PADDLEBOATER

Weekend Roundup: Superbowl Taxes

2011-02-04T16:47:00.000-05:00

I can see forever

I saw the girl dancing in front of Liberty Tax Services yesterday. I mean she was breaking it down. Apeshit would be the best way to describe her. It’s 23 degrees outside and there she is, cutting a rug while I sit at a red light. I think it’s a step up from the Domino's Pizza sign guy and the “who gives a shit is going out of business” sign guy who has to hold it all day while smoking a cigarillo.

I thought to myself, why more people don’t use this tactic. I would be more inclined to go by KFC if there was a girl dancing out in front of it, dressed up like a sexy Colonel Sanders. The Liberty Tax girl can get away with the green moo-moo and hat because it vaguely resembles a toga party. When I think toga party, I think naked and sheets. Logically, I then think about doing my taxes.

It’s pure science. Does this guerrilla dance advertising work on women or is this just an exclusive male attractant? I would think, with the popularity of Glee and So You Think You Can Dance, girls would be eating this shit up. I guess there’d have to be some gay dancer guys and some old person for the +40 women to empathize with.

DO IT ROCKAPELLA

So it’s Superbowl weekend. What are you doing for it? Well all four of my readers are probably not sports fans, but that never seems to apply during the Superbowl. The “I watch it for the commercials” jerkoffs and the assholes who normally watch threepeat NCIS episodes before bed every night come out of the woodwork. It’s like showing up at the end of Schindler’s List in the theatre just to watch Liam Neeson cry and bask in the love of his Jewish miscreant team without watching the horrors that brought us to this culmination. Just equate an incredible one handed interception brought back for a game winning touchdown in the 9th week of the season to watching the part of the movie where the dude wakes up in the morning, drinks some cognac, and shoots a couple of the Concentration Camp workers from long range. You didn’t see either of those events, but you’re going to watch the ending anyway because you want to see what godaddy.com is going to do next. Hint: there will be tits.

I know some people celebrate this game like a religious holiday. They’re at the grocery store right now getting ribs, chicken, guac, diet coke, and four gallons of Jack. I want to know where they’re going and how to get invited. So, with a 6:30pm kickoff time on the east coast, and coverage starting at 11am, it will be a perfect time to get twisted, pass out, and wake up before kickoff.

That is unless you’re hosting the event with a group of people. You have to pace yourself right behind your cohorts. If he drinks four double Jack and Cokes, you drink three. You see what I mean? You’re right behind, totally in the fray, but you’re not giving up the big play (VOMIT).

Weekend Follies:

You just pissed me off.
More than this woman using a neti pot.

The world is coming to an end.

Shoot me in the fucking face.

Personal Injury Lawyer Commercials: Throw that shit away already

2011-02-03T15:24:00.003-05:00

WTF Washington?

So I didn’t update yesterday in my junk food world tour segment because what I made was just a terrible, inedible mess. I made a macaroni and cheese Cheeto pie. It was garbage. Don’t do it. It’ll make your teeth fall out and Jesus himself will appear in your kitchen just as you put it in the oven just to Ric Flair Chop you.

That being said, I thought I might delve into some television today. What would be better than to talk about my latest obsession, A&E mental disorder shows? Nothing. That’s what.

A&E has sopped up the niche sideshow market of cable television as of late. The premise of their lineup is, “do you have a disease that Maury Povich could do an entire show about?” If the answer is “Yes” then we got a new series. Right now they have Intervention, Obsessed, Hoarders, and Heavy for your sideshow viewing pleasure.

I, for one, can’t get enough of all of these shows. I, for two, can really understand why people would have a problem with the content. They’re exploited people. They’re people with some sort of disorder that normal people (what the fuck are those?) can’t look away from. All they can do is cuddle up on the couch and watch the hour long car accident.

The show’s premise is to find an addict, not just any addict, though. They have to make sure that they’re either a ridiculous addict (walking on sunshine girl: Allison the Huffer), or an addict that is photogenic (Jessica the heroin addict). Then they follow around said addict under the guise of being a ‘documentary about addiction’ rather than “OMGOMGOMG yous doin heroins! Wat a waste!”

There is a fine line between tasteful documentary and exploitation. This show makes no bones about what it wants to show the viewer. We want to see drunken people fall down, heroin addicts nod off, drug addicts begging for money, and we want their enablers to be persecuted for helping these people get to that sad state they’re in. That’s why the show is an hour long and 45 minutes of it is just watching the addict wander around town scoring dope. Truly, that’s all I want to see anyway. Then I won't have to see anymore of this guy crying.

This is just another show that hooks your interest in the way that reality TV can do the same. Reality TV relies on the viewer forming an opinion on the various characters that have been selected to interact with one another and periodically get voted off. This works the same way, but I only get to form an opinion on the enabler and the sideshow freak that drinks a gallon of Sky Vodka a day. The intervention comes towards the end of the show and most of the time the addict takes the offer of going off to a rehab resort for six months.

Then they do the follow up at the end showing the subject either returning to their roots as an addict or being a born again Christian. This is all just Schadenfreude. We want to see them turn into even worse junkies after their rehab so we can see them fall down some more in another episode.

The program revolves around people with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) and their inane idiosyncrasies.

HOLYSHIT HE’S COUNTING AGAIN.

This show’s not as fun to watch as an addict on Intervention because there are elements that really tug on the “man I’m watching a guy wear rubber gloves in the supermarket” heart strings that might resemble sympathy. What drives this kind of television is the idea that whatever mental disorder you’re eating oodles of noodles while watching is a correctable disorder. This show is the hardest because these disorders are truly of a frightening and debilitating nature. These people can hardly even participate in what we like to call life.

Better wipe that fuckin El Camino off, quick!

But then there’s fat people. Everyone hates fat people.

From their website: “A&E’s docudrama Heavy follows twenty-two individuals facing extreme life-threatening health consequences as a result of their obesity. The one-hour series follows two participants per episode documenting their incredible transformations during a six month treatment program.”

In other words, let’s watch fat people work out and cry. Everyone likes to see a morbidly obese man break down in tears about the cheesecake that he ate for breakfast. It’s like the biggest loser, but they’re all losers.

My mother’s always quick to point out that the people on Biggest Loser and Heavy only serve as unreal motivation to other morbidly obese people. They all don’t have to work during this ‘transformation,’ and they all get to go to the gym as often as they like, aka eight hours a day. Everyone on the planet that doesn’t have to work and is morbidly obese with a cash goal in front of them will lose a ton of weight. It’s unrealistic for someone to watch these shows and declare that they too will be the biggest losers. Then CPS comes to take their kids away when they fail to feed them for weeks while they’re spending eight hours in the gym everyday instead of working.

There also seems to be a recurring theme in all of these docudramas: Support Systems.

Having a support system to quit smoking is good. People tell you, “Hey, don’t smoke that cigarette.” And the quitter is like, “aight then.” Support system? Check.

The reality of these shows is the support system needs to be more than that. It needs to be more like, “Hey man, stop eating so much forever. Work out a bunch. I’ll pay your bills and mortgage while you do it.” Fuckin’ – A.

My favorite of these docudrama side shows is Hoarders. Where else can you be nosy and voyeuristic from the comfort of your couch without it being sex related? Unless there’s an episode of Hoarders where someone is caught having sex with a pile of dirty adult diapers. SIGN ME UP.

The plot of this show is basically the same as Obsessed and Intervention. There are subjects, two per episode, that have a horrible mental disease that inhibits their ability to throw things away. This can be escalated by an excessive shopping disorder which is very common to these people. Hoarding is an OCD symptom that involves the gathering (hoarding) of useless objects that have sentimental or incoherent value. In layman’s terms, these people keep trash and useless junk because they think it’s valuable.

Where're my Bakugans at?

Yep. There are many people in this country that hoard their own dirty adult diapers and think it has a value other than JESUS FUCKING CHRIST THERE’S POOP SACKS EVERYWHERE. GET RID OF IT.

I know my VHS of Starship Troopers is in here somewhere

The hoarders will try to mask their hoarding, naturally. Some will hoard objects that have a resemblance to value; i.e. beanie baby collections, hiding actual valuable items in the midst of trash, hobby supplies, beat up cars, and pets! Yes, I said pets. I think that’s the most unfortunate problem with hoarders. Let them acquire all the garbage they want, but letting them adopt 40 cats and let them take run of the house is just inexcusable.

Apparently Animal Planet got wind of it and deduced that it was very Inexcusable AND a ratings grabber. All episodes of Hoarders that revolve around someone hoarding 72 dogs had ratings off the charts as apposed to their counterparts; aka Bobby-Joe likes to keep every magazine and newspaper he’s ever received and Susan just can’t clean her house. Animal Planet then made their own show(s): Confessions: Animal Hoarding and Dangerously Devoted (now defunct). Confessions: Animal Hoarding is just an animal heavy episode of Hoarders and Dangerously Devoted is about another hotbutton topic that people will be up in arms about…then they’ll sit on the couch to watch it every week. Who doesn’t have an opinion for or against having dangerous pets? It’s almost the same kind of argument of having a gun in the house with small children. I have a snake who could eat my infant and I also have a loaded pistol that I lost in the house a year or so ago. DRAMA.

Back to Hoarders.

