Every Little Thing Buftar Is Magic.

So Where Was I?

2012-01-24T17:00:00.000-05:00

You want the long of it, or the short of it?

Twitter has sucked up all my good ideas.
Also, Jack LaLanne died and I couldn't make the funny spin I wanted to blog about sound funny amidst the face that a beloved old man died. Also, Twitter sucks up all my good ideas.
To think I wrote thousands upon thousands of words on garbage I could fart out within 140 characters - not words, CHARACTERS.

I started a new job at MF Global on Valentine's Day 2011. The company filed for bankruptcy on Halloween. I found out I was laid off on Veteran's Day. No severance, no explanation. I'm working with the group in charge of cleaning up the mess left behind, and I have no decent prospects to speak of. Not Happy about this.

I got engaged to Keely, and I am extremely excited about that. Other people are not, which makes me wonder why we can't expel social waste from the world the same way we expel food waste from the body. It is still going to be an amazing and positive day.
BTW, weddings cost money. And it's nice to have health benefits. And also a steady gig. And supportive friends. Fun Facts.

I guess I'm giving you the short version of the long of it?
Anyway, I believe the net result of 2011 has been good. A lot of shitty things happened to me on the tail end to sour the good that occurred throughout. And all the while, I felt no urge or desire to post anything worth your time and effort.

Until Now.

I have taken my licks in 2011. I have been beaten and bloodied, bombarded and bumiliated.
I've seen a lot of negative and unnecessary shit.
But this...THIS...this is not going away quietly. THIS IS THE LAST STRAW.

AN OPEN LETTER TO CHRISTOPHER NOLAN
RE: THE NEW BATMAN MOVIE

Dear Mr. Nolan:

I am writing to you regarding the events of Friday, January 20, 2012 at the Imax Theater located in the Palisades Center in West Nyack, NY. In order to accurately voice my concerns to you, I'd like to bore you for a moment with my background as it relates to your body of work, and then provide you with my thoughts and concerns as they arose from the events of the aforementioned evening.

Mr. Nolan, I am a fan. I have enjoyed nearly everything you have done in film, and what little I don't care for I believe will be remedied upon repeat viewing. Following I tried to watch at 3AM in the throes of a sinus infection, and Insomnia I was just too young to care the first go-around.
Memento, Batman Begins, The Prestige, The Dark Knight, Inception. All amazing pieces of work, all rich and engrossing every time I have the pleasure of watching them.

I managed to attend the midnight screening of The Dark Knight at the aforementioned Imax theater, and I say with all sincerity and honesty that I have never been more thrilled to be up until 4 in the morning and miss a day of work in order to watch a man in a costume chase around some geek in grease paint. Visually stunning.

I saw Inception twice in the theater - once with my then girlfriend, to whom I am now engaged (Thank You for Your Presumed Congratulation), and the second time with two friends at a "Fake Imax" screening. The whole "Fake Imax" scam is another issue for another time, but it deserves your attention. Fucking scam to bilk another couple of bucks out of a moviegoer...
I digress.

Called "The Godfather Part II of superhero movies", The Dark Knight is not without a few machinations which require a suspension of disbelief. I mean, you have to admit that The Joker seems to have an easy go of taking control of the criminal element of Gotham City. Someone's father once pointed out that had your film been an hour longer, your version of Gotham's Clown Prince of Crime may have been able to take over the whole world...
I'm sorry, I digress again.

Anyway, on January 20th of this year, my fiancee and I attended a screening of Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol, at the Palisades Imax Theater. Good Movie, you should go see it.

Anyway, we were lucky enough to be in the theater in time to watch the six-minute prologue to your upcoming opus, The Dark Knight Rises. Effectively your final entry in the DC property you single-handedly rejuvenated, I can't imagine a single man, woman, or non-stupid child who isn't salivating from every orifice in anticipation.

And then I heard Bane speak. Rather, I tried to hear Bane speak. More specifically, I tried to understand Bane's dialogue.
Now I grant you the concession that the prologue takes place almost entirely in and out of two airplanes flying through the air, and there is a lot of hustle and bustle in those six minutes of screentime.
Visually, you win again. Hands-down. I was all "What the Fuck?" in a good way all the live-long time. And Tom Hardy's presence and talent is very apparent by all accounts.
But Chris...we're friends now, I'm calling you Chris...Chris, he's trying to do an accent and speak eloquently through a mask that muffles his voice like a couple of pillows over an unruly retirement home resident. I'm sorry, I could not understand fuck-all.

This is whipping your fans all up into a frenzy. And I suppose we could have left it at that, or someone from team "Relax Yourselves" could have told everyone to relax themselves. Something like that.
But now we're hearing things about "It is what it is" and "Nothing is getting changed"...and they may very well be rumors, but someone has to tell us something. I'm sorry, but saying that the character is "incredible" and that audiences should "keep up" has nothing to do with whether or not we can UNDERSTAND WHAT A MAIN CHARACTER IN THE MOVIE IS SAYING.

This isn't a case of interpreting a seemingly inscrutable dialect. This is a case of a dialect drowned out by forces both seen (the mask) and unseen (every other sound in the film). Now, I again point out the very possible possibility that everyone could be wrong and this is just a single frustrating instance in an otherwise flawless sound mix.
Assuming that is the case, someone just needs to tell us that. Maybe test-screen, get some feedback from Joe Six-Pack, and please please PLEASE adjust accordingly.

Anyway, Best of Luck to You. Looking forward to the next step in your amazing career. I hope we're clear on this, and I apologize if I was jerky about it. Also, do check out that Mission Impossible movie. It's pretty decent.
So fix the Bane voice issue. Or, fuck yourself.

Best Wishes,
A Fan.

PS - Anyone who refers to this as a "First World Problem" can eat a poisoned dick before getting drowned in a bathtub filled with cat piss...Anyway...

I'm not taking this shit anymore. I'm just not. Referring to something as a "First-World" anything only verifies that 1) you exist in the same first-world as I and 2) you have the same sense of entitlement to your opinion on dumb shit that I have GO FUCK YOURSELF. 3) is you're fired.

The End.

entry060 - Political Superscience (aka Super Tuesday)

2010-12-09T17:05:00.001-05:00

So say you're Superman.

Everyone loves you, right? I mean, you're the fucking Superman! (Not to be confused with the goddamned Batman.)
So you waltzed right into Metropolis one day, seemingly out of nowhere. You promised everyone you'd clean up the streets, you'd make their little...metropolis...a safer, better place to live.
Truth, Justice, Ways traditionally thought to be American.
You were the ultimate outsider, you had this verve about you, and you genuinely seemed to be capable of doing things that no one on this planet can do. Wow.
This is a good thing. Everyone loves you. Right!
You then went away for a while. Not completely away...you were heard to have saved this cat from a tree and that elderly woman from an accident at a street crossing. Staple hero stuff.
Okay, you were not around much, but people were still riding that Superman high. Superman fever was still in the air! People felt better about their day-to-day just knowing that you were going to save it. The day, that is. See, bad things were still very obviously happening. And while seated out in space, you heard people confide to their loved ones and mortal frenemies that while you were a super man, you were still just one man who found himself washed up against a sea of troubles.
So along with the power to leap tall buildings, run faster than trains, and maintain a modest following after your network switched from the WB to the CW, you now had the benefit of the doubt. Another good thing going for you.

Enter Lex Luthor.

This prick was begging, borrowing, and stealing cheap land along the San Andreas Fault. Cheap. Mad Cheap. So much of it and at such a cheap steal of a price, it seemed too good to be true.
He then figured out a way to cause an earthquake along the fault line where this cheap property did in fact lay.
He was rooting for this major de-fault, because ol' Luther was looking to create beachfront property, while causing hundreds of thousands of nearby homeowners to be literally underwater. Fuck, this sucks. "Help, Superman!" they shouted.
So what did you do?
Well, you certainly couldn't fly in the opposite direction of the rotation of the earth, thereby causing a reversal of the planet's spin, which in turn would reverse time itself. Though you seemed to have promised to do just that.
But you didn't.
Instead, you located Luthor's hideout, and you met with him face-to-face. You didn't take him to the authorities (i.e. fly him directly into a chain gang full of mocking convicts). You didn't even raise your super-fists to him or wield your super-breath for whatever reason.
You asked him politely yet firmly to review his business practices and to make sure he really needed to and was within his legal rights to put all those homeowners underwater. Everyone has a right to make a living, you contended, but you'll be damned if they do it while exploiting the rights of others. So you said.
One victory lap of press conferences later, and Crisis Averted!
The people were annoyed with you. Here you were saying all these things about helping, and you made a deal? With LEX LUTHOR??
Some people understood that things were probably more complicated than they knew, and you probably did the best you could with the tools that were available to you.
Others knew for a fact that you could have done so much more since you were in fact SUPERMAN and promised as much when you told everyone that you were a SUPER MAN, Superman.

What the fuck.

Next up, you announce that everyone is entitled to a life free of fear of nuclear war, and that you were going to rid the world of all nuclear weapons. "Wow! That's amazing!!" people thought. Surely, all you would have needed to do is collect them all in outer space with a big net or something and then throw them into the sun, and-
Wait. No, you decided to discuss this with all the world leaders whose countries possessed nuclear weapons. You decided to talk with the people who had a vested interest in nuclear weapons, since most of them are regularly lobbied by companies who manufacture nuclear weapons.
You talked with these people.
Behind Closed Doors.
Hurm.

When you emerged from your valiant battle, you were proud to announce that everyone in the world was required to have access to a nuclear fallout shelter and radiation detector. But not to worry, you told them, no one would be denied a permit to build a new shelter no matter what the preexisting condition of your property may be. Also, the world's leaders would help out with the costs for the unsheltered who could not afford something of the sort.
Now, people being protected from nuclear war regardless of preexisting property conditions or affordability was all well and good...but you gave the people the choice to live in a world without nuclear weapons. So how did they all of a sudden lose that public option you touted? And why did you work this out with interests who clearly were part of the problem and would very clearly benefit from such a “plan?”
You're Superman! The pattern of compromises that turn out to be shitty seemed so unnecessary. You could’ve potentially delivered on stuff like this easily. Not to mention the fact that you had the backing of the entire Justice League. Everyone was willing to help with your plans!
Well, they WERE all behind you. That is, BEFORE this pattern emerged. Now you have dissent in the ranks of the League you yourself put together and were a part of...Batman, that Martian guy,...some were starting to think you weren't all about that shit you were talkin’ from the get-go.
Not to mention the fact that you managed to perpetuate wars that were already hopeless and perpetual, but you didn't really talk about that all that much.

So yeah, what the fuck.

Next up, you discovered that Richard Pryor figured out a way to steal money out of a ton of working-class bank accounts and 401(k)s and IRAs… AND fuck around with oil tankers. All the while he told everyone what a great innovation and boon his new supercomputer was to the economy, how necessary it was, but in reality he was playing games with everyone's hard-earned cash. Furthermore, he fucked around with oil tankers. Financial and ecological ruin, all in one clever example.
Shit, this sounds like a job for Superman!

"Stop Richard Pryor, Superman! Stop that second-rate Lex Luthor knockoff! Kill his butch sister that turned into a robot!"

Oh wait...6 (SIX) days after Richard Pryor caused all this devastation, you decided to let him clean up the oil tanker fuck-up. Also, you got him to setup a fund to help those fucked-up by the oil tanker mess.
BUT YOU LET HIM KEEP THE MONEY HE STOLE.
The people mean no offense, Superman. But they are going on the news, they are shouting it everywhere. You kept saying how hard it is to do the things you want. But you literally are a super man. If you had gone and made an understandable case against these literal villains, if you had done what super men by right ought to do, if you had parlayed your support into drive to act...you had everything at your disposal - EVERYTHING - and you made it seem like "the machine" was just too much for you to bear. You're kidding me hear.
Lex Luthor and Brainiac funded "grassroots" political protest groups against you. Some of them went as far as questioning if you were ever really born on Krypton. You did nothing to quell these stupids. Television pundits said you had a deep-seeded hatred for "Human Culture." Still nothing. Yeesh.

Suddenly, your biggest challenge arrived. General Zod and his two cohorts enslaved the planet, and begrudgingly gave Lex Luthor Australia in exchange for the location of your fortress of solitude.
So they showed up.
And instead of doing the bare minimum to try and stop them...instead of tricking them into losing their powers, killing them, and making Luthor looks like a fool AGAIN...instead of so much as whipping that stupid, suck-ass plastic emblem net thing that made zero point zero sense to us all...what did you do?
You allowed Zod to enslave any citizen of Earth found to be available for slave-labor after 99 weeks of “freedom.” In exchange for this “concession,” Luthor kept Australia.

