How to Write an Awesome Blog: Volume 1 By Tim Boyle

How to Write an Awesome Blog:
Volume 1
By Tim Boyle
Blog: http://mooselicker.wordpress.com
E-mail: [email protected]
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/mrtimboyle
Twitter: @warlordtimboyle
How to Write an Awesome Blog
Published by Tim Boyle at Smashwords
Copyright 2013 Tim Boyle
What Makes A Good Blog?
Like many things in life, this question is completely retarded. Anything that’s good is subjective.
There’s nothing in existence that everybody enjoys. Even sex grosses some people out and sex,
pardon my French, is fucking awesome.
The following words you’re about to read have been taken from my blog I have maintained since
April 2011. The blog name is Mooselicker. Look it up, enjoy new posts.
I’ve edited through these old pieces a little bit to make them more book relevant. My hope is to
in each section give you a little bit of insight into what questions you should ask yourself when
writing a blog and different pieces I wrote that answer these important questions I feel are
necessary to building up a blogging audience. In other words, it’s an excuse to make this more
than just a rehash of old things I’ve written. Some bloggers don’t bother changing a thing. Those
bloggers are, pardon my German, fucking assholes.
I am by no means famous, successful, or all-knowing. I simply would like to share with you
some of my favorite pieces I have written for my blog since it began while giving you a few
lessons along the way. Do I sound like a condescending asshole at all? I really hope not.
Enjoy these pieces from my blog about my life, worldly opinions, and other inane nonsense
about everyday life.
***
Who Are You and Where Do You Live?
This is not to say you are required to give out every bit of information you can about your
personal life. If you want to keep your name private that’s fine. The same goes for your location.
If you don’t want people knowing where you live then continue being a creepy catfish. Facts will
show you that no blogger has ever been stalked down and killed, quit worrying. And if someone
ever is stalked down and killed because of their blog, think about the hits it will give you!
On my blog I started off not giving out too much information at all. I too was worried people
would find out stuff about me that I didn’t want anyone knowing. Quickly I learned the best
thing to do is reveal who you are. It’s impossible to build up a fanbase if nobody knows a thing
about you. Don’t be a man or woman of mystery. Embrace who you are and everything about it.
Most of all don’t get killed. It would look me really bad if you got killed after implementing my
advice.
My Names: Originally Posted 9/30/2011
“Hello. My name is Tim Boyle.”
That’s how none of my conversations ever start. They probably should start that way, but they
don’t. I’m too awkward for that. Most of my conversations with strangers start with me judging
them on a physical flaw. I’ll nod and hope I never have to see them again. I usually get my way
because I am constantly rolling my eyes while others speak.
Tim isn’t a bad first name. It’s not as great as Deacon, Lexington, Jackson, or something else
that makes me sound like a gay biker. I’ve never been made fun of for my name. That’s a good
thing. I’ve known people who have been. Any bit of cleverness has to come from my last name. I
had a teacher call me “Tim Hard Boyle’d Egg.” It got a lot of laughs from the 6th grade class. I
had a rough year.
There isn’t anything too heinous that could relate to my last name that would be plain offensive.
I guess if I had been boiled alive it could offend me. At that point, why would I care? I survived
being mixed in a giant black pot by cannibals. Everything after is cake because they didn’t have
the opportunity to turn me into cake. Little known fact about cannibals, they love cake.
I’m not positive about the meaning of either of my names. My mom told me that Timothy means
“honoring God.” I used to live up to my name, but my interpretation of the name God is “being
there for those in need.” There are about a dozen commercials with malnourished children and
battered women who think he needs to work on living up to his name as well. If he doesn’t have
to live up to his name, neither do I.
From what I know about my last name, there is a city in Ireland called O’Boyle, or so I was told.
I’ve never found any evidence to back it up. I had the opportunity to talk to three people from
Ireland once and they had never heard of the city. Someone lied to me. But does it really matter
where the name came from? It’s still mine and doesn’t change who I am, unless of course it
means “cocksucking ape” in Gaelic which I doubt it does because there are few apes in Ireland.
Sometimes people share my name. Tim is a pretty common name. There’s Tim Allen who had a
hit sitcom with Home Improvement. There’s Timothy McVeigh who blew up a building with
children in it. There’s that fiction writer Timothy who worked on The Bible. Tims have a
reputation for being successful. We rarely fail. Ask Timothy Dalton. Oh wait you can’t because
he’s too busy racing dune buggies in his giant mansion.
My last name is also shared. Susan Boyle unfortunately happens to be the most famous. She’s
the fat mess who was popular a few years ago for having a lovely singing voice and a monster’s
ass for a face. I’m sure you remember her. How could you ever erase her face from your mind?
She’s just too damn ugly.
Other people have the last name Boyle. I don’t believe any of them have ever accomplished very
much. The owner of Columbia Sportswear shares my exact name. I tried to get discounts but
they refused because he’s a jerk. That actually never happened. He still is a jerk though. He
should share the wealth with his namesake. He hogs it all with his mother Gert. Now that’s a
terrible name. Gert sounds like a type of growth on the bottom of a foot. Irish people aren’t good
at giving out names.
Overall, I don’t mind my names. Eventually I plan on changing my name to Timo Theebuille to
fool people into thinking I am ethnic, thus getting hired faster or not at all, depending on the
company policies. The beauty of it is if you say it fast enough it’s pronounced the same as
Timothy Boyle, my birth certificate name. I could be crazy in doing that and by then there will
be a huge backlash against affirmative action. Until then I’ll stick with the names I was given at
birth.
Locations: Originally Posted 5/15/2011
I live in the most boring place in the Universe. At least, I’ve convinced myself this.
I live on planet earth. I know this doesn't come as much of a surprise to anyone reading this as
the Internet connection on Neptune is quite poor. They still use AOL. Earth is the worst named
planet of them all. The other planets are named after ancient Gods. I don't know where earth gets
its name from, probably from the holiday Earth Day which was created some time in the 1970s.
Earth is the only planet that you don't capitalize in the middle of the sentence. I think so at least.
I remember one of my teachers correcting me when I capitalized it. Then she hit me with a globe.
On earth I live on the continent North America. This is a continent so lame that it has to have
"north" thrown into it. The continent I live on has, what, three countries? I'm not sure what
continents some countries fall into. Greenland and Iceland are in the middle of nowhere.
Greenland is also very icy and Iceland is very green. Someone fucked up at the Country Naming
Bureau. The name America comes from an old man named Amerigo Vespucci. I went to school
with a fat girl with the last name Vespucci. She was the size of America. I always find this
ironic. When she would fall asleep in class we would draw to scale maps on her body. It seemed
wrong not to.
In North America I live in the worst named country in the world, The United States of America.
Maybe it's not the worst named country. But you have to admit, it is a terrible name. The fact
that our country averages a civil war every 250 years shows we are not united. It scares me that
we're due for another civil war. I don't want South Dakota invading Iowa. Actually that wouldn't
bother me. I'm not a big fan of corn or dream catchers. Countries like Germany, Ireland, Taiwan,
and Uzbekistan have such unique interesting names that might mean something. The United
States of America means exactly what it says. It really isn't much different than how China calls
itself The People's Republic of China. Usually when countries have more than one word in its
name they're bullshitting someone. I think we're bullshitting ourselves.
In the United States of America I live in New Jersey. This is a state so bad that it couldn't have
an original name. We had to take it from England. The assholes who settled here had no
imagination. Jukilfrog isn't a word. Why not name it that? I never got why you would name
something a newer version. The only situation where I’d allow it would be if you have a kid who
dies. If you have a kid named Rhonda and it dies, name the next kid New Rhonda. Chances are,
if you named your kid Rhonda it died from suicide. Rhonda is a lousy name. R's and H's should
never touch each other. They're like cats and dogs or ballerinas and astronauts; complete
opposites that should stay away from each other. New Jersey gets a lot of shit from all over. It's
not as bad of a place as everyone thinks. The name sucks a lot. But we've got beaches. So you
Missouri fucks better shut up. You only have a dopey river to dip your toes into. We've got an
entire ocean. We can dispose of a body much easier. Stop stereotyping us over in Jersey you
uneducated cannibal incestuous rapist Missouri citizens.
In New Jersey I live in Camden County. This is a county named after one of the most dangerous
cities in the country. I don't know why it shares the named with the city. There are a lot of nice
places in the county. Maybe it's to fool people into thinking the entire county is one giant
aquarium. All of the Philadelphia athletes live in the county too. It can't be that bad. This whole
county is filled with aquariums and linebackers. You can't walk down a street without seeing a
blowfish or an angry black man. Maybe they're not linebackers. They could be though.
Hamilton Squares: Originally Posted 1/14/2013
I consider my hometown to be Hamilton Square, New Jersey. Sometimes I leave out the square
because I don’t want people knowing I grew up in a place that lets it be known we’re all L7’s.
It’s true though. The town Hamilton Square is full of squares, jive turkeys, and playa haters; you
know, the worst kinds of people. Each time I’m back in my hometown I remember why I never
wanted to live there any longer. The people are rude, egos are inflated, and there are too many
damn people wandering about doing nothing. When the Taco Bell parking lot is the place the
teens hang out at who needs to ever achieve anything in life?
Hamilton Square is known for a few things. It’s the origin of Megan’s Law, home to the post
office where the government faked the anthrax mailings (I also think the Home Depot across the
street is where they filmed the Moon Landing), and that’s about all it’s known for. As much as I
hate the town I have decided to list out a few reasons why Hamilton Square is a great place to
live, grow up in, and die.
1) Jaded by Suicide: You can’t throw a beer can at anyone in Hamilton Square’s face who
doesn’t know someone who has killed themselves. It’s always young white people too which
seems a little silly. Depressed young white people are supposed to join cults not search Google
on how to tie a noose. I don’t know an incredible amount of people who have killed themselves
but I know enough where it almost seems like a rite of passage. If you don’t kill yourself you’re
pretty much destined to live your life wishing you had. Having such an apathetic opinion on
suicide means nothing really shocks me. It’s not so much why someone killed themselves as
much as it is what of theirs I might be able to get cheap at a yard sale. Once I got a swivel chair.
It was a really good bargain.
2) Easy to Find Drugs: One time I was walking down the street in Hamilton Square and bumped
into a heroin needle. I’m kidding. Hamilton has no streets to casually walk down because it’s
lame. Everyone in the entire county, Mercer, does drugs it seems. I’m sure it’s not much
different in other parts of the country or anything. It just seems like this area was always known
for having drugs because it was white people with money. Personally I’ve only ever seen
someone do hard drugs once and it was in a Pennsylvania town called New Hope. Name a town
after the first Star Wars film’s subheading and this is what you get.
3) You’ll Never Spend too Much Time at the Mall: The Hamilton area has one major mall called
Quakerbridge. Yeah, Quakers need bridges too. I had always assumed they were great swimmers
or at the very least had the power of flight. The Quakerbridge Mall is probably only better than
another nearby mall in Princeton called Princeton Market Fair. At least Market Fair has a Barnes
and Noble and a movie theater. Market Fair also has a ton of Chinese people so if you’re on a
racial scavenger hunt that’s a good tip for you to knock out the Asian countries. I think the last
time I went into the Quakerbridge Mall was when I took a girl there a few years back. She said
“This mall blows” and she was right. Quakerbridge Mall would be better served as an Iraqi
hospital. And by that I mean it deserves a missile to hit it.
4) It’s Easy to Keep in Touch With People: Nobody lets you mind your own business here. You
can’t even buy porn in this town without running into a big mean lesbian you knew from high
school. The best part is now she’s a guy named Tony. The only thing I like about the
accessibility of running into people from the past was when I saw a hot girl from high school
jogging. Is there a mile per hour rating less than 0? That’s how fast I was driving as I slowly
drove up on the curb alongside her remembering why 11th grade health class was tolerable.
5) Everyone is in Great Shape: Or at least everyone goes to the gym and talks about it. I used to
always think my hometown was nothing like Jersey Shore. The further I distance myself
emotionally from the place I see it’s not all too different. We’re about an hour away from the
beach which means we’re not as tan or as mind-blinded by the sun. If I ever become a scientist
on accident my first hypothesis would be the more sun a person sees the dumber they are. There
are so many gyms in and around Hamilton Square you’re an outsider if you don’t go to one. I’m
not sure where the people who are actually in shape go because everyone I run into must have
fake Gym IDs based on the way they look. I know way too many fat people.
If you happened to read this and you are from Hamilton Square I’m so sorry. I’m not sorry if I
offended you. I’m sorry you grew up in such a lame place.
***
What Do You Do For Fun?
A good blog is an exciting blog. Good bloggers talk about who they are, events from their
childhood and most importantly, their current lifestyles. You don’t need to tell people every
detail about your life. That’s what Twitter is for. When writing a blog you need to let people
know there’s more to your life than sitting in front of a computer checking your stats, even if
there’s not much else.
People sometimes ask me what it is I like to do for fun. Honestly, not much. The average person
enjoys getting shit-faced drunk for fun. I don’t drink because alcoholism runs in my family and I
have a hard enough time with self-control when it comes to eating too many bananas. I hear
those things can kill you if you eat too many. So, I stay away from alcohol. One thing I don’t
stay away from is going out to bars. How else am I going to get my dick sucked? By going to the
gym, having a nice job, and treating women nicely? Fuck that shit. Finding someone drunk is so
much easier.
New Experiences: Originally Posted 1/21/2012
One of my “resolutions” for 2012 was to have new experiences. I put the word resolutions in
quotations because I didn’t come up with it being a resolution until a few seconds ago. I’m also
not a person who likes to say I will do something because it’s a new year. I do something
because I think it will make my life better. I do something because I hope it helps get pretty girls
to talk to me.
My Saturday nights typically aren’t very exciting. I’ll either sit at home working on something
I’m writing, go somewhere with my ex-girlfriend (that feels weird to say, right now we call each
other “some random guy/girl” I think it helps because we both hate all of our exes), or I’ll watch
TV. And when I say TV, I mean I plug my external hard drive into my computer and watch
television shows that were on 5 years ago. I don’t want you thinking I spend my Saturday nights
watching Cops. Even I find that a little pathetic and I have a large booger hanging from a nose
hair as I type.