In Hoarders, the hoarder is usually in some sort of dire need of assistance in cleaning up their place with the end result being either keeping their house, getting their kids back, or being able to live in their house again. This end of the rope atmosphere is ripe with drama and mental disorders serve as the frosting on top of the shitcake. There are arguments between the hoarders and the “professional organizers” often resulting in a “cool down” session. WTF does all this mean? What the hell is a professional organizer? Is that like being a life coach, having a degree in homeopathic medicine, or another made up profession? I’m going to assume it’s akin to being a country music artist. You gotta keep telling people what you are until they believe you. Then one day you’re Kenny Chesney. Freaking island country is the worst kind of country. Give me Hick-Hop back already.

The backbone of the Hoarding process is a downward spiral in ratio of the house/property degradation to the escalating embarrassment associated with it. The idea is simple. If you keep enough junk around, eventually, the junk will start getting in the way of your house working. If the electricity goes out in certain rooms, the hell if you’re going to let some electrician come see the inside of your house. So in fear of this embarrassment, you just learn to exist with the broken whatever. It gets worse and worse. Electricity in the whole house goes or something happens with the water, and you’re still finding a way to cope with the living conditions.

People end up living in a small area of one part of the house with a space heater, a hotplate and a room upstairs will be dedicated to keeping all of their shitbags and used adult diapers. Forget hygiene all together. You disapprove? Well, too bad! We're in this war for the species, boys and girls. It's simple numbers. They have more. And every day I have to make decisions that send hundreds of people like you to their deaths.

It's afraid...that you may throw away its Grandma's receipt from Walgreens.

Amazingly, none of these people come to their senses. You expect after the clean up that the world will be opened up full of new and exciting futures, but no. They all had their hands forced and will return to their old habits. It took them 25 years to accumulate that much junk in the first place. It’ll take another 25 to get back to there.

I forgot to mention that TLC has jumped on the bandwagon as well with Hoarding: Buried Alive, Infested, My Strange Addiction, and Toddlers & Tiaras. Let's compare and contrast these two networks next week, fuckers.

I feel dirty after writing.

Cubicle Nightmares: Bumpin Uglies

2011-02-01T20:41:00.000-05:00

This month’s been absolutely hellish in respects to my job and bubbling social life. Yeah the latter part is a blatant lie, but you love the holy shit out of it!

Self deprecating speech makes everyone feel better. You feel good being induced into complimentary responses and the people making the speech feel good for receiving a smidgen of confidence from an unwitting proponent of the human condition.

That’s my two cents.

Now here’s a buck twenty five.

FUCK YOU!

So the world’s oldest person died today at age 115. Eunice Sanborn credits her long life to Jesus. This is another instance of people not disclosing their secrets. Every other story I hear about the oldest person in the world revolves around some weird thing they did everyday or throughout their lives. There was the woman who ate McDonalds French fries for lunch everyday. There are the goobers that emphasize a good vegetarian diet and smoking Winstons is the right path to longevity.

Then there’s Betty White who eats nothing but junk food everyday and apparently will never die. I love that the chocolate intake of these supercentenarians is very common in the descriptions of their lives. It’s usually measured in kilos per week. I empathize with their predicament. I mean, god wont let them die, and chocolate is so abundant. Why not munch out your last days on the planet and be happy? I’d personally take up risky hobbies like MMA, Ninja Warrior, or Frisbee Golf.

Grimace, get yourself together man and stop being a ginger woman.

A personal anecdote about names around the office:

Things that are giving me cancer: giving up, turning into something I'm not, febreze, and talking to acquaintances about the weather for prolonged periods of time--doubly so when it comes to interaction with people I’ve worked with for months/years and still don't know what their name is or what they do here.

When the social hump of introductions gets passed, there's a point of no return. This person will now remain nameless for the duration of our coupling. As close as the relationship may get, the only way that the undisclosed name can be once again disclosed is only on the arrival that you realize the person doesn't know your name. There's always stealing their wallet or glancing at their bar receipt. Just be careful before you start calling him/her "eyebrows" or "hat" or "lava cake" or whatever the waitress puts at the top of their tab to remember who they are.

I think this all stems from our inherent need to seem different than other people. We like to stand out in other people's mind as "dude who quotes David Barry" or "guy who said something to me that any normal person would've gone straight to HR about. He rolled the dice and came up with seven." The constant interview process we're in has been drilled into us from a young age. There's an overall theme to life and it seems to be selling one's self is the ticket to success. I don't really buy into that. I think that nepotism and egotism rally more to the cause of success than selling yourself. Personally, I can't stand being sold something, or somebody. My point is that when we interact with someone and it's not in a professional atmosphere, just lackadaisical chance meeting along mutual interests, we subconsciously remember their names as well as characteristics, and usually a short story that is so totally classic "Ted." Replace "Ted" with who you are friends with. It could be Partario or Hubert or any of your millions of friends.

The office romantic affair of watercooler jibberjab with your coworkers can be done without names. It's like some crazy unisex bathroom in a strip club. The lights are low and we're exchanging very few details. But we're connected some way. In the office we're connected through the company we both work for and the BBQ's that we don't want our office friends to come to. In the unisex bathroom there's usually some sort of physical connection. Bumpin Uglies.

So there you go. Office banter around the watercooler = anonymous sex in a unisex bathroom while a creepy guy watches from the corner.

Tuesday Hot Links:

It's fuckin snowin

Watch this giant yo-yo

Google gettin in on la Revolución

Fuck you. Give me free pizza

Going Green Through Laziness: Weirdy Beardy

2011-01-31T16:19:00.000-05:00

Grow a beard and quit killing the planet. For God's sake, Ride the Ride already.

This is a win-win if I’ve ever seen one. All you have to do is let the hair on your face grow. Three things will happen to you: you will get older exponentially, you’ll discover what beard itch is, and you will be beating women off with a stick. I know as well as you do that all women are beard chasers.

I mean, look at this fuckin Beard.

The typical male shaves 275 days of the year. That is 275 times that you could be using your eight minutes to lie around. Simple math tells us that’s just under 37 hours that you could be putting in your pocket, spank bank.

There are many advantages to owning a beard. It’s a sign of maturity and being able bodied enough to get down in sex town. There’s the added benefit of always having a supply of leftovers from previous meals caught in the flavor-saver section of the beard. This eliminates the need for hunting/moving to feed yourself as often as a non-bearded man.

There’s also the psychological beard that one must account for. If and when you decide to grow a beard, there is a part of the beard growing process that takes effort to pull through. It’s roughly equivalent to quitting smoking. It’s fine for the first few days, but then you get an itch. The itch doesn’t stop for days and days. Depending on your beard genes, this period of time can last weeks. We all know the leading cause of depression is the wearing of sweatpants, but most people don’t know that growing a beard can be the therapeutic opposite. If I were a psychiatrist, I’d prescribe beards more often than Zoloft. The long and the short of it is the beard becomes something you’re proud of rather naturally. You’re depressed and hate everything? I got a beard for you.

Oh My God this fuckin itches. Get me a comb and a Fresca Bomb

Once you get through the itch your god damn face off phase, the beard starts to become a part of you. Just like planting a garden, you want to show it off. HEY CHECK OUT MY HERB GARDEN.

PRETTY SWEET HUH?!

The beard is masculinity incarnate. You see a guy with a beard and you automatically think he’s fashionable and slightly scary. It’s a scared you can get behind. You can hide in that beard. No one will hurt me as long as the beard is there to protect me.

OK fine, it makes you look older and crazier than you are. You look like a hillbilly mountain goat. Jebus if it’s white, you’re automatically Santa Claus. If it’s brown then you’re a desperate actor trying to look older. If it’s brown with a white streak through it, then you’re Mel Gibson/Osama Bin Laden. You really can’t win.

And none of this shit anymore. Shave it or don’t.

If you’re going for the stubbly look, why not just not shave and let it happen? That’s what a real man does. I take offense to the shavers that will manage your stubble look. Doesn't a shitty shaver do the same thing? It’s like using a sledge hammer to hang a picture. Not really, but you don’t know me.

Monday Hits:

Three years in jail for boinking in your home.

22 Ways to use an altoids tin.

Malawi wants to make farting illegal.

This was a good pickmeup today.

Soup or Chicken Shuffle: Dorito Canyon

2011-01-26T14:23:00.001-05:00

So I was thinking about renaming this segment to “Eat a Dick Junction” after my first catastrophe involving Funyuns, the miracle fruit, but I’ve decided to keep the nomenclature for now. A few more culinary punches to the stomach later and I may be singing a different tune.

Have you ever watched a kid play a video game and he’s terrible at it? It’s infuriating. I know you want to let him/her learn on their own but fuck. Physical violence isn’t in my nature, but for some reason when it’s an adult, I don’t get so angry. It’s a kid. They’re supposed to be good at video games. I was really good at them when I was younger. Watching a kid struggle to play video games is like peeing on my ancestors. I will not appease them any longer. They’ll end up like the Indians on reservations, making millions on tobacco, dream catchers, trails of tears, and casinos. I can’t let that happen. Gotta get these kids on some Megaman stat.

The grocery store is a strange place when it’s going out of business. Take everything that’s perishable off the shelves, empty out the refrigerated section, and you have something that resembles a skating rink with shelves of cereal and canned goods in the middle. This all good if that’s what I was after, but I had Dorito chicken on my mind. Submitted for the approval of the midnight society, I call this tale, "The Second Installment of The Chronicles of Junk Food Real Food Dinner Food (TCoJFRFDF) or Dorito Canyon for short."