And another compromise bit the dust. People were waiving pictures of your cape with a Swastika in place of the "S" during rallies they were too fat to stand at for longer than twenty minutes. Everyone on your side was left scratching their heads. You managed to maintain close ties with your benefactors who covered the upkeep on your fortress in exchange for your "concessions.
And Truth, Justice, and the Other Thing got raped like a federal inmate with a lisp.

So say you're Superman, and you did all that.

Now you know how Barack Obama's presidency up to and including this tax cut extension bullshit feels to me.

"Super" means never having to compromise with the bad guys. It means you find the guys that everyone knows are the bad ones, and you fight them, and you win.
Now look what you made us do, you little jerk. We've disbanded the Justice League. The Legion of Doom will be getting back together next year. Up, up and away.
Wow, what a shit job.

Merry Christmas, Everyone!

entry059 - Guys, I'm Gonna Break That Cable Box Over Your Dopey Heads.

2010-10-25T21:00:00.000-04:00

This is just fucking ridiculous. I have no witticisms, no silly insights, and nothing to add to the stupidity. Not many, anyway.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Fuck Cablevision. Cablevision Sucks.
Also, Fuck Fox. Fox Sucks.

Fox wants to optimize their revenue stream potential with regard to carriage fees that are collected on content THAT IS AVAILABLE FOR FREE ONLINE AND OVER THE AIR. You want to turn a channel THAT IS FREE ONLINE AND OVER THE AIR into a premium service. To paraphrase a popular albeit dumb slogan, it's not HBO. It's TV. THAT IS AVAILABLE FOR FREE ONLINE AND OVER THE AIR.
You want more money? Charge more for advertising. You want to charge more for advertising? Put great programming on all the time. Make it the farewell season of The Simpsons. I grew up on that show and love it like a child, but good gravy that show a rotting turd now. The most ink it has had lately was related to an opening couch gag that was conceived by Bansky. The opening sequence got more praise than every episode for the last eight years COMBINED. Make it the farewell season and line your fucking pockets.

I am not opposed to you making money. I'm really not. But you cannot conceivably convince a carrier that you are worth more than every other network combined when Seth MacFarlane's indigestion juxtaposed with inane 70's television references accounts for 60% of your original programming. Imma be a hater right now, so apologies all around.
ABC and NBC offer an on-demand channel w/o fast-forward sos ads are guaranteed to run. Ditto on Hulu and their respective websites...yours included. You mention god-damned Ford every time someone from Fringe needs to use a car. INNOVATE. EVOLVE. You're a corrupt and despicable multinational corporation, right? So MONETIZE. But don't leave one of the country's biggest markets out in the dust for a bag of fucking circus peanuts on a lousy Halloween haul. Shit, I gotta think of everything??

And before you relax your metaphorical sphincter, Monsieur Cablevision...Fuck You. Fuck You Twice As Hard. Fuck You Half As Fast.
How are you allowing this to occur? I don't get it. And why am I hearing about it every fucking time I turn on the TV? What are we paying you for?

TV. We pay you for TV, assholes.

This isn't a referendum on how great your company is. Never was. This is shitty business all around. We can't do anything when Food Network, HGTV, ABC, Fox, whoever decides they want more money. All we can do is tell you to go shit in the ocean when you "must" raise our rates. Here's a dumb idea...pay them the raised rate in the meantime. Show us you are committed to giving us what we want. Take a small loss for long-term gains. You have made great business decisions...that have helped FIOS, DirecTV, Netflix, super-great free downloading, iTunes,...tremendously. You are the model of demonopolization everyone's been waiting for. Thank You?

This dumb "predicament" YOU put US in is fucking hilarious. YOU HAVE A STRANGLEHOLD ON CABLE IN THIS AREA. And you still cannot keep it together. HOW??? WHY? Take the hit. Figure it out. Get this shit locked down behind the scenes. Lobby for more FCC intervention. Lobby against these practices. Let's Go, how is this difficult for you? You charge money for bleeped and censored material and lousy telephone service. YOU ARE PRINTING MONEY. Send it from the printers to the appropriate people. Prove you want to provide us with better service.

And while I am still pissed off about all this...why can't you offer à la carte packaging? I would love to pay more for better service. BUT GET ME BETTER SERVICE. Upgrade your systems. Give a shit in action as well as in words. Sheesh.

And fuck the FCC. Fresh off a tour of righteous whitewashing to rid our ears and eyes of the dirty, naughty parts of the airwaves...your solution to this dispute is to tweet sports scores. The final word on media...the reason television stations can broadcast...the reason Fox is AVAILABLE FOR FREE ONLINE AND OVER THE AIR (remember when I said that? from before?)...and you decide to tweet our cares away.

Sirs and Madams, I own a Twitter account. I know for a fact that Twitter sucks. And your use of it only convinces me of this all the more. Horseshit.

Revoke some licenses! Intervene! Injunction something! Force channels that go rogue to remain on the air during these pissing matches! Be LESS hated! CRAP ON A CRAPPY CRACKER OF CRAP HOW DIFFICULT ARE YOU PEOPLE MAKING THIS.

You know what. Fuck Comcast, too. You pricks buying NBC almost guarantees that this shit is just going to keep happening more and more. You people are killing me here. I can't even think of a way to put this all together and draw a conclusion. This is just so stupid.

Jesus Christ. This is stupid. Jesus Christ.

I’m quitting television. I'll just wait for the DVDs. Maybe I'll take in some exercise with this new-found free time. Learn French like I always wanted to. See what I can do to help in the Sudan.

Oh wait, Chuck is on. Um...fuck this.

entry058 - Air Bud: World Pup is the third film in the Air Bud series.

2010-06-28T15:19:00.001-04:00

Actual Conversation Betwixt Green and myself:

4:30 PM Green: So are you watching that Vince MacMahon sport he invited up? The World Cups, I believe?
  invented*
4:31 PM me: there were people here staring at a flat screen in the middle of the floor watching a game
  no where near their desks, not doing any work
Green: I don't fucking understand it.
me: i wanted someone to come over and sweep them away with a giant broom
Green: Americans actively mock the sport.
4:32 PM Then every 4 years they are engaged in it like they're watching they're newborn come out of their wife's cunt.
me: don't be surprised if i quote you in a blog
  that is fucking hilarious
  and i steal what is hilarious
  wholesale
4:33 PM Green: Please do. It's an honor.
  Not kidding.

Aside from my friend and recent-recipient of a bionic clavicle C. Green (aka The Bionivicle™) disclosing to me his high regard for my low-brow exploits, he is also right about this World Cup shit.

What is with this World Cup shit? Honestly.

We have eleven hundred channels devoted to all manners and types and modes of sport, and I think this is the first time that I have consciously seen anything soccer-related on any of them that didn't involve a riot in the UK or a goat taking to the field for some reason.
ESPN would rather broadcast Major League: Back to the Minors 24 hours a day on every one of their stations and time slots before they would acknowledge on air that any part of soccer was worth mentioning in serious and polite conversation.
Hell, they'd show [star of Major League: Back to the Minors] Scott Bakula's landmark American sci-fi television series Quantum Leap before they would say or print the world "soccer" in a sentence that was longer than three words and didn't end with the world "gay."

At least, that was the impression that I got. Before all this World Cup shit.

And when I refer to it as shit, please believe me when I tell you that I do not mean to disparage the sport per se. In the interest of full disclosure, I can't really stand any sport all that much (=diabetes?). However, soccer seems to me to be among the least worst of sports for me.
There is a large amount of endurance and athleticism; there are relatively arbitrary rules that actually turn out to elevate the level of play; the intensity of the fandom throughout the REST of the world seems to match the intensity of the play on that gigantic field using only your NOT HANDS; that one chick took off her shirt that one time after her game, etc.

I think I only have one complaint, and one complaint only. The way they keep the time is stupid.
Counting up is asking people to use math to calculate at what point we should start caring (aka the last five minutes of the game), and that's more intellectual investment than I care to...invest in any sporting event.
Also, time could potentially be added to the game because they never stop the clock, and I'll be God-damned if I ever see any indicator of any kind when that happens. I have to wait the full ninety to know that I can't stop watching the game. Shit. You've combined the buildup and over-the-top excitement of "finally scoring" a point like in baseball with the general and insipid indefinite end-point like in baseball.
Anyway, I've got nothing against soccer, really. Furthermore, I've got nothing against soccer fields, soccer players, soccer fans/fanatics, soccer balls...

And most Americans - while they may appear to be - are none of these things. The fucking truth.

Yet I have throngs of people here at my place of business glued to nearby television sets like slugs sliming and sticking while Slovenia dukes it out with Algeria. The game they appear to have been waiting for their entire lives, they watch to see who achieves victory and wins over the coveted "I don't think this game has any real bearing on the actual World Cup standings, but I can't be too sure" spot in the tournament.
You're killing me, fair-weather fútbol fans. For reals.
Half of you don't have enough soccer knowledge and background to fill a thimble that's already 3/4 of the way in.
The other half of you fucks only know enough of the fucking game to play it on your fucking PlayStations.

And the latter half of this horseshit equation is the group of Cluelessers that the former half look to for an expertise's opinion! The fuck are we doing here???

No, the fact that the USA "has a chance" this time around is not enough to suddenly care. Because they don't. Also because we have all seen what happens when we rally around teams and sporters that participate in otherwise marginalized American entertainment, don't we?
Remember Michael Phelps, America? Well, do you? He was a good swimmer, remember? Everyone loved him? I saw him on a commercial for Subway with a look on his face that hoped you would buy enough fake sandwiches so he wouldn't have to blow his dealer again for another couple lines of coke.
You look in his eyes and tell me otherwise. You want to do this to the guys on "our" "soccer team"? Don't go chasing athletes, just stick to the rapists and the drug fiends that you're used to (NBA, NFL, etc etc). For all sincerity.

No, the fact that the World Cup only happens every four years is not enough to suddenly care. Because so do Leap Years. Is February 29th showing up on the calendar reason enough to shirk work and stare at a calendar with my hand down my pants? Regrettably, no.

You want to impress me? Forget this every four years. Have one World Cup once every generation.
You know, like in [the movie] Mortal Kombat. Now there's reason to watch! That, and you make it so that a country has to win ten World Kups in a row in order to be the winner. Throw in a vuvuzela player that shouts "Toasty!" at random intervals and I will buy everything they advertise during all the games twice. For serious.

I don't know why the sudden interest. My only guesses?
1) Companies are broadcasting the World Cup as a tool to determine who will get laid off by the amount of time a worker bee spends watching something we all know they could give a fuck about.
2) The U.S. Government is pushing this display of European antics to distract those of us who think European ideas like giving everyone access to adequate health care, universal education, and making sure employees are treating like human beings with the next-best thing: a soccer match in it's entirety.
3) It was either this or skiing; and Global Warming kind of made the decision for us.
4) Someone from Arizona is colluding with mainstream media to weed out illegal immigrants who cancel appointments and jobs so they can catch up with televised soccer balls.
All very plausible, all very very possible.

Even as I write this, some schmuck at the office is jabbering away about Brazil scoring or something.
I'm setting all of you straight this instant: YOU DO NOT CARE ABOUT SOCCER, GIVE IT A FUCKING REST. Go back to talking about what you're going to do for lunch when you get into the office at 9am, go back to your unamusing anecdotes about your unnecessary children, go back to being miserable to be around. I like the company.

entry057 - I Hate Glee.

2010-06-02T11:24:00.006-04:00

You better believe it. I hate the American television program Glee. I hate it's fresh, light blend of musical, comedic, and dramatic elements. I hate it's largely realistic setting that at times employs fantasy elements.
I hate that with only two episodes left in the second half of its first season, it was picked up for a third season. I hate that Fox is looking to extend the second season to 25 episodes from the usual 22 and that it will introduce three new characters. Characters I will undoubtedly hate.

I hate the current characters, too. I hate Artie Abrams, the wheelchair-bound nerd whose dance-fantasy in Episode 19 made brilliant use of "The Safety Dance," one of my favorite songs. I hate Rachel Berry, who should have seen through the machinations of Vocal Adrenaline lead singer Jesse St. James when he proceeded to seduce her, regardless of the fact that it was not specifically to spy on New Directions but rather to reveal to Rachel that Vocal Adrenaline coach Shelby Corcoran was her biological mother. All of which I hate.

I hate Jane Lynch's portrayal of Cheerios coach and New Directions arch-nemesis Sue Sylvester. I hate the wit and general absurdity of the character, and the hilarity of watching her basically attempt to thwart everything related to the glee club and the glee club's coach, Will Schuester.

