Wednesday, March 30, 2011

My Public Apology

In a blog that centers around the massively stupid statements that people manage to make because they refuse to stop and think before they open their idiot holes, even I am not exempt. In fact, as it turns out, I may be the biggest idiot among us.

In my post Somewhere Over the Rainbow, I made the statement that: "in the year 2011, the word 'nigger' has no shock value left". Or something along those lines.

I meant this as a declaration of the stupidity and ignorance of the word. And, I meant to imply that I, personally, found no shock value in the word, in this day and age. I find that the type of person that would use that word is only after the shock value it entails, and that in giving them what they want, we have assisted their ignorance.

That was what I meant.

Sadly, what I said was...pretty fucking stupid.

That whole post was based on the fact that I find racism to be pointless, moronic, hateful and about as significant as a professional sporting thingee. But, I tend to try and lend humor to situations where it isn't really warranted and as an end result, I hurt the feelings of someone that I truly care about. I tend to be an asshole, like that.

As a white person, I can balk at racism. I can view it from any perspective and attempt to be outraged. The reality though, is I have about as much business injecting my opinions or thoughts on the matter as the middle-aged white dudes that stand outside abortion clinics and try to tell women what to do with their bodies. I can say that I find that greatest of racial slurs to be non-shocking, but thats only because I've never had it thrown in my direction.

The problem with writing a blog that looks at our entire society as a subjective thing is, eventually, you hit close to home and offend the people that have always stood behind you.

The person that I offended is someone that I respect more than she will ever know. She took me into her home when I had nowhere to go, she has had my back even when I didn't know I needed someone to have it, and she has never judged me until I put my foot in my mouth and imposed upon our friendship. I would cheerfully finish my beer and fist fight the entire KKK for her, and she knows this. But, if I'm not acting any different than those inbred hill-billies, that seems like a moot point.

If the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, then my post must have been the super highway with an express lane.

99% of you could be offended at my thoughts and I would shrug it off and tell you to go read another blog. I would probably even poke fun at your discomfort in a wholly new blog and pat myself on the back for crushing your soul. But, not this time. This time, I'm truly ashamed of myself. Because, when we accidentally hurt those that we love, shame is the only response we have. And, this is a person that I do love, like a sister (not awkwardly like that hot cousin we all have)...

The reality is: white people can only view racism from one of two perspectives. It is either something we participate in, or something we don't. We will never see the whole picture, because it is not something we are ever subjected to. We can embrace, be mortified by it, ignore it... but, we will never know the depths of hurt it will cause. My post was intended to be an eyeroll that people could still be that ignorant in the year 2011, but I actually did more damage than good. I displayed my own ignorance by discussing a subject that I will forever be ignorant upon because I happen to have been born white.

I truly don't understand racism. I don't. I judge people as they are, white, black, yellow, whatever. Yes, I've made remarks like: "Penndot employees move slower than black people crossing against the light." But, if I had said 'fat' or 'cripple' in place of a skin tone, no one would have blanched. That was a joke made about my current geographic location, and not meant as a racial slur.

I swore I would never apologize if this blog offended someone. Up and down. Fuck 'em all. I was going to be brazen and outlandish and say whatever I wanted without regret. But, then I side-stepped and hurt a good friend with 'good intentions'.

Its easy to make light of certain situations. Humor heals, as the old saying goes. And, maybe thats true. But, maybe, just maybe, if you've never been on the receiving end of the pain, the healing power of humor is just salt in the wound.

I've done a lot of dumb shit in my life. If I listed it all here, it would probably crash the server. But, the dumbest thing I ever did was make light of a situation that a good friend lives with on a daily basis, never considering how she might feel about my off-hand remarks.

I wish I could drag myself out back and kick my own ass. (I tried, but I'm just not that flexible at 36) But, I deserve a good ass kicking, and I hope my friend delivers it the next time she sees me.

Somewhere along the line, my brother was able to transcend our upbringing and scale the walls that we all claim we've climbed. He was able to look at a person as a person and love them as just that. There is no black and white in his world, except where it comes to shades of grey. In other words, my brother is a white person that is just a person. I envy that.

Personally, I'm a white person. I live in that idiotic grey area where there is black and white. I struggle to not notice, to accept, to ignore... But, obviously, I'm not there.

The word 'nigger' does hold shock value. It shocks me that people are still ignorant enough to use it and look for shock value. It shocks me that, in this day and age, some of you are still judging people based upon the color of their skin, and not upon their worth.

I wish I could take back the stupid statements I made. I wish that I could pick up the phone and call my friend and say: "Sorry I was an asshole." I wish I could turn on my kitchen sink and have beer flow forth...but, wishes are cheap.

I apologize to my friend. My intentions were good, I swear. I know that doesn't make what I said right, but...it's all I have.

I'm exactly the kind of asshole I blog about.

Please forgive me, Di.






Sunday, March 27, 2011

Who Stepped on the Cat?

It's time to discuss one of my biggest pet peeves. Because, gentle reader, stupidity doesn't always escape Joe Average's piehole in the form of words. Sometimes, it's sung. Poorly.

Singing in public is not okay. Its just not. Actually, it's pretty fucking weird. And, I'm not talking about humming along to the tune thats on the radio, or belting it out in your car like a rockstar while you're stopped at a redlight and oblivious to the other motorists staring at you like you've lost your mind. Those, to me, are somewhat acceptable behaviors that even I have been known to engage in.

I'm talking about the people that, despite the fact that they are out in full view of an unsuspecting world, decide to treat all of us to a broad display of their vocal talents. Listen, maybe you can sing, maybe you're the next undiscovered American Idol... But, you still need to shut the fuck up.

I work side-by-side with a guy that sings all night. Did I say all night? Because, I meant: All. Fucking. Night. This cat isn't just in love with the sound of his own voice, he's convinced the rest of us are too. I have more than a few problems with this.

First of all, if you've never worked in a full service kitchen, I'm here to inform you that its already pretty noisy. It generally sounds like a civil war is being fought and lost. And, you usually have about 4 or 5 different areas that are all working independently of each other to create the same order. So, communications is pretty key.

I'm already at the point where I can barely hear myself think, let alone focus on what 3 or 4 other cooks are trying to impart to me over all the noise. Having Captain Karaoke caterwauling in my ear makes me want to bob for apples in the deep fryer.