Dorito Canyon.

I heard that you could make some decent casseroles out of Doritos so I said, “fuck it. Let’s give it a whirl.” I thought it funny that I went from the grocery store that’s going out of business to the grocery store that’s putting them out of business. Being a heartless consumer is great sometimes.
I got my ingredients:

1 ½ lbs of shredded cheddar

1 can of Cream of Mushroom Soup

1 can of Cream of Chicken soup

1 can of Ro-Tel Tomatoes

1 package of chicken tenderloins

1 Onion

½ a jar of sliced Jalapenos

1 16 oz bag of Nacho Doritos

Boil the chicken so that it’s easier to shred. At the same time, combine 1 lb of cheese, cream of mushroom soup, cream of chicken soup, ro-tel tomatoes, 1 diced onion and ½ a jar of jalapenos in a sauce pan. And try not fuckin stab yourself like I did when I was cutting up the onion.

I am gonna fuck up this onion

The onion had other plans for me

Line the bottom of the casserole dish with Doritos. Take the boiled chicken and shred it into two equal piles.

Sprinkle ½ of the shredded chicken across the Doritos.

Spread ½ of the cheese soup mixture across the top of the chicken.

Cover that in a layer of Doritos and repeat the layer using the rest of the ingredients. Then take remaining cheese and sprinkle that over the top of the casserole. Crush up the remaining Doritos and crumble them over the top.

Kids will fucking hate it

Bake at 350 for 30-40 minutes or until the crumbled Doritos are browned.

Verdict:

This was surprisingly not bad. I truly walked in thinking that this couldn’t possibly be good. Seems like a frito pie gone horribly wrong and Mexican at that. The looks of it were putrid. Soggy Doritos in a cheesy mushroomy, chicken lasagna. It’s like poor man’s nachos: Doritos on a plate covered in shredded cheese, microwave and nomnomnom you’re fat.

The Doritos take on a different consistency, sucking up all the moisture around them to form something resembling a noodle. That coupled with the crunchiness of the topping was enough for me to eat more than a couple bites. I also put jalapenos in it, so I’m guaranteed to eat it. If you were to cover a brick in jalapenos, I’d eat it. My girlfriend seemed to really enjoy it. She ate two huge plates of it. She also has something wrong with her that allows her to eat gallons of chili and cheese combined food. If you were to do blood work on her, I’m sure that there would be no results, just a picture of a chili-cheese dog in the shape of a middle finger.

I am a terrible person btw

Wednesday News

This guy is creepy and slightly arousing.

Wenis tattoo

"This happened after a patient woke up to see bandaged stuffed animals, notes about castration around his room and placed cotton balls on a private area of his body."

Your kid looks old

Cubicle Nightmares: BEST

2011-01-25T12:27:00.001-05:00

I love going into Target early in the morning and catching the staff having a meeting at the registers. It’s a bunch of teenagers and old people all sitting informally around on the registers and conveyer belts. You can see that they’re really into what they’re doing. People are making points and counter points. This is serious business. Sorry assholes, I got deodorant, skittles and a light bulb for one of you to ring up.

This website is messed up: http://facesofrejectedbachelorettes.tumblr.com/

I was thinking about what groups of people exist in an office environment. I came up with some interesting results. Mainly, they were interesting, because I came up with them and the nuns at the homeless shelter don’t want to talk to me about this nonsense anymore.

Attitude and Culture Success Story

Worker #1: I love my job.

I’ve been working here for five years, and I’ll be damned if you’re going to undercut this company buddy. This is my bread and butter and flesh light, son. I grew up in this office. I was practically conceived in the copy room by two people who loved the company more than me. I adhere to the company’s dress code even when I’m at home with my action figures.

FUUUUUUUU

Worker #2: I hate my job.

This is the lowest point of my life. I couldn’t make it on Broadway with my masters in interpretive dance and now I’m here. This dingy cubicle is my life now and I just want to rip it to shreds with a pitchfork. I could do an interpretive dance that would knock the boss’s socks off, but alas, teleconferences are a hard medium for a dancer like me. Fuck everything about this place. I’m spending 86% of my time at work looking for another job that I will hate as much.

mfmmmmsmfmm

Worker #3: What am I doing here?

I am overlooked and undermined at every junction in this building. My skillset rivals most of my superiors. I have no idea why I am here and not in some far off office encrusted with diamonds with a view of the beach. I am underutilized. I should have a staff of minions. I have been here for six months. I know what I’m talking about.

Worker #4: Run out the clock dude.

So really there’s no reason to rush, dude. I am the omnipresent time management expert. I have my tasks lined up for the day. They may be few in number, but they’re massive in their time expenditure. I could’ve been working here for 10 years and you’ve hardly even noticed me. I could be about to retire. Who knows or cares really? I don’t have the answers to any of your questions, but I do know how to deflect them all to their vaguely appropriate parties. Let’s take a nap on the clock.

At my job we are all evaluated personality wise with the BEST system: Bold, Expressive, Sympathetic and Technical. Of course I am expressive and bold, two qualities that really no one wants in an employee. Seems like they only want sympathetic technical people who enjoy crop dusting their cube sections with gusto.

Short one today. There's much work to be done.

Linkt:

Awesome Sandwiches here

Awesome T-shirts here

Awesome Trolling here

Awesome Rehab Bailing here

Going Green Through Laziness: BUBBLEBOY

2011-01-24T11:12:00.003-05:00

There are the common methods of going green; recycling, carpooling, and getting really high. Granola eaters and squares alike can all get behind any efforts to reduce your carbon footprint. But why, really? I’ve been thoroughly inundated with evidence from everywhere that we are, in fact, people of excess and that’s how it’s gonna stay, goddammit. The apathetic have taken a turn for the worse. They’ve all slinked into the party of hating the planet…just because it was easier than buying extra things and making extra effort to sort out some bottles and cans ah-just clap your hands.

So let’s get lazy.

Doritos Bag Tail Light Lazy Special

Going Green Through Laziness tip of the week: Don’t Go Anywhere.

Going places is overrated. If you can’t find it on Google Street View and there’s no videos of it on youtube, I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s not worth your time to experience it in the flesh. Don’t pick out a cruise or check out how much a euro rail pass is. Plan a staycation instead. Map out the areas of your house that you’ll get drunk in. Explore the wild frontier of your domicile. If you have a roommate, spy on him. If you have a neighbor, look at em from your window. Wear a cape.

HEY I’VE NEVER BEEN DRUNK IN A CLOSET BEFORE by myself on a Tuesday night. OK that was a lie.

Be creative. Call your Kitchen “Oklahoma” and when you arrive, do so in the fashion you would arrive in Oklahoma. You walk in, look around and say ‘where is everything?’ The kitchen (Oklahoma) will pulsate and respond in the same fashion Oklahoma would: by stealing your soul and making a pulpy mess of you after turning into a room-sized juicer/blender. Maybe all that won’t happen, but imaginations don’t do any damage to the atmosphere.

After you get done with exploring your house, go start a tire fire in your backyard and turn off your heat pump.

“Everyone goes through their own personal Vietnam.” – E

I WAS TOLD THERE WOULD BE NO MATH.

FAT ANIMAL TIME.

Red Fat Monkey Standing By

I love them. They’re the personification that I look for in a fellow earth-dweller. I mean, you can’t get more human than being a fat version of whatever animal you are. Funfact: Fat animals are easier to catch and cuddle.

Red Dog Pillow Standing By

I’m highly allergic to animals. It doesn’t keep me from wanting to be around them. I just have to suffer the consequences that may result in me having to carry around multiple epi-pens. It’s sort of like the people you know that are lactose intolerant but they still eat cheese and ice cream all the time. They just suffer in a different way. It’s called butt-suffering.

Red Cat Pillow Standing By

I’m pretty cynical when it comes to allergies. People with allergies to food, to pollen, and ragweed are also very accepted; while the people allergic to pets are commonly referred to as nerds and bubble-boys. My parents have a cat and he is just so cute. I want to love him into oblivion, but his hair also likes to sneak into my eyes and throat. HE IS TRYING TO KILL ME. So he stays outside of my parent’s house in hopes of keeping me coming by for visits. They bring the cat to the vet to get his shots and the vets ask why he’s an outdoor cat. Their son is allergic is apparently an insufficient response. The Vets tell my parents that I should wear a mask like they do in the ER and nerd guy across the street wears when he’s mowing the grass. This is what I get from that exchange of thoughts and ideas: People want me to wear an apparatus around my head anytime I’m indoors so that I can have a cohort of kitty meow meows and fatty dogs around me.

Red Leader Standing By

So I’m misunderstood and doomed to be a nerd bubble-boy. Fine, fuckers. That’s what you get

Lazy Links:

Stinky Feet Stabbin

Have an album release party in Moscow, maybe it'll blow up.

Sony's a little late to the party but will give Rhapsody a run for their money.

Going green through Mongolian Grill

Holy Shit the Juice Weasel is dead

Weekend Roundup: Time Travel Food

2011-01-21T12:25:00.002-05:00

I often think about the amount of time that I spend in the car commuting to work and how it relates to those slices of pie that make up your delicious allotment of time on this planet. Mine has got to be shoefly pie.