I hate Heather Elizabeth Morris, an American actress and dancer best known for her role as Brittany in the musical comedy series Glee. Her path to stardom that brought her from Season Two of So You Think You Can Dance to arguably the funniest minor character on the show speaks volumes to the payoff of hard work and determination and I hate that.
She's also attractive.

Speaking of attractive, I hate the dangerously short skirts worn by actress/singer Lea Michelle. I hate the constant tight-rope act that a viewer must endure as she sits and bends and dances and sits...hate.

I hate Kurt Hummel's vain pursuit of star quarterback and male lead for New Directions Finn Hudson despite Finn's insistence that he does not share Kurt's feelings for him. The humor generated from their uncomfortable encounters being multiplied infinitely by their respective single parents deciding to move in together proved to be both humorous and eye-opening which I absolutely did not appreciate or enjoy at all ever.

I especially hate making sure the show is DVR'd so that Keely and I can watch it at our leisure and I can identify my favorite performance of the night in comfort. Hate that part big time.
I hate that the cast performed several concerts at Radio City Music Hall while I was away on vacation.
I mean, you know, I hated the fact that the concerts even existed. Not at all did I mean I hated the fact that I couldn't go because I was on vacation on the time. Which otherwise, I would hate...if it was a concert that I would not hate going to.

I think I'm losing touch with my reality. I hate that.

You know what else I hated? That surprisingly decent rendition of Lady Gaga's - pronounced gahg-AHs - "Poker Face", performed by [Spring Awakening veteran] Lea Michele and [Rent and Wicked alum] Idina Menzel during Episode 20 (titled "Theatricality"). In fact, I think I hated that episode most of all because I don't care much for Lady Gaga - pronounced gahg-AH - or her style of dress.

You know what, that last one might actually be true.

I am indeed a man. And as a MAN...OFFICIALLY...FOR THE RECORD...I hate Glee.
I also hate that I forgot to mention how much of a bitch Will's ex Terri is; how much I fervently disagree with Puck's puckish behavior; how irritated I am completely with Quinn Fabray's ongoing pregnancy woes and Mercedes's decision to take her in after her cover of James Brown's "It's a Man's Man's Man's World"; how that same episode had a rather inspired albeit hated-by-me sequence which involved Beck's infectious 1993 hit "Loser"; how they should include more of Kurt's football prowess, which would enrage me further; and so forth[coming bitterness].

And I'll tell you one thing, if I haven't told you anything else:

You better believe I hate Glee so much that I will be watching the season finale "Journey" on Tuesday, June 8, 2010, at 9PM on Fox. I will surely be wagging my finger at every wonderful moment as New Directions competes with Vocal Adrenaline at Regionals.

Yeah, I surely hate this show. Now, pass the pornography, nachos, and Pabst Blue Ribbon. Now what's the deal with this show Gossip Girl?

entry056 - A John Deere Letter to the Environment.

2010-05-18T10:34:00.006-04:00

One thing that I learned from watching the 2007 instant-classic There Will Be Blood is that some people are very protective of their milkshakes.
Another thing I learned, if you can find and take enough of it out of the ground, there isn't anything you can't do with a bowling pin and a handful of steak. So to speak.

I'm guessing that was the mentality surrounding the various decisions that led to the ongoing, massive, massive oil spill happening in the gulf coast right...NOW.
I say ongoing because despite trying to cover it with a big box...despite shooting at it with golf balls and shredded tire bits...despite offering it the Tonight Show in five years...something between 5-70 THOUSAND SUV's worth of dead dinolube is bubblin' up in the Gulf Coast and nearby ports-of-call. Great.

(As an aside: 5-70 sounds like a pretty large range. Here's where this estimate is coming from: Everyone except BP is saying "60-70 thousand barrels," and BP is FUCKING LYING.)

Believe it or not, I haven't a clue how to fix this. You know, short of plugging it up with a submarine
à la Down Periscope (in that my idea involves a sub, and Down Periscope took place in a sub...also, we're going to need Kelsey Grammar for some reason...) or perhaps traveling in time and strongly recommending that BP correctly install and maintain the $500,000 emergency shutoff system that would have prevented this from happening right from the get-go (not that that would have helped), I've got nothing to help with what looks to already be a success worthy of putting up a "Mission Accomplished" banner somewheres.

Let's face it.
The [insert oil company name here] company sucks for spending money that could/should go to making things safer and cleaner on lobbying to NOT make things safer and cleaner.
The [insert country here]ian government sucks for 1) taking the money; 2) keeping things unsafe and unclean; 3) making sure things gets less safe and less clean than they already fucking are; and 4) telling everyone that things should be done to make thing safer and cleaner and that they're the ones to do it.
Rinse the blood off and repeat.
And we suck because we want everything AND nothing.
We want EVERYTHING we want with ZERO defects, ZERO side-effects, ZERO sacrifice, NO strings attached, NO worries, NO repercussions, NO impact to our lives, fat FREE, tax FREE, guilt FREE, NO NOTHING.
I'm picturing Pee-Wee in a bellhop uniform saying in a very deep voice "Paging Mr. Carlin....Mr. Carlin, you have a call at the front desk."

So here we are. There's tons of oil drowning oceanlife, killing economies, contaminating land, water, and food supplies. ECOsystems and ECOnomies are never going to recover from this. People are trying to fix something that is a billion times worse than the Exxon Valdez, and that hasn't even been completely fixed yet.

So what the fuck am I doing rinsing out this Dr. Pepper can?
Seriously, is there any amount of recycling that is going to make up for the damage of this oil spill?
I'm watching all this glug glug glug everywhere in every way, and I realize that I do not have to do another blessed thing to help the environment.
Ever.
This is what we'd call a tipping point.
Nothing I do will ever counteract the amount of fucked-up the environment is after this, period.
What would be the point of rinsing out my cans at this point?
Do you think all the cancerous tumors that will one day take over the human body and evolve into sentient beings will look over their domain that is this planet and praise me for adding a few cans and bottles to the landfills that will inevitably become their spheres of culture and influence? My guess - if I had to guess on such a plausible turn of events - would be they would be too busy sun bathing in a black ocean to wonder aloud what my hand was in any of their good fortune.

So effective immediately NOW, I am no longer recycling ANYTHING. If I have trash in the car that I'm done with, out the window it goes onto the highway. I will drive a sports car the long way to a coal-burning brick oven pizzeria and cancel my order mid-bake and insist that they throw it at a sick baby animal at full-force. I'll pay the extra charge for that in asbestos. That's it. I am so done with this environment.

I'm donating McDonald's Happy Meals to Greenpeace, I'm going to ask the Fair Lawn Borough Council for tax breaks to pay for my backyard newspaper furnace. I'm going to lobby NASA to send a manned flight to Mars with the Fatboys, the chick from Precious, a family of elephants, and the entire cast of an upcoming season of The Biggest Loser at the helm. What would the point be of doing otherwise?
"Paging Dr. Leary, Dr. Hicks, Dr. Howard! Paging Dr. Leary, Dr. Fine, Dr. Hicks!"

People, we have let our environment fall so far by the wayside, we ought to be arrested for abuse. So we let the government have a go, and as we washed our hands of the whole matter she got gang-raped by them and every company in the history of human existence. We were asking for it. So, fuck all of you, I'm going to tear down every solar panel I see, I'm going to fart in every wind turbine, I'm going to resalinate your desalinated energy waters, my garbage is going to look like garbage oughta. If I'm going down, I'm going to take every last one of you with me. Not that we were already headed that way to begin with. Milkshakes are delicious, it would seem.

Listen to me, I sound like a Schizophrenic trying to explain a Jackson Pollack painting to a blind Eskimo.

entry055 - an amAZing offer.

2010-05-17T15:07:00.003-04:00

I've been away for awhile. And recently, I've been paying more and more attention to current events.

I'm not sure what caused everything to go so bad so so quickly, but here we are.

And here I am, sitting around, ready to solve ANYTHING that comes my way, and my talents have been wasted on stuff I don't even care to consider here, on this forum I have neglected for nearly a year.

Has it been an entire year? I did some shit. You're now up to speed.

Anyway, something that I can't seem to wrap my head around is the constant bickering, boycotting, and bugging bugaboo surrounding the immigration woes of the 48th United State, Arizona.

Aside from having nothing to do with the eponymous iced tea and being the location of the best show on TV right now (at least until the season closes and AMC brings back Mad Men...thereby making MAD MEN the best show on TV, just because), Arizona is home to a lot of people from Mexico.
Evidently, the immigrant population is quite illegal in the state, and illegal=bad. I checked the math on this, so it must be true.

I mean, does it make sense to presume that a vast majority of people that entered a foreign country without following proper legal procedure in an effort to make enough money to give their families a better life than they would have had in their own impoverished nation would do what they could to keep under the radar and not break the laws in said foreign country so that they may stay and earn for as long as was possible? Of Course Not.

So Arizona is dealing with the Immigrant Question because they can't afford to wait around for Washington Fat Cats to "work out" and "reason" such "complex issues".
And dealt with it they did; a law has now passed that allows a police officer to ask you to prove that you are not in the country illegally if they have reason to believe that you might be (ie You Are Brown).
This is old news, I know. There's oil flowing into the ocean and Greece is the word is the word is the word that illustrates the end of the economy as we know it and Goldman Sachs is raping us all and Jersey Shore is filming in Miami...cats and dogs, living together...MASS HYSTERIA!!! I know.
Let's stick with Arizona's Legalese, if you don't mind.

A lot of people are comparing them to the Nazis. Which is kind of sort of technically right in some way, but ultimately a stupid analogy. Yes, Nazis had pieces of flare, they made the Jews wear them. And we'll leave it there before the punchline comes and Glenn Beck is either railing against me or praising me. Wouldn't know which one's worse if I had to even guess.

I compare it to finding a replicant in Blade Runner, if all the replicants spoke Spanish. Or like the whole thing that happened in The Siege.

So naturally one of two things has to happen: 1) Henry Enrique "Erik" Estrada and those kinds of people better make sure to carry a US birth certificate [that's not from Hawaii] if they want to traipse around Phoenix and use our amazing Health Care system; or 2) Arizona really needs to get rid of everyone in their government that thought this would be a good idea, and then get rid of this stupid fucking rule.

But that is just too complicated. Arizonans want nothing to do with immigrants, and immigrants want Arizona to do nothing to them. Solution?

SELL ARIZONA BACK TO MEXICO.

Why?

1) We could really use the money. The funds to make sure investment banks remain Too Big To Fail have to come from somewhere, people. Why not generate that revenue from the great state of Ari-We're too Fucking Myopic and Ungrateful to Realize We're Bullying the Wrong People-zona? At the very least, our fellow benefactors of cheap labor will get some perspective on what it is to be nothing to America.

2) Mexico would appreciate the offer. Let's face it: things have been pretty rocky with Mexico since the whole Elian Gonzalez thing. And that kid wasn't even MEXICAN! Enough is enough, as far as I'm concerned.

3) More jobs will be created in the US, as the proposed wall for the border will be increased to fence Arizona out. That means work for the people who were here to work in the first place, and work for the people who wouldn't find building an idiotic fence to be so demeaning anymore.

4) At least P.F. Chang's can be considered "International Cuisine." Chinese Fusion from Arizona? eh. Chinese Fusion from the Land of a Thousand Tacos? Here, take my money! Ditto for Cold Stone Creamery.

5) We can generate revenues for America's families by putting bounties on the dumb fuck politicians who are newly illegal as they try to cross the new borders. Alive, 50 grand. Dead, we pay your stupid underwater bullshit mortgage. Then we deport you for costing us so much money. Then the bounty gets placed on your head The Circle of Life is Complete.

Sorry I was away for so long. I would've killed so many birds with this one stone, we would have been eating for weeks already.

Also, now that I think of it, Mexico doesn't have to be the buyer on this. We could sell this shit to any country! Spain might want a piece of their luxurious empire back...why not? Maybe Iceland wouldn't mind a change of climate for it's volcano-hating lifestyle. We could probably even back the sale of this piece of shit state against securities that could be traded in the open market, then offer derivatives in the event the sale does not go through...oh, fuck. I should have stayed out of this.

entry054 - Guy, I'm Gonna Break That Cell Phone Over Your Dopey Head.

2009-07-14T13:01:00.002-04:00

I understand completely. Honest, I really do.

You're on the train. You didn't bring Oprah's latest Book Club offering, your ipod mix of Ted Nugent's best live performances, or important immigration documents to pore over and keep yourself occupied.
You're bored.
Maybe there's "important" "work" that needs to be done and you can't say "no" to your "boss" for fear that your .025% raise that was promised in eighteen months will be reduced to .023% - should they give you anything - if every minute detail isn't covered in an anal and almost absurd manner.
Maybe you're at the movies, and you're a fucking dickhead. Understandable, I guess.
Perhaps you spent 70-80 dollars (US) on a ticket to a Broadway show and you just need a light source because you just have to read the Playbill to find the names of the songs while the fucking show is already in fucking progress. Nevermind that the song is on right fucking now...what name did they give it???