Secondly, if you don't know all the words to a song... let it go. Lately, the good Captain has been belting out (at the top of his fucking lungs) about three lines of a Conway Twitty song. Over and over and over and over... I'm not sure what late night infomercial he was watching when he picked up that song snippet, but if I ever find out, I'm driving to the television studio and going fully postal on the asshat that aired it.

Thats the worst possible thing to do to another human being. Getting a song stuck in your head is bad enough. Having one stuck in your head that you don't know the lyrics to is worse than the torture we reputedly committed on known terrorists following 9/11. I'm fairly certain it's listed in the Geneva Convention as inhumane.

Third... We're at work, dumbass. It isn't pleasant. In fact, I generally refer to it as: Hell's Kitchen. I equate singing with happiness. What the fuck are you so happy about?! I'm currently only daydreaming about what it will take to facilitate both of our deaths. In case the look on my face and my body language isn't cluing you in, let me be upfront and forward in telling you that you're pushing that little fantasy towards reality.

And finally, Captain, you may knock their socks off at karaoke night, your old high school Glee Coach may miss you with a nostalgia that borders on inappropriateness, you may think you sound like Marvin fucking Gaye, but personally, I'm not impressed. I've heard better. In point of fact, I had to pay to hear better, because, thats what they do for a living. You cook. Shut your face and do that, instead of sending me home with a nightly migraine that has less to do with noise and more to do with the stress of maintaining my self-control in not jumping on you like a spider monkey and choking you until your eyes bugged from your face like a frog. M'kay?

It drives me up a wall that grown adults need to be told that: A, B, and C are acceptable behaviors in public, and D through Z are not.

They have karaoke night at the bar and Open Mic Night at the clubs for a reason. I've never walked into work with three bowling pins and commenced juggling while working on my stand-up routine. I could, but I'm pretty sure someone would pull me off to the side an inquire if I needed medication or had taken some that I bought off the shady looking guy on the street corner. Yet, in my mind, doing that is exactly the same as you coming into work and reminding all of us that William Hung is still alive, somewhere.

It's great that you have an ipod, iphone, iwhateverhelpsbillgatestocontinuefleecingtheamericanpopulace, or any other device that plays your music for you as you go about your day. But, you don't need to sing along. In fact, listening is generally an art that is perfected by you shutting your mouth. So, if you want to listen to music...try that.

Also, if your choice in music has vulgar and/or inappropriate lyrics, you have zero business reiterating that shit outloud in a public place. I can't tell you how many times I've been in line at the gas station or grocery store in my ghetto fabulous community and been treated to someone rapping about women being sluts and hos and wanting to see them shake their booty meat. For real?

I'm not knocking your choice of music. I listen to punk rock. It isn't clean. Not by any stretch of the imagination. But, I also don't sing it at top volume while I'm standing in line at the grocery store behind some poor mother trying, in vain, to shield her kids from it.

Also, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but: rap is not an ethnic trait. It's talent related. Just because you are black, it does not make you The Human Beatbox.

Keep chuckling honkies. I have worse news for you. Just because you're white and choose to dress like a historical figure... You ain't Garth Brooks. Lose the twang, you're from the suburbs.

Here's what I would like from the rest of America: when you're leaving the house, and you're checking to make sure you have your keys, your purse or wallet, and all the other sundries that you tote about...can you make sure you've grabbed your fucking common sense? Because, if you do, I promise you that you will suddenly understand that there is a way to act in public. And, most of you aren't doing it right!

You're an amateur singer? Well shit on me. I'm an amateur porn star. So, if you can rape my ear... Guess I can walk around with my God Given Talents dangling about and proceed with the nut busting, right? And trust me, when it comes to white washing, Tom Sawyer has nothing on me...

Now, if you'll all excuse me, I feel the need to walk over to local convenience store and bust out in air guitar solo...sans pants.


Saturday, March 26, 2011

Stand Up And Be Heard...Pissing

This is a blog that centers around statements made by you, the American people. And while it generally focuses on utterances that range from the outlandish to outright stupidity, there are times where I also hear (or read, in this case) something that I find to be thought provoking enough to be worthy of further examination. My good friend and fellow blogger, Andy, from over at The Blog of the Union Address, left a comment on one of my recent posts (Good to the Last Drop of My IQ) that fits the latter category.

"That right there was a Class A Dennis Leary style rant. I'd like to welcome real men back to America, been gone too long!"

And that, folks, made me think. What, exactly, has happened to the American male?

Sure, okay, if you ask anyone of a generation that is older than yours, they'll tell you that each subsequent generation displays less bravado, machismo, manliness...whatever label you want to place upon that quality that defines a man as a man. An 80 year old man and I might have an arguement over whether I could ever measure up to even the weakest man of his generation, causing me to throat punch him out of his wheelchair and give his colostomy bag a hearty squeeze. Because, I don't buy into all of that.

Life in America gets easier with each passing generation, without doubt. But, the essence of a true male doesn't change. No matter how comfortable technology makes our lives.

Men are supposed to wake up on the weekends, put on a toolbelt and look for shit to fix. We eat meat that comes from a can, and drink beer that comes in the same package. We make dick jokes without caring about our setting or situation. We wear blue jeans and socks with holes. We're not even going to talk about what our underwear looks like. We kill shit, destroy shit, and love fire. We're at the top of the food chain because we have opposable thumbs, which we use to scratch our asses in public. Our women need us to open pickle jars.

Yet, somewhere in the 90's, that all changed. Somewhere, somehow, someway...we allowed ourselves to be neutered by a new politically correct society.

The 90's. What an abortion. 
Men stopped drinking bottled beer and started drinking bottled water. Wearing a flannel shirt and work boots became an indication that you were running down to the local gourmet coffee shoppe, not going to purge the land of uneeded natural resources. Our rock stars started doing more talking than singing. And Tom Selleck shaved his moustache, which led to the greatest of all atrocities; we stooped to importing our action heroes. Outsourcing guys like Liam Neeson, Gerard Butler and Russell Crowe, because the American action heroes had become passe. (It's hard to take you seriously as Rambo, Sly, when you can't scowl due to the massive amounts of botox that restrict your facial movements.)

This country isn't being run into the ground by poor leadership or a bad economy. America is falling apart at the seams because it needs a healthy injection of testosterone. Honestly...do you realize how far we have to look back to find the last real man to sit in the Oval Office? Reagan. The guy was a cowboy actor and he brought that persona to his presidency. "I've got a big swinging dick, and I'm not afraid to use it." Nobody, but nobody, fucked with us when Reagan was in office. And, if they did, they had the misfortune of getting a swift ass kicking...not this prolonged bullshit we've been seeing time and time again and even right now on CNN.