This is what it probably looks like:

This is what it feels like:

Do you think that we make the most of our time? When I used to commute using public transportation, I would read books and listen to music the entire duration of my journey. That seemed like the maximum sustainable sensory overload for me but I’m always jealous of the people who telecommute. I guess what I’m thinking is that our goal to be able to work from home deprives us of, what some may say, necessary meditation and just all around, daily you time. FUCK YEAH. DEATHMETAL DRUM AND BASS FRIDAY.

This blog is awesome: http://thisiswhyyourehuge.com/

Never have I been so turned on by food unless you count any of the “hey watch me eat this ridiculously decadent sandwich from a tiny diner in Dirtbag, Iowa,” Food Network programming. Really between Guy’s Triple D show and Travel Channel’s Adam on Man vs Food, I think that instead of eating a meal of sensible proportions, I SHOULD BE EATING A 7LB CHILI CHEESEBURGER!

What I’ve found out from my food watching over the years is that there isn’t much going for my area as far as amazing diners, drive-ins, and dives. I guess we got all the shithole diners, nasty drive-ins, and every time I eat there I get horrible diarrhea and think I’m going to die-ves. If there was a Food Network / Travel Channel map of all the most bodacious places to eat, it would have a barren wasteland of about an hour in every direction radiating from my house.

Woooo let's all go down to the Eat & Shit

I think there should be an anti-foodie show where a person goes to a bunch of restaurants that are just terrible. Let’s follow New York Times Food Editor Charles Coenstein on his journey across America. Besides being amazed at what cows look like, he will hit up every Bob Evans, Golden Corral, and Ponderosa that he comes across. I just like the idea of instead of eating something just mouthwateringly terrible for you, he'll just eat things that are terrible.

This is the chicken fried steak with jello gravy.

Ok, Ok. He’ll just eat at places that have “food bars” and “fixin’s bars.” Something about Roy Rogers just made me uncomfortable when after you bought your hamburger the cashier would direct you to the “Fixin’s Bar.” It’s one thing to watch someone else put shitty stuff on your shit sandwich but to make me do it myself? That’s just too much for me to handle. I would find myself looking at the fixin’s bar and wondering who becomes exulted at the sight of this all you can eat condiment buffet?

One reader has reminded me that Roy Rogers still exists. How could you go through any of the fine New Jersey Turnpike rest areas without noticing?

Weekend News:

Atomic Hickey

We're all Poop Posters after all.

I wish my nick name was Tony Bagels

And hopefully everyone is with me on watching this slowly burn

Personal Injury Lawyer Commericals: Let Me In

2011-01-20T12:34:00.004-05:00

My cell phone makes phone calls.

I am recalling this statement and offering it to the Gods in place of a virgin soul because it’s offensive to me; it’s not funny, it never was funny and it will never be funny. Your arbitrary war against the world of smart phones is over. It’s the same as telling people how awesome your bank is because it doesn’t have an ATM.

Let’s all get recumbent bikes and move to San Francisco.

I went to pick up some muddy buddies and toothpaste from Target after work yesterday because that’s how I roll. It was an idle Wednesday, so what should I do to combat “using your time wisely” tonight? The thought of video games crossed my mind; fucking Katamari Forever has no right to be damn difficult. Movies are always a good choice and TV is usually just an afterbirth.

So I watched Let Me In for the first time. I know, I know. You read the book and saw the Swedish version of this movie way back when and now it’s been destroyed by an American remake. How bout this, shut up and let me enjoy Jurassic Park without your running commentary about how the T-Rex picked the car up with its mouth in the book! Really?! Fascinating! What’s a compy?! Gah, I think that people who have read the book that a movie is based on have no business expressing their love/hate for said movie. They also should be in another theatre far the hell away from me. What’s the point really? I know we all like to ruin things for people in the same way we like to see friends and acquaintances fail miserably but do we really have to be the unwavering stick in the mud deflection device at all times?

I guess that we do. How else am I going to feel superior in this low-key, social scenario? I mean we all just watched a movie together. It’s time for me to make my mark and tell y’all how much better The Queen of the Damned book was compared to the movie.

Of course it was. It’s a god damn 500 page book filled with words. You think that you could squeeze all of that into an hour and a half of pure bliss? No. There’s a dude with Jonathan Davis’ voice as the VOICE OF THE DEVIL. Let’s not forget that Aaliyah was nominated for MTV and BET movie awards for her performance in that movie. Never mind the movie was terrible and everything about it gave me SIDS, she had the foresight to die in a plane crash shortly before the movie came out.

I smell posthumous white guilt. If my memory serves me correctly, she also had that song with a baby gasp in the middle of her Timbaland beat at the top of the charts. Jesus, that was just an awful time to be alive. 2002, eat a bag of hammers.

I'll give you five dollars and butterfly kisses if you can make it through that.

So yeah, Let Me In. Let's get back to that.

Vampires are cool right? No. They used to be before True Blood and Twilight ruined them forever with their personifications. It's all easier to relate to a vampire if he's not killing everyone and drinking their blood. Give em blood substitutes and make em drink animal blood. Don't kill anything. Everything Glitters. Fuck that.

That was one thing I truly enjoyed about this movie. There was a mild personification of the vampire child, but all seemed in vain because she could never function as a normal human being. She was kinda busy, killing everyone and sustaining herself with their blood.

The plot of the story was entertaining enough to keep your interest, but if you were hell bent on seeing some gore, you'll have to move along. This movie was more about the suspense and the thriller aspect than the sheer joy everyone has when they see someone eviscerated on TV. A boy who gets picked on a lot at school, let's just call him Angelina Jolie from Hackers, finally finds the courage to be his own man through meeting a vampire.

He meets up with a shoeless Hanson in the courtyard and they have wild adventures together. It always seems like it's extremely late by the way they make the courtyard dark and deserted with a light blanet of snow that never goes away. There was even an instance where they literally went out on the town for what seemed like the entire night only to come back to the courtyard to his mother yelling for him to come to supper.

Taylor?

The only problem with this relationship is that like all dreams, they sound great on paper, but theyre really short sighted. Case in point: The terrible things I would do to Ariel.

But what about the tail and the whole living under water thing? Yeah, she turns into a daywalker at the end of the movie but let's say that mermaids exist for the sake of argument. Wouldn't she smell real bad? Years of being in the salt water would probably do something to those red locks. I have a sushi addiction as it is. I could accidentally kill her with a side of wasabi and a tall sake. Delicious.

The film revolves around the symbiotic relationship between the boy and the vampire girl. He needs her strength and violence. She needs his rubik's cube. More importantly, Abby the vampire, needs a person to kill for her and her cash cow, aka old dude that she got with when he was 12, is well...getting old and sloppy. She, herself is very sloppy at killing. I kinda liked that about her. If left to fend for herself, she rips people apart and gets blood errrrrywhere. Her new cash cow is Angelina Jolie from Hackers.

So this movie gives light to a very touchy subject. Is it ok for a thousand year old in a 12 year old girl's body to fall in love with a 12 year old boy? Isn't this breaking some sort of cougar rule? Your age divided in half, plus or minus 400 years. Nailed it? You bet. This movie was pretty damn good. Vampires have been on the lame lately. This gives us hope that there might be another swedish vampire movie that we can Americanize in the future without throwing glitter all over it.

Get your BRRRRR BRRRRR on.

Soup or Chicken Shuffle: I CHOOSE YOU FUNYUNS (TCoJFRFDF)

2011-01-19T10:13:00.002-05:00

This is the first installment of The Chronicles of Junk Food Real Food Dinner Food (TCoJFRFDF).

Junk Food is wrong. It's terrible for you. It gives you heart disease, diabetes and I'm pretty sure that it can turn you Gay (or if you're gay already, it can turn you straight). The Horror. The penis. The packaging is always inviting. Bright and colorful, they always hearken back to the good old days.

Those days were a lie. No one looks back on Zero Bars and says, "That was just the perfect candy bar at the perfect time." Grind up some 5th Avenue bars, blend them with mayonnaise and you got the rough equivalent of the "nougat" in a Zero Bar.

fucking terrible

Moving things along now that, that is out of the way, I'd like to take you on another journey through junk.

In the beginning God created sugar cane.

Now the sugar cane was formless and empty.

And God said "let there be corn syrup" and there was soda.

God saw that the soda was good, so he separated the corn syrup from the radishes.

God called the corn syrup righteous and the vegetables boring.

God then created Funyuns.

I think you've heard me before say it, but I'll mention this again for anyone not listening. The only proof that we have that God exists is the existence of Funyuns. No mere mortal could have made those. So, I thought it natural to kick off my first culinary triumph with waging war on Junk Food by turning it into real food. This week: Funyuns....and chicken.

We start off with our ingredients:

Chicken Tenderloins

Garlic Powder

Pepper

flour

Egg

milk

FUNYUNS

Crush up the Funyuns into a not so fun powder that gets everywhere. Jesus Christ, it's under my fingernails. Or you can put the Funyuns into a plastic bag and smash em up.

Mix the Milk and Egg together; 1 cup milk for every egg. Take the Tenderloins and dump em in the flour. Dredge them in the Milk Egg Mixture and coat with crushed Funyuns. Add Garlic Powder and Pepper and you should have something that looks like this.

Skillet Fry em up. Add some frozen vegetables and some bread.

There you go, a beautiful junk food infused dinner and it totally blows. We should've gone to Chipotle. The crust wasn't as flavorful as I hoped. It almost caramelized on the outside. The last thing that I want on my fried chicken is a hard candy outer shell. I tried many dips and the flavor destroyers won out in that competition: Ranch, French Onion Dip, and Devil's Spit BBQ Sauce.