You could also be walking, biking, driving, standing in an elevator, ordering lunch at a pizza shop. Even pushing your kid on a swing. And the urge to discuss the sociological equivalent of a pig asshole with another nobody just like you will suddenly burst forth like a crop of retard blossoming and ripe for harvest on Moron Family Farms.

I understand completely. Honest, I really do.

Stop with the fucking cell phones. We're done now.
(And I know this is about as timely as Kevin McCarthy's speech at the end of Body Snatchers, but be that as it may...)
I mean, I know telling people to stop with the cell phones seems like telling fish to stop with the gills.
But is it?
Granted it's nice to have a means of communication with you in times of emergency or urgent need for information. But up until about 30 years or so ago, the world was without wireless phones. gasp.
Fortunes were made, lost. News was disseminated, ignored. International commerce and communication went off without too much of a hitch, sparked all manor of global furor and paranoia. Your friend's mother was still a bitch, Brian was still an asshole for not betting on [insert the name of your favorite local sports team here].
And all this without a single goofy gangsta rap ringtone blasting out the calm and silence of the unsuspecting American public.
No clickety clacks during an otherwise peaceful dump at work.
No Goddamned stupid banter during all hours of all days...that is, within earshot of people who wouldn't care for your words if they guaranteed endless fifty dollar bills and unlimited refills with every drink purchase.

Stop with the fucking cell phones. Seriously, enough.
I spend money - good, well-earned money - to read/sleep/quietly rock during my commute, to watch a movie, to enjoy a show with my girlfriend, to have a flipping pleasant flipping meal.
(Programming Note: I've said "fucking" too flipping much already.)
And odds are good that you did as well, if you're in the vicinity of my schlubby ass. This is the time you pick to find out if your cousin's dog made a breakthrough in group therapy today. THIS is the place you choose to await word that your neighbor just went under the knife to get her uterus stapled. You paid MONEY to interrupt yourself (and OTHERS) from fun...and for what???

I guess I don't understand. Honestly, I really. Do. Not.

I visited a friend who was sitting Shiva for her grandmother last week, and I happened to walk into into her aunt's house as a Rabbi was delivering a prayer. Noticing this, I reached into my pocket in hopes that I shut my phone off without displaying it to the bereaved. (I recently purchased a new phone, and the vibration does dick to alert me of anything.) Sure enough, during a quiet part of Schlomo's set, the room fills with the sound of Billy Joel's "Pressure" blasting forth from my khakis.
Needless to say, I was mortified.
Wait.
Needless to say? Obviously, I needed to say something. Well, maybe not me specifically; I didn't need to say, but someone needs to say something. Otherwise, some jamoke reading this out there somewhere would wonder what the big deal was.
It was inappropriate, jamoke.

I WISH I COULD WISH YOU CELL PHONE CREEPS TEN TIMES THE MORTIFICATION I FELT THAT DAY EVERY TIME YOU WHIP OUT YOUR DIGIDILDOS FOR A MASTURBATORY JAUNT BEFORE THE COURT OF PUBLIC PRIVACY.

It can wait. It can ALWAYS wait. And if it can't wait, leave. Gather your things, ask people to step aside, and get lost already. Our annoyance trumps your inconvenience. Disappear.

And if I was running a movie theater, I would seriously consider a cell phone ban. No stupid commercial from a wireless provider is going to help this.
That's like asking cigarette companies to put out ads against smoking, expecting them to be effective. WHOOPS.
A dummy flicker about the calls involved in making other dummy flickers is about as useful to reducing calls and texts during a movie as a phone charger built into every seat in the theater.
Block the signal, offer a holding station for patrons, throw people out. Something.
Getting a call during a film? There is nothing you can do with the info you might get, except leave. And if you're prepared to leave during a movie when you have such info, you should not have come at all.
Please leave the inconsiderate interruptions in movies to the professionals: Black People.

You Understand? Honestly, you really should.

Restaurants should throw you out like you lit up three cigars and blew the smoke into a toddler's crotch. Which isn't to say kids should be in a restaurant anyway. But one horseshit peeve at a time.

If you're driving and your hand is glued to your face whilst your spouse spouts grocery lists, I'm pulling you over, you're going to jail.
I'm taking your license, you're a reckless driver no better than a drunk one.
I'm making it safe for others to drive, you can pull over or use a hands-free thing, this is not complicated.
No, I don't want to put lives and sanities in danger so you can use airtime in a wholly feckless manner. I vote no.

Speaking of votes...As I looked back on my notes on this on the way home, some goof jabbers away on his blackberry doing whatever. I've made reference to smoking twice now, and you know what? How is the noise pollution that is your annoying flipping cell phone any different from blowing a cloud of smoke in my face? (Besides the whole cancer thing, of course...) Someone get that Bloomberg guy on the phone. Let's restrict some more civil frivolities! Make it your fifth-term campaign promise or something! After All, So Goes New York.....so goes.....DE VURLD!!!

I humbly digress.
It took me a while to get a direction for this aggression, and now I don't know where else to go with this. I am so bothered. We've talked about this before. I've written so much already but only scratched the surface. Have not talked out your annoying ringtones, the god-awful pixel collages that pass for pics presently, the mess that is the man who needs his blinking Bluetooth blighting his bulging ear all bloody day... I guess we'll have to start out small.

Please stop with the fucking cell phones.
Stop using it without regard for others.
Stop using it in an inappropriate and/or unsafe manner.
If you choose to use responsibly, or if it's an emergency, you'll do it away from other people. Easy as that.
If you can't do that, expect me speaking up and asking you very politely to be polite. I don't want to let it go unchecked anymore. This shit stops when I'm around.

It's completely understandable. Honestly, it really is.
Hang up the fucking phone and listen to what I'm telling you.

"...Are you crazy, you big idiot? Look! You fools! You're in danger! Can't you see? They're after you! They're after all of us! Our wives, our children, everyone! They're here already! You're next!"

- excerpt, Kevin McCarthy's speech at the end of Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

An Obligatory Pig Virus Entry

2009-04-30T14:42:00.006-04:00

How it Happened:
A Mexican had sex with a Pig. (I'm assuming Male Mexican/Female Pig, a) because a man having sex with a male pig is weird; and b) because only a man would be weird enough to contemplate pig sex, let alone act on his "wanton desires.")

Why it Happened:
Louise was asking for it. Louise the Pig. She was asking for it. To be sexed by a man. A Mexican Man.

When it Happened:
During the heat wave that happened over the last couple of weeks.
Evidently, it was too hot to work, but not too hot to fuck. A Pig.

Where it Happened:
This may come as a surprise or a twist of sorts...New Mexico.
The initial report got confused, and they have been sticking to the wrong story ever since.
And no offense, but doesn't it sound more plausible that a thing like this starts in a place like Mexico?

Possible Lasting US Socioeconomic Effects:
As of the last time I bothered to check it out, the U.S. of A. had about a hundred or so cases.
I'll give you double, we'll call it 200. I'm fair like that.
There are 300 million people in this country.

200/300,000,000=Swine Flu SARS+Avian Flu+West Nile Virus=Quit Cha Bitch In.

Symptoms: Flu

Remedies: See Remedies for Flu

Bacon:
Eat it. It's the only way to prove to these porcine terrorists that we're too crazy to give a shit about their biological warfare. We're silly like that.

entry053 - This Is the Business I've Chosen? (Or, Clari-Sina Explains It All)

2009-04-29T13:53:00.007-04:00

Last Night, I was invited to the social event of the season.
A Mr. Green invited me over to eat Cookie Puss for his birthday.
The event was well-attended, and I think I may have had something to do with Granny Green's untimely departure (seeing as it happened right after my arrival), but it seemed a good time was had by all.

A conversation ensued between my closest friends, our better halves, and the new kid on the block, and somehow the conversation moved over into everyone trying once again to figure out what exactly I do for a living.
Not that this is a sore subject for me or anything, but I honestly have a hard time explaining to people whatever the fuck it is I do.

I was compared to the guy from the Seinfeld knockoff played by the guy from Serving Sara with the pill addiction. How no one really knew or understood what he did for a living.
Also, what with all the downtime I appear to have, there is this nasty rumor going around that I don't do much of anything. I wouldn't even dignify such a flagrant prevarication by acknowledging it, if not for the fact that I just acknowledged it. Twice.

I like telling people the story of the V.P. in charge of this department when I was hired who told me that he had been "in this business" for twenty-plus years, and he still could not explain to people on Wall Street what it is he does. He just tells people he is On the Street.
Well, that certainly is not enough for my people. And it isn't enough for me, either.

I find it easier to simply invent jobs and titles for myself, rather than get into details and suffer the indignity of people I know/care nothing about getting it wrong.

Some of my more popular areas of expertise include
-Model Stock-Car Designer
-Curator of a Factory's Museum Area (Factories have included The Nabisco Factory on Rt. 208, The Lea & Perrin's "Factory" in Fair Lawn, and The [pasta factory that sits beside the broadway RR Station] Factory in Fair Lawn
-HVAC Repairman's Apprentice
-HGTV Senior Intern
-Mayor of Buftar, N.C.

All good, but I want you all to know, once and for all, what it is that I do. And I hope it doesn't put you to sleep.

Here's a brief (RE: not brief) tutorial on what I do for Ridge Clearing and Outsourcing Solutions, a wholly-owned subsidiary of Broadridge Financial Solutions (I'll try to fill in analogies where I see fit):

So we begin with a trade, which is a purchase or sale of stock by someone. Easy Enough. Buy Sell, Buy Sell...Funny Money, Boo-BAH!
Right.

There are some people in this country that are not content with trading in the United States alone.
They want to trade stocks and bonds in the United Kingdom, in Australia, all around the globe, wherever there is a dollar/euro/peso/rupee to be made. Okay.

The problem is, it is fucking expensive to do that. There are all sorts of rules and regulations and taxes and fees and nonsense to go through to just have a trading account in one foreign country.
Some countries even require guarantees of a certain amount of money in the account at all times for an international customer.
In short, trading in an international market is a pain in the meaty balls for the average trader.

So it's easier for a guy like you or me that has his eyes abroad to go to a brokerage (AKA stock-trading company place) for their international needs. It's easier for a bigger company to pay for and hold onto multiple international accounts, seeing as they'll pool the foreign trades of all their customers into the accounts.
Like buying insurance rather than paying for an accident with lottery tickets.
Bad Analogy.
Some brokerages are big, but they may not have the resources/connections/don't give a shit enough to open these accounts. Heck, they may not be big enough to handle much of anything and turn a profit in the process.

Here's where Ridge comes in. Ridge says we have the accounts, we have the resources, we have what you need to keep your customers. Sign up with us, we'll let you trade whatever wherever, charge you accordingly, you can keep and grow your business.

Instead of the brokerage going to the meat market for steak, the fish market for shrimp, the fabric shop for poplin, and the general store for chewing tobaccy and pomade, they take you to Walmart, your one-stop shop. It may not be as high-quality as the individual shops. But it has everything.
Decent Analogy.
So us fools in the International Department, we have clients. These clients give us trades that they want to do. We put these trades into the market.

Now, thing of it is, the way we see things, it isn't exactly someone ringing me up at the end of the aisle in the supermarket, done deal. Nope.

The entity our client is looking to buy or sell stocks and bonds from is called the counterparty.
We have to go out to the market and say:
"WE ARE BUYING/SELLING THIS MUCH OF THIS STOCK FROM THIS COUNTERPARTY IN THIS MARKET (COUNTRY). THEIR ACCOUNT INFO IS BLAH BLAH BLAH."
These jamokes have to do the same thing for the other side of the trade.
So if we're buying 100 shares of No Shower Inc. for 100 Euros in France from Counterparty XYZ, this XYZ character has to instruct the market that they are selling 100 No Shower Inc. to us vs 100 Euros.

More often than not, these instructions don't match for whatever reason: the counterparty has a new account number we don't know about, they know the trade for a different amount of shares, money, or a different currency altogether, the date we arrange for the trade to settle (the buy/sell to take place) is not matched, etc. A whole bunch of shit can go down.

That's what we do. We put the shit out, We get the shit settled, We settle and facilitate international trades for our clients.

So to put it simply, we help Cookie Puss land on Earth after his long trip from the planet Birthday, and we make sure he arrives in time for the party.
Amazing Analogy.

I hope this explains nothing.

"...we now consider this matter closed."