I made an attempt to do something new on a Saturday night. I gathered up all of my friends (one
guy) and decided we would paint the town red. Our first fun stop was Subway. That might not
sound so exciting, but by golly you haven’t had fun until you’ve hung out with us! Get this. I had
jalapenos on my sandwich. I like to live dangerously. Even more thrilling, he tried a brand new
sandwich that he never eaten before and got some jalapeno flavored chips to go with it. Oh my!
We’re such exciting boys.
We sat in the parking lot for 20 minutes after trying to figure out what to do. I texted everyone I
knew (my two sisters) to find out where a good place to hang out might be. He texted everyone
he knew (me) and I told him that if he had something to say he could just say it out loud.
Apparently my hometown hasn’t changed much since I moved. I’m still around there enough,
but I figured in the last two years maybe an arcade or an orgy palace had spawned up.
My sisters were no help. The one suggested going someplace I always go to, going someplace
that was 40 minutes away, and then suggesting I go fuck myself if her suggestions weren’t good
enough. My other sister was even less helpful. She didn’t even have a suggestion. I always
wonder where 21-year-old girls hang out. The lesson of the night, they hang out at home with a
friend just as clueless as they are.
Eventually we decided to give some new bar a shot. It’s not really new as much as it looks clean
and we remember when it was built. He knew someone who was almost date raped there so we
thought this could lead to some excitement. The crowd was a “gigantic sausage fest” as he
suggested. The bartender was either pregnant or only stores fat in her lower abdomen. I didn’t
ask. We thought it was best to leave. We weren’t going to get date raped here like we hoped. Not
with a playoff football game on the TV. Oh, but we did spot the first homosexual we ever knew
there. He was one of those kids who you knew was gay when he was 12. He has a huge bald spot
now. I sense the Westboro Baptist Church reading this then saying the fact that he was gay led to
his baldness. The Westboro Baptist Church is so gay.
Our sphincters intact, it was time to try somewhere else. We journeyed to a place that was even
closer to our childhood homes. I won’t say where because I recognized a few people there. My
new shtick is telling people I meet that I’m a professional psychic medium. I don’t want to be
found out if one of them for some reason reads this and finds out that I can’t really talk to dead
people. I’d owe a lot of people their money back.
While entering, a large man joked with us about getting a fake cigarette and then said “Look, the
Lee sisters, Lonely and Ugly” as a lonely and ugly woman passed by. It took me a moment to get
it. Now it’s my favorite thing to say.
We walked in and the place was much emptier than I expected. We managed to get a seat right
away which is always a plus. The bartender came over immediately and asked us what we
wanted. I said “I’ll just have water.” I always throw in the word “just” when ordering water. I
probably shouldn’t. It makes me sound like a coward. I’m admitting what a wimp I am for not
drinking. I should really say “I’ll start with a water and possibly move onto something more
mind altering depending upon how the evening goes.” But I don’t. My buddy got a Miller Lite
because it was the only thing on Tap that he could spot.
It was a typical pub. Young people, old people, loners, couples, hamburgers, sports, a clogged
toilet, darts. The best thing was that most of the people who worked there were attractive. Even
the homeliest was probably in the top 15 of bartenders I’ve ever seen in person. Maybe our night
was going to turn around. Bartenders need sexy time from people too. I’ve only ever hooked up
with one bartender. I’m not even positive if she was a bartender. She was probably only a
waitress at a bar. Still, I’m proud. She had previously been dating some guy who I am pretty sure
is now in the NHL. Talk about downgrading. It takes me three laps around an ice rink before I
can let go of the sides and this has to be done while wearing figure skates, not hockey ones.
My friend claimed ownership over the “head” bartender. I call her the head one because she
seemed in charge and I would like her to give me that, head. She was a cute redhead who seemed
to smile in the distance for no real reason at all. She’d dance to the music and everything. Only
one douche chill moment happened when someone was ignoring her and I saw her roll her eyes.
We made brief eye contact and I jumped into gear and said “They’re ignoring you!” a little too
overeager. She then proceeded to ignore me. The only thing more embarrassing would have been
if she had asked me what I said and I had to repeat it again. What could her response have been,
“Yes. Yes they are ignoring me. You see things that I see then you say them out loud to
strangers. Thank you.” So it’s for the best that I fucked up, right?
Another bartender called me sweetie. She was pretty good-looking too. I’d even say she was out
of my league good-looking. Not that I couldn’t get her. She just looks like someone who would
be disgusted looking at me in daylight. She was part Spanish I think. Although she wasn’t very
mean so it’s hard to tell. I debated with my friend why she might call me sweetie. He was nice
and said maybe she has a thing for me. I was realistic and said she’s probably a lot older than we
think. I eavesdropped and found out she was 22. So much for my theory. Maybe she was into
me. Then he needed a drink and she called him sweetie. Never mind. It’s what she calls
everyone. I’ve been called worse.
A live band came on. It took them 45 minutes to warm up. Their guitar player had a grey beard.
Their singer still had some baby teeth. This was a sign that they were going to suck. They
warmed up with either Are You Gonna Be My Girl? by Jet or Lust for Life by Iggy Pop. It’s the
same song. Who knows?
Sluts poured into the bar. More and more of them came each passing minute. Then I’d get a
glimpse into their world by hearing their conversations and think to myself “Hey, I don’t belong
here. These people don’t think like I do.” The band began to play Breakfast at Tiffany’s, a song
nobody likes or knows who does it. Rob hates live music and we both tried to justify that we
only left because of this hatred when really I have a feeling we left because we both knew it was
now impossible for a girl to come up and say to either of us “I like your jacket.” Yes, we both
wore our cool black jackets. Nobody commented on them. But hey, I thought we looked pretty
cool. And isn’t that what matters?
I dropped him off at home after our night of new experiences. It could have been better, it could
have been worse. The moral of the story is that new experiences are never the way you wish they
were. They’re not bad and you can have fun doing them. I’m sure we’ll go back there another
time. I mean, the waitstaff alone makes it worth the trip. I look forward to more new experiences
this year. You know, like having a threesome or going to bed and waking up the next morning
happy.
Miller Light Girls: Originally Posted 1/20/2013
A girl once told me I was weird when I went on a 10 minute rant on why I thought strip clubs
were stupid. I won’t go into it, but it’s because I hate phonies. Strippers are some of the biggest
phonies out there. I don’t hate them for it. Their job is to pretend the beer bellied businessman
man is the man they’ve always wanted. I can avoid strippers and their lies easy. Sometimes it can
be hard to avoid the people one level below the stripper. These people go by the name the Miller
Lite Girl.
The Miller Lite Girl in this case is a traditionally attractive female between the ages of 18 and
24. When nepotism is involved they’ll go up to 27. They go out to bars and use their flirtatious
ways to get lonely older men to buy the product that pays them, Miller Lite. The Miller Lite Girls
I’m going to talk about here were sponsored by a radio station based out of Philadelphia,
WMMR. It actually doesn’t matter where they came from because all Miller Lite Girls are the
same, awful.
I was at my usual bar which is not a party bar. It’s on the Princeton University Campus which
you can figure means the average cliental are elderly professors and dorky Chinese kids. There
are also quite a few seminary students. Basically what I’m saying is if you’re a guy looking for
someone to hook up with you better have an old man fetish.
On this night there were two bimbos in electric blue outfits. It was the same blue the Dallas
Cowboys cheerleaders wear. Let’s call it Whore Blue actually. I noticed them immediately
because even though they were incredibly fake looking they were still by far the most attractive
people in the room.
I grabbed a seat with my friend Rob and we noticed them prancing around asking people
questions and giving out prizes. I’ve lived long enough to know girls like this would never sleep
with me. I know what you’re thinking, who wouldn’t have sex with a pretty face like mine?
Models, cheerleaders, incredibly attractive meter maids, the Steinert High School graduating
class of 2006, any woman with a job; none of them would ever probably let me cozy up next to
them. Knowing this fact is comforting. It simply means I can say “fuck it” and whenever a
traditionally hot girl acknowledges my existence I set out to prove just how useless beauty can be
in this world.
The bimbos actually made a point to try to get over to Rob and me. I saw them through my
peripheral vision coming closer. The thing you need to know about slutty girls is they don’t have
peripheral vision. The only direction they see is into a mirror. They thought I had no idea they
were coming. I love dumb girls.
The blonde asked Rob if he was drinking beer. He wasn’t and they moved on. I made a point not
to even look over when they talked to him. Nobody can say “Hey guys–“ and expect me to group
myself in with someone else and respond. I am an individual. I will be treated as such!
I heard them behind us saying “Should we ask him?” referring to me. They agreed that they
should ask me. They swooped behind us. The brunette said “Are you guys just drinking water?” I
explained that I was drinking water but I’m not in charge of what others drink. She asked Rob
what he was drinking and he said Vodka even though he has no clue what he was drinking. He’s
not as irresponsible as that sounds. He’s never once accidentally left an oven on and burnt down
an apartment building.
The brunette explained how if we decided to drink Miller Lite we could win lots of prizes. I
asked about these prizes. They had keychains, mini-footballs, and our favorite, beads. I made a
big deal about the beads and acted as if they had me sold. Why would a grown man ever want to
own beads that aren’t meant for rectal pleasure? I told Rob they had beads in which he
responded, “Bees? Don’t they sting?” and suddenly our characters had been developed. I was the
Unsure Guy and he was the Idiot. I don’t think we were too far off from these girl’s personalities.
Our conversation lasted way too long. She still thought I might want the beads. She said they
would be good for Mardi Gras. I turned to Rob and said “Hey, she knows your buddy Marty
Graw.” The brunette looked at me blankly as I asked her where she knew Marty Graw from. “Is
that a person’s name? Is this a joke or something?” I laughed in her face and she laughed too
because that’s a stupid person’s defense.
A Japanese guy named Dan interrupted (yeah, they name their kids Dan now) and he pretended
to be interested because he wanted to talk to two hot chicks. An actual guy from WMMR came
over and tried to get us to participate in the raffle to win an Under Armor sweater. Rob asked
him if he knew WMMR DJ Jacky Bam-Bam. He said he did. I asked him if he was Jacky BamBam. He said he was not. I kept going on how ugly Jacky Bam-Bam is. He didn’t deny it. He
asked if I was a fan of WMMR and I said “I haven’t listened to that station in 5 years.” He asked
me why and I said they play too much Van Halen. We bonded for a few moments over how
much Van Halen sucks.
The radio guy gave us stickers in case we changed our minds on getting beer. I told him and the
brunette it was un-American to make me buy beer in order to enter a raffle. I was going to say
my parents were killed by drunk drivers and they were part of the problem but didn’t get the
chance.
The WMMR crew left to bother a few other people. Rob got the idea to order a Bud Light
instead and trick them into thinking he got a Miller Lite. They didn’t like this joke. The blonde
started getting really angry about our nonsense. She asked why he would waste his money on
such a crappy beer. He said if he bought a Miller Lite he would have been wasting his money on
a crappy beer. The brunette laughed and finally she was getting the joke.
The girls made one last plea to try to get us to purchase their crap beverage. They hyped up the
Under Armor sweater that could keep us warm. I asked if the Under Armor was bullet proof and
could act as Kevlar. The blonde said “I don’t know what that means” which I think she probably
says a lot. We also tried to explain how Rob was drinking his drinks in ABC order and he would
get to Miller Lite once M came around. The blonde also didn’t understand what ABC order was.
I think she’s still in kindergarten.
I think the Miller Lite Girls came by us one more time. They made fun of us for drinking Bud
Light and water. They ordered two waters from the bar. I yelled at them for being hypocritical
parasites (not really, but I should have used those words) for judging us and getting water for
themselves. The blonde kept saying she felt bad for us, Rob for drinking a bad drink and me for
associating with him. I pretended to be on their side and made fun of Rob for being such a loser.
They laughed at his expense with their retarded pretty girl laughs. Then I told Rob he was such a
loser and I was glad his dad killed himself earlier in the week. Their faces got really serious and
we talked a little bit more about Rob’s dad’s fake suicide. They got their waters, left, and gave
out their stupid Under Armor sweater to some asshole who actually thought he could bang them.
Men like that annoy me more than the actual Miller Lite Girls.
Newer Experiences: Originally Posted 9/6/2012
Normally my Saturday nights during the summer are spent listening to a baseball game on the
radio, working on writing something, and subconsciously hoping a stray bullet lands in my
jugular. I had been text messaging with old friends from high school the last few months. All of
us lie about how busy our schedules are to make ourselves seem like we’re important and
hanging out never happened. I put my foot down and agreed on this Saturday in particular I
would hang out with at least one of my old friends. Now all I had to do was find an official
NASA polo shirt to keep the lie going that I am an astronaut.
The plan was originally for my good friend Rob and me to go over to our old friend Mickey’s
house. Mickey was the ultimate prankster in high school. Actually prankster seems like too weak
a word. Troublemaker, nuisance, annoyance, and sillygoose are more accurate. I think my
favorite “prank” we would play was on the campus security guard who was basically a hall
monitor with a walkie-talkie. We called him Frankie P. as his name was Franklin Palzone and
this was the most obnoxious thing to call him. Each day during study hall we would take a piece
of paper, write “Reserved for Frankie P” on the paper, tape it to a chair, then place the chair in
the path he always took to the teacher’s lounge.
One day he snapped and some Egyptian dweeb ratted us out. We all denied it. Frankie P. thought
he scared us good. We took the initiative to find out where he lived. One morning he woke up
with the same exact chair from the cafeteria sitting on the front stoop of his home with a
“Reserved for Frankie P” sign taped to it. I think his power trip ended after that.
Our plan changed this Saturday night and instead we were invited to the one place I feel most out
of my element, a church. It was described to me as a “gathering of 20-something year olds for
fun and games.” I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect. Normally when you put 20-something year
olds in a room together a bong and lost dreams appear. Since this would be taking place in a
church basement I had assumed the only thing to appear would be Jesus’s face in a grilled cheese
sandwich.