When did we go from being a nation of men that actually threw a football with their friends in the backyard to a nation that hooks up on Xbox Live to compete in the latest version of Madden? When did that eternal pissing contest of 'I have the nicest lawn' turn into 'I pay more for my professional lawn service than you do for yours'? When did we stop using tools and start acting like them?

We're reaching a point in our country where we'll actually have men that have never eaten beef jerky, because they're afraid of what it will do to their health. Are you fucking kidding me?

I'm going to organize the next march that takes place in this country. I'm going to call it: Get Your Balls Back Weekend. About a million of us will march into the nearest public park and summarily piss on a tree. We'll only eat shit full of preservatives and chalk full of salty goodness. We'll tell penis jokes over non-lite beers and we'll end the weekend by clubbing a baby seal to death and seeing who can cook that fucker the best over a non-propane grill. We'll spend the weekend referring to women as 'honey' or 'sweetheart' and ignore their claims that it's demeaning. And, everyone bring a hammer, because...we're going to fix something ourselves, and not call the repair man. We're going to watch movies with explosions and without plots and listen to rock and fucking roll. And, the proceeds we raise won't be used to support some group looking for a handout, it's going to be used to cover our bar tab. Hopefully.

And, we are so going bowling.

Personally, I'm going to chain smoke in public and exhale on babies and puppies all weekend. I'm going to use the word 'GAY' like its going out of style and I plan to beat my personal best at hawking a lugie. This will be the only Sunday I ever attend church. Because I plan on cutting the queen mother of all farts in the history of fartdom and raising my hand to ask for God's forgiveness. And, I'm killing something. Just for kicks.

There was a time in this country, believe it or not, when two guys could step outside to settle a dispute, beat each other to a pulp and then go somewhere and have a beer and laugh about it. I'm not sure where those guys all went, but I bet they're having one fuck of a party. And I bet they're all sporting Magnum P.I. moustaches.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Good to the Last Drop of My IQ

Whomever coined the phrase: there is no such thing as a stupid question, was either a bald faced liar or the biggest buffoon to ever set foot on this planet. Or maybe, they weren't a coffee drinker.

"Do you want regular or decaf?," the bartender asks me after I request that she put me on a fresh pot of coffee.

It's 2 o'clock in the afternoon. I'm not a senior citizen. I'm working an all day shift. I have bags under my eyes that a spoiled rich bitch could use to tote around her imitation dog.

Do I want regular or decaf? I want you to shut your whore mouth when men are speaking and make me some fucking coffee, woman. Coffee. If I wanted hot, brown water, I could probably have just turned on the tap and made that happen in this cestpool of a kitchen.

There are two fluids that grace my palette, daily. Beer and coffee. I have the same expectation for both of them. The darker the better, and they better kick my ass as I drink them.

I'm not interested in a double mocha anything. I want black coffee. In a ceramic mug. I want the shit that was served in a 1950s diner for 25 cents. And, I will fix it myself, thanks anyway.

In case you guys can't tell, I'm serious about my coffee. It is the first thought on my mind when I crawl my sorry ass out of bed each day. In fact, it may be the only time through out the day that I'm overwhelmed with a yearning for something non-sexual. Yes, it's that serious.

I do nothing until I have had a cup of coffee. We're not speaking, I'm not moving from in front of the coffee pot (mug in hand), until I have had that first cup. As far as I'm concerned, coffee is what Christ's tears must have tasted like.

Decaf coffee is a beverage like the Hanson brothers were men. Get the fuck outta here. Why don't you ask me if I want a non-alcoholic beer next? Or maybe some non-penetration sex? How about a cocaine-free crack rock?

If you have a vice, either indulge in it, or don't. Make believe is for children.

Decaf coffee ranks right up there with instant coffee. These things are an abortion. They are an abomination of all things good and holy in this world. The anti-christ will rise from the depths of Hell with a travel mug full of Starbucks instant decaf mocha latte, mark my words. If you want a hot beverage that won't keep you up at night and will soothe your nerves, have a cup of tea. Hell, do it because it's patriotic. Our country was founded by tea drinking rebels. Just, please, don't transcend the planes of idiocy and fuck around with my cup of joe.

I really don't think it is asking much of life to walk into any establishment and order a cup of coffee without being forced to jump through the hoops of moronic questions that this has come to entail. If you want something that isn't actual coffee, the burden should be put on you to clarify. I want the standard, the original, the real-fucking deal. I should be able to approach any vendor that sells coffee and simply state: "I'd like a cup of coffee" and have a mug of Colombia's second most famous export poured for me without hassle. It should be black. It should be in a mug. You know what flavor it should automatically come in? Coffee, motherfucker.

Coffee should taste like coffee. No one walks into McDonalds and orders the chicken flavored burger. If you want something hazelnut/ vanilla/ kenya flavored, that's your business, and your responsibility to make happen.

You want to flavor my coffee in a manner that will get me to stray from the shit Juan Valdez and his burro haul in from the fields? Allow me to present some suggestions of coffee flavors I would be tempted to try: beer, bacon, gravy, dead hooker, and string cheese. Otherwise, I'll just have a cup of regular-unfucked-with.

And, as long as I'm on a tirade about nature's nectar... If you advertise a 'bottomless cup of coffee', you need to employ servers that are willing to bring the coffee pot by the table more than once during my visit. Nothing pisses me off more than scouting a restaurant for my waitress as I sit with an empty coffee cup in front of me. I could have replicated your shitty breakfast at home and kept my mug full with ease.

Do I want regular or decaf? I want to club a baby seal to death everytime I hear that question, thats what I want.

I don't order drinks that come with paper umbrellas. The word 'lite' is not attached to anything that enters my body. I stand up when I piss and the closest I come to prayer is a healthy "God Dammit!" when things go awry.

90% of my caloric intake comes from liquids. True story. I'm a guy. I eat maybe one meal a day, and that one I eat over the kitchen sink if my girlfriend isn't home.

Asking me if I want decaf coffee is like asking a midget if they want a booster seat. I'm offended. Truly. Save that shit for some metrosexual that ran out to get his eyebrows waxed and a manicure.

