Fatal's House

Don't call it a comeback.

noreply@blogger.com (Fatal) — Thu, 02 Nov 2006 21:41:00 +0000

Como estas bitches? I've taken some time off, as I'm sure you've noticed, to align my oneness with the mother goddess Earth. Now that my chakras are in their correct places and my chi is focused let me just say, FUCK THIS WEATHER.

Everyone bitches about the weather, but we in California consider ourselves lucky. We don't get hurricanes, tornadoes, or hail the size of grapefruit, but we get temperature fluctuations that piss me off to no end. It's November damnit! I want cold, I want rain, I want snow covered peaks, and I'm not getting any of it. I swear, if it doesn't snow in the mountains down here this winter, I will kill Mother Nature. I bet no one has ever threatened that before. I will cunt punch Mother Nature so hard, that she will have a stillborn El Nino. Do you hear me you stupid, selfish bitch!? Fuck with my snowboarding one more time, and it is war. I will build an array of orgone powered cloudbusters and aim them at the heavens until one of two things happens. One, the heavens spill forth a bounty of powdery, white angel dandruff (snow), or the sky becomes barren and ceases to provide precipitation for any of greater Southwest.

I repeat, fuck with my snow again and I will rape and torture woodland creatures, befoul streams with monkey excrement (I can get it, don't you worry), and generally raze and degrade all things green and leafy for the rest of my days.

That, or I'll go to Canada and snowboard there, whichever costs less.

Advertise my blog, win old crap!

noreply@blogger.com (Fatal) — Thu, 26 Oct 2006 23:39:00 +0000

Since my gospel is seriously lacking in any type of active community ('cept for evolved and snyde), I'm going to have a promotion where I give away fantastic prizes (read: old crap I am too lazy to throw out) to the person that gets me the most new commenting readers, or feed subscribers.

Stupid jun....awesome prizes include: single socks that I can't find the other foot of (there's a sweet checker one that I used to like a lot), old car magazines (mainly Sport Compact Car), and a Sony mp3 player (brand new, never been used, can't return to Target). Ha! I bet you thought all of the prizes would be crap, well you were wrong asshole! The contest starts now and ends on some day next month.

Start promoting me now and get free trash, and an mp3 player.

Also, check out Snyde's blog for insights and quips far more intelligent than anything my feeble mind could come up with.

P.S. - I love vodka!

Ticketmaster can eat my ass.

noreply@blogger.com (Fatal) — Wed, 25 Oct 2006 20:42:00 +0000

You know what's a great pastime? Going out to a concert with your friends, or by yourself, either way is great. You know what ruins the great pastime of concert-going? Ticketmaster.

Since the beginning of time man has hated fees. In fact, even God hates fees (tithes are not fees because God already owns your money, look it up). In the Bible, or some similar book, a man named Jesus throws money collectors out of the temple. You know why he did it? I'll tell you why, because Jesus hates fees! Maybe "hate" is too strong a word to use in conjunction with the Son of God, but I don't make a rope whip and beat people I strongly dislike, know what I'm saying?

Anywho, Ticketmaster is to fees as Howard Stern is to the sybian. They may not have invented them, but they sure as hell are the number one supporter of 'em. One of the best things about going to a concert is finding a band you like that is having a concert with cheap seats. "Sweet! Haley Joel Osment and I See Dead People are having a show and tickets are only $20," you say. Not so fast my taste challenged friend. Tickets were 20 bucks, before the tax of $1.60 and the whopping $7.50 ticketmaster slapped on! But wait, there's more. You also need to pay a building and facility fee of $1.50. Over half the price of your ticket to that gawdawful mess of a shriek fest is tax and fees. Slap on parking, and your average day shifter at the Spearmint Rhino has to choose between seeing the Pussycat Dolls to learn some new moves, or buy another 8 ball. Decisions decisions.