Total cost of this meal: $27.34. EXPENSIVE BREAD.

I'm going to change this segment to "Eat A Dick Junction"

Some Hump Day reading:

Dooty will always be a funny word.

Flatulent Stabby Time: Sometimes people don't live in harmony with their flatulence.

My affair with Angry Birds draws me to other blogs about knitting.

I am a pretty big zombie fan, as anyone with a penis should be, and I just threw up in my mouth. A zombie apocalypse story from the writer of World War Z told from the viewpoint of...vampires. Fucking shoot me in the face with a BB gun 4,000 times.

I need a cleanse. New Coachella lineup was announced. Holy Shitballs that's a lineup.

Cubicle Nightmares: Astrology

2011-01-18T07:45:00.001-05:00

I was standing around with some coworkers, water cooler style, a couple of days ago talking about life and happiness. You know the style, 4-5 people standing around in a circle holding various office required devices; coffee, clipboard, a piece of paper, and a fair share of arms akimbo or crossed arms. And get this, you don’t even have to be near a water cooler for this formation to occur. OK, I lied. We weren’t talking about life and happiness. We were discussing the new zodiac changes. There’s nothing more annoying than someone trying to talk to me about their sign and numerology and kites. Jesus Christ, I hate kite enthusiasts.

So I stayed with it. Where was I going until 5:30pm besides to the bathroom 14 more times to kill 7.5 minutes a pop? People were arguing over the validity of the claim that the astrology calendar has been off for a hundred years. Others were saying that it was a hoax. Some people were referencing their tattoos of the sign that they were indoctrinated with since birth. I feel for ya. There are dumb tattoos and then there are really dumb tattoos, but the person who has a Scorpio tattoo (badass) has to somehow augment that tat to reflect his newfound Libra status (scales)?

Ugh.

People went on about their astrological personality traits and the books they’ve read about their compatibility with other signs. It’s all really whale songs to me because I don’t believe in that stuff. It’s one small precarious step away from a fortune cookie. I mean, if the astrological signs were worth a damn, they’d be mostly terrible in their premonitions and character traits.

So you’re a Pisces? You like to steal Sci-Fi DVDs from parties and lie about your age online.

You’re a Gemini? Guess who has intimacy issues and gets to die alone!?

Virgo, you say? I keep shaking this Magic 8 ball and it just keeps coming up with ”fuckyourself”

And on and on. There should be a least a smidgen of doom in each horoscope.

Aires Horoscope: Today is a new day to a new week. Cherish this thought as you make it through your work day. Things are looking up towards the future where your endeavors are successful and your breath is minty fresh. Watch out for that bitch Kathy in the red Honda. She might as well be a bullet in the gun pointed at your head. Destroy her at all costs. (Lucky Numbers: 311, 808, 86, 187, MURDERDEATHKILL)

Oh I’m sorry if you were expecting a breakdown of what happened with the astrological signs. I really only cared about how irrationally this annoyed people. To some people, this was a rude awakening or, more vomitous, an epiphany.

My GOD I’ve been a LIBRA this entire time! THIS EXPLAINS EVERYTHING!

There’s also the talk that no one is affected by this change besides the people born after 2010. How fucking stupid is that? It’s like saying that you were an American, but we just recently found out that America is actually Canada. Don’t worry, though, you’re still American because we were dumb for a hundred years. All new babies are Canadian btw.

Fuck that and Fuck you. This is America. We like exclusivity and epicurean everything. No stinkin baby is going to have the RIGHT sign while I sit here with the hasbeen sign. I’m three sheets goin over the edge of a waterfall on this one. America is doin donuts with its Subaru Brat while blasting Quiet Riot with a fist in the air, pointed at the assholes in charge that gave that baby a new Zodiac sign. Obviously there’s going to be some sort of uprising as a result of this. People will be out in droves dealing out street justice to all the self-righteous babies who have donned the new astrological sign.

Who am I kidding? I like to envision the violence that people who subscribe to astrology would wreak. But I know in my heart of hearts that they will just put crystals on their foreheads and perform Reiki until I strangle myself with a telephone cord.

Did the newest astrological sign really have to be a dude wrestling a snake? I know it appeals to astrology’s fan base (chicks and gay guys), but that’s not even trying.

Return of the Mega Mac

2011-01-17T09:10:00.000-05:00

Don't you hate it when someone just stops updating their website/blog? Even when it's a very involved blog that can take weeks between posts, I still feel cheated. This person owes me their content because, for fuck's sake, I’m at work and I need the entertainment to get through the day without doing some Vann Damage to this office.

Like these guys:

http://www.thisiswhyyourefat.com/

http://www.dontevenreply.com/

And the coup de grâce : http://paddleboater.blogspot.com/

There were a few inquiries as to why I stopped posting last summer and I'll squash some of the rumors right now. I’ll let some of them remain as they make me seem cooler than I am. I didn't lose my job and somehow hatch into an unforeseen paradise filled with nudity and chocolate. I didn't join the military or the peace corps. WTF is a peace corps anyway? I always equate them to Carebears in my head.

Hey. The simple truth is that I didn't think I could get near the content level that I peaked at with Kung Fu Fart Bubble again. I mean, he was my golden goose, my Epic Mickey. He was my one extreme glimpse into a celebrity’s soul. (Which apparently is filled with handmade sex tools and incestuous foreplay)

So I’ll go on record and say that is what every celebrity’s soul looks like.

What does your soul look like?

I’d prefer mine to look like a ham that’s already been half eaten. This way, I can still be awesome, used, and covered in caramelized brown sugar, even without my fleshdemon. Thought there’d be a Jew joke in there? YOU THINK WRONG.

So what do I blog now? You can’t just have a blog about nothing. There’s a thousand of them out there…perhaps millions. I think it would be nice to have people write to me and ask me questions about things but in lieu of that, I could survive on the table scraps of my everyday life and political discourse.

HOW GOD DAMN LAME.

Until I get some feedback, it will be like you’re trapped inside the head of an indigent office worker who moonlights as a professional hitman but instead of killing people, he kills moods, atmospheres and annoys relatives FOR CASH.

Here’s the weekday lineup:

Monday – Going Green through Laziness
• Everyday ways you can do nothing and save the planet.

Tuesday – Cubicle Nightmares
• Workplace follies and yelling. LOTS OF YELLING.

Wednesday – Soup or Chicken Shuffle
• SOMETHING FOOD RELATED. Shit, I couldn’t stop yelling there for a minute.

Thursday – Personal Injury Lawyer Commercials
• Eatin Boobtube dinners and listening to gangster rap makes it ok for me to drink Old English.

Friday – Weekend Roundup
• Anything cool going on this weekend? No? Cool man. Hit me up if you’re getting into anything.

So I’ll have some music, weird news, and politics strewn throughout for continuity as well as your much needed occasional rant on something that doesn’t deserve a rant.

My New Year’s resolution was to stop being so lame and be more productive. Your New Year’s resolution was to eat 40 Big Macs in 3 days.

I think you win any way you slice it.

Kung Fu Fart Bubble

2009-06-04T15:47:00.026-04:00

RIP David Carradine

Rarely do I have anything other than a snide comment to give in reference to Kwai Chang Caine, but I feel I should be nice to him today. Just like his birthday, his deathday is in full swing and every media outlet is going crazy on him.

Do a Barrel Roll.

The ringmaster of The Legend Continues decided to practice his auto erotic asphyxiation spinning back fist, over compensated, and severed his spirit from the physical world. I always imagined that he would overdose or be stabbed, but never INXS’d to death. I find myself pondering what would be a reasonable death for a man who graced us with his presence in the yellow book commercials and such hits as “Big Stan” with Rob Schneider. After a long meditation, I feel it is fitting that he go out in Bangkok, naked in a closet.

Let me back track a little bit and preface my objective analysis of his penis rope strangle party with some information. After all, I actually had a four day relationship with this man. I have his name on my resume because I’m a name dropping piece of garbage.

This is going to sound like satyr, but believe me, it’s not.

David Carradine and the Cosmic Rescue Team:

After David Carradine kicked everyone’s ass a hundred times over in the cinema, he decided to form a band. Let me say that again. David Carradine had a band. OK. Apparently he turned 70 and decided to form a band of rapscallions on the verge of global domination through the intense power of folk/rock. Not really, but we can dream. He really did have a band, David Carradine and the Cosmic Rescue Team. His first recording session was at Club Iridium in Times Square, NYC, 6/28/06, for two shows, and I was one of the recording engineers. His people contacted some more people who contacted me and a partner in crime to take on this kung fu force flying right at us with his Japanese flute in tow. We secured a rehearsal space for him a day prior to the recording on the upper west side of Manhattan; Seinfeldland. He originally was supposed to show up at noon, but at 2:00pm we received a phone call from his agent explaining that he would be late because he was having a scotch. Understandable, he’s old and a star, so scotch isn’t out of the question or out of the answer.

THE ARRIVAL: Backwards Knees

He showed up to the rehearsal space out of his mind drunk and didn’t say a word upon arrival. He only gave me and my partner a series of high fives and low fives. In true ninja form, he barreled down the stairs to the space to find the reprehensible objects we laid out for him; a microphone stand, music stand and stool. He scoffed at the stool and its funtime buddies, “what do I look like? Some sort of old man who needs a chair!?!” He followed this proclamation of his unendorsed youth with a slow motion karate kick straight out of a Steven Segal movie, knocking the stool to the ground. Take that!