After some catching up at Mickey’s house after not seeing each other for 6 years, we headed out
to the church. We got there and were some of the first few to arrive. Most people present I had
never seen before. They were good church folk who for some strange reason smoked, cursed,
and brought up marijuana way too often. I was introduced to everyone as they came. Two girls
touched my hand. One seemed eager to do so. The second seemed like she had to because Jesus
would have wanted her to be nice to someone of lesser value. There were also two Indian kids.
For a while I thought there was only one Indian kid. I’m not even sure which one of them I had a
long conversation with. When each told me their names I said “What?” twice to try to get a
clearer understanding. My asking “What?” is limited to twice. After that I pretend I understand.
I was a little worried a Bible might be brought out as this was an event for people from a Bible
Study Group. Whenever I’m at a church function I never know how to behave. I believe in the
values they teach, I just don’t think it’s necessary to worship someone else. I want to be a good
person because being a good person is the right thing to do. I shouldn’t be kind to others because
I’m afraid of burning in hell. Anything nice I ever do is never because someone died for my sins.
I do it because I want life to be something worth living. Surrounding myself with kindness does
not need a commitment to a church or anything at all. I forget where I was going with this, but
this is the basis for the doctrine I’m writing for the cult I have decided to start.
The only religion that was brought into the evening was before eating. We were asked to pray. I
looked to Rob as neither of us was sure whether or not to fake it. I would never want a girl to
fake an orgasm with me. I don’t think they would because no girl could ever possibly get
pleasure from 15 seconds of my fury. I put my hands together anyway and said my own prayer:
Hey God, this is kind of awkward. It's like we're two old pals who have to work together to do an
art project. Uhhh thanks for the food and such. The pizza smells good. I think I’ll grab a slice
with pineapple on it even though I don’t like pineapple much. But I’m trying to do new things
and it would fit in with my blog post. Do you read my blog? Of course you do. You’re God.
You’ve got all day Sunday to rest and surf the web. I don’t know why you’d be listening to me
now. You never really listened to me before. But hey, that’s alright. Maybe I didn’t need that GI
Joe fortress I always wanted. Maybe I deserved to grow up hating myself. Maybe asking for
happiness for myself and those around me was asking too much. I forgive you. I can do this by
myself now. Maybe your plan all along was to teach me to help myself. You know, that was
probably it. You're quite a card God. Amen.
The night continued. We ate, we reminisced, we played some games, and I guess we did what
people with morals do on a Saturday night. I drank about seven bottles of water and heard
someone yell, “What happened to all of the water?” I slowly slid my empty bottles under one of
the fat twin’s chairs to avoid a fight. Before we knew it four hours had gone by. We had only
intended on staying maybe two at the most, but the power of Christ/the brownies compelled us to
stay.
We left the church without saying goodbye to anyone. I’m hoping they thought the rapture had
begun. I could tell Rob didn’t have as good of a night as I did so we dropped him off at his house
before going to Mickey’s dad’s apartment to chill a little bit more. This was a big mistake by
Rob. As soon as we got there Nickelodeon star Victoria Justice showed up. She was looking for
him. She settled for me because I knew the most facts about his life. When I banged her against
an armoire she made me name his relatives, hobbies, and favorite childhood memories. That
actually didn’t happen. Everybody did things they would never do at a church then I went home
with a new experience under my belt, happy I gave it a try.
***
What Religion Do You Practice?
Religion is a topic people avoid bringing up at all costs. It’s understandable. People believe in
some ridiculous shit and most of this ridiculous shit involves not listening to anyone else’s
ridiculous shit.
When you do a blog that pushes boundaries and tries getting people to think you cannot avoid
religion all together. It’s a big issue in politics and one of the biggest killers in history. I do
suggest however to not blog about your faith alone. Although a Christian based blog is very
niche and can give you lots of followers, it excludes a giant portion of the population. I have
through my blog befriended people of all different religious beliefs. Faith is simply that, faith.
It’s a blind trust you have in something. Avoiding it all together means you don’t believe in
everything it stands for great enough. So, bring it up sometimes but not too often. You may come
to realize your shit is real ridiculous.
Holy Lands: Originally Posted 10/27/2011
“A religion is only as good as its holy land is fertile.” - John P. Higgins, Philosopher/Homeless
Man
Okay, John P. Higgins is a made up name. I thought the name sounded reputable. John usually
makes us think of someone boring. The P in the middle shows that he’s scholarly and possibly
shares the same name with someone else in his field and he uses it to distinguish between the
two. The Higgins part of the name was chosen because it’s obscure enough, yet sounds very
much like it would belong to a WASP. You’d have to be an idiot to make up a name like that!
Wait…
The Philosopher/Homeless Man part was just my way of saying they are no different from each
other. Homeless Men really are the greatest modern-day philosophers. They have all day to
pontificate and do other things they don’t know the meaning of or how to spell. Here are my
philosophical thoughts on Holy Lands.
The most famous Holy Lands are in the Middle East. Christianity, Islamic, and Judaism are three
of the biggest. There are those other little religions that pop up all over the place. This isn’t about
those counterculture religious rebels like the Sunnis so forget about them for now.
A lot of these Holy Lands are in that central location because this is where humanity began.
Some of the first civilizations were built there and from them came our earliest religions. I’m not
an expert on this topic so I will stop trying to name facts. My knowledge of that time period
really starts with how the Sumerians invented irrigations and how Fred Flinstone’s boss was Mr.
Slate. Early history bores me. It’s all “well we don’t really know, but taking into account blah
blah blah.” They don’t even know how the pyramids were built. Why bother learning about it?
All they can say is “here are some giant stone buildings with a point at the top. We don’t really
know the purpose of them or how they were built but here they are” then gaze at the students
awkwardly.
The problem with having so many Holy Lands in the same space is that it causes a lot of
problems. So many of the wars that go on in the Middle East is over territory for ownership of
the property where something may or may not have happened. I don’t know why you need to
stick a flag pole wherever it was that your deity died at. Isn’t your God so much bigger than one
town? Isn’t he with you always? Does he not control the universe? And once you get that land,
what do you do with it? Open up a theme park? Lots of people died for ownership of the Holy
Land in the Middle East. There were about a dozen Crusades or something. All of those knights
on the European side and all of the Muslims on the defensive side died because they thought two
different versions of the same story happened on the same fucking blades of grass. It’s insane! I
used to think knights were so awesome. Then I found out all they were doing was slaughtering
other human beings for a fucking mug Jesus drank from. Fuck you and your Holy Grail Lancelot.
No wonder you shits had to make up dragons to seem more daring.
The Holy Lands of the Middle East are by far the most violent. It’s because the biggest and most
influential religions claim ownership of that territory. Then there are a few more Holy Lands that
are a lot less appealing. Take the Amish for instance. Their Holy Land is in Lancaster,
Pennsylvania. Nobody wants to take over this landmass. You have to take a Septa train to get
there and they’re always on strike anyway. I applaud the Amish for choosing such an
uninteresting location to call home. They never have to fear an invasion from an enemy religion.
It’d be so easy to take over too. The Jews should just give up on defending Israel from their
surrounding enemies and make their location to Lancaster. Once night hits, the Amish are left in
the dark, defenseless, and fucked.
Mormons are the other silly religion whose Holy Land lies in America. They call their home in a
big useless state named Utah. It’s where D.B. Cooper buried his money, according to Prison
Break. This was another great choice of a location to set up. Utah is too far away from California
for anyone to even notice it exists. They have one giant lake in it, but it’s filled with salt. What a
lousy state. Their capital is named after this crap lake. That’s when you know nobody great has
ever been born there, when you name your capital after a giant undrinkable mass of water. The
only thing worse would be if it was filled with Seltzer. Ugh I hate Seltzer.
Finally there are the rest of the religions around the world. Taoism, Buddhism, Confucianism,
Hinduism, all of them. They don’t get a bad reputation for being violent because nobody else
wants their Holy Land. If all of a sudden all the Cajuns who believe in Voodoo discover that
their origins lay in Beijing shit is going to get violent. It’s not fair to judge a religion on how
violent it is. They’re all violent really. You may think Buddhists are peaceful, but wait until their
land gets taken from them. We’ll see how passive those bald hippies really are.
Defending Religions: Originally Posted 11/20/2012
By no means am I a religious man. When I was a younger boy I saw a picture of Jesus and
thought it was Al Pacino as Serpico in disguise. Most of my religious knowledge comes from
The Simpsons, South Park, and a few other parodies. I’ve never had much use for religion in my
life. I believe there to be a deep seeded evil in me that prevents it. Despite not being holy I feel
the need to defend religion from an apathetic viewpoint.
Atheists get a bad reputation because many are so strongly against religion of any sort. They’re
so against it they say you’re an idiot if you believe in anything having to do with religion. Why
though does it matter what other people believe? These are the same people who go around
yelling at a person when they find out the guy doesn’t like Die Hard. What does it matter if
someone doesn’t have the same viewpoint as you? Isn’t forcing your atheist belief system onto a
religious person just as bad as a religious person forcing their outdated belief system on you?
The big thing is a lot of people who are so anti-religion are very pro everything else. Antireligious or members believing in antidisestablishmentarianism (I had to throw that in) tend to be
very what they call “liberal.” Liberal to me means open-minded to everything, easy going, and
probably a drug user. I’m not liberal at all. I’m very close minded because I have lived long
enough to know some stereotypes are true, some people are assholes, and Keith Richards is the
only guy to ever benefit from drug use and I don’t have near his musical talent to even try
following in his footsteps. Liberal has become a word meant to represent “I vote Democrat.”
Somehow the word Prickface has come to represent “I vote Republican.” I don’t support either
party because I agree with things from both sides. I honestly think at this point the Republicans
would do a better job for America but the Democrats will do more to help me personally. I don’t
really care about how America does. I care about myself because in the end I’m all I’ve got.
Enough about politics though. Let me go back to the less controversial topic, religion.
It doesn’t bug me when people mock religion, I’ll do it myself. What bugs me is when someone
mocks religion and can’t take similar mocking about something they believe in. If you make fun
of someone’s religion you better be prepared to get made fun of for your race, sexual orientation,
or handicap. Some may say race, sexual orientation, and handicap are not choices therefore offlimits. But is religion really a choice? I don’t think anyone would choose religion. That’s not
how it works. It’s the same way you don’t choose who you’re attracted to. If it were up to me I
would be attracted to houseplants because they’d never turn me down and they can’t scream.
There are certain things in a person’s life and in their belief system that isn’t even up to them.
Call it fate, destiny, whatever you want. If you want to pull a knife on someone based on their
religion be prepared to get a nuke dropped on you for anything.
I doubt religion will ever become a big part of my life. Who knows? Maybe I’ll see a Jesus face
in a sandwich one day and I’ll take it as I should stop cursing then I’ll join the cloth. I have bad
eyesight so I’ll probably never notice the Jesus face and I’d end up eating a miracle. And
although religion isn’t for me it does do a lot of great things. It brings communities together,
helps those with addiction, and it gives back more than it takes. Sure, some churches and
religions are utterly evil in some way but I think it’s worth it to have some around that actually
help out. You wouldn’t (well you might) blow up the entire Middle East just because there are a
lot of terrorists there would you? With some bad there is also always some good.
Religious Brackets: Originally Posted 8/24/2011
Most religions are stupid. We can all agree on that. In fact when you think about it, you should
really think every religion is stupid except for your own. If you don’t think this way you’ll
probably end up in hell. That’s fact. Being a Muslim and thinking that maybe Mormonism has its
perks really is denying a part of where you stand on religion. Don’t do it. Follow your religion
100% or don’t follow it at all. Or start a cult. I don’t care. Just don’t use religion only when it’s
convenient. It’s not like being nice to women which you can pick and choose.
People love brackets. The most popular is the March Madness one where people bet which group
of black teenagers will beat another group of black teenagers. People put money on these games
of chance. They spend hours crunching numbers and trying to find a loophole while their dogs
go unfed and their children’s clothes go unwashed. This is sports in America.
I’ve created a bracket like system of different religions and placed them each in a seed. This of
course, based from the perspective of a white guy living in the United States of America. I might
be biased for that fact so if you’re reading this on the Estonian Internet you may disagree with
me. If you are reading this on the Estonian Internet you probably have a rock instead of a mouse
and your version of a laptop is a desktop computer placed on your lap. Estonia outlawed tables in
the 1950s. It had something to do with being too “Western.”
Round 1:
1. Born-Agains vs. Catholics
2. Muslims vs. Buddhists
3. Episcopalians vs. Wiccans
4. Mormons vs. Hebrews
5. People Who Worship the Sun vs. Atheists
6. Quakers vs. Protestants
7. Amish vs. Orthodox Jews
8. Lutherans vs. Voodoo
Results:
1. Catholics beat Born-Agains, why? Catholics have a lot of bad shit with them. Their priests
molest children, their nuns hit kids with rulers, and their leader wears a silly hat. Still, they are
much better than Born-Agains who think taking a bath in a lake can change a person. Lakes
don’t clean away your sins. Years of living a good life and giving back might.
2. Muslims beat Buddhists, why? Buddhism is all about suffering yet they never hurt anyone.
What kind of bull is this? Quit complaining and do something. Your leader, the Llama, is named
after an animal that spits on people at zoos. I know Muslims aren’t that great either, but I don’t
see them lasting through the next round and I’ll save my bashing for then.
3. Episcopalians beat Wiccans, why? Both of these groups allow just about anyone into them.
The difference, Wiccans are mostly fat bisexual teenage girls. I’m sorry, that doesn’t make you a
religion. That makes you a My Chemical Romance concert.
4. Hebrews beat Mormons, why? It’s a simple matter of territory. The Hebrews are all over the
place. They have great positions of power and yet they still want one tiny little part of an outer
bank. They die for that territory. Then there are the Mormons. Their holy land is in Utah, where
the Jazz play. It’s hard to take a religion seriously when there are billboards of a man nicknamed
“The Mailman” all over. I know the whole five wives thing is cool in theory, but think about the
menstrual cycles overlapping.