You know what I really want, besides a cup of coffee? I want you to turn off the auto-pilot and fucking think.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Battle of the Bands...You're Doing it Wrong, Jackass

How can you tell when Ben Weasel is about to say something stupid? Odds are, he just finished singing a song. As frontman for Screeching Weasel and The Riverdales, Ben has garnered himself a reputation for launching into 4-6 minute diatribes between each song he sings, where he; rebukes the venue he is playing for paying him too little, degrades and mocks the occupants of the city he is currently in, and his own fan-base for appearing at his shows and not being enthusiastic enough for his tastes. In general, he is the unheard of prima donna of punk rock.

Musically speaking, the bands that Ben fronts are one step removed from Descendents cover bands. Their mainstay power in the punk industry has been their ability to draw the real up-and-comers of the genre to tour with them during SXSW and Weasel Fest. They offer little original, just feel good punk that you can bounce to (causing you to spill the $8.00 beer you had to sell a kidney for).

If you're a megalomaniac with a constant need to have your ego stroked and a penchant to run your mouth when it isn't, eventually, that shit will catch up with you. Eventually, you are going to run across someone that just doesn't want to sit by and tolerate your shit talking. Eventually, someone is going to give you the reaction that you've, basically, been begging for.

It happened to Ben. Big time. On Friday night, Ben jumped from stage and assaulted a woman that had first spit on him, because he went on a tirade for only receiving $25,000 for that nights performance. Four minutes later, the same woman threw ice at him. At this point, Ben jumped from the stage and suitably cleaned her fucking clock.



Now, there are much longer videos regarding this incident. I'm not going to post them, but we will be discussing them later. That being said, before anyone starts to play the blame game, let me just state that this, is one of those rare situations where everyone involved is to blame.

The real problem? All those up-and-coming bands that tour with Ben and whichever band he is fronting at the moment? Well, they're all backing out, slowly but surely, of one of punk's biggest shows, due to total embarrassment at sharing a stage with a 'woman beater'.

First of all, let's get through the obvious. No, not Ben. The dumb bitch in the audience. Just because you have a vagina does not give you carte blanche to assault a man and expect to get off scott free. And, for those of you that are ignorant of the law, spitting on another human is assault.

The fact that you sit down to pee does not give you the right to act like a man but not receive the same consequences as a man. If Ben had jumped off stage to smack down a dude that had spit on him and thrown ice at him, this wouldn't have been an issue. Just business as usual. It would have been a punk rock concert, in other words.

Yet, because this twat has a twat, we're all supposed to feel sorry for her? Give me a fucking break. General Rule of Life: You don't pick fights that you can't fight. If Ben can't pick a fight, you can't either. Period. The only difference is the two scenarios? Ben was more than willing to kick your fucking ass.

Number two is where we address the longer videos. Now, I won't bother posting them here, because I really doubt any of you can be bothered to watch a 6 minute video with shitty visual and audio quality that basically results in the 45 second video I did post. In the 6 minute video (that you can easily find on youtube), there is a clear 4 minute lapse between the time the attention whore spits on Ben and the time she throws ice on him. From the time the ice hits Ben and Ben punches the audience member in the face? 10 seconds. Guess when security decides to intervene?

Now, if security can respond in 10 seconds, as Mr. Weasel jumps off stage and pretends he is from the Slap-a-hoe Tribe, they could have easily removed the dumb bitch that started the whole mess within the 4 minute timeframe between her initial assault and her second one. But, they didn't. Nobody blinked. It was okay to physically assault a performer for 4 full minutes.

Hey, venue owner...your idea of security sucks.

And, while we're onto the venue owner... This is the second woman to get punched in this scenario. Um, honey, you don't walk up to man involved in a free-for-all and put your hands on him without expecting to get clocked. You aren't a cop. You aren't security. You have no business getting involved. You got punched because you stuck your face where it didn't belong. You're just a casualty of war, by your own default.

And finally, Ben... C'mon man. You aren't that special. Maybe you should read Henry Rollins' diary about his first few years as the frontman for Black Flag and find out what it really means to be in a punk band. That dude left every single show and went directly to the local ER for stitches. It was considered a badge of honor.

And dude...yeah, women do stupid shit. They act like men and pick fights that they have no business picking, but you still never put your hands on one. Women may act tough. They may even be tough. But taking a shot to the face from a man?

And really Ben, all of this could have been avoided if you had just done your job and sung. Nobody pays upwards of $25 to hear you run your mouth. Just to hear you sing.

You can overcome your idiocy and your attitude and make something of yourself, despite your ego. Hell, look at Bono...


But, this pretty much sums it all up.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

All Signs To The Contrary

People say stupid shit everyday. Basing a blog off of that is only challenging in the respect of deciding which of the many comments that make me want to pray for a swift death are worth reiterating here for discussion. Yet, on the days where I only socially interact at work, it becomes taxing to decide what to write about here. Although a great many of my coworkers make terribly idiotic statements, I'm a bit loathe to fill a blog with things said by people that are, for the most part, my friends. So, in the interest of diversifying your reading material, I'd like to discuss something stupid that the state of Pennsylvania feels the need to say to me on my work everyday.

Targeted DUI Enforcement Area. Please Drive Carefully.

First of all, thanks for the heads up. I'm sure the drunk drivers appreciate the suggestion that they should find another route. We'd hate to see someone that was overly intoxicated and unfit to be behind the wheel leaving one of the multiple bars on that road and be surprised when they get pulled over prior to killing someone.

Secondly, I'm forced to look at this sign everyday and I have to wonder, how many tax dollars did it take to make? At an educated guess, I'm figuring $50.00. The labor to put it up? Say another $50.00 (because PennDOT employees get paid better than professional athletes and they move slower than black people crossing the street against the light)

And, that got me further thinking... How many such signs are there?

I can think of at least 3 areas I drive through regularly with the exact sign we're talking about. I can name two areas that feature this wonderously important bit of necessity: Are Your Turn Signals Still On? Or one of my personal favorites; Yield to Pedestrians in Crosswalk. Just in case you decided to ignore the fact that a person had materialized in front of your vehicle, or you wanted to see how many points granny was worth. Even better, Buckle Up the Next Million Miles! Listen, if you're moronic enough to get into a vehicle without fastening your seatbelt, or ride your motorcycle without a helmet, you deserve your fate. My tax dollars shouldn't need to be spent on 'catchy' reminders that the rest of the population should grow a fucking ounce of common sense.

The next time you drive from Point A to Point B, I'd invite you to count the number of pointless signs you pass. Take that number and multiply it by 100, and then...wonder how much of your paycheck-donation to the government is being spent on such idiotic things.