He then promptly sat crossed legged on the floor and, like he was on shrooms, fiddled for a half hour or hour trying to make his guitar work without upsetting spacetime. Like I said, he was hammered. Eventually his electric violinist (handler) hooked up his guitar and they twanged out a few tunes. We took some notes and figured out a stage setup for recording this conglomerate. I’ll spare you the details of the recording setup, but let’s just say it was huge for a five piece band. During the ensuing day, we recruited interns looking for experience and didn’t stop working until the show was long over the following night.
The show itself was met with mixed reviews. It ranged from terrible to awful. I was sitting side stage during the second performance and David Carradine farted. It was one of those “who invited a nursing home on stage,” melt your face off kind of gas-passery. It was so foul, it actually mucked up my vision, gave me vertigo, nausea and I’m sure I can’t have kids now because of the exposure. I am biased, though, because I was cranky at the time. I hadn’t slept in three days and wasn’t looking forward to the fourth. Not for this kung fu fart bubble.

His sets were filled with generic folk/rock complimented by a soaring electric violin and a black session drummer unfamiliar with the band. The few instances of tolerance I had with the show were his piano pieces, which if I knew him, I’d probably outright enjoy, and his fusion cover songs of House of the Rising Sun, Amazing Grace, and Poker Face. The parts that kept me wanting use a claw hammer on my ear drum were when his guitar went out of tune in the last song of his first set and he failed to put it back in tune throughout the second set.

All in all, it wasn’t a bad gig. I got to meet a celebrity and watched Hung fu [sic] fall on his guitar sword. After the show was over and we were packing up, he did come over to me to shake my hand. He said, “Thank you so much.”

His memory will be forever tarnished in the fashion of his death, but I will always remember him as the guy 70 year old who karate kicked a stool in my presence, farted, and thanked me.

Postscript: Jerkface

The long and the short of it was that I was in audio engineering school when this happened. One of my teachers came to help in the recording and ended up taking the master recordings to mix himself. This cut me and my partner out of the loop completely working on spec, even though we provided the legwork, man power and most of the equipment. The more I think about it, the more I realize that the club was paying him to do this (huge wad of money was exchanged at the end) and had no intention of paying me or my partner. I’m not sore with Bernie. I know he was just teaching us a valuable lesson in the business. Everyone’s out to have buttsecks with you and stab you in the back while they do it. I’m guilty of it just the same. So you better wear metaphysical buttplates and flack jackets when you enter into agreement for services of this magnitude.

Thanks Bernie. I’m sure you’ll find someone to put out that record, finally.

FORESKIN

2009-05-31T23:13:00.003-04:00

Taint Flaps

2009-05-22T00:40:00.025-04:00

Ever since the internet was implanted in me, I have had the burning desire to explore most every square inch of all idiotic fantasies imaginable. When I was 13, just getting my feet wet in the world of internet chatting via mIRC, I was exposed to the absolute worst of the worst and the weirdest of the what the fucks.

I had a friend who worked with me in concert to find these obtuse chatrooms that would tickle our retard bone. Initially we excavated the futureproof fantasies and behaviors that have made their way to the courthouse and to MSNBC, “why don’t you have a seat over there?” There were thousands of rooms to choose from, all of which could bring some sort of weirdness to furor. We would go to the Jesus chat and talk about being gay, or go to the bi-fem-sex channel and talk about being straight. Really, from a young age, I couldn’t help myself but to instigate conflict for fun and profit.

But, alas, it gets boring. The giggles dissipated and the weirdness stopped being so weird. The jaded personality started to set in, but no! I must charge onward into the abyss of the internet. I needed the bowels to be disem’d and the conniving to be nived. After shaking hands with destiny I discovered the more mundane fantastical existences to be the most interesting and full of stupid.

Disassociated Identities: Chapter 1: Megatron: Litebrite

Robots. Yeah, Robots. Some people think they are a robot. I don’t mean that in how I got all hopped up on racism when I got home from seeing Terminator 2—Now I’m a robot sent to destroy! No. It’s people who have a deep seeded lust for robots and perceive themselves as robots.

Some people may scoff at this. I do. I did when I was 13 and I will till I’m 48, wherein which I will have come full circle to accept the robot ideology. But, at the moment, it seems rational to say that idiots are idiots and some people grab a hold of a childhood memory, clutching their Iron Giant stuffed animal, and wish it would never end.

The physics are mindboggling. You can say that about any fetish really. But how does this materialize in the physical world? Do you put on a makeshift stormtrooper outfit, retrofit it with a power glove and some PCB’s? What is the correct nomenclature for a Robot Enthusiast? These are all questions that everyone has all the time about robots, so I decided to do some digging.

When I stumbled on the Robot Sex Chat on Dalnet, instinctively, my friend and I acted as if we were actively involved in the subculture. At one point people in the chatroom sent me their pictures and explained why this person, who resembled The Silver Surfer wearing Power Ranger gear, looked as if an explosion was coming from its crotch. He/She said it’s the main source of its energy and the focal point of arousal. Penis.

I delved into the inner workings of these circuitboard masturbators, pretending to be a tad bit ignorant to all the rules and idioms that these technosexuals follow. For one, they hate being confused with Agalmatophiliacs--people who get hot and bothered by statues and mannequins. They also are a tortured fetish that likely will never materialize in the way that they envision. I know that doesn’t make sense. Just think about it; the same way that we don’t have reese’s pieces the size of school buses readily available, although feasible, we don’t have robots that we can just order on amazon.com and molest furiously. Well we do, but they cost a lot and they don’t exactly play twister with you.

This leads me to their last order of business of how they came to be; built or transformed. You can build a robot partner or perceive yourself as being built. You can find other likeminded people that can be transformed into a full time mech-sex machine. It’s basically like being gay. You can either be born gay, or you can have a hard night of drinking, snorting ecstasy and your roommate convinces you to should start showering with him to save on the water bill. Taint.

Furries:

Furries are a new breed of whoopass sent to earth to wreak havoc on the normalcy pedo, foot, hair, and scat fetishes have all enjoyed for years and years. It just comes bundled in the form of stuffed animal idiocy. Again, I think it has a lot to do with childhood and wanting to hold on to Tigger forever. Forever? Foreverever?

A furry is a person who likes to dress up like an anthropomorphic animal. Some are more far gone than others. Some of them actually think they are said animal and cannot disassociate themselves from that animal. Even though I have a deep seeded idea that I am a reactable, I still have to put on pants and go to work everyday. I wonder if these people can’t function in normal society to the point that they can file for disability.

Otherkin, Were, or Therian: Pick your stupid and run with it.

These are some of the spiritual beliefs of furries. All of which describe a connection that a spirit in a person has with, zOMG, an animal. Only difference between them being is that Were is exclusively a belief in transformation furry-itis; ie. A person puts on a furry costume to become the animal versus, a person being an animal and having to compensate for lack of physical appearance as a meerkat with flexing some latch hook nuts.

It’s like having a pair of underwear that gives you herpes every time you put them on.

The great thing about being a furry is that you can be any animal you want. As long as it’s a tiger, a fox, a wolf, a night fox, a bobcat, a snow fox, a cheetah, or a fox, you’re good. There are the occasional guys who want to go against the grain and be zebras and hippos, but just like the people who come to a costume party dressed up like an orange or a potato, they're fat. For over-generalization purposes all furries are foxes. I have received information from top intelligence that Barack Obama is a Furry, and, yes indeed, he’s a night fox.

http://www.textsfromlastnight.com/

Furries all have a Fursona. This is their representative form that they would show to other people in the same way someone may give you a business card or a resume. Just like GIJoe’s of yesteryear, a lot of them have facebook profilesque features to their Fursona. They explain their likes, dislikes, favorite hobbies, (most make you want to vomit like, “I like to lap warm milk out of a dish.” Oh goody you’re a kitty meow meow) and their ideal yiffing partner.

Just as the robotjox from above don’t like being confused with statue humpers, Furries don’t like to be confused with Plushies—which are their own brand of misanthrope. Furries also like to categorize themselves into intensity groupings. There’s the group that thinks they are an animal with or without the suit, the ones who think they’re the animal only with the suit on, the wanna be’s, cartoon fursona enthusiasts, and just crazy mofos that wear their fursuits all the time.

Yiffing is amazing. It’s derived from the sound a fox makes when it mates. I think you can see where I’m going with this. Or do you? Well, Furries yiffing in the real world means that they act like animals, sniff each other, and eventually start to dry hump. It can lead to actual sex, but sometimes not. To me, if I were involved in yiffing, I’d at least want to alleviate some of the lameness and get laid at whatever the cost. I mean for fucks sake, you’re dressed up like a pink fox in a Las Vegas hotel and this convention only comes around once a year. Come on man. Get out there and be somebody! It’s not like the odds are in your favor of finding a yiffing companion at the meat counter in your local supermarket. This is Indiana.