Shame on you Ticketmaster, shame on you. Making the working girl class, choose between higher education (new tricks for a stripper is higher education, that pole is tall) and the life blood that fuels their high heeled romps to Warrant's "Cherry Pie."

I, being a great American, will suggest a way to take the fees out of the equation for the fans, but still generate a profit for the evil monopoly. Make the fees indirectly proportional to the quality of the music at the show. It works like this: the Rolling Stones are arguably one of the greatest rock bands of all time. They are also reanimated corpses that move in a surprisingly lifelike fashion. That's almost two shows in one, the fee: $.50. Now, say you want to see an Ashlee Simpson concert, and not because your a fat, greasy pedophile looking to pick up some trim. Your ticket price is $50 plus the $35 awful as all hell, caterwalling, lipsynching, nosejob subsidy fee. $85 total, it's no problem since the only people that would see that crap only make $5 a week in allowance and can convince their parents to buy them ponies, cell phones, and concert tickets (filthy little whores, I never got a pony). It's a win win situation.

There you go, if you have good taste in music (as determined by me) almost no fees, and if you don't, then you pay out the ass. For my small part in creating the fee to quality ratio, I will take 1% of all fees generated from crappy artists.

My Mom thinks I swear too much.

noreply@blogger.com (Fatal) — Fri, 20 Oct 2006 20:16:00 +0000

My Mom checked out the blog and this is what she had to say (spelling errors left in to show my superior typing skills):

Why are there so many curse words on your site. Yhat's [sic] a VERY poor reflection on your upbringing. Do you know that people can get into yopur [sic] blog and see it. Is that a true reflection of who you are??? Clean up your act man, and find cleaner words to use. Get rid of the F word!!!!

If you think I use the F word a lot you should hear the king of all F-bombs...my Dad. I learned to swear from the best of them, and that's something I use to effect to accentuate my posts. I don't swear a lot in real life (shut the fuck up evolved)...unless I'm angry. Anyway, my parents taught me many things, mom taught me how to ride a bike, dad taught me not to hit women (way to tie my hands with that one Dad!), they both taught me many things that I thank them both for. The only reason I'm not staying down at home to catch the concert with evolved is because spending time with my Dad is one of my highest priorities in life (maybe if you stopped smoking and I didn't expect you to die at any moment, I could lower the alert level to mustard or chartreuse).

All in all, don't be so sensitive Mom.

P.S. - she told me I should use my blog to talk about Jesus. If you don't know who Jesus is and what he did then you are an R-tard. Go to biblegateway.com and look up John chapter 3, verse 16. Jesus is good stuff, I recommend Him and God to everyone. There's my preaching for the day.

*Note - I capitalize "Mom" and "Dad" because I use them as their distinct title, like Doctor. Although my Dad is technically a doctor, I do not refer to him as such because I would then be a pretentious asshat.

Fuck Oprah

noreply@blogger.com (Fatal) — Tue, 17 Oct 2006 18:53:00 +0000

What the fuck is up with Oprah? Doesn't she have enough damn money yet? Everywhere I turn I see her evil smiling face. You might say to yourself "Fatal why do you think Oprah is evil? I think she's great." You, my friend, are a vagina. Oprah is the many headed beast that spawned the vile and odious creations Dr. Phil and Rachel Ray (she that shall not be named).

Bringing into power either of these abominations is a transgression great enough to warrant banishment to "The Pit," but The Dragon Winfrey did not stop with her first hellspawn, the shine head demon. She continued to promote her minion and spread her propaganda, and then she unleashed a banshee so shrill and annoying the mere sound of its voice flays the skin from a man's body.

The demon RR has monopolized more time on the Food Network than any other chef. More than even the Holy Grill Warrior, Bobby Flay. Her domination of basic cable culinary programming complete, the beast expanded her power base to day time talk. Thank the heavens you work during the day friend, for you escape the horror that awaits those who remain at home. The piercing shrieks that from her porcine countenance raise the hackles of dogs and man alike. The unintelligible gibberish is like the banter of a thousand child-demons.