2009-03-27T08:52:00.002-04:00

Pursuant and further to Article 52 on this site, Amazon refunded my money, let me keep the one plate, plate, and bowl, and gave me 5 Amazon Dollars to spend with as I please.

*Sigh* It's over. I feel so helpless. So underwhelmed. So useless now.
All I'll have is my memories and all the comments I left here and here. I was stuck on stupid during this entire conundrum. Eh.

It's over now. For now.

entry052 - What If I Wish to Eat More Than Once?

2009-03-21T10:04:00.003-04:00

I'm not sure if you can tell from my previous writings that I am a very smart shopper.
I like finding deals on things, and I don't mind buying ahead of time if the price is right.
That's Number One.
Number two is my mother has always liked the idea of square plates. Do not ask me why or for what reason, she'll go to a restaurant, see the meal served on a square dish, and reminisce about the one time we had square dishes.
Then we have to tell her she never had them, so there's nothing to reminisce about.
And she spends the rest of the evening locked in the men's room of the restaurant weeping.
It's never fun.

I like going to the The Consumerist website. On a daily basis. I read about some horror stories, find out how to better my shopping/saving/business experiences, etc. They do this thing called "Morning Deals," where they just link dump a bunch of Holy Shit sales on items that people can actually use: cameras, computers, home items,... And that was Number Three.

As you can probably guess Number Four by now, imagine my surprise when I see 12 glass square plates available for $2.99 from Amazon on the Morning Deals for March 16.
Wow.
I even took it a step further, I noticed that they had the same deal on matching salad/dessert plates and bowls.
All square, all $2.99 for 12, all ordered by me.

I suppose I should have seen Number Five coming when I placed an order for thirty-six pieces of glassware, and the shipping cost more than the plates.

Number Five: I get the order, and in the box was one dinner plate, one salad/dessert plate, and one bowl. Happy Mother's Day! Enjoy dinner...by yourself! So I go to the consumerist, Amazon, etc. to see what the deal is. And I'm not the only screwee. So I wrote the following comment in response to the posting related to this on The Consumerist slash the goofiness of all parties involved (you may file this as Number Six):
---
I'm in the boat with yous guys, ordered one of each box of 12 (dinner plates, salad plates, bowls), and got a fancy "dinner for one" setting. Note/FYI - It was offered by Bealls [a deptartment store chain in Florida selling through Amazon] at 2.99 for a box of 12 on the day of the deal, and now Amazon offers it directly from themselves at the price of 30-40 bucks.

I spoke to Amazon first, seeing that a lot of people got nowhere with Bealls (RE Seller Feedback), and Muriel P. from Amazon advised me of the following:
1) If the item is in stock (it was at the time), the seller is obligated to fulfill the order as per their agreement with Amazon.
2) I should work with the seller to see if they would be willing to provide a refund (assuming the item was NOT in stock, which it wasn't).
3) I can file an A to Z claim.

I spoke to Frederick (or Derek?-he provided me with his extension, regardless) at Bealls. I asked if he could assist me with an Amazon order, and I provided him the number.
I asked him to acknowledge that
a) My order form clearly stated "box of 12" for each (HE DID)
b) I should have received 12 of each (HE DID)
c) The 12-pc sets that I ordered were in-stock (HE DID)
It was then that I told him that I received one of each, that I already spoke with Amazon, and they advised me that you are required to fill my order as per your agreement.
He suddenly remembered a management directive regarding these particular items-he was advised to direct customers to Amazon to file an AtoZ claim.
What?
The conversation went around in a couple of circles, but what it boiled down to was I paid for 12, I was promised 12, they acknowledge 12, I get 1, Tough Go Get a Refund.
Problem is, I want what I ordered. I'm silly like that.
I was advised to either go back to Amazon and file a claim (which he acknowledged would only lead to a refund of money...), or to contact his supervisor Monday. So I guess I'll have to speak with Teresa Monday morning.

Called Amazon back, and Adolfo Q. had "never heard of this before (ie seller pretty much refusing to fulfill an order, which is essentially what is happening)".
AtoZ claims hurt the seller's credibility and ratings within Amazon, and apparently I can specifically request that the order be fulfilled rather than simply get a refund. That should not be a problem since the item is in stock, right? Evidently, the concern has been noted on my account and Adolfo insists that the matter will be investigated.

Should I speak to the seller's management before I file the AtoZ claim? How is this not a clear example of someone screwing up and covering up rather than acknowledging and correcting amicably? [I am filing the complaint before Monday, FYI]

And if I could say one more thing - and I mean no disrespect whatsoever - I find consumerist's response to this surprisingly ho-hum.
I follow this site on a daily basis (sometimes more than once a day), and I understand that posting a Morning Deal isn't a whole-hearted guarantee that everything is a.o.k. I enjoy me some morning deals, but I am always wary of everything all the time (guess the BS detector should have gone off on a set of 12 plates for 3 bucks?)

But for a group dedicated to smartening up the average consumer to post a link to a good deal and then go "Oh, gee, look at that, lots of luck" when it explodes...maybe look into this, provide us with some contacts? Point us in the right direction when everyone - EVERYONE - who took this deal is calling shenanigans? Maybe...check-up and confirm that these deals are deals and not..."shenaniganses?" I'm sorry if this is misdirected frustration over the ordeal, but I would rather not get so obviously screwed unless I was enjoying it or getting paid handsomely for it...and neither seems to be happening at the moment.

33 Plates and bowls, please.
---
I know it is somewhat asinine, but I want the plates I paid for. I paid, they took the money. Give me the plates already. Do not care who made what mistake. We agreed to terms, you are renegging. Change your mind, or I will file formal complaints with everyone, everywhere. I ain't fuckin' around.
[I spose I'll keep you posted. heh.]

entry051 - How the Whole Nazi Thing (Possibly) Got Started

2009-01-08T18:01:00.001-05:00

Apologies in Advance.

FADE IN

INT. DIE BIER-SAAL DES GAG-EINSTELLUNG, A BEER HALL IN BERLIN - NIGHT (SEPTEMBER, 1919)

In a corner of the massive hall, four GERMAN SOLDIERS, all with blond hair, blue eyes, tall and in their mid to late 20s, decked out in their tattered military overcoats, are at various stages of various steins of beer. They are singing the song 99 LUFTBALLOONS as a barbershop quartet from Germany might, despite the fact that song will not become popular in the country for another 64 years or so.
A young, short and sickly-thin ANGRY-LOOKING SOLDIER, similarly dressed, enters the beer hall, locates the four at the other end, and finds a seat between the two closest to him. The four wrap up the song and "get down to business," so to speak.

SOLDIER #1
Excellent. We may begin.

They huddle up, as The Angry-Looking One begins to whisper in German to the other four, with strong body language and a determined look in his eye. The whispers are rather loud. He delivers his final facial expression and hand gesture, and the group erupts into drunken laughter, except for SOLDIER #4. He laughs along because everyone else is.

SOLDIER #2
HAHAHAAAAAHAAA! THE RABBI COMES BACK
THE NEXT DAY WITH 50 RABBIS! OUTSTANDING!

SOLDIER #3
Exceptional work, Herr HITLER.

A Thunderbolt crashes, and Lightening lights the hall's windows.

HITLER
Thank You, Thank JEW!

The group erupts into laughter once again, except Soldier #4 does not. The rest notice him.

SOLDIER #1
What's the matter, Herr Anton Drexler, founder of
the German Workers' Party, the organization
which will eventually BECOME the NAZI PARTY?

A brief pause. Thunder and Lightening.

DREXLER
I don't know...the joke's funny. Don't get me wrong,
Herr Hitler. I just think the delivery...I don't know.
It seems like you're saying these things about Jews
like it's a matter of fact or something.

HITLER
(jokingly)
Well, I suppose there is some degree of truth to every
joke, am I right?

The group pauses and collectively gasps.

SOLDIER #2
You mean the Jews are REALLY THAT BAD?

SOLDIERS
(together)
My God! That's Terrible! How can this be?

HITLER
Guys, please. Please. These are just jokes.
Guys...ACHTUNG, BABIES!!!
(pause)
I thought the point of the club would be to
tell cute ethnic jokes and make out and stuff...

DREXLER
What?

HITLER
You know, tell ethnic jokes and stuff...

DREXLER
Fine. But I was thinking...It might be a good
idea for us to perhaps showcase your jokes
to a wider audience. Maybe tour a few beer
halls, expand our group a little bit. Get some
exposure, at the very least.

SOLDIER #3
Yeah, maybe our love for making fun of
Jewish people can unite this rag-tag
country of ours!

SOLDIERS
YEAH!!!

SOLDIER #1
We should wear armbands! You know, so
people'll recognize us, and they'll say "hey
whoa, look at those guys, what's with the
armbands, those are cool...I want an
armband like that!

SOLDIERS
YEAH!!!

SOLDIER #3
(aside, to SOLDIER #2)
Hey, Verner. You think the Polaks might like
Hitler's irreverant brand of humor?

SOLDIER #2
(to SOLDIER #3)
Dunno, Jeff. But if we cram it down the
French's throats, Europe is sure to get it!
If only to succomb to the trend!

HITLER
Hold up. You think the Jews will mind if we
continually roast them like this?

A long pause.

SOLDIER #1
They have to have a sense of humor about things.

SOLDIER #2
And if they don't, and this thing does get as popular
as we hope it will...maybe we can give them something
to wear on them so that people will know they're dealing
with people without a sense of humor about these things.
But they definitely can never wear the armband in the
name of der humor. FAIR?

SOLDIERS
YEAH!!! FAIR!!!

DREXLER
Hmmm.....ROASTING the Jews?

HITLER
WAIT-

FADE TO BLACK.

And to All a Good Plight.

2008-12-24T23:59:00.001-05:00

Christmas Eve.

My manager had a small bottle of Courvoisier he wanted to get rid of.
My director, she was gifted a bottle of Bacardi Orange.

Since we had no small cups, John (the manager) went up to the medical department and collected some small clear disposable plastic cups labeled URINE COLLECTION CONTAINER.

I had the shot of the cognac, I had a couple tall shots of the rum straight up, I mix another couple tall shots into some coke.

I have had nothing to eat, because I'm invited to what I'm told is an elaborate fish dinner that evening.
Well, I had some crackers.

I'm drunk at work, I'm out at 3, I have a Very Merry Christmas.
And I wonder where Muhammad was while they were handing out holidays up in the clouds

I Have Two Notes I Wrote Down There, They Came to Me I Know Not Where [From]

2008-12-23T17:28:00.003-05:00

Note the First
"No man is a match against an Irish accent. Unless it's the kind of Irish accent that's so murky it can only be understood by full-blown alchies and leprechauns."

Note the Second
"I was getting out of the train. There was a woman directly in front of me doing the same. While behind her, she stopped and bent over, and we were positioned in such a way that she could have easily received my seed should I have been sufficiently startled enough to deliver said seed.
I wonder if anyone I know was conceived in such a fashion?"

I also have a list of albums that were referred to me by A.V. Club's Best of 2008 list (some quick likes include Beach House - Devotion, Helio Sequence - Keep Your Eyes Ahead, and Black Mountain - In The Future, etc.), a list of shows that I wanted to see complete with cost and location for each (in addition to their runs), a list of goofy gifts for Keely this Christmas (ie - $10 Chili's gift Certificate, turtleneck with built-in scarf, "really nice socks", rocket skates/sled), and several crossed-off shopping lists (everything from bagel bites and chacho dip to cherry pie filling and veggie pot stickers).

Not that you care, or anything.

entry050 - Three Reasons to Hold Off on the Morning Duke

2008-12-08T14:40:00.003-05:00

Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.

In other words, I poop like clockwork.

One in the morning. It happens just after I wake and just before I shower.
One before bed.
One during the day if I had a multigrain something or other for my morning repast.
But I thought of three reasons last week after extensive research (ie I rushed out of the house for work before taking my first shit of the day) why one should push off the pushing out until after they get to work.

(editor's note: That is, if you can hold it. If you're sliding into first, and you feel something burst, don't take my advice.
Otherwise:)

1) "Waiting for Reinforcements" = More Volume = Sense of Accomplishment = Better Day Overall
I don't know about you, but the first one tends to be more a reflex or a jump-start of your digestive system in the morning than an actual, god's-honest bloomin' dumpion. You wait about 45 minutes, the equivalent of an average one-way commute, and I can almost (or never) guarantee a poop of exponentially larger scope.
Think about the pride you'll feel after seeing something of that magnitude expelled wherefrom it came. And that pride will pour over into non-turd activities at work.
Shit, you'll be CEO after a couple of years of great days like that. Trust in that.

