanity. And if they’re not spending a fortune getting anti-smoking laws passed and pissing everyone off, they’re shooting dirty looks at smokers followed by snide comments about the evils of smoking. I myself have encountered a number of these people, even though I rarely leave my house. Here are a few of the things I’ve been told, followed by my smartass response.
Guy: “Smoking will kill you, you know?”
Me: “So will stress, so don’t worry about it.”
Guy: “Smoking kills!”
Me: “So does drinking gasoline. Fuck off.”
Lady: “Smoking causes cancer!”
Me: “For most people maybe, but my physiology is different from that of normal humans. What causes cancer in normal humans actually prevents me from getting cancer.
Lady: “I used to smoke you know, it is really bad for you. It will kill you. It would've killed me but I beat big tobacco and quit.”
Me: “Really? It'll kill me? (Take a smooth and satisfying drag on cigarette and exhale smoke happily) Boy that's smooth. I bet you miss that. How long has it been since you last smoked a cigarette? Gosh, one of these in the evening makes the stress from a busy day at work just disappear. Hey bitch, stop drooling and get off my lawn
That ought to shut them up, or at least piss them off. Maybe next time they'll think twice about fucking with a smoker minding his own business. Next time you're somewhere with no laws against smoking in public, and someone near you fake coughs to let you know they are an anti-smoker, light up five or six smokes at once, and blow all that smoke right in their face. It's not as satisfying as punching them right between the eyes, but it still works.
These are just a few of the random stupid asses pissing me off at the moment. There are plenty more, and I’m sure I’ll mention them at some point in the near future.
Jackasses that rave in the convenience store parking lot near my house: This is probably the dopiest thing I've ever seen. These clever fellows have found a way to have fun even though they're so lame they couldn't get invited to a rave. They decided to pack the rave up (them, their mom's shitty, old, faded, red Honda, and a tape with gay trance music) and take it with them to a stupid parking lot. Congratulations, you're hanging out in a parking lot on a Friday night. These three geniuses actually play their trance tape with the windows rolled down and dance around next to their car; twirling glow sticks around like a bunch of fairies for several hours at a time. They must have some idea of just how fucking ridiculous they look; but then again, they might just be idiots.
Stupid group of guys that rap to a beat CD in the convenience store parking lot near my house: These shit-eaters should meet up with the raver kids and have a parking lot party. Hell, they’re already hanging out in the same damn parking lot. These guys hang around their "pimped-out rides" (old trucks and SUV's with shiny rims) and take turns "free-styling" to a CD full of random drumbeats. It's terrible. "Professional" rappers suck as is, but there's something about a bunch of white guys struggling to rhyme "fo-shizzy" while flashing gang signs at each other in a parking lot that is especially awful.
Kids that hang out in front of the liquor/grocery store and try to get me to buy them shit they’re not old enough to have: Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for underage drinking and smoking, but I’m not going to put my ass on the line so some dipshit fourteen year old dressed like one of the morons from Good Charlotte can impress his girlfriend with wine coolers and Black & Milds. Lots of people have been busted in this area for buying for minors. It may have something to do with how they go about asking adults to get them liquor/smokes.
These stupid kids hang around in front of the store and watch you when you walk into the store. I go the back of the store to get my usual bottle of Evan Williams, and when I pay at the register I see two or three of these little idiots, looking in the window and pointing at me. That’s about as subtle as punching a cop in the mouth.
Now they know I’m old enough to buy them stuff, so as soon as I emerge from the store, barely before the automatic doors have had a chance to open, these overgrown fetuses swarm around me like I’m a pile of raw hams and they’re Rosie O’Donnell.
Kid 1: “Yo, Homie. Can you go in and buy us some booze and smokes?”
Me: “I thought being straightedge was in these days.”
Kid 1: “What?”
Me: “Never mind.”
Kid 2: “Dude, come on!”
Me: “Fuck off kid.”
Kid 3: (summons up some courage) “You’re a dick man.”
Me: “Yeah, and you’re a little shit. Get lost.”
Then they usually leave me alone, or they’ll follow me to my car threatening me until I threaten them back. What the fuck is it with kids these days? Back in my day, we minors were smarter than that. We’d either drink with some hobos, or crash some college party when all the college kids were too fucked up to know – or give a shit for that matter – who we were. We used to walk out of these parties with backpacks full of liquor. But kids these days, they’re a bunch of tactless nimrods.
Anti-smoking Nazis: Some of the anti-smoking people are loony-toons. I’ve actually seen someone driving pull over just to bitch at someone minding his own business smoking at the bus stop. Insanity. And if they’re not spending a fortune getting anti-smoking laws passed and pissing everyone off, they’re shooting dirty looks at smokers followed by snide comments about the evils of smoking. I myself have encountered a number of these people, even though I rarely leave my house. Here are a few of the things I’ve been told, followed by my smartass response.