Join me, and the crusade to destroy the true Axis of Evil, the triumvirate of those unholiest of beings from the glowing box, Oprah, Dr. Phil and Rachel Ray....*shudder*

Your tv viewing soul could be next.

I'm fucking pissed.

noreply@blogger.com (Fatal) — Tue, 17 Oct 2006 06:45:00 +0000

This past weekend was supposed to be great. I was going to hang out with my fiance, go to a festival if the weather was nice, and if it rained I had invites to attend a few birthday parties.

Friday rolls around and my boss tells us all to go home early. Great! I'll get the weekend kicked off early. On the way home I decide to stop by my old work and say hi to the guys I haven't seen in well over a year. I see a few of them, exchange my number, and go into the office to see the boss man. The funniest shit happened. Apparently, my boss, we'll call him "Duh" got stung by a bee while riding his mountain bike. Well the bee was raping his upper lip while he was on some downhill trail, so Duh couldn't defend himself. His upper lip swelled to the size of a duck bill. I wish I had a digital camera, because his platypus face looked priceless. I tooled on their computers a little for them and they told me they were in need of a surveillance system and asked if I would write up a proposal for them. Fan-fucking-tastic! A quick bit o change in my pocket for a days work makes the weekend look even brighter. I get home and immediately get a wicked headache. This headache, it would turn out, would be my omen of things to come. By the time 8 rolled around I was sweating like a Republican Congressman watching a high school boy's wrestling match. I had a fever well over 100.

Fucking awesome, scratch the plans with the lady. The next day, my forehead is Africa hot and I feel like hammered shit so no concert. I manage to get my ass off the couch for one of the birthday parties and have as good a time as possible with a 101 degree temp, a marching band in my skull, and a self imposed 1 beer limit (a real "1", not the 1 cup thing I invented). The next day I feel shitty so I decide to give (sell) my ticket to a friend of a friend. I can't even find my fucking tickets. Now I'm out $70 for a concert I can't even go to if I feel better.

I end up consoling myself by saying that I'll catch the band I want to see most (30 Seconds to Mars) when they come to LA. I look up their tour schedule and lo and behold, they have 3 dates in CA. Sweet....but wait, their first stop in San Fran is 2 days before I go up there, that's out. Their San Diego and LA stops are when I'm in San Fran, wtf?!? Apparently all those jokes I made about retards/gays/republicans/blacks/whites/yellows/etc have come back to bite me in the ass.

To all you optimists who say "every cloud has a silver lining." Go fuck yourselves. That silver lining is toxic fucking mercury.

It's not just for black people anymore.

noreply@blogger.com (Fatal) — Thu, 12 Oct 2006 23:06:00 +0000

As I discussed in my previous post, I saw The Departed yesterday. Once again, it rocks, go see it. When I was in the theater the people in the row directly behind us were talking. The whole time. In Chinese.

WTF! Even Asian people want to be black now? How dare they attempt to appropriate my people's cultural idiosyncrasies and adopt them as their own. Who the fuck do they think they are....white people? The only reason I didn't turn around and challenge Jackie Chan and his wife to a martial arts battle (they all know karate) was because I figured the man was translating for his English impaired wife. Of course the woman didn't speak English well enough to understand the damn movie, but I'm sure she passed (read: bought) her driver's license test.

Listen, I don't fucking go to Mexico and have my translator (read: fiance) give me the fucking play by play of Y Tu Mama Tambien 2: The Revenge, do I? No. So don't come to movies here and do it. If you can't speak the language, then go down to East LA/Compton/Chinatown and buy a bootleg with Chinese subtitles off of a Mexican/Black/Chinese guy on the sidewalk.

Next time, I will not be a model for tolerance. I will go Kim Jong Il on your South Korean ass.