2) Pumping the Brown at Work Costs Someone Else Money. Money That YOU Get.
They pay you for your time. The first plop du jour takes time (always). Therefore, you have effectively forced your company to pay for you to take a shit. Feel better about your place at the corporate ladder? I know I did. Especially after I realized that members of senior management in my company tend to spend a good half an hour to forty-five minutes with their ankles keeping their pants from the floor.

3) It Gives You a Chance to Practice Qadaahul Haajah in Real-Life Situations.
Not that I knew this already, but apparently there are rules that need to be followed when a devout member of my chosen people - the Islamic people - decide to squat and make the nasty peanut butter.
Now you might be asking yourself why you would want to bother with this, and I would tell you that you are a fucking moron, because it's obvious.
You would be practicing the rules of a very private act set up by the religion of a very large and wealthy group of human beings. Imagine how impressed your clients from Dubai will be when you walk them into the toilet for their sandy deposits and you say, out loud, just before you get into the stall:
In the name of Allah, O Allah! I seek refuge with You from all offensive and wicked things. (actual rule)

Congratulations, Mister President. You just solved terrorism.
And it's all thanks to me. Your best friend, and the new President.
Why the new President?
I waited all this time while I was the VP for you to finally realize that I made you.
And that I could un-make you. With my bare hands.

And then I do.

Anyway, don't shit before you leap. Captain's Orders.

entry049 - Unsuccessfully Coping with the Natural Beauty of PUNfidelity

2008-10-31T14:13:00.004-04:00

Our department's VP found out we were doing work this week, so he decided to buy lunch for us.

We decided to order from a place called Gino's.

I had a something parm. I say something parm and not veal parm because what I got was not veal.
So like a not veal parm.

Anyway, it doesn't matter.

Someone asked me how my food was.
I told her, "Great! That chef is a GINO-IOUS!"

She asked me, in a very serious tone of voice, not to speak to her for the rest of the day.

(P.S. - This is about 24 hours after I found out about this.)

***

"A pun is the lowest form of humor, but poetry is much verse." — unknown

An Embarrassment-Related Pissing Contest of Sorts...

2008-09-29T11:04:00.004-04:00

3:08 PM Keely: where are you?

3:09 PM me: i'm here

where are you?

Keely: i'm here

me: alright, then

3:10 PM Keely: tell me something that i don't know about you

3:13 PM me: i worked as a telemarketer for about a week and a half my sophomore year of high school

Keely: okay

3:14 PM could i get something a little more interesting?

me: i find this a little difficult, seeing as you know a great deal about me

Keely: there has to be somethings i don't know

3:16 PM me: i befriended a family in belgium during vacation when i was eight, and i went to visit them after we had gotten back from an outing without telling anyone, and my mother freaked out and thought i was missing

they had a son my age and a cat that was affectionate, they were around the corner from my mother's family's house.

3:17 PM everyone was getting out of the car, and i got out, and for whatever reason without telling anyone anything i got out of the car and left to visit the family

3:18 PM they let me in their house, i goofed around for a bit and fed the cat, i remember them asking me to leave.

the grandparent's house at the time had this massive front door leading to a large stairway - sort of like a brownstone exterior

i opened the door, my mother was sitting on the steps, arms folded over her head

3:19 PM she was crying and freaking out and all, i don't believe i told her where i went exactly

to be honest, i don't think anyone knows where i went

is that more interesting?

3:20 PM Keely: eh

yes

i will not make you do this anymore

me: what?

3:21 PM you're putting me on the spot, and you're asking me for deleted scenes on a dvd you've seen before

they're not all pearls

i'll prove my point

tell me something i don't know about you

3:22 PM Keely: i once made up a story about how my brother was sick in the hospital

and he was so bad that the doctors wouldn't let us see him

apparently i was very convincing because one of my friend's mom called our house wanting to know how she could help

3:23 PM since my brother was in the hospital and all

3:24 PM still to this day, i don't know why i made up the story

but i did

and my parents never let me forget

3:25 PM me: okay, that one is a little cooler than mine

are you sure i never heard this before?

i think i did, if not from you, then from your mother

3:27 PM i was trying to suspend myself from the ceiling of our basement using cord tied to an exposed pipe

3:28 PM it obviously didn't hold me up, and i ended up falling, but the cord brushed against the side of my throat, and it broke the skin along the neck

very superficial, but there was a huge scab across my neck

Keely: did it look like you tried to hang yourself?

3:29 PM me: it didn't not look like that, but it didn't clearly look like ving rhames from rosewood

3:30 PM so the teacher pulls me aside the following morning, the best i can come up with was my brother [frank] and i were playing "barber" and he tied the thing around my neck too tight

they evidently asked frank, and we didn't have our stories straight - he told them i tried to put a dog collar on

3:31 PM they might have called my mother after that, i don't remember, but the scab healed after a day or two, and the whole thing dropped

Keely: i locked my brother in the car one time

because i thought i was protecting him

3:32 PM me: i slammed the car door on my brother's fingers

more than once

while fighting for the front seat

how did you think you were protecting him??

3:33 PM Keely: this was when we lived in west point

my dad had a church in newburgh

and it's not the safest place in the world

he has to get something from the office and it was summer

3:34 PM because he left us locked in the car with the ac running

i thought he was taking too long

so i got out of the car, locked the door, because i wanted to keep my brother safe

and my dad came out to find i'd locked kpaul in the car

3:35 PM my brother tried all he could from his car seat to reach the lock but he couldn't

so the cops had to be called to unlock the car

3:36 PM i thought i was protecting him

3:39 PM me: wow

the road to hell is paved with intentions like that

kidding

3:40 PM Keely: it's probably true

me: i used to drive a pontiac bonneville, and my brothers tom and frank and i worked one summer in scotch plains

3:41 PM tom would never wear his belt in the front seat

one day i lost it and i yelled PUT YOUR FUCKING SEATBELT ON! WHAT IF I FUCKING STOP SHORT AND THEN BOOM-

3:42 PM and i smack the windshield by him to prove my point, but i strike it so hard, the windshield cracks

that was just as i got on the parkway, not a word was spoken after that, except for me to tell the two of them that if anyone asked, a rock kicked up there.

3:45 PM Keely: in disney world my friend evan starting yelling that i was the world-famous keely coffey

and that i was in cats

some of the kids got a real kick out of it and asked for my autograph

and some of the park-goers kind of believed him

i was mortified

3:47 PM me: my parents frequently bought coffee tables with smoothed out edges

and i say frequently because i figured out if i ran across the room and slid my butt along the edge, i could slide across the table

and i would invite cousins and brothers and neighbors to tag along in the mindlessness

3:48 PM and the table would inevitably break into pieces

resulting in a frequent new purchase of a table every three months or so for the better part of a year

3:49 PM Keely: i was supposed to be watching my brother one day

but i thought he could take care of himself

and so did he

i went off with my friends

he went off with his

3:50 PM nothing happened to him

my mom found out and grounded me for a week

me: that's it?

Keely: oh yeah

3:51 PM and i found every loophole that i could that week

i couldn't leave the house but nothing was said about people coming over

so i had my friends over the whole week

3:52 PM me: nice

3:54 PM i think i will end this on a gross note

lemme think of a good one, hold on

3:56 PM i was being punished for something, sent off to a corner for whatever reason

and like you, i do what i can to squirm out of it

3:57 PM i went up to my mother and told her that i have germs

she asked me what i was talking about, and i showed her a spit bubble

she slapped me right across the face

well, it's not that gross

3:58 PM but i can't remember how the drinking and peeing at the same time story goes

so that's all you get

3:59 PM Keely: you have germs?

that's the best you could come up with?

i would gone with something more political

4:00 PM me: i was seven, what political are you talking about?

Keely: i don't know

me: i was watching ghostbusters on a look five days a week

Keely: how being in the corner was unfair and that other moms don't do this

4:01 PM me: i should say on a loop

Keely: i followed you

4:02 PM me: i'm posting this

all of it

4:05 PM Keely: this will be a blog?

entry048 - Mazel Mazel on Your $113 Chesesteak.

2008-09-16T21:39:00.017-04:00

I turned 25 yesterday. Yes, what a milestone, I know.

Wow. I can rent a car now and not be charged an additional fee for my age, if they'll rent a car to someone below the age of 25 at all.

And that's it.

I normally don't make a big thing of my birthday. I enjoy trying out things that the people I swing with would not normally do every/any other day the year (rafting, example).

This year, karaoke. At an authentic Japanese karaoke joint. And it worked out better than I had expected. The day after, a somewhat disjointed barbecue. It was too freaking hot to be outside.

I had taken the Monday off for my actual birthday, September 15, with no real solid idea of what exactly I was going to do with myself.

I thought about work, and how not being there after the weekend was going to affect my responsibilities for the rest of the week. I thought about my family, and the myriad things of note that they needed to take care of that day. I thought about visiting Keels and finally seeing what Raritan Valley has to offer (My guess is nothing the rest of Jersey doesn't offer, but it would still be nice to see where my better half slaves five/eight days a week). I kept thinking about this and that and the other thing and how my doing this would change the appearance of that and my outlook on the other thing.
I thought about thinking about all this stuff, and it hurt me in the soft parts of my head.

Something that was brewing in the back of my mind took considerable shape that Monday morning. Something that told me not to go to work, which I thought I would just begrudgingly do.

Something - for lack of a better description - stupid.

I decided to have a cheesesteak. For Lunch. In Philadelphia.

I rented a car for the day of my 25th birthday.

I charted a course for a city 100 miles or so south of me.

I convinced my girlfriend to accompany me so I wasn't completely lonesome (did not take much convincing...she was in before I even offered).

I drove. To Philadelphia. To eat a cheesesteak.

If you remember nothing about Ben Franklin's electric keys orRocky slurring for three decades and brotherly love or sodomy or whatever you call it or Paul Giamatti signing the Declaration of United Statesedness...If you know nothing else of Philadelphia, know that there are two (2) and only two (not one, but...) choices for an actual Philly Cheesesteak in actual Philadelphia:

1. Pat's King of Steaks (or Pat's, if you're not an idiot)
2. Geno's Steaks (or Geno's, if you like shitty food)

One is across the street from the other, so it's easy to think that they're interchangeable. If you don't fucking care about deliciousness and historical significance, I suppose.

Pat's is the place with history, the place that perfected the art of putting meat to cheese [and onions if you like] all in a delicious Italian roll, the place you go to eat a Philly Cheesesteak.
Geno's has all the glitz and glamour of an episode of American Chopper, with none of the charm or flavor. You go there to take a picture of you eating a cheesesteak. Then you cross the street and EAT a Cheesesteak.

So after running a few errands, Keely and I hopped into the rented white Kia Whateva and headed down the Turnpike in search of a sandwich.
110 miles, 2 hours, a number of random songs on the mp3 machine, and some pricey gasoline.

It takes me a bit to get my bearings, but I get there.

The last time I was anywhere near this nexus of the universe, I was on my way back to New Jersey about a year after I graduated. It had been 2 years since I had a Philly Cheesesteak from Pat's.

And that was about 2 years ago. So the pilgrimage was a long time coming, I guess.
Every trip to Atlantic City and all points south made me think of going there. No such luck.
Got there around two. Ordered an American [Cheese} With [Onions].
Threw a little salt, pepper, ketchup on it.

And then I ate it.

Washed it down with an Orange Soda.

And that was it. We toured a tiny bit of Philadelphia, then I made the long trip home. Got back around 6.
This was what I did for my 25th birthday.

Rental Car for the Day, 45 bucks
Gas for the Car, 40 bucks
Tolls for NJ Turnpike (round-trip), 12 bucks 20
Tolls for Walt Whitman Bridge (round-trip), 8 bucks
The Cheesesteak, 7 1/2 bucks

Grand Total? I spent $112.70 to eat a Cheesesteak.

WHY?

Not sure, exactly. Part of me wanted to prove that I could do such a thing simply because I wanted to. Part of me wanted to enjoy the ride and the fact that I can rent a car and drive wherever. Another part of me wanted to see different things for a day, maybe some familiar things that aren't really familiar to me now.
Maybe all these things, and maybe none of them, or maybe both.

With all the craziness that happened to me in my past, that is currently happening to me in the present, and all the shit that will be happening to me (I'm on to you, fate...), I figure so long as I am alive and breathing I need to make as little sense as possible. I need to have enough of my life figured out so that I don't have to have everything figured out. Thank yous to the book I'm reading (A Confederacy of Dunces) for reinforcing that world view.

Childish? Perhaps my pilgrimage of sorts was.
But I am slowly beginning to think that I have grown up enough that I can afford to be childish.

Something tells me that my watching Burn After Reading this past weekend has something to do with the point of all this.