I just paused in my diatribing to go out on my front porch and have a smoke. For fun, I counted the traffic signs that I could see from there. Sixteen. Now, I live on the corner of two One Way streets. So, we have: 2 Stop signs (important), 5 One Way indicators (a touch of overkill), and 9 signs indicating that parking along the yellow curb is illegal (no fucking shit, genius). At our established $100 price tag, we have around $1,200.00 worth of wasted tax money, visible from my front porch. Does anyone have the courage to look at that from a big picture standpoint?

If the government wants to waste our money creating useless traffic signs, maybe they could do it in an interesting and informative fashion. Here are a few of the signs I would like to see, in place of the moronic ones we already have:

Now Entering the Ghetto. White People Should Lock Their Doors and Disregard Stop Signs.

Wide Load Trucks May Disrupt Traffic Along this Road During Peak Traffic Hours. Especially If You Are Running Late for Work Today.

Old People Frequent this Road. You Are Screwed.

Bridge Out. Floor It Like An Action Movie Hero and See What Happens.

Icy Conditions May Exist. Thank God You Bought an SUV with 4 Wheel Drive for No Reason.

Pedestrians Worth 5 Points Each. High Score Stands at 2,400 Points.

Surprise! Construction Ahead. We're Going to Block Off the Next 2 Miles of Road So That We Can Work on 15 Feet of it.

Warning: Unsupervised Children Playing in the Street That Will Disregard the Fact That Your Car Could Kill Them.

Left Lane Fast. Right Lane Slow. Get In the Fucking Appropriate Lane, Jackass.

Black Folk Will Be Pulled Over Just Because.

This Stop Sign is not an Encouragement for You to Display the Level of Bass Your Car Can Emit.

Blind Child Area. Take Advantage.

Your Wife is Cheating on You. Speed Up.

Feel Free to Wait Until the Last Possible Second to Merge Your Obnoxiously Large and Pointless SUV, Despite the Fact That We Indicated That This Was Going to Happen.

One Way Street Does Not Mean You Can Go the Wrong Direction in Reverse.

If You Are Reading This Sign, You Probably Aren't Watching the Road...

That last one. I'd like someone in authority to further my education regarding this matter. Why is it illegal to talk on my cell phone while driving, an activity that does not impede my vision in any way shape or form, but it is okay for the government to place literature for my reading pleasure every 10 feet? And, following that line of logic, why is bill board advertising legal?

If the federal and state governments would like to spend my money on driving related issues, perhaps they could do it in a manner that makes sense. Maybe they could invest in the development of a new substance to pave roads that doesn't crumble apart every three months so that my summertime could be spent at the location I was heading to, not sitting in hours of construction (because, again, we just have to close down 2 miles of road to work on all of 15 feet). Maybe they could use that money to actually staff the DMV, so that renewing my license doesn't require taking a whole day off of work while I sit in their bland waiting room praying for the end of days. Or maybe they could go ahead and finally give us a cheap, clean and efficient form of public transportation...like the monorail.

Our government in worse with money (and perhaps more crooked) than the board of directors at Enron were. We've reached a point where each fiscal quarter, they should be presenting us with a planned, itemized list of expenditures that need to receive voted approval before they are allowed to piss away any more of our money.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Sucks To Be You

One of my favorite blogs to read each day is Clearly You're Retarded. And, while I generally find the author to be amusing, his last two blogs have left me overly disappointed due to the subject matter. As a middle-aged white dude reading a blog written by another middle-aged white dude, the last thing I expect to find myself reading about is Twilght. Yet, Adam Avitable, the author of CYR, who generally posts on-topic and hysterical posts (and the occasional picture of his testicles) dedicated his last two posts on two independent sites regarding just that.

Now, I know that I spent the other night railing about the plight of Japan and basically pissing in the shoe of every guy sporting a Moe Howard haircut. But, truth be known, I'm not insensitive. I do care about certain things and causes in this muddled world. Honestly.

And, quite frankly, Mr. Avitable, I find your additions to the degradations of a race that has suffered continuously at the hands of Hollywood to be disgraceful. I don't think you have any idea how hard it is to be taken seriously as a Vampire in America today.

When Vlad Tepes became the inspiration for one of the most feared creatures to rise from the grave and feed upon the living, I doubt he ever envisioned his bloody reign of terror spawning a breed of glittery, sexually confused teen idols. In fact, I'm fairly certain that if you suggested he should be on Team Edward, he would have cheerfully decapitated you, drank your blood and placed your severed head on a pike in his front yard as a warning to other Twilight fans.

What Hollywood has done to vampires is sadder than the lack of work midgets have experienced since The Wizard of Oz finished filming. I mean, Jesus wept, someone put Tom Cruise in a blonde wig and the jacket Prince wore in the video for Little Red Corvette and tried to pass him off as a movie monster. Count Von Count from Sesame Street is a more convincing vampire than Lestat or Edward. Come to think of it, so are Count Chocula and Grandpa from The Munsters.

I'm not sure how we went from the dark imaginings of Nosferatu to having vampires parading around as foppish Euro-trash. I'm not certain how a creature that drinks human blood and can only be killed by driving a stake through it's dead heart came to be portrayed as romantic and sexy. When did sunblock become a vampire's go-to against the wrath of a scorned God? Copper Tone, now available in SPF Jesus!How did vampires go from sleeping in the dirt they were buried in to prancing about in the sunlight having West Side Story-ish fights with werewolves over a girl, who in my opinion, isn't even that attractive?

About every ten to fifteen years, an author or film maker decides to un-queer the vampire culture and revive them as the unholy creatures of the night that had Romanians stringing crosses and garlic on their doors at sundown. The blood suckers in such epic works as: 'Salem's Lot, The Lost Boys, Underworld, The Blade Trilogy, 30 Days of Night, and Day Breakers spring to mind. Yet, for every good representation of the vampire, we're asked to suffer through something like:


Is this fucking guy going to rip out my jugular and drain my blood, turning me into one of the walking dead, or is he about to bust out in an opera solo? I can't tell. (Okay, okay...I love John Carpenter's Vampires, but only because James Woods kicks total ass)

If I believed in conspiracy theories (which I do but for the purpose of making my argument better, I'm going to pretend I don't), I might even suspect that this is all a ploy by the Vampire Nation to lure us into a false sense of security. They want us to believe that they're generally harmless, misunderstood creatures so that we lower our guard. And, then, they're going to pounce. They're going to round us up like cattle and put us in farms and have human meat factories... If I believed in conspiracy theories, anyway...