5. People Who Worship the Sun beat Atheists, why? Atheists don’t have anything to worship,
acknowledge, or claim their own. It’s really rather sad when you think about it. People Who
Worship the Sun have an entire gigantic ball of fire. If we did this Rock, Paper, Scissor style then
giant ball of fire beats nothing. It consumes it whole. Enjoy your victory you savages.
6. Protestants beat Quakers, why? Richard Nixon was a Quaker. More importantly than that, the
price of oatmeal has dramatically risen by $1.50 in the last few years. What the fuck? Even if
Protestants are always picketing and calling others scabs they have to win this.
7. Amish beat Orthodox Jews, why? This is basically a battle of Flea markets versus dry
cleaners. I don’t know about you, but I can clean my own damn clothes.
8. Voodoo beats Lutherans, why? I don’t know much about Lutherans to be honest with you.
When I was younger, a Lutheran told me that all Protestants did was kiss hands of men. He lied
to me and called me fat. And Voodoo has the whole doll and pin prick thing. Pretty cool.
Round 2:
1. Catholics vs. Muslims
2. Episcopalians vs. Hebrews
3. People Who Worship the Sun vs. Protestants
4. Amish vs. Voodoo
Results:
1. Muslims beat Catholics, why? You’ve never heard of someone getting beaten at Muslim
school. Do they even go to school? I know they wear things on their heads. What happens when
it rains? Are they waterproof? The fact that the Muslims were able to defend against multiple
Crusades shows you how tough those sons of bitches really are. They beat King Arthur! He had
Excalibur, the sword not the car. He also had Merlin, the Wizard not the cleaning product.
2. Hebrews beat Episcopalians, why? It basically comes down to lettering. Hebrew can even be
shortened to simply Jew. Yes, it’s okay to call someone a Jew. It’s just how you say the word
that matters, I’m told. Episcopalian doesn’t even make sense. It reminds me too much of Sara
Palin taking a piss. I’m sorry to say, but Hebrews make the Final Four.
3. People Who Worship the Sun beat Protestants, why? Protestants have a negative attitude. The
whole religion was based off of being an angry union member or something like that. I’m not
even sure if I’ve ever met a real Protestant. I’ve met People Who Worship the Sun. I’m sure you
have too. Anybody who has gone tanning more than once a week falls into that category. Are
you one of them? Probably not. Those people tend to not read.
4. Amish beat Voodoo, why? You can sell a Voodoo doll at an Amish market but you can’t make
a Voodoo doll out of an Amish market. I guess you actually could. That’d be a bad gift to get a
kid. And that’s exactly why that was the result of this match up.
Round 3:
1. Muslims vs. Hebrews
2. People Who Worship the Sun vs. Amish
Results:
1. Hebrews beat Muslims, why? This is really the final battle to end all battles. These two hate
each other more than anything. I’d make an original simile here, but they’ve all been taken. As
annoying as Hebrews can be, they don’t really do anything too awful. They usually get picked on
and bullied. Muslims are always blowing up people and never busy drawing their own prophet.
They can’t draw a picture of their own God! What are their holiday specials on television like? Is
it just a white picture with a voiceover? It’s probably similar to that old snowman cartoon that’s
just music. You know, the one with the redheaded kid dancing with the snowman. I expect the
Muslim one has more explosions in public places.
2. Amish beat People Who Worship the Sun, why? People Who Worship the Sun have nothing to
offer humankind. They spend all day bowing to the sun, amazed at how bright it is. They do help
the economy in the sunglasses department, but other than that they’re pretty useless. Amish have
Rumspringa where they let their kids go off and do drugs for a while and let them decide if they
still want to be Amish. No other religion allows that openness. It’s kind of refreshing unlike most
of the food they make.
Round 4: The Final Round!
1. Hebrews vs. Amish
Results:
1. Tie. Yeah, I’m making this is a draw. They’re the same exact thing. It’s bullshit. All of it. Both
of them wear funny hats, they have long beards, and they yell at you if you try to bargain them
down. It’s the same crap, different name. Really, all religion is that way. We’re all wrong. Why
would God come down and influence one part of the world and not another? Does he not like
Japanese people? Are the Swedish more important to the ultimate meaning in life?
My message with this was simple. Brackets can be fun no matter what they’re about.
***
What Do You Look for in a Mate?
Almost everybody fucks. You’ll encounter very few people in life who have no desire to or
never get the chance. When you fuck someone you usually do it with someone you’re sexually
attracted to. Sometimes the readers of your blogger will get curious if they have a chance with
you. They’ll want to know what type of people you like to bang.
For the most part we all want the same thing from a mate. We want someone who makes us feel
comfortable and is willing to be their tongue anywhere we want them to. In order to be original
though, you need to be specific. You need to let your readers know if they have a chance with
you or not. You need to let them know what you like and dislike in a mate.
Turn-Offs: Originally Posted: 12/6/2012
It’s hard for me to say exactly what it is I find sexiest about a woman. It can vary from person to
person. Physically I would say legs are my favorite. Oddly legs are also my favorite part of the
chicken, mostly because drumsticks are fun to eat. I used to have this problem where whenever I
would think about a woman with sexy legs I would sneeze. This problem was half my lifetime
ago so feel free to send me pictures of your legs now without fear of snot flying onto your knees.
I think I like legs on a woman because it’s not overly sexual but it can be if she uses them
properly. There’s also the mystery about what’s at the top of the legs. Trust me, it’s not always
what you expect. I could go on forever about the amazing things women can do to turn me on
which would probably turn into some vampire erotica so I won’t. Instead I will cover things
women should avoid doing in order to win my heart, my body, and my wallet. From what I have
learned so far in life, women care about those things in reverse order.
1) Smoking - Any kind of smoking a woman does is a huge turn-off for me and for many
reasons. The first is smoking costs a lot of money. Cigarettes, pot, and crack are expensive. Not
to mention you need to buy a lighter and a few other accessories. Women ask for money a lot too
and if I say something like “Maybe you should quit smoking” I end up having to sleep on the
couch in my apartment while she lies in my bed. I have never seen a woman with a cigarette in
her mouth and thought about kissing her. Don’t they make your teeth yellow too? I hate the
excuse that smoking helps you relax too. If you need to give yourself cancer in order to relax you
already are a drama queen.
2) Never Smile - Girls should smile non-stop. If I was president I would have women
slaughtered if they weren’t smiling. I hate when a girl, no matter how much she hates me, no
matter how much I creep her out, refuses to smile at me. Be nice, say hello, and act as if I’m
retarded if you must but flash me a gorgeous smile or else I’ll assume you’re a cold bitch and
will fantasize about lighting you on fire.
3) Doesn’t Take Care of Herself - No, I’m not saying girls who don’t masturbate turn me off
although I will tell them they’re missing out on some fun alone time activities. I’m referring
more about girls who don’t at least try to look presentable. You don’t have to be perfect, in fact I
don’t want a girl to be perfect. I want a girl who’s a little too thick in some places but you can
tell she works hard at being the best she can. Ideally men want girls with some meat on them so
stop blaming us and the media for saying “thin is in” because most guys like big breasts, a thick
ass, and thunder thighs. Make sure though that your thighs don’t extend below the knee or under
your arms though. That’s called being obese.
4) Bad Grammar - Whether it’s speaking or writing, if a girl spells more than the average word
wrong I cannot deal with her. Girls have to understand there’s this thing called spell check and it
should be used when unsure. I also want to go asexual every time I see a “GuRl TyPe LyKe
ThIs.” Although it’s a consistent pattern, it’s not cute. It reminds me of Captcha and I have never
gotten a Captcha correct on the first try.
5) Drinking - I don’t mind if a girl drinks. What I do mind is a girl always drinking around me.
Am I that boring where you need to invite your ex-boyfriend Jack Daniels over? I think I could
only ever tolerate being around a drunk girl on Friday or a Saturday night, possibly one
weeknight too but on rare occasions. Drunk girls not lying on their backs naked in a bed are the
most annoying things on the planet. This comes from a guy who currently has a cricket stuck in
his ear.
6) Troublemaker - There are certain ways to spot a girl who is a troublemaker. Troublemaking
girls have these qualities: tattoos, piercings, enjoy the Fast & Furious films, can convince you
their addictions are not addictions, colorful hair, many male friends, know where to buy
fireworks, and have pushed me out-of-the-way to buy cigarettes. They don’t need all these
qualities of course to be a troublemaker. I warn you however, when several are present she’s
probably a bad seed.
7) Overly Dependent / Not Dependent Enough - I’m a guy so I like when a girl dependents on
me for survival. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve had to kill animals with my bare hands
to feed a hungry girl. Still, I don’t like that dependence to get to an insane level. The happy
medium should be an independent woman who can take care of herself but at times needs help.
All things in moderation. Didn’t Julius Caesar say that? I think he tried saying it again while he
was getting stabbed. A moderate amount of knife wounds and he may have survived.
Pimple Scars: Originally Posted 11/10/2011
I don’t have pimple scars. Not a single one. Check my body. I’ll get completely naked and you
can look. I’m willing to take the test under any circumstances. That’s more than a single psychic
will promise. If you find a single pimple scar on my body than every psychic in the world was
right about you having a guardian angel and that you’ll grow up to marry a guy named Ted who
sells maps.
Someone reading this has pimple scars. Maybe they even have one, two, or three-thousand of
them. That’s usually how people scars come. For that person reading this, the one who has been
called pizza face, tartar sauce nose, and freak, this is for you. I might be going out on a limb here
and you may not fully understand it, but pimple scars can be sexy.
My first crush was a girl with pimple scars. I know that’s not true, but that’s how I remember her
looking. We were in kindergarten, meaning she couldn’t possibly have had awful enough skin to
have pimple scars. It was a New Jersey elementary school so I guess anything is possible. I did
once see a kid at a urinal with a foot for a hand.
I’ve only ever kissed one girl with a face full of pimple scars. It was on the cheek and was like
kissing the moon. Frank Sinatra started playing in my head. It was magical to lay my lips on
those bumps. Despite having a face filled with pimple scars, I found her very attractive. I mean
sweepingly sexy. I would have kissed each of those face craters if it meant I could see her again.
Actually no. She didn’t speak good English. But still, she was hot and had a lot of pimple scars.
Maybe she was an exception, but I continue to be obsessed with pimple scar girls.
Not everyone with pimple scars is hot. They can’t be those blistering red ones. Ugh. Those are
terrible. I don’t need your face matching the pizza sauce I give you for lunch. Perfect pimple
scars belong on more ethnic people. Brown skin is the ideal. Some Italian girls can get away with
it, some black ones too. White people cannot. Pimples on white girls usually flame up. They look
like mosquito bites more than anything. It’s like a face full of nipples. I love nipples just as much
as the next guy, but there’s a limit to how many should be on a girl. I think I’d draw the line at
three. I only have one mouth and two hands. Maybe if two of the red white girl pimples were
really close I could handle another.
The best place for pimple scars to look good is the side of the face, a little out-of-the-way. They
should be somewhere that if I did grow to become embarrassed of your face that I could force
you to lengthen your hair or put on a flimsy wig to cover it up. The side of the cheek, maybe
right over the carotid artery could work. I hope I spelt that correctly. It’s that place on your neck
vampires bite and killer ninjas stab. In National Lampoon’s European Vacation, the man on the
bike shoots blood out of that spot. Okay, if you don’t know what I mean now you never will.
It’s tough growing up thinking you’re different and have some kind of a flaw that cannot be
cured. But if I have taught you anything, it’s that there is someone out there who likes
everything. Other people have told me they like or don’t mind pimple scars. That shows a lot of
hope out there for you hair lipped clods and Cyclops. Don’t put yourself down for something as
silly as a pimple scar. Worst case scenario, tell them you were mangled in a car accident or
fought in Desert Storm. I won’t think you’re a freak. I’ll think of you as a hero.
***
What Makes You Sad?
Sometimes even on a primarily humor blog it’s important you get a little more serious. Nobody
has one single emotion that defines them and this should show in anything you write.
What makes me sad can vary. I’d say the biggest is the feeling of helplessness in a bad situation.
I’m not a control freak as much as I know nobody else can do it right. When important things are
out of my control I can get sad. From this sadness comes my sense of humor. If you can’t laugh
or take away something positive from those terrible moments in life then what’s the point in all
the suffering?
Instincts 10/20/2012
This tale took place when I had either just started driving or only had my learner’s permit. This is
important to the story. Like in Breaking Bad when Ted slightly trips over the rug, it comes back
to be very relevant. It was summer and I know this because I was home. Not that I was normally
out during the other seasons but it was still light out and I had nowhere else to be.
Ever since I can remember my mom was always in and out of hospitals. It was always either
because of kidney stones or depression. No matter how many therapist or psychiatrists she saw,
no matter how many different medications she was on, no matter what strange treatment she
underwent, she never got better. I was introduced to those daily pill boxes by her and would
know what day of the week it was based on where the pills were. She had a gigantic flowered
bag where she kept all her pills and I blame this on my hatred for flowered patterns. At this point
I'd rather look at an x-ray of my brain and see a tumor than have to see another flower pattern
ever again.
I always associate the saddest moment in my life with visiting my mom on Easter Sunday at the
hospital then getting in the car and my older sister playing Mad World, the most depressing song
ever. I was probably 14 or 15 at the time and had my own things to be depressed about. Visiting
your mother in what was basically a mental institution on the holiest of Christian holidays added
to it.
I always knew sometimes when my mom would take her pills she would act loopy. On this
particular day she seemed a little extra strange. She came upstairs from the room she spent most
of her time in (the room formerly known as the messy room even though it was still quite messy)
saying she wanted Rita’s Water Ice. My mom loved Rita’s Water Ice so this wasn’t strange. It
was how she said it. The way she looked at me let me know something was a little off.
I didn’t want any Rita’s because ice cream is better. Still though, my instincts started to tell me
something. I can’t even describe the feeling because it was so long ago and I’ve never had the
feeling before. My Spidey sense was tingling and I told my mom I wanted to go for the ride with
her. Rita’s wasn’t very far away so it wouldn’t take too long.