My friends are pussies.

noreply@blogger.com (Fatal) — Thu, 12 Oct 2006 18:30:00 +0000

Last night I saw The Departed, and I've got to say that the movie is tits (excellent). My night went great, I didn't have to pay for dinner because my buddy Chris (name changed for privacy) was a sucker and thought the fucking Dodgers would get to the World Series (of baseball, not poker...idiots). Anyway, he was wrong and more importantly, I was right (it happens so often you'd think I'd get tired of it). So I only had to pay for the movie. I could have had no margaritas at dinner and had Chris pay for the movie as well, but then it would have been "gay date night" and there would have been an argument as to who gets to be the top, yada yada, I paid for the movie (I'm no man's bitch).

Anyway, the movie was great (it had more headshots than a bukkake video), but I made the mistake of looking at the listing for the wrong theater in Fandango. We ended up getting to the theater an hour before the movie was supposed to start. We caught the last 10 minutes of Jackass Number 2, then went to the shit pile that is Employee of the Month. I am not exaggerating in the slightest when I say that I did not once naturally laugh in the movie. I laughed hysterically when I thought I was losing my mind and once out of pity for Dane Cook. I hope that poor sonofabitch banged the stupid out of Jessica Simpson because that movie was awful. I will masturbate with a hook before I watch the rest of that shit.

Anyway, you may be wondering about the title of this post in relation to its content. No correlation huh? Well evolved was supposed to hang out with us at some point, but he had a previous engagement. What was this activity that was soooo important? Watching fucking mustached Tyra Banks on America's Next Top Model! That is fucking weak. Apparently, even though he drives a pimp ass car and has a 40 something inch LCD TV, he doesn't have TiVo. "Dude, I'm not rich," was his lame excuse. I even offered to record his gay show on my VCR and give it to him after the movie. No dice. I understand that ANTM is "your show," but seriously, man to man, tell me you only watch it for possibility of a wardrobe malfunction...please tell me.

So yeah, evolved is a pussy. I'm not bitter though...no no...not bitter at all........chicken fucker.

Get a fucking babysitter!

noreply@blogger.com (Fatal) — Mon, 09 Oct 2006 23:57:00 +0000

By request, reader Cameron asked me to discuss (read: rant) about people that bring young children into adult movies. When I say "adult movies," I do not mean porn (Mark Foley), I am referring to movies that their child/children shouldn't be in.

If you have a 1 year old and you take his incontinent ass to Donald Duck's Merry Adventure or whatever Disney shit is in theaters, that's fine, I don't watch that crap anyway. Have a fucking ball. However, when you take a kid (under the age of 13) to an R-rated movie, were going to have a problem. Your loud-ass, snack eating, ADHD having, nonstop talking, booger eater of a kid is ruining the experience for everyone else in the ENTIRE THEATER! People, please, by all means get a fucking babysitter! I don't care if you have to drop your kid off a Michael Jackson's pad in Bahrain or let uncle Mark Foley watch your boy for a couple hours, do whatever the fuck it takes to keep your brats out of my earshot (and line of sight).

If, by chance, you do bring your child to the movie and they begin to make noise...immediately remove them from the theater. Do not try and shush them! Do not ignore them and sit through their talking/tantrum/crying/shitting/vomiting/whatever the fuck they are doing. I do not have kids, therefore, I can not tune them out. Stuff a fucking ball gag in that kid's mouth, grab them by the nape of their neck, and spank them all the way out the door. If you do nothing, I will tell you to "shut that mongrel bastard up!" If you still do nothing, I may throw something at you. If you still remain ambivalent, I will get an usher, demand that he/she/it remove you from the theater. If the 15 year old usher encounters a problem and calls his 16 year year old manager, who still does nothing. I will assault and batter you and scar your testes/uterus to prevent you from polluting the earth with your demon progeny.

I will smite you from the face of the earth, chop your body up into chunks, and use it for chum when I go shark fishing (I will learn how to fish for sharks for this expressed purpose). I will salt the ground surrounding your graves so that no form of life may become infected with your foul taint. I will erase all record of your existence from the public record. You will suffer.