I'd like the book and film industries to leave my monsters as monsters, please and thank you. If the chubby, pimply pre-teen girls of America need someone to idealize or fantasize about, they can turn on the Disney Channel and get all of the meaningless tripe they want. I don't think that fans of the horror genre should be required to exposure to such abortions as Twilight. When I hear the word 'vampire', I want a chill to run up my spine, not bile to run up my throat.

And, before anyone accuses me of not giving the Twilight series a fair shake, allow me to retort: I am unwilling to go the permanent lengths of running head down into a brick wall repeatedly in order to give myself the type of mild brain damage it would take to lower my IQ enough to stoop to such a thing. I have a very cool T-shirt collection that I would rather not obstruct with the bib that I would need to catch my drool. This is a series of books and movies that are geared towards angsty, love lorn tweeners, not grown men. My personal idea of literature extends a bit beyond that type of drivel.

The only thing scary about the vampires spawned by writers like Anne Rice and Stephenie Meyer is their fan base.

Friday, March 18, 2011

Is the Price of Rice Going to Go Up Too?

I tend to make statements that most people consider controversial, and not just here. I spread the hullabaloo around in my real life too. I can't help it.

I've sat in my own apartment and made my girlfriend cry by degrading the Catholic Church more than once. I don't mean too. I'm just very opinionated and I tend to not be able to censor myself when I feel a certain way about things. I don't do it for the shock value, but rather, because once I get started, I just don't have the good sense to shut the fuck up.

Now, I tell you that so that you will understand; tonight isn't going to be pretty. It's going to resemble a whistling contest at a harelip convention.

I'm sick of hearing people talk about Japan. That shit happened like a week ago. Isn't there something more current you could be prattling on about already? Quite frankly, it bored me the moment I heard there was no actual threat of a nuclear disaster, just a bunch of media hype surrounding it to add to the ratings. Check your facts here.

The death toll has exceeded 10,000... Does anyone know how many japanese people there are in the world? These little fuckers have to self-regulate the number of children they have because they keep crowding out that island they live on. We're talking about a race of people that have resorted to building up because side-to-side is no longer an option.

I know, I'm a terrible human being. I can live with myself. And, I'll tell you why: Hurricane Katrina.

You see, I've been all over the vast wonder that is the internet, and I can't seem to find any information that indicates that any other country in the world provided our country with relief funds when we were struck by a natural disaster. And yet, lo and behold, 6 minutes after an earthquake induced tsunami wiped out Japan, every fucking rock star, actor, and politician in America was pleading for my financial assistance for a country that has historically declared war on us, forced trade embargos, and held technology hostage until we bowed to their demands.

Give me a fucking break.

How does one donate to the Japan Relief? By buying a new television or a new computer that will be out-dated and non-upgradable in five years?

Japan isn't our friend. They never have been. They are a country that shakes our hand and acknowledges the fact that we dropped not one, but two, big fucking nukes on their country.

Let a tsunami wipe out the eastern seaboard of the United States and see how many countries come to our aid. Guess what Japan? Our piggy bank is empty, and you've been one of the major causes. Between you guys, Russia, and Mexico... it's like America is the one dude at the bar with enough cash to pick up the tab every night.

And, what really pisses me off is this; I get no say in the matter. Whether I donate to a relief fund or not, my tax dollars are going there anyway. Because, like Russia, Japan is nuclear. And, if we don't give them the financial aid they need, the fear is that they will sell a few of the bombs we dropped to some third world country full of Johnny Jihads that are good and pissed off at America. Wonderous.

I'm sick of it. If you want to feed off our tit, you should be flying our flag. Period. You want to borrow against the pot? Kick into the house.

I feel no moral obligation to feel sad for Japan or the 10,000 plus deceased. I didn't know any of them. And, if this were a war we were discussing, instead of a natural disaster, nobody would think twice about that body count. In fact, they'd be dancing in the streets.

As far as I'm concerned, the rest of the world needs to stand on it's own two feet. 9/11 showed the true colors of every other country out there, as they all took a non-aggressive stance and told us not to 'over react'. If we're on our own, so are you assholes.

Our country went halfway bankrupt rebuilding Japan after WWII. Sorry we blew you off the map because you were kicking our asses, let us go broke fixing this shit...But, when our economy hit a massive slump in the early 80's, how did they repay us? They jerked the steel and automotive industries right out from under our feet. (Something we still haven't recovered from) Advantageous little fuckers, aren't they?

Well, I say it's time to return the favor. Let's pull all our troops out of the Middle East, where they're dying for the price of a barrel of oil we could be getting three times as cheap on our own soil, and plop them down in Japan in their time of crisis and announce: "Hello, Star 52!" (In my mind, there is no excuse for Cuba not already being Star 51)

This whole Peace Keeping Ideaology that we cling to like the Prom Queen holds onto her virginity is getting old. We should be climbing into the backseat with every country that comes begging for aid and taking what we want. I, for one, am tired of the living on morale high ground. It's too costly, in more ways than one.

And, you can bet that you're going to feel the pinch of Japan's tragedy. Paying close to $4 a gallon for gas isn't enough. You sir, the common American, are going to pay through the nose over this natural disaster. You heard it here first, if you weren't smart enough to consider it yourself.

Forget the obvious food imports like tea and rice. Do you realize how many industries we, as a country, have willing surrendered to countries like Japan, for cheaper labor?

Oh, we're fucked. Big time, folks. Having Japan out of commission is like having your wedding photographer pull a no-show and giving your 15 year old nephew a disposable camera to do the job.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Our Brave New Paperless World

So, I've recently been on the prowl for a second job to help supplement the income that the state feels the need to give to my ex-wife (based solely on the fact that she wanted to keep our children and I had no rights to protest because I don't have a uterus). It's been difficult. Finding a second job usually is. Most prospective employers lose interest the second they understand that they are going to be your second job. They view you as a call-off in the making.

Yet, perhaps the worst part of this process has been the fact that most of the corporate companies have gone paperless.

"I'm sorry sir, we don't actually have applications. You'll need to apply online."

Now, in a blog that centers around the stupidest statement I hear each day, this is bound to seem controversial. While the environmentalist in me wants to tip his hat at this gesture from corporate America, the pragmatist in me has to wonder...