We hopped into my mom’s van and she began driving down the street very emotionless. She
began swerving slightly back and forth at each house we passed. It was when she almost drove
into someone’s driveway instead of making a right turn that I told her to stop and pull over. She
wasn’t sure why but I made her get out and switch seats with me. If she wanted Rita’s so badly I
would have to drive her there.
To Rita’s we went and by this time I was just annoyed with her. I didn’t want to help her get her
frozen treat, partly because I was in a bad mood and partly because I wanted to see if she could
actually do it in the state she was in. She managed to get exactly what she wanted, whatever
flavored Gelato that was. I tried asking her what was wrong and she never really had an answer.
She felt fine.
It wasn’t long after this happened when my mom checked herself into AA or alcohol rehab. I’m
not sure which programs she was in or when, I lost count. Everyone I’ve told about this made it
seem like it was no big deal. It’s as if she didn’t have a problem. I would guess the mix between
her pills and the alcohol is what made her behavior so strange but I’m not a doctor, just someone
who goes with this most basic of instincts.
A few years after this happened my mom called me up and told me how proud she was that I
didn’t drink and that I wasn’t fat anymore. Not exactly my life intentions on making my parents
proud but I’ll take it. This is a big reason why I don’t drink and watch what I eat. It’s not so
much about making her proud as it is something I should be proud of myself. It makes mistakes
she made with her decision not for nothing.
I like to think this was some magical thing I did to save a life that was clearly in danger. I don’t
know what to make of it. Chances are she wouldn’t have died because it was such a short easy
drive but who knows? It’s at least good to know when someone I care about is in danger that I
can see it immediately. My mom lived about 7 more years after this and although they weren’t
her happiest years they were still years that she may not have had if I wasn’t able to know who
my mother really was.
Tragedies: Originally Posted 7/21/2012
I apologize immediately for at any time I sound like a know-it-all during the next passage. Feel
free to knock me off my high horse or ignore it if I do so. I thought today I should write about a
serious topic, the shooting in Aurora, Colorado. I almost feel as if I qualify as someone whose
“voice” matters on this issue. See, I’m already on my high horse. I have my swivel chair lowered
as much as possible to hopefully make me feel like a smaller person while I write this. I also
have incredibly short shins and longer thighs so this is how I normally sit.
I feel qualified to make a diagnosis on this story because like the gunman I am a 24-year-old
white American whose life did not turn out the way that 1) I thought it would 2) I was told it
would or 3) I fantasized it might. The expectations I was told growing up were I would go to
school, get good grades, have a lot of girls who liked me, I would excel in at least one sport, I
would go off to college, I would be popular, I would get out and get the job I always wanted, and
I would settle down with a wife in a cozy little town then die miserable. The misery wasn’t
supposed to happen until around 40. This is what I was told and thought to believe. I think no
matter what demographic or generation you come from you believe this at a young age. It’s
around the time you’re 24 you realize if Santa can’t be real, neither can anything else you have
ever believed.
Life as we know it doesn’t turn out the way we wanted or thought it would. Even scarier is we
don’t turn out the way we thought we would. Each time I hear about these gunmen I always see a
lot of myself in them. I remember one even looked a bit like me. I’m not sure what separates us.
Maybe if I was raised in a place where having guns was the norm I too would have ended up like
them. To go from shooting a clown once with a paintball gun to owning automatic weapons
seems like a huge leap for me. I don’t think guns are to blame for this tragedy. Access to them is
what the real problem is.
I don’t know any real solution to the gun control problem. We can’t take them away because
then the criminals will be the only ones on the street with them or so a Conservative person told
me. For every psycho out there massacring others there are hundreds of gun owners who
wouldn’t dream of doing it. You can’t take away something because one person ruined it. If
someone drives their car through a crowded mall and kills people, you don’t take away cars or
even shut down malls for that matter. It’s almost like the whole “if we don’t do this then the
terrorists win” motto. If you stop doing something because the fear you have inside then we
really have lost.
Immediately after something like this happens, the media begins to blame violence in movies,
television, and video games. To say these have no violent influence is asinine. Of course it does.
It influences murderers into what to do. It gives them a vision into what it will look like. At the
same time this is not the why. They don’t do it because they see the violence. They do it because
of the state of their lives. Nobody watches a violent movie then thinks they’re going to imitate it
in real life. Somebody will want to kill. They begin to plan it out. Then they see a violent movie
and try to mimic that. I heard (which means who knows if it’s true or not) that there was a
Batman comic from the 1980s where a masked man enters a movie theater and does what this
gunman did. To say this is the only reason why he did it is so wrong. He would have done
something like this anyway. If Magic Mike was based on a comic book I’m sure the gunman
would have done it in Auditorium 8 instead of Auditorium 5. People like this are ticking time
bombs. The way I believe to solve it is to change their life.
Who do I blame for what happened? That is a hard question to answer. You have to blame
someone or something, right? The list is endless really. The things that made him do the things
he did were very complex. As much as I think I can understand them, I probably won’t. The guy
has been described as a brilliant science student who could not get a job after college. What does
that say about me? Really, I wonder if I had done something like this would they describe me as
“idiot blogger gone berserk.” The guy was described as a loner. Loneliness is the darkest cancer
in life. The first episode of The Twilight Zone was about being alone. It’s such an important
thing for us all to have others in our life. What I really blame is the lack of community around us.
The world is so big and wide. No longer do we have an entire village depending on us and caring
about us. When nobody needs you then why bother trying?
The gunman came from an affluent home. The article I read repeated it over and over again. No
doubt this guy had a “cozier” life than many of us. I don’t see why that matters. If he was a poor
black kid would we have expected this behavior? Would we be able to understand it more? I
don’t think so. What bothers me most is he went into a movie theater during a film about a comic
book. There were people in the theater who felt the same way about life as him. He probably
killed someone who felt similar pain. What happened was the gunman gave up hope. It’s sick but
when you’re a 24-year-old male you feel like if you haven’t accomplished anything yet you
never will.
The only way to potentially keep tragedies like this from happening again is to be open. It
doesn’t matter to whom, but have as many people as you can to tell everything about your life to.
Unfortunately many people don’t have this or don’t know how to obtain it. I know I have trouble
meeting new people. Between fears of rejection, not being good enough, or being hurt in any
other way you can easily convince yourself being alone is okay. It’s not. And if you are alone it’s
not the end. Most people are. Most people aren’t out there thinking “Boy do I hope he doesn’t
talk to me. I have way too many friends already.” People are scared to open up because they
know everything that’s wrong with them. How could anyone love someone as flawed as they
are?
I can guarantee things like this will happen multiple times again. Life can be tragic. Going
forward I think it’s most important to let other people, especially those with nobody, know they
are not alone. They may not have a girlfriend, they may not have much family, they may not
have many friends, and they might never say a word to anybody ever. These are the people who
need to be smiled at most. Reach out and ask them a simple question about what’s going on in
their lives. When they become timid don’t give up. People like that [me] are shocked to know
anyone even notices them [us] sometimes.
***
What’s Your Favorite Holiday?
Everyone who isn’t a Jehovah Witness celebrates holidays. It can be a good go to blog topic
whenever these special dates come around. It’s important with a blog to be relatable. You need
your readers at the very least to think you might possibly be them from the future. This way they
are more likely to send you money.
As far as what you talk about when it comes to the holidays anything goes. You can talk about
what you did, what you’ve done, why you hate it, or even just overanalyze the meaning behind
the special day. Blogging is guerilla writing. Anything goes.
Birthday Depressions: Originally Posted 10/9/2012
When a person is young their birthday is the greatest thing on the planet. To a kid a birthday is
better than sex! Probably because most sex involving children happens against their will and
ends with threats against their parents if the kid ever says anything about it. The older we get
though the more we grow to hate our birthdays. We get terribly depressed about it. Since today is
my birthday and I’m not really all that depressed for some reason (I’m high on pain killers and
starved myself yesterday so I have an excuse to get something unhealthy tonight for dinner) I
have decided to take a levelheaded and sane approach at finding out why so many of us get sad
on what used to be our special day.
The first reason why we get depressed is obvious, it’s our party and we can cry if we want to.
There was even a song about it. They played it in Problem Child when the bratty ballerina girl
stomped around while the bad Ginger kid caused trouble. On your birthday you can get away
with anything, especially gaining pity. People say things like “I’m 21--again!” and then we can
laugh at them because they’re not really 21. They’re way older than that. Look at those crow’s
feet. Look at those wrinkles. Look at that receding hairline. You’re not 21. You’re a broken shell
of the person you used to be.
Another reason why we ask for nooses on our big day is because we know we’re closer to death
anyway and we know it’s better to give ourselves the satisfaction of choosing when we leave this
world. With each passing year we come closer to getting thrown into the ground, burnt up in an
oven, or eaten by farm animals. I have it in my Living Will that I would like to be fed to farm
animals. Nobody knows where my Living Will is either. I swallowed a map two years ago and
upon my death I have instructed my attorney to contact the 7 people I have selected to cut me up
and work together using the map to find my Living Will. I’m hoping there’s a lot of fighting and
backstabbing and this turns into a real blood bath.
I don’t really fear death anymore. I’m kind of ready to die. I don’t want to but if I were to wake
up with the Grim Reaper standing over me I wouldn’t embarrass myself by kicking and
screaming as he drags me to hell. I’m sure once I turn 40 I’ll start fearing death again. In the
afterlife you’re forever in the state you were in when you died. Staying forever 25 sounds a lot
better than staying forever 60. Even 60 years olds don’t like other 60 year olds.
Personally the biggest reason for hating my own birthdays when I do is because I hate getting
fussed over for a day all because the sun is in the same location from the earth as it was when I
was yanked headfirst from a vagina. Why can’t people be nice to me every day like this? Or at
the very least, why can’t everyone continue to be horrible toward me on my birthday as well? If I
have 100 people (I should probably knock off a few 0’s to be more accurate) in my life who
know me and don’t completely hate me I would rather they spread out their love and affection
over the course of a year rather than pour it all on in one day. I like consistency. If a different
person was nice to me every 3 or 4 days I would be a much happier person. And do most people
who say “Happy Birthday” to me really care if I have a happy day or not? Nah. They don’t. But
it’s fine. When I sneeze they really don’t care if I’m blessed. They’re just afraid of a demon
crawling up my nose then having to run away from me when I desire their flesh.
The final reason why I think people get the birthday depression bug is because a birthday
signifies another milestone. It’s the same thing with New Year’s Eve Suicides, the most festive
of snuffing yourself days. On your birthday you have a chance to look back and see what you did
or did not accomplish in the last year. Most people suck and don’t really do much with their lives
other than win Week 4 in Fantasy Football. Looking back at what they may have accomplished
usually is depressing because they haven’t accomplished much. This happens to me too some
years but there’s an easy solution, accomplish something! If you actually make sure you’re
always trying your hardest at whatever it is you want in life then without a doubt you will be able
to look back on your birthday at the last year and realize it wasn’t a complete waste.
Now to spend the rest of my big day crying and trying to measure out how much Drano a man
can drink to get him sick enough where people pay attention to him but not sick enough where
he’ll die.
Holidays & Suicidal Tendencies: Originally Posted 12/14/2011
Christmas, it’s the most wonderful time of year. I know it’s not specifically Christmas.
Chanukah is also part of the most wonderful time of year. I don’t consider Chanukah very
wonderful though. It’s a celebration of not running out of oil for 8 days. My car can only last
about 5 before I have to fill up my tank. If my car got better gas mileage maybe I would
understand Chanukah a little bit more. And why am I spelling it Chanukah? I’m used to
Hanukkah. I don’t get it. Why two spellings? I’m sure it has something to do with translations,
but why not make up your mind? Oye Vey! I hate indecisiveness.
This is the first holiday season that I’m feeling terrible about it. I never used to get those jokes
about Christmas Suicides. I always thought it was funny because who would ever kill themselves
on Christmas? It’s such a happy day. You get presents and time with your family. The older I
get, the lonelier I get. The lonelier I get, the less people I have in my life. The less people I have
in my life, the angrier I become. Skip forward a few more cause and effects and we got to the
point of feeling the holiday blues. I totally get this now.
Most holidays I feel pretty bummed out. They’re not the same as they used to be when I was
younger. Now they feel forced. Almost as if the family is trying to recapture the wonderful
moments of ignorance we had when there were children involved. It’s killing me inside to
continue to pretend that I believe in Santa. But I’m doing it for the family. I want to keep this
magic going. The second I admit I know the truth they’ll make me bathe myself. I have short
arms. There’s no way I can cover washing every inch of my body with these things.
It’s not necessarily the holidays in general that I think bum people out. December is pretty
gloomy itself. It’s dark by 4:30 and starts to become cold. This would make anyone with a heart
depressed. Being alone on the holidays is something that I know I will have to endure at some
point in my life. It’s slightly scary but I know that I’m not alone in having to do so. We all have
to spend some important holidays alone, unless you’re a Siamese twin. I’ll bet that a Siamese
twin never reads this. When I say Siamese twin, I mean both their legs have to hit the ground. I
don’t count the ones with someone attached to their forehead as Siamese twins. As comedian
Doug Stanhope said, they’re people with midgets attached to them. I’m sure you know the TLC
whore I’m talking about. You’re probably more confused as to what a TLC whore is. It’s
someone who is on the channel TLC way too much. Usually they’re freaks.
My holiday woes are simple this year. I have to be in too many places at one time. Don’t tell me
to go out and rent “Four Christmases” so I can have something to relate to. Reese Witherspoon
hasn’t been cute in years and Vince Vaughn hasn’t been funny in centuries. There isn’t an
extensive travel list that I have to go through. It’s just that I have to travel at all that bothers me.
Christmases past I wouldn’t have to go anywhere. I liked those years. I would go into the front
yard and play catch with my dad with my new football. Or if I didn’t get a football we’d play
catch with one of my sister’s gifts not caring if we dropped it. This year I’ll be at every corner of
New Jersey over the weekend. I’ll be traveling 500 miles total in 3 days. I know, I thought New
Jersey was pretty small too. I could probably get to the Carolinas for that mileage. I don't know
what I'd do there. Visit Raleigh? Get away with a hate crime?