Power is the root of all evil.

noreply@blogger.com (Fatal) — Mon, 09 Oct 2006 16:41:00 +0000

By now you should have heard about North Korea's nuclear test. Those feisty little yellows and their crazy fireworks! Anyway, this, and an interesting Family Circus comic I read got me thinking about power.

Power is the root of all evil. Don't believe me? Look at the president of the United States. Absolute power, and he is absolutely evil. Dude, his vice president is a fucking cyborg for crying out loud. Cyborgs are evil, in case you didn't know. Except for Robocop. Also, Kim Jong Il, evil little motherfucker. He's got the nuke, a bad perm, and a Napoleon complex. Watch out South Korea, your happy go lucky days of playing Starcraft and eating dogs are numbered.

Here's the comic that got me thinking about all of this. It's way better than any Family Circus pile of shit you may have seen in the paper. Click Here.

You love me, whether you know it or not.

noreply@blogger.com (Fatal) — Fri, 06 Oct 2006 00:56:00 +0000

I just want to let all of you reading (2 people tops, hey guys) that you love me. You may not know me, you may have misclicked in a list of crappy blogs and were redirected here (ha! my advertising strategy worked!), or you may have heard of my site from 1 of my 2 readers. If it was the latter, bigups (Jamaican patois for "*props")to whoever directed you here!

One day I hope to be hugely popular in Japan and unknown everywhere else, except to Japanophiles (hentai anyone?). But, until then, I'll have to settle for the love of my Internet fanbase.

If you happen to stumble upon my blog, and don't ALT+F4 faster than when your boss walks into the office during a NFSW moment, please post a comment to let me know you're reading this.

Oh yeah, I love you too by the way. Unless you're a minority or white, in that case, go fuck yourself.

*Attention white people - "props" as they are known, is an urban slang term for kudos, or three cheers, or whatever it is you people say. Cameron help me out on this one...cracker.

Damn I love my self.

noreply@blogger.com (Fatal) — Thu, 05 Oct 2006 05:14:00 +0000

Is it wrong to love yourself? The Bible says no. In fact, it's wrong to not love yourself.

I'm not talking about physical love, but a more spiritual love. Although physical self-love is awesome too (you know what I'm talking about......you know....). Anyway, I'm speaking of the love I feel for everything about myself. The way I smell (manly), the way I sound (clownish?), the way I feel (hairy), and the way I look. Everyone should feel this way, about me or themselves, whichever.

The point of all this ego flagellation is: THE NEW FANTASTIC SPARKLE POWER LUCKY MISO FATAL'S HOUSE PODCAST!!!!! Oh my fucking goodness! Are you psyched? You will get to hear my voice spout my insane, self love propaganda on your iPod, iRiver, iThingy, or crappy generic mp3 player.

All I need to complete my plan for the beginning of the end is an iPod, a microphone, and some cables and crap. So, if you have some disposable income and bad judgement, buy me the items I mentioned (and batteries if needed) and mail them to me. No I will not give you my address, but if you buy a P.O. box in my town and hide the key in some bushes by the gas station, I will be able to receive your package (I said "receive your package," I crack myself up).

Oh yeah, more dictionary terms to come...

Fatal's Urban Dictionary

noreply@blogger.com (Fatal) — Wed, 04 Oct 2006 22:26:00 +0000

I'm sure at some point I will become hugely famous. Either for inventing some brilliant device or for committing some horrendous crime against nature (think "bacon cats"). Anyway, once I become famous, the average human will have no comprehension of my strange dialect of English. So, below I've listed some common words and phrases I use along with their definitions. Enjoy!

Asshat: (ăs-hăt)
n. 1. A human being one considers of lower intelligence than him or herself.
2. A jerk, or tool.

Douche Bag/Bottle/Nozzle: (dūsh) (băg)/(bŏt'l)/(nŏz'əl)
n. 1. An instrument for applying a douche.
2. A jerk, tool, or asshat.