The point being that there really isn't a point. Except that I wish myself a very happy birthday.

entry047 - I'm Leaving Us Behind, Part Twelve

2008-08-28T11:39:00.005-04:00

Short Background: In my massive constipation of humor before the roast (that'll never happen again...this I swear), I wrote a short story-ish thing. Here 'tis. It's sad and It's fiction and It's what I got that's finished today.

***

I wrote you another letter today.
You won't read that one, either.
I lost count after the sixth time I needed you to speak to me. I don't even know.
At this point, it seems out of habit, the letters to you. Can't really figure it out anymore.

Went back to work last week. People seemed tense and leering. Well, they were tense and leering. All Day. I thought I apologized to everyone involved. Told them the time off gave me much to think about and made me realize how important this job is.
Thought it very convincing, yes.
I tell my brain, so long as the checks clear, I'll do enough to stay here.
You know, until a larger check clears elsewhere. Or even the possibility of a larger check elsewhere. Or even the possibility of the same-size check elsewhere. Somewhere less...aggravating.
I remember having to remind them over and over again, because they kept asking. "There is nothing going on at home. Stop asking."
Aggravating.
Can't stand you not speaking. Not Listening. Not Being Around Me. You were Light, and I realize that now.
You were right, too, realize that as well. Fat lot of good that does us...me now, doesn't it?
Say what you will about hindsight being 20/20 and all, but it sure is insightful.

Another poor joke you won't weirdly snicker at in your weird, snickering way.

Sure, you denied the snicker. I noticed. Everytime we watched that terrible show you would watch. The father would say something stupid to his family, a snicker. I noticed all the little things...still notice them now. The way your ear lobes would crinkle up a tiny bit when you were annoyed. The very faint hint of a lisp here and there when you were in a good. We were in a good. When we were.

I'm not sure where I'm going -- That includes with this letter. Things get fuzzy sometimes.
I just got over hunching to my right. No more leaning into my "female appendage". That bothered the Heck out of you when people referred to us as one another's "appendage". I always thought it was kind of a cute thing for others to say. Sort of built a sense of need for the both of us, I thought.
Albeit a mildly creepy term of endearment. And nomenclature, I'm sure.

***

If someone were to point a gun at my head, blah blah blah, they were to force me to tell them the one thing I miss the most? I'm almost 100 percent sure I'd say your warmth. And physically, I mean. Your actual body warmth and temperature. That. When you would doze off for a bit., your body went off like a solar flare. It was interesting, if nothing else. And I miss that.
Especially since our final face-to-face talk...you were just cold to the touch...

This doesn't feel healthy, I think. It feels good, I guess. But not at all healthy. Not "Getting Better". I should leave you be. But I don't want to hear from you anytime soon. I don't cause I won't. And I won't cause we can't. And I get that, I believe I get that.

I went looking for the cat cards. You remember those? Some gas station just north of the Oklahoma border, whatever nothing state we were in?
There's another.
We were looking for something to pass the time waiting for the tire to get patched up. They had a Christian puzzle book old as sin. And this deck of cards, and each suit was a different kind of cat. Calico, Siamese,...what else? And each denomination had the four cats doing the same thing.
Aces, they were sleeping.
I think Jacks were jumping through the air...and?
I do remember the Jacks now because we got into this discussion. I opened by wondering out loud if they were jumping for real, or if the cats were being released from a small height. Say the top of a step ladder or something. Needless to say, it spiraled from that, and I remember the convo eclipsed any thoughts of us even playing with the damn cards.
I wanted to see if they were still in the plastic wrapping. I don't remember if we even opened them.
You would. But you won't. Not anymore. Never again...?

***

Remembering a lot of good stuff. My mind wandered there after a short while of online poker. Don't worry, it's the free site. "Even when you want it to, Lightening never strikes and strikes again." Mostly your words. A little cleaner than most of your words.
You had a real dirty mouth when you wanted to. Odd that that was something of a turn-on? I mean, not even sexual stuff. You'd say FUCK this, of that's SHITTY. Your cursing never ceased to amuse me. For the most part, I guess.

I really hate getting there letters back. Though I only get about every other letter back. I wish they would all go wherever they go when they never come back. In the trash, somewhere safe, whatever...Where did they go off to?
Even if you don't ever read them, just not having to go back and re-deal with all of everything...the mess I put to paper. When the letters go away, I at least pretend they will be read at some point. If not you, then someone just like you that's in a spot almost like this. Maybe they can get something out of the jabber we got here.

I'm not sure if I know you're Gone.
I mean, I know you're gone, it's obvious. It's cold and you're cold and I'm here and you're Gone and We're Gone. You're Gone. Not Here. I get that.
And with every word I write, I don't-

-Met someone nice the other day. Well, briefly. I had to abort the whole thing when I was just about to stupefy the whole scene. I caught myself at the produce part of the market, faced before a leggy blonde of your "oddly perfect" measurements (thank my Uncle Sal for that one...). I caught myself before I told her what's what; how much she reminded me of you. I made something up to dodge the scene altogether.
And if that's not saying I want you back, well... It's saying I'm too needy.
Yet another you won't get. Because you won't Get this.

I want you back much too much. And I know that I can't.

Please let this be one that's thrown out.
I don't want this one back.

Let me pretend you read it somehow.

entry046 - Sunday, August 3rd, 2008, 3:33PM

2008-08-04T11:01:00.006-04:00

Band practice today, and we're taking a break so I can take a shit. I'm in the [mechanic's] garage's offices, and I believe I am in the bathroom designated for Ladies. As I am seated in the toilet facing a busted tampon dispenser, I proceed to fiddle with it to pass the time.
And there is a fair amount of time passing, as I am on the toilet for a good while.
It's the tail end of a mess that woke me at 5:30 this morning. We'll leave that at that.
The tampons are free, but seeing as the dispenser is busted open, and seeing as the tampons that should be inside have been replaced by a shopping bag full of garbage left over from someone's lunch, I'll have to assume it has been a long while since someone took advantage of the free tampon offer.

As I sit and think about the machine (while I shit and stink, of course), I can't help but think that what I am doing is a little on the creepy side.
And this immediately reminds me of something that happened to me back when I was going to college.

I had finished a class that had taken place in downtown Philadelphia that day, so I headed out and about for a meal. I ended up at a Wendy's of all places. This was during my crushed-hamburger-patties-as-chili-is-good phase, and Wendy's was the only establishment that was willing to satiate.
This particular Wendy's had a basement dining area, and it was just so nuanced in it's creepiness.
I can't really explain it too well. I don't remember if this was before or after the first Saw movie came out (most likely just before), but it was horribly reminiscent of the kind of lighting scheme and interior decoration that they decided to execute down there. It was like Jigsaw's room, except with tables that have their chairs bolted to the ground. Just like Jigsaw to create such a sadistic dining room.

Then there was the booth.

It was one booth. To the left of the booth (the booth's left, not my left...) was a door.
Beyond the door was a hallway even creepier in decor than the dining room. The portraits of Dave Thomas on the walls...you'd swear his eyes were following you...whispering things...foreboding, prophetic things..I'll be dead January 2002...Vanilla Frosty is coming...it sucks...and then a toilet that's disgusting.

And though this story starts with me on the toilet, this story reminded me of a story that is not about the toilet. If you can follow that at all.

Anyway, I was seated with whatever super duper treat hamburger they were offering, Biggie Fries (yes, BIGGIE Fries.), small chili, and the least carbonated beverage they offered. I'm sitting there enjoying this. I am sitting there in my black Tommy Hilfiger long coat. I am sitting there in my black Tommy Hilfiger long coat, sporting my beard.
You know, the kind of beard that screams of desired pretension but whispers a huge lack of whiskers.
The beard...now I remember. It was sophomore year of college. 2002? 2003? Well before Saw.

Anyway, it goes from me being one of twenty to me being one of about three in the weird dining area. A place that is very close to the Rocky Steps, the Liberty Bell, and a number of other historical American icons.

Anyway, I'm eating, and a small kid goes into the hallway. And then he comes out. And then he goes in. And Out. Again two more full trips. The kid was black, couldn't have been more than five or six, bundled for the weather.

His grandmother (I hope it was his grandmother, because she looked old enough to fit the bill) moseyed over to him and grabbed him before the "fun" could continue. As she was dragging him by the hand to get up the stairs, I hear her tell him:

"You can't play around this bathroom. There might be some undercover faggots around up in here!"

Okay. I remember writing this down right after she left because I thought it was so weird and funny to hear such a strange thing from a strange stranger's mouth.

Okay.
It takes me this long to ask this question.
It's not until I wipe up after tooling around with some outdated feminine hygiene device convenience distributor that I ponder something. In August of 2008.
It's nearly five or six years before I finally realize what anyone who might have heard this story her her, the kid or me, would have either wondered or assumed as fact by now.

Did the grandmother refer to me as the possible "undercover faggot"?!?

I never thought of it. I mean, I was the only other person in the dining area at the time. And I guess if you weren't seated with me in a film class or something, I guess I looked creepy.
I'm still creepy do to a few people.
A few little kids, too. I suppose.

WHY DO I CONSTANTLY FIND MYSELF IN THESE SITUATIONS. WHY AM I REMINDED OF CREEPY THINGS I GET MYSELF INTO WHILE I GET MYSELF INTO OTHER CREEPY THINGS. WHY AM I SO ENGAGED IN THIS FUCKING TAMPON MACHINE.

It's like I'm an electromagnet for this stuff. Why can't I exist in a place where I am free to do whatever it is I want, without fear of social faux pas or reproach? I want to be the kind of person that is free to roam about the many faces on the streets, unnoticed for the most part, and capable of doing as I please without worry of misinterpretation or refusal of acceptance.
Like the serial killers that don't get caught...
WHY DID I JUST PUT IT LIKE THAT.

A day from now, I go to work for three days. A week or so from now, four days.
Four days from now, I go to Mexico.
Who knows what sort of international pseudo-sexual-assault incident will come up there?
I'll be sure to have someone write about it in my long absence.

The fivish day weekend I want to write about because it was terrific.

2008-07-21T09:33:00.007-04:00

Thursday bled into early Friday morning, and that was because I had tickets to the midnight showing of The Dark Knight at the IMAX theater in the Palisades Mall in West Nyack.
We (Keely, Kevin, Frank, Tom, Andy, Green, Nelson, Paternos, Pettineo, Emily) waited in a winding line for a good 2.5 hours. Green, Nelson, and Sara happened to be there for just a bit longer than the rest. I felt like I was waiting for the old Batman ride at Six Flags.
And this immediately reminded me of the class trip we took to Six Flags where I chickened out of the ride at the very last second. And now I'm double sad, so this movie better be fucking phenomenal.

We finally made it in, got a bag full of nothing keepsakes that would help us to remember for days afterwards that we got gypped out of ten dollars for a bunch of trash in the car, and made it to our seats.

An evening like this isn't without a dash of stupid and vaguely depressing, so we had a Fat Guy in Joker Makeup fighting a Construction Paper Batman several times throughout the evening. They got so close to teabagging at one point that the "Teabag! Teabag!" chant was inevitable.
Alas, the actual teabagging was not.
A few brief words from the warm-up act Issac the IMAX guy, and the movie starts right up. No Watchmen trailer. Just movie.
This film was one of the few times where I can genuinely admit that I did not know what to expect next. The pencil trick within the first twenty minutes of the movie set that tone for me right away. Anyway, a fantastic and tragic film. I will most likely see it again, it was that good...and that complex, that I want to understand the whole thing. Chock full of exposition and nuance.

Friday began the Keely weekend, and I tagged along with her. I took the day off to recover from the awesome sleep that began at 3:30 AM. That evening, Keels and I headed over to Bar 13 to visit with her friends/co-workers from camp.
As we returned from walking in the opposite direction of the bar we were headed to (Joel is rolling in his grave right now...), I noticed a building that looked familiar. And I said to Keely, this building looks familiar.

The Lesbian Gay Bisexual & Transgender Community Center is located at 208 W 13 Street in Manhattan. This is one block away from Bar 13, our destination Friday. This is the building I thought looked familiar. Otherwise, it was a lovely stroll about the gayborhood.

Bar 13 was decent. Keely's camp friends were decent. I was a little removed from the conversations as it was a big group of people playing catch-up with one another. We broke away from the minor throng for a bite of Vietnamese food. Delicious.
By a minor miscalculation, we ended up meeting friends at the Merchant in Jersey City afterward. The both of us were exhausted (Keely slept through most of the outing, as I recall) and the evening ended a little prematurely on the count of it (Frank passed out a couple of times himself).