The more I think about it there are Christmas images that beg us to all kill ourselves. Wreathes
look like green nooses. Angels are everywhere and that’s what we turn into when we die. Look
how cute most of those angels are. I want to be one of them. Then there’s that whole random
Jesus aspect thrown into Christmas. I don’t get it either. Jesus is such a deathly image. He’s
always on a cross looking like he’s in agony. We used to have one of those hanging above our
house phone in my childhood home. Then we found out we were the only family in the world
that still used a landline so we threw it in the garbage disposal. I’m kidding. It was the trash. No
way in hell would we have a landline but be able to afford a garbage disposal.
I’ve never known anyone to kill themselves around Christmas. Most suicides I know happen
around Thanksgiving. I never got that. It’s like killing yourself on a Monday. There’s still time.
There’s still hope. Tuesday and Wednesday are the perfect days to kill yourself. All hope of
having a good week might be gone and you’re too far away from a fresh start. If I ever killed
myself it would be on a Tuesday at midnight. That’s called suicidal compromise. I would not do
it around Thanksgiving either. Thanksgiving makes me hopeful of having a good Christmas. I
already know this year will be pretty lame (how can it not be lousy with that attitude?) but that’s
okay. Whether or not my Christmas is good or if I go into it with a negative attitude, it’ll happen.
All over the world children will be eager and wake up early. I’ll probably rise around 10 in the
morning and won’t talk to anyone until noon, maybe a neighbor at the most. And what would I
even say to them? “Merry Christmas I don’t know you.” That’s exactly what I will say.
Christmas has no boundaries when it comes to wishing someone to have a merry one. You don’t
have to know a person to wish them one. Maybe that’s what it’s all about, connecting with
others, making someone feel special, and smiling for no reason other than the fact that you have
something in this world.
I wrote this hoping to complain about how much I am not excited about Christmas this year.
Instead I found its true meaning, not worrying about how it will turn out. It’s still Christmas
whether it’s a good day or not. That’s what’s important. That it happens. Good, bad, or neutral.
Christmas is coming. Don’t kill yourself until after it sucks.
“Merry Christmas to all and to all a good fight!” - What Michael Buffer should say if there’s
ever a big Christmas boxing match
Hess Trucks: Originally Posted 12/5/2011
It’s Holiday Season. Do you know what that means? If the title didn’t already give it away, it’s
Hess Truck season. Hooray! This is the greatest toy ever, a truck that delivers gasoline. Truly
this is a collectible that will be worth thousands in the future.
I remember when I was a younger and less hairy boy every December had a television flooded
with commercials for the latest edition of the Hess Truck. For those of you not familiar with
what Hess might be, it’s a gas station. That’s it. You go there and fill up your car with petroleum.
I don’t fill up my car. I live in New Jersey and we have Arabs who do it for us. They usually call
me “buddy” or “boss” which makes me feel important. That must be such a foreign idea to you
reading this. I have never had to pump my own fuel. It’s only like this in New Jersey and our
sister state on the other side of the country Oregon. I’m not sure why it is this way but I like it.
Still, why do all girls from New Jersey smell like gas? You chicks in Idaho have an excuse for
smelling awful.
The worst thing about these Hess Truck advertisements is that they really hype it up like kids
want these trucks. No! No kid wants a Hess Truck. Kids want footballs and wooden horses that
rock. Not a truck that delivers Texas Tea (shouldn’t it be called Saudi Arabian Tea now?).
Someone gave me a Hess Truck years ago. I think I still have it. I bought into the myth that other
people would buy it from me for thousands of dollars years later. I couldn’t have been more
wrong. It was Beanie Babies all over again.
For a while there was a Hess Truck with a spaceship attached to it. With everybody “going
green” they had to ban the vehicle. Spaceships take a lot of gasoline to move. I don’t know the
exact number because science upsets my brain. I’d imagine it’s somewhere in the bazillions. It
sends a mixed message too having a rocket ship attached to a truck. It makes children think this
is normal. Reality check, it isn’t. I don’t know who Hess thinks they’re fooling. Not me.
Being a semi-expert of Nazi Germany, I am reminded of the fact that one of Adolf Hitler’s top
officials was named Rudolph Hess. Do Hess Trucks promote Nazism? I say of course. I just
wanted to throw that in there.
When you go out Christmas shopping this year, be sure to skip over getting a Hess Truck for
someone who isn’t your enemy. It’s a bad gift. A toy fire engine, police car, or ice truck are
much more fun for a boy on Christmas morning. Don’t buy into the hype. For Christmas this
year, make sure the Hess Truck is nowhere near.
Birthday Steaks: Originally Posted 10/1/2011
I don’t get why desserts are so coveted at parties. The way people rush to consume them is so
primal and animalistic. I’ve seen some of the slowest and dumbest human beings win races
through mazes to get to cake before anyone else. Sometimes they pull muscles and can’t move
for a few weeks. All of this effort to get a piece of cake, a piece of disgusting, sugar laced death.
Cakes aren’t the only dessert, obviously. It’s just the most common, easily transportable, let’s
bring this into a public place dessert. Personally, brownies are better. They own cake. Whenever
I eat cake I can feel my toes trying to fall off from Diabetic shock. My teeth tingle too. They
want to rot out of my mouth. The thing is I get that same feeling with brownies too. The same
goes with ice cream except I also get brain freeze and want to hit something while crying. That’s
why I avoid desserts as much as I can. They are trying to kill me and aren’t afraid to let me know
it.
I will only eat birthday cake if it’s my own birthday or the birthday of a good friend. I have few
friends and none of them are good, so that leaves my own birthday. I feel better not eating
desserts. Whenever I do eat them I eat too much of them. They’re all I think about. I need to
keep my head clear from all of the sugar. I’m convinced the Illuminati are the ones who run the
sugar companies and they are controlling our minds with it. Think about it. Fat people are always
upset and lazy. Who else is upset and lazy? Zombies! Exactly the type of humans the Illuminati
want us to be. Okay, maybe I don’t really believe the Illuminati are trying to control our minds
with sugar. They have drinking water and invisible sprays for that.
With America waking up and realizing how fat we all are, it seems less and less people are
indulging in sweets. Of course, less and less people means more and more for those who don’t
deprive themselves. Women should only have boobs on the front of their bodies, not the back of
their knees.
Diabetes is at an all-time high and that means absolutely nothing to my argument. Let me get
sidetracked on stats for a second. Saying something like diabetes is at its peak is really stretching
the truth. How long have they kept these stats? Not very long in the ratio of human history. How
many people are in this world? Far more than there used to be, paving the way for more people
to have diabetes. How terrible for us are the foods we eat? Much worse than they used to be. No
wonder it seems like we’re all going to get our feet cut off. More statistics and testing, more
people, and worse foods is a recipe for childhood hypertension.
From now on I don’t want people to give me cake for my birthday. Get me a steak instead. A
nice big juicy lean piece of steak. Desserts are so cheap and a steak is expensive. It’ll mean
more. You can get a tub of ice cream for like $4. A steak costs a lot more and it’s a lot better for
you and better tasting. Cooked correctly, it can also fit a candle in it perfectly. A Birthday Steak
doesn’t sound so terrible now does it? I’ve already eaten dinner tonight and want more just
thinking about it.
I know exactly why my perfect dream will never come true, vegetarians. Yeah, those pesky
idiots. I respect anyone who values the life of animals and their own health. I really do. It’s when
they ruin the fun for us carnivores I break out the ass kicking boots.
Life is this simple. Pay attention. You can do whatever you want, whenever you want, as long as
it doesn’t ruin things for anybody else. And by ruin I mean prevent them from doing what it is
they want to do. Vegetarians can eat as much tofu as they want as long as they never bother me
with how much meat I eat. You’re not me and you will never kill the carnivorous instinct we all
have. Even Adam & Eve ate meat, at least they should have. If they did eat meat then they would
have been too full to eat a stupid apple and all of us would be living in paradise. It’s vegetarians
who have created original sin. If you all choke on a veggie burger then we’d all be much happier.
Desserts should never leave the mainstream. I would hate if they do. Sometimes I need them. I’ll
sit in my car and eat a stack of donuts and hate myself five minutes later. I need those moments
every once in a while. I need to feel weak. Other people need desserts to make them feel good,
that’s fine too. I don’t want to abolish desserts at all. What I want is the chance to have
something different in celebration of the day you came out of a vagina. That’s it.
“Give me a Birthday Steak or give me death.” - Patrick Henry
Holiday Battles: Originally Posted 5/28/2011
All American holidays are either in honor of God or soldiers. It’s time we figure out who has
more.
January:
New Year’s Day-This is a soldier holiday. God has to work on New Year’s Day. He has to create
new babies and kill off drunks in car accidents. Soldiers go into Times Square and dip floozies in
the middle of the street.
God: 0 Soldiers: 1
Martin Luther King’s Birthday-This is a God holiday. MLK Jr. was a very good person despite
what your racist face thinks. He helped move blacks up from 3/5th’s of a person to an entire
person. That’s why they’re so tall now.
God: 1 Soldiers: 1
February:
Groundhogs Day-This is a God holiday. God created Groundhogs. Soldiers practice shooting
Groundhogs at boot camp. It’s not Dead Groundhogs Day. This one goes to God.
God: 2 Soldiers: 1
Valentine’s Day-Named after St. Valentine, the ruthless Romanian warlord of love who was
known to drink the blood of his victims in battle, this is a holiday for soldiers. They get to see
their wives one last time before finding out that she is now dating their truck driving brother. It’s
their last day of enjoyment.
God: 2 Soldiers: 2
President’s Day-A lot of presidents are former soldiers. A lot of presidents also think they’re a
God. That makes this one a bit of a draw. However, I have a penny and it came up with the war
hero Lincoln’s face on it. This one goes to soldiers.
God: 2 Soldiers: 3
March:
St. Patrick’s Day-If history is correct in my brain, St. Patrick chased off a bunch of snakes in
Ireland with a stick. God never liked snakes because he’s Indiana Jones. Even though he let them
into the Garden of Eden, God didn’t like them. He still hated them later on when he told Noah to
bring two onto his boat which makes little sense. Wasn’t the snake in the Garden of Eden the
devil? Wow, God needs better security if his arch nemesis can sneak into the nicest club on
earth. Still, this one goes to him.
God: 3 Soldiers: 3
April:
April Fool’s Day-Both God and soldiers are known to be practical jokesters. God uses floods,
volcanoes, and Top 40 Radio to pull his pranks on humanity. Soldiers usually point and laugh at
small Arab masked penises. God wins.
God: 4 Soldiers: 3
Easter-Is there any argument here? God had his son killed for a holiday. Now that’s a man that
enjoys wearing a holiday sweater.
God: 5 Soldiers: 3
May:
Memorial Day-Like Easter this one has a clear cut winner that needs no argument. Although,
God has created everything so I guess all holidays should be his. But throwing out that argument,
the soldiers get this easy lay-up.
God: 5 Soldiers: 4
June:
Flag Day-This is an entire day to celebrate old Glory. But more than that we’re celebrating
soldiers…or are we? God appears in many phrases in American culture. Most notably, he
appears on the back of the dollar bill. Soldiers die for the flag and that is why they should win
this one. But still, they are fighting for God & Country. The flag represents country, but God
comes first in the phrase. God gets the win here.
God: 6 Soldiers: 4
July:
Independence Day-I don’t want to fuck over the soldiers with another loss right here. But, God is
mentioned in the Declaration of Independence. At least, I think he is. So much for separation of
church and state. I used to own a copy of the Declaration of Independence. I never looked at it. I
hired an ex-militant to kill the person who gave it to me. Soldiers get the win.
God: 6 Soldiers: 5
August:
There are no holidays this month. Not even a stretch of a holiday. What an awful month. Go fuck
yourself August.
September:
Labor Day-God works 6 days a week. That’s an awful lot. Single moms sometimes work that
much. Single moms usually have to work Sunday too though. God always gets off. Soldiers have
to work 7 days a week. The only advantage they have is they haven’t had to work for 6,000 years
(that’s right, the world is only 6,000 years old, the Bible tells me so). This is one of the few days
a year where soldiers can throw down their guns and barbecue. This one is for them.
God: 6 Soldiers: 6
October:
Columbus Day-This is a day to celebrate the discovery of America by Christopher Columbus.
The last time I checked (Tuesday) Christopher Columbus was not God. Was he a soldier? I don’t
think so. But his brother-in-law was. As he stepped off the Santa Maria, he said “This is for my
sister’s husband Rod!” Rod was a soldier. Soldiers win.
God: 6 Soldiers: 7
Halloween-A lot of religious people hate this holiday. I’m not sure why. I usually see slutty
angels and demonic priests walking around this day more than I do any other day when a gay
parade isn’t going on. People never really dress up as God for Halloween. How could you? He’s
not public enough. We’re not really sure what he looks like. He’s like J.D. Salinger. I’ve seen
plenty of people dressed as soldiers for Halloween. They take this easy.
God: 6 Soldiers: 8
November:
Election Day-Soldiers usually vote. They use something called an absentee ballot. I know this
because there was complaining about this a few years back. I had never heard of an absentee
ballot before then. Hanging Chad was also a new term. God never votes. He doesn’t have to.
He’s God for his sake. He can break down the voting booths if he wants to. That’s badass.
God: 7 Soldiers: 8
Thanksgiving-Soldiers always come home on this day. It’s weird because it’s a Thursday.
Soldiers usually are torturing infidels then. God has little to no involvement in Thanksgiving, at
least not in my version. The Bible never mentions turkeys or squash. Soldiers talk about those
things all the time. So do black guys from the 70s. They squash jive turkeys.
God: 7 Soldiers: 9
December:
Christmas-God.
God: 8 Soldiers: 9
Hanukah-I have never met a Jewish soldier. I’m not even sure if I’ve ever met a soldier or a Jew.