Guy: “Smoking will kill you, you know?”
Me: “So will stress, so don’t worry about it.”
Guy: “Smoking kills!”
Me: “So does drinking gasoline. Fuck off.”
Lady: “Smoking causes cancer!”
Me: “For most people maybe, but my physiology is different from that of normal humans. What causes cancer in normal humans actually prevents me from getting cancer.
Lady: “I used to smoke you know, it is really bad for you. It will kill you. It would've killed me but I beat big tobacco and quit.”
Me: “Really? It'll kill me? (Take a smooth and satisfying drag on cigarette and exhale smoke happily) Boy that's smooth. I bet you miss that. How long has it been since you last smoked a cigarette? Gosh, one of these in the evening makes the stress from a busy day at work just disappear. Hey bitch, stop drooling and get off my lawn
That ought to shut them up, or at least piss them off. Maybe next time they'll think twice about fucking with a smoker minding his own business. Next time you're somewhere with no laws against smoking in public, and someone near you fake coughs to let you know they are an anti-smoker, light up five or six smokes at once, and blow all that smoke right in their face. It's not as satisfying as punching them right between the eyes, but it still works.
These are just a few of the random stupid asses pissing me off at the moment. There are plenty more, and I’m sure I’ll mention them at some point in the near future.
Monday, October 03, 2005
A Losing Battle
I just returned from a short vacation. By short, I mean a day and a half. While 36 hours is usually plenty of time for me to get thoroughly blitzed, this time, as that bitch Fate would have it, I got sick. Usually when I get sick I use it as an excuse to drink heavily. After all, alcohol kills germs, so turning myself into a human oak barrel should kill the sickness-causing germs. I know this argument goes completely against science, but I maintain it anyway purely for exculpation.
As a further kick in the cherries from Fate, Murphy’s Law, or just another random evil deed done by the universe, the particular illness I was afflicted with wouldn’t allow me to keep a damn bit of anything down. In a few moments a perfectly fine shot of whiskey became nothing more than worthless puke. I hate throwing up when I didn’t drink enough to deserve it in the first place.
Being a stubborn guy with a brutish temper, I refused to give up my 36 hours of drunkenness. I assumed if I chugged large amounts of alcohol in short amounts of time, and tried to resist the tremendous urge to vomit caused by illness, I might be able to keep some alcohol in me long enough to eventually get wrecked. I was determined as hell, and gave it the old college try.
What followed was the epitome of pointless endeavors. While my spirit was more than willing, my flesh was weak and urpy (+5 cool points if you know what cartoon show I’m referencing by using the term urpy). The longest I was able to keep any amount of alcohol down was most likely under five minutes. It was a furious whirlwind of courageous drinking and projectile vomiting.
I’m not a fool, and soon realized I was fighting a losing battle and wasting perfectly good alcohol at the same time. Damn this mortal coil. All my heroic efforts were for naught and after a brief soliloquy admitting defeat, I spent the rest of my short vacation playing Mortal Kombat: Shaolin Monks, and watching movies. That Korean movie “Old Boy” is seriously fucked up. Seriously. If that’s not a reason to see the movie, I don’t know what is.
As a further kick in the cherries from Fate, Murphy’s Law, or just another random evil deed done by the universe, the particular illness I was afflicted with wouldn’t allow me to keep a damn bit of anything down. In a few moments a perfectly fine shot of whiskey became nothing more than worthless puke. I hate throwing up when I didn’t drink enough to deserve it in the first place.
Being a stubborn guy with a brutish temper, I refused to give up my 36 hours of drunkenness. I assumed if I chugged large amounts of alcohol in short amounts of time, and tried to resist the tremendous urge to vomit caused by illness, I might be able to keep some alcohol in me long enough to eventually get wrecked. I was determined as hell, and gave it the old college try.
What followed was the epitome of pointless endeavors. While my spirit was more than willing, my flesh was weak and urpy (+5 cool points if you know what cartoon show I’m referencing by using the term urpy). The longest I was able to keep any amount of alcohol down was most likely under five minutes. It was a furious whirlwind of courageous drinking and projectile vomiting.
I’m not a fool, and soon realized I was fighting a losing battle and wasting perfectly good alcohol at the same time. Damn this mortal coil. All my heroic efforts were for naught and after a brief soliloquy admitting defeat, I spent the rest of my short vacation playing Mortal Kombat: Shaolin Monks, and watching movies. That Korean movie “Old Boy” is seriously fucked up. Seriously. If that’s not a reason to see the movie, I don’t know what is.
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