Saturday was the wedding of Liz and Ron. Liz was a friend of Keely's, and I was the date. The wedding and its immediate reception was held at the Brownstone in Paterson. Phenomenal food. Beautiful decor. The oddest wedding band I ever did hear. The leader of the pack looked like Jerry Orbach, and the group did everything from Sinatra to Beyonce to the Beatles to Neil Young and everything in between. Everything. It was a little weird. Danced a bit. Drank a bigger bit (open bar...) met some nice people, including the couple that we are going to Mexico to see get married and all. A great evening.

The bathroom of the place had wallpaper that made the walls look like they were lined with books on shelves and things of this nature. Of course, some young whippersnappers had the gumption to write funny things along the spines of some of the books.
-How to Take a Shit
-When You Concentrate, Then Push It Out
-The Pussy Book
And so forth. Made the evening all that more special for me.

Sunday was band practice with special guest Mike Pettineo in special location his makeshift studio at his father's garage. It was a lot of fun, to be truthful, but my ears are ringing and my throat is all crushed. Which means it was a particularly fucking good time.

And that was much of what had happened to me. I'm back at work now. Contemplating whether or not I want to start working again or take a nice dump after submitting this.

Dump.

If You Can Read This, Then You Can Read This.

2008-07-17T14:59:00.005-04:00

James and I just returned from lunch at Burger King this afternoon. We'll go there from time to time when work has us downtrodden and we want to commit a little bit of suicide before going back there.

I'm waiting there, minding my own, and I see something really stupid. Or rather I read something really stupid, It's nestled below the kid's meals choices, somewhere directly under and between the apple slices and the mac and cheese:

PICTURE MENU AVAILABLE UPON REQUEST

How is someone who is illiterate enough (enough?) that s/he needs a picture menu supposed to know that?

entry045 - Let Me Ruin Twenty-Eight Things For You

2008-07-08T14:10:00.007-04:00

1) The plot of Mama Mia! is as follows:

I. Some chick on a fantastical (re: FAKE) Greek isle finds out that her mother Meryl Streep was a whure and slept with three guys before giving her "life." And she is going to get married to whoever.
II. The chick decides to invite all three baby-batter repositories to the fantastical Greek isle for her wedding because she wants to know who her real father is, but mostly to make jokes about having three fathers telling you what to do with your ridiculous life and pointing out that Meryl Streep is a whure.
III. In lieu of a paternity test, everyone sings a bunch of ABBA songs.

A movie based on a musical inspired by songs from some Swedish disco pop fuck group.
Asking the question "who's the father?" without actually taking steps to, you know, prove conclusively who the father is.
Meryl Streep singing and strutting her proverbial stuff.
Pierce Brosnan.
The only way this could make less sense is if Meryl Streep was really a werewolf...perhaps the world's last living werewolf?
Or maybe they decide not to determine once and for all who the father is because everything is just fine the way it is?
Guess what...I am RIGHT about one of those.

2) Home Alone should have been twenty minutes long:
Kevin wakes up after all the bullshit he went through with his brother and the bed pisser and Uncle Frank and whatever else.
He realizes his family isn't home.
He picks up the phone and dials 9-1-1 (we know he can do this...I have the filmed closeup to prove it).

911 Dispatcher: 911, what is your emergency?
Caller: Hi, my name is Kevin McCallister. I'm eight years old, and my parents left me home alone.
911 Dispatcher: Okay Kevin. What is your address?
Caller: [whatever the fucking address is]. I think there was a police officer here yesterday asking about the house or something.
911 Dispatcher: That's odd, I don't recall anyone being dispatched to your area last night. We'll look into that. Kevin, a police officer is on the way.

THE END.

Instead, we get paint cans and stupid pizza delivery guys that can't tell the difference between a videotape and a human being's voice and macaroni and cheese that goes to waste so some brat can destroy his parent's possessions and burn his face with alcohol so cute and hilariously.
With the money this kid's parents clearly have, he should know damn well.
The best way to get back at a family that doesn't treat you with the respect that you "deserve" (you little useless piece of garbage) is to point out their gross neglect of you well-being to the authorities.
That'll show them for not ordering enough plain cheese pizzas for ME!!!

3) No One Cares That You Own A Cell Phone
4) No One Cares That You Have People to Talk to on the Cell Phone
5) No One Cares That You Are Alive and Breathing At All
I was on the train yesterday, and I made the mistake of not bringing my mp3 player.
With my sensitive hearing and distaste for the grotesque sounds of the body human, you might as well sentence me to castration by dirty spork.
Some fuck was on the train as well, and he was speaking into his cell phone and out to the world. He was speaking in an Indian dialect that sounded vaguely like Gibberish.

And without understanding a single word, I know that this conversation I was hearing was POINTLESS.
I know this because we as a species progressed for hundreds of thousands of years and generations without being able to communicate instantly and constantly with everyone we know for hours on end in a tiny, noisy space.
I'd even be willing to wager some sum of some currency that if all the cellphones of the world were to suddenly cease to operate (given the credit crisis, maybe everyone will get their shit suspended, fingers crossed?), we could make do without annoying me for a half an hour on the cell phone while I AM TRYING TO FUCKING SLEEP so that you can tell your friend how you think humidity affects professional baseball statistics.
Anyway, this guy is blabababababaahing. And he gets tired - presumably of hearing his own stinking voice - so he decides to yawn. And as he is yawning, he continues to talk.
So I am napping during this, and I think someone is messing with the videotape my entire life is on, what with the hideous sound distortion and all!
If it's that important, do yourself a favor and kill yourself. Because nothing is that important.

6) Hollywood will ruin your childhood no matter WHAT you do.
ex1: Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the George Lucas is not Allowed Near a Typewriter Ever Again.
ex2: Disney stopped making traditional animated films, and instead opts to do shit like...
ex3: High School Musical 3: High School was Not Fun AT ALL, Let Alone THIS Fun, STOP LYING TO ME

7) WALL-E is about a robot that likes another robot. That's It.
Joelphonse brought this to my attention. Everyone and their gay uncle Terrance is trying to associate the Pixar movie with fascism, the environment, communism, consumerism, apathy, and so forth. I mean, there's nods to all these things in there I suppose. But WALL-E love EVE. Stop reading between the lines when there are no lines in the movie for nearly 40 minutes.

8) Jim Carrey, Robin Williams, and Jack Black are NOT funny.
If they ever were, then they no longer are. There are only so many stupid jokes and characters you can do before people discover a Rosetta Stone or crack your genome and realize, "wow. I have seen this shit before."
Hey, I dance real silly and I remember old jokes really quickly and I can act like every obnoxious idiot you have ever met! Isn't that GREAT?!? I don't know. Sounds more like an assy family reunion rather than three accomplished comedians. I don't know.

9) Eating McDonalds for 30 days straight with no regard to what you eat will make you FAT.
10) People on average do not eat fast food for every meal for days at a time, let alone 30 days.
This might be old news to many of you, but I remind you of this because I noticed that Morgan Spurlock still has work.
Something tells me that if someone presents a thesis in his hit documentary that ends up being both wrong AND idiotic, they should tend to be less credible and profitable.

11) Stupid people will inherit the Earth.
Take a look at the successful ones and tell me I'm wrong.

12) Staten Island will be sold to Sicily in the next ten years.
Look, New York needs the money because blah blah blah 9/11.
And to be honest, it ain't like Staten Island isn't already property of the guido contingency.

13) You don't need to tip when they suck.
14) You do need to tip otherwise.
Restaurants and diners typically pay below the minimum wage.
Waiters and waitresses take the job since - among other shortcomings in their respective lives - they can make up for that with a shift of decent tips.
The owners use this in the hopes that the staff will provide customers with quality service at the establishment.
So if a server serves you shittily, and they give you shit, and you can't get your shit the way that you want it, and you want them to eat shit, DO NOT TIP THEM.
It's not rude. They were fucking rude. This is how you remind them that they need to suck less.
Otherwise, you should stop being a cheap fuck and give a little more than 10 percent. That job's rough.

15) You can't make yourself invisible and then complain that no one sees you.
You know what I'm talking about.

16) Billy Joel's song Scenes from an Italian Restaurant makes no sense.
Monte Frenkel makes an excellent point, if I am remembering it correctly.
Brenda and Eddie went steady, got married, got an apartment, furniture, cut all ties to their families and friends, ran out of money, got upset, got a divorce, and moved on to something else.
All in the summer of '75???
I can barely finish a book in that time frame these days.
These two dumb bastards lived out an entire lifetime together in six or seven lines of verse?

17) Disney World sucks.
There is nothing magical about giant turkey legs hanging off of the arms of fat little kids as they bump into you on a humid summer day.
Unless you are also a fat little kid with he giant turkey leg stuck to the end of that paw of yours. In which case, bumping into other fat kids is fun.
A lot more fun than waiting on lines to watch your money walk out of your pants.

18) Everyone wants to have sex with your girlfriend. Everyone.
The best thing to do is to keep her constantly drugged intravenously and pray you can keep the predators away long enough to avoid kidnapping charges in Venezuela.

19) Crude Oil is delicious.
You don't have to believe me, but think about it:
Your car loves it, the good people at ExxonMobilBPAmocoLukoilWalmartco can't get enough of it, the US Congress (a wholly owned subsidiary of ExxonMobilBPAmocoLukoilWalmartco) has a perpetual boner for it.
Shit, even Al Gore can't help himself to a huge dollop of it all the time, and he filmed himself raping crude oil via Powerpoint!
For 11 dollars a gallon or whatever, it must go great with everything. It is the most delicious thing ever.
Wind power is too light and not filling, Solar always comes out too hot to taste, and biodiesel is just gross.
Crude Oil. Deliciousness.

20) Eddie Murphy + Eddie Murphy +or- Eddie Murphy x n(number of additional Eddie Murphy roles) +or- fat suit = NOT FUNNY
I know the formula worked out to equal funny for Coming to America, and to a lesser extent The Nutty Professor, but it only worked out because the movies also happened to be FUNNY. See how that works?
I'm going to put together a film festival of all the Eddie Murphy "comedies" for the last ten years. Everyone who attends will be met with a blank screen and all the cyanide I can fit into their idiot mouths.

21) Scarlett Johansson is NOT engaged to Ryan Reynolds.
If I keep saying it, it might come true. And I could give two peppery farts what you think of her.

22) The aliens invaded Earth as part of God's plan to bring Mel Gibson back to the church.
M. Night Shamamabananarama is such a visionary director [of one or two movies]!
What an amazing twist [of fate that he was allowed near any studio $ after the last eight seconds of Signs]!
I can't wait for his next visionary masterpiece [which I hope involves a length of rope and a poorly-developed suicide note...career-wise, that is]!!!

23) In the "controversial alternate ending" of I Am Legend, Will Smith overhears one of the monsters calling him a nigger.

24) Infomercials follow the same format every damn time:

I. In black and white, you see a relatively easy task you do a million times a day being done in the most retarded and nonsensical way possible.
II. A professional inventor/scientist/British man debates the merits of a product with the skeptical woman/man in glasses.
III. The pro reveals the amazing potential of this otherwise useless device by showing it doing the same thing over and over.
IV. The same things over and over get counted as individual and unique uses of the product since they are after all different types [of the same task]
V. "Experts"/People "on the Street"/"Celebrities"/People "in the Audience" relate real-life experiences that illustrate just how much this useless turd of a thing has changed the way they look at life and do one minor thing.
VI. X easy payments of $X.99

And I love every last one of them for it.

25) There are restaurants that will now charge you for condiments.
You know that stuff you can put on your food that's been free at restaurants since man first uttered Yabba Dabba Doo? Well, it costs companies tens of hundreds of dollars every year. That seems to be a lot of money!
So instead of quietly and slightly increasing the prices of everything just a tad to accomodate the rising costs of preparing and selling food, we owe them ten cents for that fucking ketchup packet!!!
Are you kidding me?
Look, I know people are starving and all, but what the fuck is this?

26) People are starving and all.
What the fuck is this? People are shitting fifties every which way, and we can't feed everyone?
We're grinding up corn and using it for gas? It wasn't delicious enough, now we need to put our food into crude oil? You have to be kidding me. Get these people some fucking food!
Enough already.

27) George Carlin is dead.
Where are we going to find another old fuck to chide us for child worship and our improper phrasing of how to get into planes???

28) I usually end my lists with something stupid and anti-climactic that self-references the list in question.
Something to deal with now that I have woken from the coma.

80 Words on Why We're All Pretty Much Fucked.

2008-05-14T17:07:00.002-04:00

I remembered the price of stamps was raised by a penny this past Monday.
I had to mail a letter out today.
I only had 41-cent stamps.
I went to the post office to purchase a one-cent stamp so to get the mail out correctly.
I waited on line at the Jersey City USPS Office for ten minutes.
I requested one one-cent stamp.
I was told by the postal employee to wait for my receipt for my one one-cent stamp.