I’ve definitely never met a hybrid of the two. This is another toss-up. Luckily I have a dradle on
hand. I spun it and it came up with famous Jewish God Abraham Lincoln’s face. God picks up
this win.
God: 9 Soldiers: 9
Kwanza-I’m not going to bother with this one. It’s not a real holiday anyway.
God: 9 Soldiers: 9
Boxing Day-Canada’s finest…but I’m only doing American holidays. What about those
Canadian immigrants? I’ll honor them. Canadians aren’t very religious people. They’re also not
very good soldiers. They have a leaf on their flag and don’t mention God much or if at all in their
national anthem. Still, it’s hard to give this one to the soldiers. I’ll determine this as who would
win in a boxing match, God or the toughest soldier in the world. In a two second knockout, God
wins.
God: 10 Soldiers: 9
New Year’s Eve-God is a good human being/creator/aluminous ball of intelligent gas. He
concedes this one to the soldiers. He wants to have an equal amount of holidays for himself and
for the soldiers. God is not a Communist despite his socialist viewpoints. God has no political
party. He supports our troops. You should support our troops. Tie a yellow ribbon on your car or
to a tree. I think that’s what you do for soldiers. It might be what you do for missing children.
But aren’t soldiers nothing more than missing children with large guns?
God: 10 Soldiers: 10
***
What’s the Most Disgusting Thing You’ve Thought About?
If the Internet has taught me anything it’s we as humans are all incredibly disgusting and gross
monsters. You’re all gross for having weird deformities on your bodies and fetishes. I’m gross
because I spend my time online looking at your weird deformities and learning about your
fetishes.
Some people don’t enjoy being grossed out or ever bringing up certain topics which are less than
holy. Why deny your gross thoughts and actions? So many great things have been invented by
sharing our most disgusting thoughts. Keeping up with the Kardashians does monster ratings. It
would not exist if we weren’t willing to accept the existence of incredibly disgusting untalented
people.
Public Poos: Originally Posted 9/12/2012
If you like reading about pooping then you are in the correct place. If bowel movements frighten
you then you’re a wimp and should go away for a little while. I hate taking a poo in public. By
public I don’t mean next to a playground slide while everyone is staring at me. I think I could
handle that more. At least everybody knows my stance on life, I’m insane. When I say public I
mean somewhere a vampire would be allowed to take a poo like a normal person. Did you know
vampires are allowed to enter libraries, hospitals, and other public buildings? They don’t need to
be invited in like they do a home. I remember this from an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer
so it must be true.
Even further than taking a poo in public, I always had a fear about taking one anywhere outside
my home. Each year my dad would take my sister and me to the Poconos in upstate Pennsylvania
because he used to murder honeymooners in heart-shaped bath tubs in the mid-90s. This saved
him an extra trip. I went an entire week without going poop once. This might seem insane, but
the one time I did go the year earlier I clogged the toilet. The place we stayed was owned by my
dad’s only friend. He was a very large man with a Brooklyn accent. I would have surely had my
face shoved into the toilet once it was discovered my DNA was attached to the terd doing the
clogging. Like my opinions, I was better off keeping my shit within.
Poop is a word I say way too frequently. My most common daily phrases I have come to realize
are “Come on!” and “Jesus Christ!” Between driving and having to walk a dog who tries to eat
every pine cone he smells, I have good reason to say these as frequently as I do. I’m not a poop
fan. In the last year I have calculated I have picked up approximately 678 clumps of poop. That’s
twice a day, every day, minus once a week when I make my sisters do it. If I lived in a country
like Germany where the stuff is like gold, I would have a castle by now.
The entire time I was in school I only took a poop once while on the clock. I was in first period
study hall when my tummy began to grumble. I began to sweat. Somehow I survived the entire
period without going. Then second period came. This was my keyboarding class. Luckily the fast
typing managed to drown out any noises my stomach was making. Still, it helped none of the
pain. I asked the teacher for a hall pass and made my way toward a bathroom. My high school
was so lame they only kept one bathroom open at a time and it changed every hour. This was so
kids could not go in there and smoke. This was a major problem. I practically cursed out a fat
history teacher asking me where the nearest bathroom was. He pointed. A gay kid was in the
bathroom cleaning chocolate off his shirt. I pretended to pee because I didn’t want him going
around to the Glee Club saying I’m someone who shits. I walked out then walked back in. Just so
he didn’t think I was insane I declared out loud “Wow now I have to shit.” He nodded and I
scared him away from men’s assholes for life. You’re welcome Republicans.
I managed to go a long time at my day job without going number two. I say day job like I have a
night job. Like posing as a police officer and asking to search people’s wallets qualifies as a real
job. When I got older I cared less about where I let the chips fall. I was mostly ready to let it
happen at work. Only once when it was the middle of the day and I knew the bathroom would be
crowded and someone was bound to recognize my shoes then report to the highest ranking
supervisor they could that I was someone who shits which most assuredly would get me fired did
I venture someplace else to cleanse my body of breakfast. I went to the fancy hotel across the
street I worked at for a month and was never paid for anything I did. In this hotel bathroom I left
the Mona Lisa of poops in a toilet sitting there for whoever came in next. I call it the Mona Lisa
because it was very androgynous.
As I grow older my bowels are something I need to be more concerned about. I went to the last
baseball game at Veterans Stadium in Philadelphia. My dad made a short scrapbook from the day
yet the only thing I can remember is going home and painfully squeezing one out for the first
time in days. From that day I swore I would never go more than a day without at least trying to
go. Some men swear to take care of their families. Others promise to serve their countries. Me, I
do my best to shit once a day.
Cartoons: Originally Posted 9/12/2011
You live in a world where you can go to Google Images type in your favorite cartoon character’s
name followed by the word “naked” and yield results. It’s true. Try it. Isn’t that sick? I bet you
never thought you’d see Buzz Lightyear doing that with his tongue.
I can’t remember the first time I stumbled upon this artwork. I do remember the first picture I
saw. It was one of Marge Simpson breast-feeding and Bart sitting next to her pleasuring himself
to it. Marge was angry, justifiably so. The couch they have in their living room is too nice to
have naked 10 year old boy ass on it.
The strangest thing about this phenomenon that seems to be sweeping the nation is none of our
favorite cartoon characters ever seem to be partaking in traditional sex acts. There’s always a
thumb in someone’s butt and they’re filled with incest. I guess if you get turned on by seeing
Snow White in the front of a train of dwarfs, it won’t bother you very much to see Jasmine from
Aladdin going down on her tiny fat father. And when I say tiny and fat I’m not talking about his
body. He’s hung like a mini-Coke can.
I wonder though, who draws these pictures? Are they people like you and me? Unless there is
one guy out there, one very talented yet sick individual, there must be an entire community of
people who sketch these pictures for our viewing pleasure. Some of them I’m sure have families.
They must have loving wives and troubled teenaged kids. Yet their one true talent must remain
hidden from the world. It takes a certain skill to be able to draw a Princess in a lesbian love affair
with a Mermaid.
This little niche community must go into hiding though because of those among us who
persecute them. We say it’s sick and wrong. But really, who is being hurt? Unlike pornography
with real people, no women are being degraded. No diseases are being spread. No child is being
humiliated years later when friends discover what his mom did to afford her sweet car. The only
line that can be drawn with this is if there are children involved. I don’t know the legality of it
but if it stops a real child from getting molested then have at it. But then there can be a whole
argument whether or not Pinocchio was always a real boy and that’s just a silly argument. If
someone wants to draw Pinocchio naked, go ahead. I support you. His nose practically is a cock.
He’s made of wood so it’s predictable to know that he’ll have an erection.
Everyone has the right to spend their easily earned money however they want. Some of us will
spend it on toys for our children. The rest will probably spend it on naked pictures of Cinderella,
Bambi, and the mom from Toy Story. I think the artists of these pictures should come out of the
shadows and let their faces be shown. There is no reason to hide. You have brought joy and
humor to this world. You have also given a few others a hard-on. You’ve slaved away for hours
making the nipple of a fake human being look extra red. You’re a rare commodity, a necessary
one too. The only thing to fear is losing your family, friends, and dignity. I think it’s worth it to
get the credit you deserve.
String Theories: Originally Posted 11/30/2011
Donnie Darko is a film about a teenage boy who travels through time, I think. Nobody really
knows what the movie is about. Seth Rogan is one of the bullies in Donnie Darko which you
may not have known. He has only a few lines one of which being, “Let’s get the fuck out of
here!” It’s a movie you either love or hate, unless you’re me. I can’t decide whether or not I like
it. The colors are pretty, the theme is dark, and I’m impressed how they got both Gyllenhalls to
play siblings. It doesn’t take much for me to like a movie. Just put on two relatives and it doesn’t
matter how little I understand the plot. I will still enjoy your film.
The main theme of Donnie Darko is about string theory, I think. Shit. This movie is really
confusing, almost as confusing as string theory itself. For those scientifically retarded individuals
reading this, string theory is basically the idea of being able to travel on different “strings” of
time. It’s almost like you have multiple paths you can go down. You follow the string to meet
your destiny. Honestly, I might be completely wrong as to what string theory really is. That’s
what I gathered from flipping through a few pages of a book about it and reading the Wikipedia
summary of Donnie Darko. Science isn’t my best subject. Home Economics has that distinction.
You should taste my snickerdoodles.
One string theory I do understand is the one about the piece of string I found in my parent’s
bedroom when I was around 10 years old. I was playing with my sister (not like that) and we
found a piece of string. I don’t remember the color. All I do remember was that it was a short
piece of string, yarn perhaps.
Being 10 years old, my mind assumed the only thing adults do when they’re in a bedroom
together is have sex. I wanted to believe my parents were in a happy and healthy relationship so I
believed every time they went into the bedroom it was their honeymoon all over again. That’s
where my string theory comes into play.
Using my lackluster knowledge of science, I concluded that the string I found beside the bed
must be some sort of sexual device, but for what exactly? How can one small piece of string
possibly cause extreme sexual arousal? Well, here’s a list of things I can think of that you could
use string for to get off on.
Puppet Master: The string is tied around the penis in a loop with another strand free to tug on. It
doesn’t matter what part it is tied to. All that matters is the penis must be fastened in tightly like
it‘s about to go on some extreme sporting adventure. The partner (or wife, because gay sex is a
sin) will pull on the string and make the penis wobble to and fro like a sassy black woman
making a point with her hands on her hips. This action will resemble a marionette puppet and if
the kids were to walk in you can always put on a cute show until you can think of a better excuse
for why a string is tied to a dick.
Indian Burn: Place the string below the penis and pull each side of the string upwards. Pull the
string back and forth (this will be an up motion) causing the penis to receive an Indian burn. The
quicker you do this the better. This would only be suggested for those who are into inflicting or
receiving pain. I know who you are! And I want your phone number.
Chinese Finger Trap: Both partners tie an end of the string around their erect nipples while
facing each other. Then you take a step backwards until it stretches your nipples even further,
guaranteeing arousal. The act resembles that of a Chinese finger trap, the device created by the
Chinese where the stereotype of them being sneaks came from. There’s no real escape from this
unless you count escaping a life of sexual repression.
Indiana Jones: The female partner lies down on her back, legs up in the air. The male partner (or
female partner, lesbian sex isn’t a sin) takes the string and in a whipping fashion whips the
vagina of his female partner as hard as he can. Be sure to hit the clitoris. That’s where girls like
to be touched. I’ve read that in Cosmopolitan and my sister's diary.
Rat Tail: The female in the relationship places the string into her vagina with only one little piece
hanging out. This will look like the tail of a rat if done properly. The male’s job is to slowly pull
the string out. This is a very rare yet satisfying sexual activity that has been handed down from
incestuous family to incestuous family. Also, do not pull too quickly. It could be hazardous and
do internal damage.
That’s where my 10-year-old mind was at. I really believed my parents could do such horrible
activities to each other while I tried sleeping on the other side of the wall.
To this day string still freaks me out a little bit. I wonder where it has been and why it smells like
balls. I can’t wear hoodies with the strings in them and I always have to cut the strings on the
blinds off whenever I enter a room. I can’t eat string cheese. Stringer Bell from The Wire made
me feel uncomfortable. It doesn’t matter what form the string is in. Thin, thick, long, short, all
string reminds me of is my parents being passionate. It makes me almost want to hang myself,
but a noose reminds me too much of string.
Human Centipedes: Originally Posted 11/19/2011
I woke up this morning with the taste of ass in my mouth. It was not pleasant. But it reminded
me of the film Human Centipede. It’s been probably around a year since I saw the film and yet I
still think about it often. I’m not sure why exactly. Nothing about it was fantastic and none of the
characters reminded me of myself. What is it about this film I can’t shake?
For those of you who don’t know the plot, I’ll sum it up quickly. I’ll do my best not spoil it for
you. The film has two dumb American women in it who get tricked into getting tied up by a
crazy German man. The film was shot in Amsterdam. Is that what the world thinks about
American women and German men? That all American women are stupid and German men are
creeps? Is the world really that smart?
The girls get kidnapped and there’s a pretty good 15 minute sequence that really scared me a lot.
Eventually, the German is able to do his evil deed of creating the Human Centipede. It involves
connecting three people, ass to mouth, to each other making sure the digestive tract all functions
in a straight line. I remember reading somewhere how the science behind it was true. That
although the people would die, our bodies work in such a straight line where food can pass
through three people and then out of the back. I don’t remember where it was I read this.
Probably a drunk text message from an ex.
Today I spent the day wondering which part of the centipede I would want to be if forced to be
one. In the film, the German makes it obvious that the middle is the worst and I do concur. I
always agree with a German. Do you know what happens when you don’t? Bad shit!
Maybe if I think it out more I can prove this evil man was wrong in his assumption about the
middle. I have compiled a list of pros and cons for each position of the Human Centipede:
The Front
The film has a Japanese man as the front. He doesn’t know English so he speaks whatever crazy
language he speaks. There are subtitles whenever he speaks so if you’ve thought this movie isn’t
educational, you’re wrong. You can learn this Japanese man’s mysterious language.