These two groups are often ridiculed for their life decisions as they should be. Don’t get me started on the LARP argument or that fantasy role playing has its place in a healthy imagination. I appreciate that it’s healthy for people to detach from reality and assume a different persona for fun. I have no problem with that. These people, though, live their lives believing they’re the bjork robots or nympho-foxes for real real, not for play play. That’s called insanity and is no different than the guy who thinks the government is out to get him. He’s just homeless in a park and his fursona is a dude with a shopping cart, tin foil hat, covered in newspapers. Not too sexy.:(

2009-05-18T23:32:00.000-04:00

Baconade

2009-05-11T19:47:00.020-04:00

Baconator. Baconnaise. Bac-o’s. Bacon Explosion. The infiltration of bacon into internet culture is at an all time high. Even your mom has seen the bacon flavored mints and chewing gum you’ve been giving to your friends as gag gifts. Everything now comes in a shade of bacon. There are bacon scarves, bacon wallets, bacon watches, and bacon hats. I could sit here all day long and list the bacon version of everything out there, but I’ll just tell you that everything that could have bacon on it or in it, does and is readily available online.

I need to be in the bacon of the month club.

I want to just touch on the few notable baconesque items that have appropriately, made me take a double take, followed by an intense desire to buy these items. Don’t Judge. I know that you were expecting me to hate this bacon phenomenon, but I think it’s amazing and should never stop. I want to see bacon houses, bacon gatorade, and cars that run on bacon. My kids are going to grow up on bacon ball and read literary masterpieces like “War and Bacon Pieces” and “Bacon in the Rye.” They (Bacon Teasers) almost made me crap myself when I saw this.

There have been a few inventions that have propagated the expansion of bacon, both in its accessibility and its poise to become the cornerstone of everything that we know and love.

There’s the Baconwave.

This is significant because it’s the first time I see someone changing the face of bacon. Now you don’t even need a hot surface to sizzle some bacon up. All you need is a microwave that came with your crappy apartment and you’re set. Just put the bacon into the microwave in its specially designed slots to keep the bacon in an upright, awesome position. The bacon comes out tasting how you might imagine. It tastes in the same way French fries taste out of the microwave. I don’t care if you put it in a crisping container, it’s still mushy potato sticks and you are an asshole for trying to get me to believe in you.

Why isn’t this more popular today? Good question, with an appropriate answer. The bacon didn’t taste very good and you still had to cook it. Why not just have a box of bacon that’s already cooked and doesn’t need refrigeration? Lucky for us there’s fully cooked bacon in a box and in a can.

This is the point I’d like to remind you that there are a hundred other blogs that report on bacon on a weekly basis, so I’m going to skip a lot of steps in the bureaucratic structured concept of “bacon blog.” I know I’m supposed to purchase these products and test them out. Let’s just agree that all the bacon sucks unless it’s thick cut, fried up or smoked and that’s that.

The bacon that comes out of a can looks like it came out of my roommate. The bacon that comes out of the box, looks like a long piece of prechewed bubbleyum and they both taste accordingly. These are not nearly as bad as bacon mints, or bacon gumballs. Side Note: Bacon Mints can be used in place of ipecac.

I actually had a bacon air freshener in my car for a while. It didn’t smell really like bacon, but it did look the part. Come to think of it, it kindof smelled like burning dreams and cilantro.

Bacon Apparel.

I’ve always found bacon tee shirts amusing. I also enjoy the many iterations of apparel associated with the bacon shape and look. If only they made scratch and sniff bacon apparel. So you can look like bacon, smell like bacon and robots will think you taste like bacon.

Scarves, Belts, Shirts, Pants, Flags, Bras, Socks, etc. Every Base is covered. Just like someone could deck their entire room out in Pittsburgh Steelers paraphernalia, you can do the same with bacon.

I personally wouldn’t mind showing up to a meeting with my bacon brief case.

Bacon as a food, who’dathunk?

My favorite bacon tidbit is the revival of bacon in foods. People are combining bacon with just about everything now for shits and giggles. There are people who are making bacon a posh item in restaurants, people making candy with it, condiments, seasonings, liquor with bacon infused, and the bacon overloaded recipes.

Bacon Explosion: I'm going to do this on special occasions, like Thursdays and Mondays. Bacon, Sausage, Bacon, BBQ, Bacon and Sausage. The Bacon Explosion is the missing ingredient in the long list of things that you could use to kill yourself. This would be the tastiest method. Although it does give me shivers seeing that people post on the comments that they've made this with a pound of cheddar cheese in the middle. I personally want to put jalapenos in it.

Baconnaise & Bacon Salt: They took bacon, put it in mayo and put it in salt. Look out Baco's, new bacon condiments are on the rise and ready to steal your soul.

Chocolate Covered Bacon: It looks like poop shards, but it really tastes amazing. Try explaining that to anyone and you'll most likely get karate chopped in the neck. It is funny to see the insane chocolate lovers of the world, who took it as validation of their hunger for the coco bean from Oprah when she said, "it was good for you to eat a piece of dark chocolate a day," turn their noses up at chocolate covered bacon.

Baconburger: This sounds amazing, and I'm going to try it as soon as I find someone with a meatgrinder to borrow. I saw another guy do it on another blog and did it with a food processor. It didn't come out right.

Bacon is proof of a higher power. Just like Funyuns (<--this is a lie) it could not be made by some mere mortal. The only way you're doing a disservice is by being tempted by its imitators. It's like buying god damn turkey or tofu bacon! IT'S NOT BACON. DON'T EAT IT. (sorry m&n. I know you're the only people who read this blog. I will have a vegan/veg pov on my attack on Furries. Bacon was a tough order and near and dear to my heart.)

Auto Phone Sex - watch more funny videos

Tree Removal Company Fails - Watch more Funny Videos

Bus Driver Crashes While Texting - Watch more Funny Videos

MOARNEWSRRRRRRRR: Naked edition

This is how I would like to be accosted on my way to work every morning. I know she wouldn't enjoy anything, at least.

This guy looks like he's about to morph into an animal. He may very well be the second coming of furry jesus.

All it takes in india to be popular is to not bathe for 35 years. I thought it would have to do with bollywood or something relating to curry. Racism.

I don't like being pigeonholed, but I got a gallon of wine with my name on it and it aint goin to drink itself and pass out naked in the kitchen.

I like Science. I enjoy tatoos. So this gets my interest for a hot minute.

Molestation Sensation

2009-05-05T20:11:00.007-04:00

So, I’ve been hung up on the couch with a neck injury for the past week. I took some time to gather my thoughts and I thought, “How could you fail at that?” Well, apparently you can. I let TV rot my brain and nursed my internal wounds with grilled cheese and granola bars and the occasional gallon of malt liquor.

How did I end up this way? Thought you’d never ask.

I was practicing my b-boy breakdancing technique to a John Mayer album, when I found myself spinning on my head like an upside-down ice skater. I then spoke to myself, “Where’s the music at? Where’s the rhythm at? Holy fuck, I’m listening to John Mayer again!” That’s when I heard a snap and collapsed on the floor. When my roommate found me, I had a lot of explaining to do. Why are you naked? What’s with the tarp and the tub of mayo? Why in God’s name are you listening to John Mayer?!

I tried to explain, but it all came out like mashed potatoes out of a sock. So on to the couch I went, Icy hot from head to toe just in case I missed some area of the pain that has wrecked my proverbial shit. There I stayed for a week. I’m feeling a lot better now, but I’m due for a relapse at any moment. John Mayer could come out of nowhere and I may have sympathy pains once again.

When I woke up this morning and could move for the first time in a while without intense red hot poker pain in my neck, I realized I hadn’t been bowling in over two weeks.

This is no good. No good at all.

I plan on remedying this situation post haste, but in the meantime, I thought I might touch base with you about bowling.

I always have equated bowling with life and decision making. It’s the perfect analogy. When you get up to bowl, you posture yourself for the best roll for your situation. You take aim and take all the precautions necessary to achieve your goal. Stay out of the gutter, put so much English on it, put so much stank on it, and prepare your victory celebration. But, just like in real life, you can posture yourself perfectly, put yourself in the right situation, make the right decision and execute it flawlessly, but the lane is fucked up and someone oiled the lanes too much, so you go careening out of control to an unknown conclusion. There’s always another way to bowl too; don’t give a crap, throw it down the lane and hope for the best. Sometimes it’s more satisfying to do it that way.

Environmentals are a variable in every sport; even in a sport inside where drinking beer and eating chili cheese fries is normal to accompany your athleticism. I happen to think that one to two beers a game will drastically increase your performance and consistency within the pocket. But what the hell do I know? I have my grandfather’s bowling ball and a Bengals bowling bag. I am made out of fail, but bowling is my friend.

It’s the Wal-Mart sport. You can go to a bowling alley and find the same people. It’s the perfect cross section of a population. Everyone can play. They even have the bumpers and the rails for aiming. Go to a bowling alley on a Saturday afternoon; get a pitcher of beer, a pack of lucky strikes and people watch like they do in Paris. This is more prevalent if you have Wal-Marts in your area. If you live in a big city of some sort, or don’t allow smoking inside your establishments, you’re SOL. You’re doomed to not understand that side of the country. If you grew up hanging out at gas stations and there was only a Wal-Mart and a Food4Less in your town, you know what I’m talking about. I heard a while back that a fourth of all people who live in New York City have never seen a cow.

Nevertheless, bowling is a great sport, and Tim Russert obsessed about how that golf is the only sport that you can play your entire lifetime? I think that bowling needs to have a word with him, so hard in his face. (I know he’s dead)

Videos

and as always...