As we always do, let us begin with the obvious. Not everyone has access to the internet. Obviously, I do. I use it and abuse it like an adolescent boy discovering himself in the shower.

Yet, not everyone is so privileged. In the vast world of the service industry (and those who staff it), there really are people that can't afford the internet. Even more surprising, there are people that don't know how to use a computer. I swear. I've met them.

And, maybe it's just me, but filling out an application is pain in the ass enough. Doing that exercise in futility online? Jesus wept. Listen, I can't type. Sure, I hunt and peck about 100 words a minute, but trying to fill out an online form of any kind leaves me feeling like I would have been further ahead to just jam a No. 2 lead pencil into my eyeball and hope for the best.

Have you ever filled out an application online? I have. The vast majority of them come with a disclaimer that reads along the lines of: this process may take upwards of 45 minutes. Please allow that amount of time, as you can not save your progress and closing the window will result in unsaved data. Because, yeah, I have 45 minutes of my life to devote to applying for a job. I can't even remember the last interview I was on that lasted that long!

And, you know what really chaps my ass? After you jump through these hoops and finally land an interview, whats the first thing they ask you to do? Fill out out a hard copy of the application you went half-blind over, filling out on your computer.

Tonight, some pompous asswipe is congratulating himself on the decision to take his company's application process paperless. He's made them look environmentally friendly, despite the fact that their half ton of shredded documents are hauled away by a company that will burn the refuse instead of recycling it. He'll jump in his BMW, mindless that the purchase stole jobs from a struggling American workforce and head home thinking he did a righteous deed. Moron.

We've learned to recycle paper for a reason. Perhaps if the government stepped in and forced these conglomerate whores to separate their recyclables from their trash, we'd be getting somewhere.

I'm no tree hugging hippie. Yet, I drink a great deal of beer and my girlfriend is pretty conscious of the environment. As a result, I'm treated to a twice a week ritual of hauling out the bottles and cans and listening to the mentally retarded lady that sits on her back porch behind us screeching "Oh my God! That's a lot of bottles!" Thank you for making me feel even more like the alchoholic than I already consider I might be, sweetheart.

In this day and age, going paperless isn't the answer. Being smart and assuming responsibility is. If corporations really wanted to help the environment, they would stop sponsoring NASCAR and donate those funds to research to take us off the oil tit. But, nobody wants that. It ends wars and creates an economy that is fair across the board. Can't have that.

We've raped this planet like a drunken high school girl at a frat party. We're suddenly going to save it by forcing people to apply for just-above-minimum-wage-jobs online? Give me a fucking break. The same places asking me to do this crap are the same places where the cash register spits out a receipt that I have no use for. You want to save a few trees? Eat a beaver.

The reality is that these companies aren't actually doing this because it has an impact on the planet. It saves them money. The cost of printing out 1,000 applications vs the cost of running a website? Thats a no-brainer.

Reality check. Most of the jobs I've been applying for are ones that I've found through the want-ads of the local newspaper. How, exactly, do you justify having a paperless application process when you are advertising in a newspaper? Show of hands, America...who besides me recycles their newspaper? Bueller? Bueller? Anyone?

I shouldn't have to jump through hoops to get a job. It's great that your company wants to put on a face and pretend like it gives a shit. But, no thanks. I'm a bit jaded, a bit scarred, and I'm not sure that I want to work for you if you're jumping on the bandwagon. I'm going to go out on a limb and bet that you guys get some type of federal kickback for being 'paperless', which you aren't.

Hey...maybe you can just scan the barcode tattooed on the back of my head and decide if I'd be a good fit for your company, or if I need Logan Runned.

Monday, March 14, 2011

Can You Tell Me How To Get Away From Sesame Street?

In case any of you ever wondered why Oscar was so grouchy, I'm am going to enlighten you. 100%

Somewhere on the side bar of my blog is a link to a friend's blog. The Blog of the Union Address. Now, while I don't really follow politics, and while I'm far from a Republican, I admire the author's POV and appreciate his no-holds-barred opinions enough to have shared this link. I may not agree with everything that Andy has to say, but he does his research, posts intelligent blogs, and never loses my interest. Also, we share an affinity for Captain America that most of you will never understand...

The Blog of the Union has been quiet as of late, so I was surprised to log onto facebook and discover that Andy had posted something new. And, after reading his post, I felt it important enough to both share with you, and to add my two cents worth. What Big Bird Really Thinks of You.

If you can't be bothered to read Andy's post, I'm going to embed the video he links to, as I feel it's worth 11 odd minutes of your day. If you are a parent and are concerned about what your children are exposed to on television, this may be one of the most important videos you ever watch.


Now, I'm not exactly sure who Ron Shiller and his crew at PBS thinks is on the other end of the phone when they hold their million tele-a-thons each year, but I'm going to go out on a limb and hazard a guess that it isn't the blue collar working stiffs that make up the vast majority of the Democratic Party. Most of those folks are too worried about how they're going to pay for their next gallon of gas to be donating money to anything. I'm going to specualte that the 'public' funding that keeps PBS on the air is coming from the 'more money than brains' crowd, that tend to lean towards a Republican voting stand point.

And, before this goes any further, let me clarify something: I do not support the Tea Party. I really don't support or follow any political line of thinking, but I'm particularly against any extremist bend. Yes, I mean you too, you fucking tree hugging liberals that bitch about the economy endlessly but support moronic endeavors like raising minimum wage (which anyone with half a fucking brain knows will only cause the cost of living to go up).

For those of you that remember PBS from your childhood, and look back fondly on shows like Mr. Roger's Neighborhood and Sesame Street... I invite you to never turn that channel on again as an adult. And certainly not for your children.

My children won't even watch Sesame Street. I don't blame them. It isn't the show we grew up on. It's a dumbed down version that tries entirely too hard to push propaganda on it's young viewing audience. The messages we inferred from that show as children are now jammed down your throat. The innocence is gone, and you're left with 20 minutes of 'ethnic diversity is more than okay, it's the master plan!' followed by the 10 minutes of Elmo, which is the crack of every 3-6 year old on the planet.

After reading Andy's post, I wanted to be shocked. I wanted to be appalled. Outraged. Indignant. But, I wasn't. Not overly. Because I started remembering one of the my other childhood favorites brought to me by PBS. Mister Roger's Neighborhood.