Imbetard: (ĭm'bə-tärd')
n. 1. A person that displays a complete lack of intelligence.
2. The result of breeding between an imbecile and a retard.

Functional Retard: (fŭngk'shə-nəl rĭ-tärd')
n. 1. A person that is so dumb, that you question whether they may have ingested lead based paint chips as a child.
2. An individual so stupid, it appears that they may actually be retarded. They are often jovial and glossy eyed.
3. Forrest Gump.
*note - Be careful not to mistake an actual retard for a functional one. Hilarity will ensue, but retard strength is legendary.

Retard: (rĭ-tärd')
n. 1. An actually mentally handicapped person.
*note - Making fun of retards is generally not cool, and can give you bad karma. Making fun of retards is only acceptable if they do something hilarious and their handler is out of earshot.

The boredom is hurting me.

noreply@blogger.com (Fatal) — Wed, 04 Oct 2006 21:04:00 +0000

Here is something interesting I just noticed. You never realize exactly how bored you are until you can compare what you are doing to what you usually do when you are bored.

Case in point, I'm currently sitting in day 3 of my awesome SQL Server Reporting Services training and I happen to be bored beyond belief. "How bored are you," you ask. I am so damn bored that I am currently enjoying reading the text play by play of a baseball game. I HATE baseball even when it's on tv, imagine how bored I must be to actually find pleasure in this text play by play.

Granted, it is the playoffs, and I do have "money" riding on the outcome of this series (sports betting is illegal in California, but "money" doesn't necessarily mean US currency), but it's fucking baseball for Pete's sake (not Pete Rose's sake).

Whatever, you get the picture. If you don't, then you're probably coloring your monitor with oversized Crayolas right now. Yay!

This training sucks.

noreply@blogger.com (Fatal) — Tue, 03 Oct 2006 23:08:00 +0000

I'm stuck in training at work from 2pm to 8pm every night for the next 2 weeks and I've come to realize that I can, in fact, read. Now you may say to yourself : "Why of course you can read Fatal, you must be able to because you can write this fabulous blog!" If you did say this to yourself I would ask you how your life-partner is doing, because the only people that use the word "fabulous" are gay.

Oh yeah, back to the topic at hand. I say that I can read because apparently our training is comprised solely of listening to the "trainer" and following the idiot proof exercises in the manual. I could do this crap myself from the comfort of a barca lounger in my own home. Two problems with this thought: one, I don't have a barca lounger; two, I wouldn't do this shit if there was a Colt .45 aimed at my head. The beer, not the gun. If there was a gun aimed at me I would probably pee myself and whimper, that's just how I roll.

Blogs aren't for idiots.

noreply@blogger.com (Fatal) — Tue, 03 Oct 2006 04:29:00 +0000

I apologize for my last post. I don't know what I was thinking. Blogs are not for idiots...they are for self absorbed assholes.

People with blogs fall into two categories. First, people with genuine expertise on a subject or a fresh insight into something that they wish to share with others. Second, narcissistic douche bags/bottles/nozzles that love to hear the sound of their own typing. I, of course, fall into the latter category. I have now found that the satisfaction I get from seeing my printed thoughts online is rivaled only by the satisfaction I receive when I wear my lady out in bed. Blogging is way easier. I would say it's also faster, but I don't have the nickname "The Flash" for nothing.

Plus I am trying to improve my writing so that when I have kids people don't mistake them for hailing from the Ozarks/Adirondacks/West Virginia due to their use of words such as: "yep," "y'all," and "scooterpie."

Blogs are for idiots.

noreply@blogger.com (Fatal) — Tue, 03 Oct 2006 00:56:00 +0000

Blogs are lame. They're just a place for opinionated asshats to spout off their liberal/conservative/vegetarian propaganda. Everyone who has a blog is an imbetard. Notice I am not qualifying that previous statement. I too, am an imbetard. If you are reading this without knowing anything about me, you too are an imbetard. Welcome to the club.

Stay tuned for further rants...