MOaR News: Canned Meat Edition

This is hilarious. I know, I know. What if it were me on the receiving end of this joke? Well I'd have a sense of humor about it.

Something on ohio.com that has to do with school buses and porn? Get out of town!

Oh GOD MAKE IT STOP

Tomorrow I'll be talking to you about Furries and Bacon.

Marinate

2009-04-28T18:10:00.007-04:00

Tough luck, my friend. I had a momentary setback, but like Stella, I'm gettin' slapped like a mug.

In the grandiose scheme of things, we're all going to die, so lets get a few things straight.

Black people are cool

Everyone is lazy.
This is Awesome.

That is all.

MOAR news: Finger Eating Edition

Lets get the crazy started correctly with this little tidbit from the fiancé of the psychopath craigslist serial killer. Hrm…He’s on surveillance cameras at the scenes of the crimes...He has the underwears from the lucky ladies…His pistol matches…this is starting to sound like a bad episode of Law & Order Criminal Intent. Where’s the drama? Where’s the twist? Maybe the fiancé ordered the crimespree. That’s why she’s standing by her man. Or she’s his sister. Hot.

Come for the culture, stay for the 101 Rapes.

Being a queer for audiophile related stuff, this made me chuckle. Monster Cable is going to have to slash their prices to stay competitive with the demise of Circuit City. Considering they think slashing the price from 125 to 99 dollars will convince you to not go to monoprice to buy that same cable for 4 dollars, I want whatever they're freebasing.

Naked? Jesus? I'm there.

Fail Jokes fail at failing and are perceived as hunky dory.

See you later. (Haha! I won't 'cause I can't see you, fucker)

Turn Around Bright Eyes

2009-04-27T23:27:00.001-04:00

I was just thinking about this video.

Flaccid Hand Bananas

2009-04-23T23:53:00.002-04:00

I had a busy day in the park.

Blowin Purple Stuff

2009-04-22T12:20:00.035-04:00

Stormy weather, beating on carcasses of dead animals and fashioning a coke bottle into an ocarina are all examples of how we, as humans, belong to a select group of animals that have a burning desire to make music. We hit stuff, then strummed stuff, then blew stuff, and then we invented some instruments that didn't sound so homoerotic. Emile Berliner invented the microphone, some other guy invented audio tape and we had recording. Shortly after, someone cracked an egg and smeared its contents all over their face. They screamed in front of a microphone and we got Susan Boyle, a shemale from Franz Ferdinand, Connecticut. Now I'm all for talent, but this woman seems like she was bionically engineered to revitalize the flailing, failing, flopping American Idol. She's the "John Everyman" for men and women everywhere. She got more hits on her youtube video than Obama's inauguration or ShamWow's prostitute.

Oh snap.

I have to back up, I'm sorry. Revitalization indicates that American Idol was vital at one point. That's just something I cannot concede to, but for all you middle American motherfuckers who love Dancing with the Stars and America's Got Talent, drink up, it's almost showboating time.

Now I have totally deviated off course here. I wanted to talk to you about Electro! It's the natural evolution of music. It went Hemingway*, Beethoven and then Hypercrush.

Somewhere in the indescribably vast universe, we've encountered music that just don't FUCKIN QUIT.

After Hypercrush's explosion onto the first AM radios, they were a household name for 88 years. Donny "Ponyboy" Fontaine died an excruciating death earlier this year. He literally made his ass bounce so much that it dislocated, leaving him in a chill out state where he experienced his first hangover. If anyone asks, the sound that a head makes when it explodes is written out "POOMFLUCK." I learned this from Ponyboy. RIP. We will all miss your haircut and your impeccable taste in glow in the dark keytar solos.

Lucky.

We got the new party music now. Just throw away your old cds/vinyls/ADat's/Mp3's/24 track digital 2 inch tapes/8tracks/netflix and DSD's. You don't own any DSD's, you say? Well get all up on the one bit digital 2.8224 MHz recording phenom and then as soon as you feel you can't live without your new found fidelity, throw that shit the fuck away.

Girltalk, ladies and gentlemen, has taken the stage and No, he will not give it back.

I Lied. You can have 4 lps and 2 eps.

Secret Diary (2002)**

Unstoppable (2004)**

Night Ripper (2006)

Feed the Animals (2008)

Stop Cleveland Hate (2004)**

Bone Hard Zaggin' (2006)**

THAT'S ALL YOU GET. It's OK. You'll be fine with this after I explain.

Girltalk is Gregg Michael Gillis (or what I like to call him, "Girltalk") and a laptop. Remember back in the day three minutes ago when you threw those cds and vinyls away? Well he picked em all up and rubbed em against each other with some ky jelly and some Joose. Now we're blowin purple stuff.

His crowning achievement, along with being gifted in the art of ADD music, is his knack for taking something as ridiculous as him sitting on stage with a laptop and turning it into the coolest thing ever. I don't know a guy who wouldn't want to divert some of the focus away from him by his lonesome.
So he gets himself comfortable by inviting girls up on stage to dance with him. He's packs the girls on stage so you can't even see him anymore.

Now that's a party.
He'll make appearances every now and again, pushing his way to the front of the crowd of lude women. He's trying to be comfortable, so you'd expect him to be wearing less and less clothes throughout the show. Can you blame him? It gets hot up there under those lights/vaginas.

Side Note: I am sure that one or two of you who read this will undoubtedly see that there are manimals near him on stage as well as women. I choose not to see that.

This didn't tell you anything about anything and I'm satisfied with that. Clinch Fists.

Now I just wanna go work out for 39 hours with these songs on repeat, wearin a thong. Well the thong isn't abnormal, but working out for 39 hours is just silly. I know somethin I could do for 39 hours straight if I really focused.

MOAR News: Foreskin Edition

This dude stole 32.5 pounds of quarters everyday at work for a year. If it weren't for those meddling kids.

We've all been here and here.

I have put together all the pieces to the puzzle and it says, "No, lets all die."

I link to other blogs, Motherfucker. What a tangled web we weave. I'm sure I'll see this in my roommate's room soon enough.

This is why I hate doctors. Every time you have some sort of incurable disease, they just make shit up or throw bugs at you.

This is pretty mainstream but worth noting. Sometimes people fall on their swords after they get done fisting America

*pioneered the six fingered cat shotgun in mouth sonata, very very popular in the 80's.
**Don't know what these are.

Thanks Acidravelamp and Trevor Tracks

Flat Out

2009-04-21T19:11:00.002-04:00

Chicks and Bricks

2009-04-20T17:17:00.013-04:00

420 has a lot to do with everything so let’s solve some mysteries together.

I Shat Brix:

When I was lying in my bed listening to Limp Bizkit’s Significant Other album the other day, I wondered to myself, “Man, what the hell happened to that magazine Highlights?” It only seemed like it was available for subscription to doctor’s offices around the country. My favorite part, as if there was any other part to the magazine, was finding the hidden crap in the picture. It was a roll of the dice whether or not you would get a magazine that some bastard had already gone through and circled the hidden items. This was calming as a child. I could enhance my search and destroy methods therefore evading any premonitions about the white robe guy hitting me with a hammer or making me sit on wax paper in a small room, almost naked, for hours.

Lucky for us, after highlights, Where’s Waldo stepped in to become our new favorite search-for-this-dude book. Let’s face it; Waldo Books weren’t to be owned. You looked at them in the library to combat reading comprehension, found Waldo, and got the hell out of there.

Yes, the elusive gap of “search-for-___” was widened after Waldo’s immanent demise. Now, with the internet, we have “When you see it. You’ll shit bricks.” I believe the beginning revolved around the insertion of a picture of a random black man into an otherwise friendly or fun situation picture with white people.

THERE HE IS!

AND There HE is!

Where’s Waldo and Highlights have been ripped off, squashed and delineated into a meme. A meme that has its own website.

Side Note: I think that any meme that becomes its own website has lost the ability to be considered a meme any longer and it should be regarded as passé, cliché, and deadé. Do you hear me Lolcats, Nom Nom Nom, ShoopDaWoop, LongCat, Tacgnol, PedoBear vs Chris Hansen and Horsedick?

Ok ok, Chris Hansen, PedoBear and Horsedick can stay…nom nom nom too.

Dubs of popular mini-infomercials: Thanks Acidravelamp.

Your daily dose of irrational Japanese game shows is here.

MOAR News: Columbine Anniversary Edition.

Today’s news barrage is sponsored by Requip. Anything that can help me stop shaking and start gambling pathologically is alright with me. Thank you, Michael J Parkinson’s.

This woman is awful at bowling. She has a hard enough time bowling her age. You’d think that after all those years of practice that she’d be scoring a 300 game every time.

Fox News Guy knows how to dress for a Whitehouse Press Conference.

I don’t know why anyone would want to make liquid feces -- which I believe is the 6^th state of matter -- a thing of the past,

Get your nerd on.

Mumumumumu Mixed Grill. I really want to shake this guy’s hand. He wins the award for going-to-any-lengths-to-assure-his-proximity-to a-blacked-out-drunk-girl. Bonus points for trying to bring said drunk, blacked out girl home.

And finally, a story we can all get behind. I often find myself in the same mindset. If I’m driving down the road and I see that there are flaggers for one lane ahead, I consider lighting my car on fire in lieu of stopping. I mean are they going to insist that the flaming car stop or do they just let him pass by and become an Australian citizen? Sounds like an easy decision to me.

2009-04-17T09:24:00.003-04:00