Here was a show that didn't just promote a White Christian God, it insisted upon it. My brother, his girlfriend and I like to play a game when we go to punk rock shows. It's a variation of Where's Waldo, that includes finding the black people at the concert. You could play the same game here. Fred Roger's neighborhood must have been in the suburbs, if you catch my drift. And, if you don't, just take a look at the Nazi jackboots on his mailman. Oh shit, right? Some of you never noticed that the preacher with a TV show was getting mail hand delivered from Adolph Hitler.

And maybe thats what really got me cranked about watching that video. Mr. Shiller was all about taking 5 million dollars from a Muslim organization, so that he could continue to spread the gospel. I guess the Public that PBS is serving consists only of white christians that despise the government and want to form a new world order. A group that will tolerate Muslims, provided they have the cash...

Using television to brainwash the masses isn't new. In fact, it's old hat. We've endured everything from subliminal messaging to outright propaganda. Big Brother monitors your viewing habits and might be watching you from a camera inside your tv set. Who knows?

But, the manner in which PBS is doing it is disturbing. They aren't trying to create wholesome Americans that are willing to fall on the sword for God and Country  (something that might not be tolerable, but we would all dismiss as standard operating procedure). These sick puppies are trying to further divide a nation that clearly needs to put aside it's differences and find unity. Because, in case you guys don't know it, we've become the villain of the modern world. Every other country out there, especially the ones taking our hand outs with a smile, would love to see us wiped off the map. We're walking around with targets on our backs.

I can live with Sesame Street implying through Bert and Ernie that same sex couples are okay. I can accept that Oscar represents the surly homeless guy that is amusing and harmless. I can deal with the huge ethnic crowd living in bliss while a large homosexual bird and a blue furball with an eating disorder take children into the alley unsupervised. I can even stomach Elmo, and his fingernails-on-chalkboard voice.

But, I can't stomach a Public Broadcasting Service that is too busy meeting it's own political agenda to be serving the public.

In general, I hate television. I view that black box as a means to transmit movies from my DVD player and little more. The networks are all bought and sold, pumping out vapid programming that will attract sponsors who, in turn, insist on liberal or right-wing media... And the few channels that stand apart from this conglomerate whoring aren't showing shit worth watching anyway.

Yet, I have children. And I generally give them free reign of the television, trusting that I haven't raised fools. They usually make the right choice in programming, but now... now I have to wonder if what they're choosing isn't what I need to be concerned with. Maybe I should start being concerned with the political agenda of these so called kids networks, before they have my children goose stepping through my living room.

We are a nation that is on the verge of a second civil war. Don't delude yourselves otherwise. But, this time, the battlelines won't be geographic in nature. They will be intangible. We will be pitting ourselves against each other over the political agendas we hold to be true based upon which channel delivers our news, and which end of the extreme they're hypno-toading us with. (Kudos to those of you that caught the Futurama reference)

Those of you that are caught in the middle, like me... I'd advise you to make a trip to your local buy-by-the-bulk place, get about 300 gallons of water, 300 pounds of rice, as many D-cell batteries as you can, and start digging holes in your basement. Because, when Elmo is telling your kids to kill whitey, they're going to listen. And, we're all fucked.




Sunday, March 13, 2011

Maybe You Should Have Been Sniffing the Glue

I'm a creature of habit. I stop at the same convenience store everyday before work to grab a cup of coffee, maybe some smokes, whatever. As a result, I'm on a first name basis with most of the cashiers. This is always a double edged sword. On the plus side, I never have to go through the hassle of getting carded for cigarettes by some moron I'm probably old enough to have fathered. The down side is, of course, that this means I'm a regular customer and have lost the privilege of having them censor their conversations while I am at the counter fixing my coffee.

Today, as I was going through my routine, I was treated to a conversation that took place as one cashier screamed from the register to the other cashier that was in the office:

"Did you get it yet?"

"No." Very Long Pause. "Uh...I think I just super glued my fingers together."

"Oh my God! This one time, I super glued my hand to the floor and had to wait hours for someone to come home!"

First of all, any story that starts with "this one time" should be required by law to be followed with "at band camp". Because, your story, much like it's narrator, is a loser. Drain your spit valve and call it a day.

Secondly, what the fuck did you just say?

I spent the vast majority of my 8 hour shift pondering the physics behind gluing one's self to the floor. I have to be honest, I can't make it work.

Here is a bit of a personal aside about me; I hate to be sticky. Hate it with a phobia-like quality. When my children ask me to make pancakes, the only thought running through my head is that I will eventually have to touch the syrup bottle. You can have sex with whipped cream all you want...I'll pass. It sounds like something that requires a shower directly afterward, rather than laying in each others' arms.

So, I have to wonder, how do you cover your hand with the amount of super glue sufficient to glue yourself to the floor and not notice that your hand is covered in such a sticky substance? Even if you don't share my aversion to stickiness, how do you not realize you have a handful of glue?

Even better, how did you wind up with a handful of glue? This shit comes in the same tube as toothpaste. What the fuck does your bathroom look like after you brush your teeth? I mean...if you can't master the fine art of squeezing a tube and getting the fluid inside on the object you are aiming at...

Which brings us to: location, location, location. Why the floor? Who sits on the floor with a tube of super glue to repair an object? Don't you have a table and chair(s)? There wasn't a counter for you to stand at?

And, the mechanics involved in this operation... How did you leave your glue covered hand pressed against the floor long enough for super glue to set? I mean, that shit has a disclaimer on it to be used in a well ventilated area for a reason. Super glue will get you high, jackass.

And really, super glue comes in a tube about the size of your average asian guy's dick. What the fuck were you gluing that required the entire tube, most of which, obviously, landed on your hand? Because, it would take most of a tube to cover your hand sufficiently to allow you to glue yourself to the floor.

Now, don't get me wrong, I've done my share of stupid shit. Prior to shipping out for the Marine Corps, I got so drunk that I allowed a girl to hold her hand on my head as my friends (note that that is multiple) shaved around her appendage. The result was a haircut that would have made any mother scream. I still cringe when I recall the incident, and considering that I currently sport a mohawk, that's probably quite the statement.

Yet, I can't say that I've ever done anything as fucking retarded as gluing myself to the floor. In fact, if I had done anything that vapid, I doubt very much that I would publicize the information willingly. To be honest, such a story would likely require a massive amount of alchohol and some after-sex glow.

At any rate...you fuckers were lucky to get a blog tonight. I mean, we're losing an hours sleep tonight, for the sole purpose of boosting our failing economy and I have to work early.