Pro:
1) You can still speak
2) No shit goes in your mouth
3) You never have to stare at an asshole if you don’t want to
4) Your taste buds still serve a purpose
5) You can still fool people on dating websites to go on dates with you, even if you use a recent
picture with the other two people attached to you cropped out
Con:
1) People will ask how this happened and you’ll be the one who has to tell the story
2) You’ll probably have to be the one to work a job to support all three of you
3) The two people behind you can easily talk bad about you behind your back
4) You still have to go to the dentist
5) If you’re not a natural leader, things are not going to work out well
The Middle
Like mentioned earlier, the middle is the worst at first glance. The crazy German makes the girl
he hates most the middle of his crazy creation. I hate being in the middle of things. I’m the
middle child and that means the least liked of any family member. It’s not fair. Being in the
middle sucks, ask Malcolm.
Pro:
1) Nothing more is expected of you
2) You will never feel alone, you will always have one person right in front of you and one right
behind
3) Only one person’s shit has to go into your mouth (kind of glass half full mentality with that
one)
4) For girls, no more men will pinch your butts
5) For guys, no more having to wipe your butt
Con:
1) You can never get your face in Christmas card pictures anymore without an ass being in the
way
2) If the front and the back argue then you’ll be stuck there awkwardly
3) No elbow room at all
4) You’ll never be the first person to enter the room, whether your centipede moves forwards or
backwards
5) Really hard to put on a shirt or pants, unlike your counterparts who can get at least one on
The Back
Human Centipede had the other dumb American in the very back. I kind of felt in the movie it
was her fault they were in this predicament in the first place. She seemed whinier to me than the
other American girl. Who takes a drink from a complete stranger even if it is just water? She
deserved to eat two people’s shit.
Pro:
1) You still have the ability to dance or at least kick your feet backwards to the beat
2) That new chair you bought can still get a little use
3) You can still have awkward anal sex, if that’s your thing
4) If you get hit with a baseball nobody blames you for being stupid. There was no possible way
you could have seen it coming
5) Nobody tries small talk with you because you cannot talk and your breath smells terrible
Con:
1) Very easy for someone to have awkward an anal sex with you, against your will
2) If the middle is fat, you will often go overlooked and have to stick your hand out to wave so
your friends know that you’re at the party and you’re having fun
3) You come off looking like a sheep who follows not one but two people
4) You never get to taste fine wine ever again
5) You’ll have to put all of your money into anal bleaching because that’s all anybody will ever
see of you
Now that I’ve listed this all out, I would definitely want to be the front. You can have the most
normal life. You can be charming, read books, and kiss girls. Sure, you’ll have two creeps
behind you mumbling stuff all day. Remember the most important fact, no butts in your face all
of the time. That’s why I would choose to be the front. That and I don’t have a nice enough butt
to represent myself.
***
What’s Your Favorite Kind of Food?
Just like how everybody poops, everybody eats. In order to poop one must eat. That’s all food
really is, future poop. This is how the body works. Who said this book wasn’t educational?
I like all kinds of food. I grew up an incredibly fat kid and spent the first 17 years of my life
eating nonstop. There are few foods I have never had the opportunity to try. I’ve eaten entire jars
of peanut butter on several occasions, usually in my car so nobody can watch my shameful life
decisions. I ate an entire stick of butter another time just because I could. Through it all I’ve
learned a lot about my food and what I like and what I do not like. People love reading about
food as much as they enjoy watching people have sex. It’s an easy way to live vicariously
through others.
Regrets: Originally Posted 1/5/2012
I don’t like people who say they don’t regret a thing in their life. Really? Nothing? Not one
single embarrassing moment or faux pas? Liar! Nobody is that perfect. Nobody is that optimistic
about the way things are in their life. Don’t give me that “everything happens for a reason” “one
thing leads to another” “mistakes make us who we are” garbage. Even if they are all true, it
doesn’t mean you can’t have regret.
I regret lots of stuff. That doesn’t mean I can’t accept them. I don’t know if given the chance I’d
go back and change a thing. I’m too paranoid about it. I’ve seen The Butterfly Effect, A Sound
of Thunder, and The Simpsons Halloween episode where Homer travels through time and kills
things and it changes the present. Time travel is a scary thing to me. I do believe the littlest event
can change who you are. I also believe the littlest event can have no relevance to you
whatsoever. It’s a crapshoot. It’s better to not worry about it and just do your thing.
The biggest regret of my life happened to me five minutes ago. I ate Wasabi. Why? Why did I
eat Wasabi? Every time I do I cough and my eyes water. I grab something to drink and mutter
swears under my breath. I’m so stupid. Why do I always do this to myself? I’m like the woman
who goes back to the abusive boyfriend. It’s time to admit that I like the abuse Wasabi gives me.
Like all trendy hipsters, I enjoy my sushi. I think it has a lot to do with how funny it looks. It
doesn’t look like real food. Honestly, I couldn’t tell you what it tastes like or the difference from
one kind to another. It’s mostly fun to eat. I feel like I’m eating a cartoon food. Or like in that
scene from Hook where they all have to imagine food. Everything is all bright blue and looks
like fancy puddings or yogurts. That’s what sushi is to me. It’s a fun alien food that Rufio can
throw at me and I can cut in half with a sword.
Like all trendy hipsters, I secretly hate myself. That’s why I think I always eat the Wasabi. I like
to stare death in the eye. If you’re confused as to what Wasabi is then you’re not trendy like me.
It’s this green Play-Do looking food (I cannot confirm it actually is not Play-Do) that comes
from the ass pimples of Satan. It’s the spiciest thing I have ever put in my mouth. And I’ve
blown Ricky Martin with a jalapeno under my tongue.
I could easily skip over my Wasabi. The sushi is fine. It also comes with this clear colored stuff
that looks like it came off a foot blister. I have no idea what it is, but I like it. I’m the kind of
person who always cleans his plate. The last time I remember not clearing my plate was when I
bought a salad, didn’t have any dressing, and thought putting hot sauce on it would do the job. I
was incorrect. I ate about half the salad then threw it away. Lesson learned.
There is a video out there somewhere of Steve-O from Jackass snorting Wasabi. I know, I
thought he had enough money too. Those guys need to hire someone to manage their money.
Three Jackass movies? Unnecessary. Use your first million to start a company. Don’t waste it
away on shots in a Pennsylvania bar. I’m trying to think up a good joke about Ryan Dunn here to
finish this paragraph off. That might be insensitive, but remember he was like 30, driving like
100, and had an IQ of about 60. I can never under any circumstances where I’d feel bad for
someone who drinks and drives then speeds. I understand sometimes there’s no other way to get
home. That’s why I added that speed thing in there. If you’re going to be drinking and driving,
do it cautiously. You kill someone, we get to castrate you. That sound like a deal? Sorry, this has
nothing to do with Wasabi and I know how much you want to hear more about it. I just felt the
need to say drunk drivers are pricks. When you put the lives of anyone else in danger and it isn’t
for the greater good then you are a scumbag. You having a fun on a Friday night is not worth
anyone dying.
Rants about dumb man-children without talent over, I need to discontinue my Wasabi eating.
With most regrets, after time I no longer regret it. I managed to survive a horrific event. I’m fine
now. I feel more invincible than ever before. It’s difficult for me to draw the line at anything (I
have shaky hands and my lines turn into to Z’s), but I have to with Wasabi. It’s going to end up
killing me. My family will find me in my apartment with a half-eaten container of sushi in my
pajama pants with some Wasabi on my lips. I can so see myself going out like that. It’s scary
really. I have to enter the next realm of life just because I can’t control myself around a food I
don’t even like. It’s all that “there are starving children in China” talk I heard when I was a
young boy. No wonder children in China are so hungry. The Japanese are always sending them
Wasabi and they’d rather starve than put that in their mouth.
100 Calorie Packs: Originally Posted 7/10/2012
Some argue what the greatest invention in the last ten years has been. People will say things like
the iPod, the iPhone, or other products that are fun to smash. I have to disagree completely. My
favorite invention is the 100 calorie pack. Bags of food containing exactly 100 calories, give or
take if you actually do the correct math based on the macronutrients on the back which I have
found when I have done can sometimes can be off by a total of 30. These heroes of dieters have
flown under the radar. They’re never on the cover of Life Magazine or making an appearance in
Taylor Swift music videos. It’s time these desserts got their just desserts.
Supermarkets are filled with 100 calorie packs nowadays. That was not always the case. Before
you would have to get a Ding Dong and throw half in your neighbor’s mailbox to save the
calories. Not anymore. Options have risen as well. I remember when these awesome inventions
first came along we were very limited. Now every evil corporation under the sun makes these
products. Even the Quaker Brand, who are run by vampires and never see the sun, have gotten in
on the action. Options can make me nervous but with so many wonderful ones out there it makes
me jump for joy!
My old school favorites were the cinnamon muffins, the little chocolate bites, and the banana
muffins. I totally forgot about the banana muffins. I am almost tempted to put some pants on
right now and go to the store and eat a box. I won’t though, too many people to run into outside
my lowly apartment. I used to eat 100 calorie packs like I was the Pacific Ocean and they were
Hawaiians paddling on a makeshift raft. These packs would be devoured by me. My lunch would
consist of four packs of whatever ones I was in the mood for. Not realizing this was as healthy as
maybe eating a whole donut instead, I managed to keep my ever-present sexy wet sponge figure.
I’m sure I am not the only person to have a problem wanting to eat the entire box of 100 calorie
packs. With all those strange addictions out there, I know I’m not alone.
Why exactly do I think 100 calorie packs are a great invention? It’s simple. They satisfy that
need for something sweet in your mouth. Instead of getting ice cream, a candy bar, or an entire
wedding cake like I have thought about doing, you get 100 simple calories you would probably
exercise off anyway with a light 7 hour jog in place. People who jog in place are always big fans
of 100 calorie packs. They also call them 1CP’s to save time. Not to be confused with ICP,
which stands for Insane Clown Posse. Insane Clown Posse fans frighten me. I don’t know a
single one of their songs either. They remind me of an angry and less marketable version of
KISS.
We’re in a time of fad diets and 1CP’s are here to help. I heard a girl recently talk about her fad
diet. She said how today she could eat up to 8 bananas and could drink half a gallon of milk. The
next day she could eat 12 ounces of steak, but she would have to also eat 5 whole tomatoes. This
is no way to live. Did she ever stop and think this is insane? This diet works because it’s
starvation. It has specific directions on what to eat which seems to be a lot of people’s problems.
She’s not even all that overweight. I mean yeah she should lose 5 pounds if she ever wants a man
to love her. But this diet is not the way to go. I’m pretty sure she gave up on the diet. She
couldn’t make it through the day of eating 11 oranges and 2 and a half pistachios while balancing
on one foot.
I hope 100 calorie packs stick around. Really, I do. I hardly eat them but I feel like they helped
keep me from getting really fat. I’m sure others have had the same experience. There are so
many wonderful products available too. Chocolates, pretzels, nuts, chocolates pretzel nuts,
everything you could ever crave. I love 100 calorie packs. I really do. Probably more than any
person I’ve ever met. They don’t judge me. I know exactly what I’m getting, 100 calories of
deliciousness. If these grew from trees, Adam and Eve would have been kicked out of Eden the
first shot they had. Could you blame them? Banana muffins are their own paradise.
Salads: Originally Posted 5/7/2012
Lately I’ve been on a salad kick. Of all the things to be addicted to, salads have to be the
healthiest. They’re also probably the most humiliating. I guess if you were addicted to putting
things up your butt you might be a little upset about admitting it. Your mom would ask you
where all of her cookies went and you’d blush then feel guilty knowing where they really were.
That’s probably not a good example. Nobody puts cookies up their butt, unless they run out of
chocolate chips. Then that kind of solves that problem. At least from a first glance. Get it?
Chocolate chips look like shit.
The kind of salads I’ve been eating are nothing special. I’ll purchase a bag of some mix high in
Vitamin A, usually romaine. I am obsessed with eating lots of Vitamin A. I really don’t want to
go blind. I’ll have to learn brail. I don’t have the fingers for it. And I love sight gags in films.
The Naked Gun is way too serious without them. I’ll open my bag with the orange scissors I
stole from school a decade ago. Pour it all into my giant new salad serving bowl, heat up some
chicken, mix everything together, and douse it with salad dressing. I use a salad serving bowl
because I like big salads and I can fit a lot in there. It might look a little ridiculous, but the only
one to ever see me eat out of it is my dog. He’s mostly embarrassed that I’m eating vegetables. I
tried giving him a carrot the other day. He decided a better meal was biting his own genitals.
My salad dressing of choice has been raspberry vinaigrette. It’s what a rich woman with wrinkly
skin living in New York City would say “is to die for.” Some people don’t like a fruity flavor
with their salads. I can understand it. Because who wants to feel so healthy like they’re eating
fruits and vegetables in one serving? I did buy a calorie free dressing of ranch which was terrible.
I’m not sure if I dislike ranch or if I’m just not fat enough to enjoy it. Really, ranch is for people
who live in ranch style homes because they’re too lazy to walk up stairs. It comes with
disgusting foods that guarantee heart failure. Slowly but surely I’ll digest this substance that
must be nothing more than flavored water with a lot of salt thrown in. Worst $4 I ever spent
since donating money to that sick kid who died a week later.
Some people have are more fancy and get their salads pre-made. Or they’re even fancier and
follow directions or recipes and build their own salads following those guidelines. There’s the
Cobb Salad named after ruthless murderer and baseball player Ty Cobb. There’s the Caesar
Salad named after the haircut of the same name. There’s the Chef Salad named after the Isaac
Hayes character from South Park. A few others are more specific and give away what’s inside.
Things like buffalo chicken, Asian noodle, or garden are a few other choices to select from. I
hate garden salads. I’d feel like a rabbit. Vegetables without any meat present feels like two Ken
Dolls trying to have sinful gay sex. There’s no dick present. It makes the sex look pointless.
I used to wonder how anyone could ever eat a salad. It seemed so plain and unfilling. I don’t
remember the first salad I had. It was sometime during my turn in life toward “healthy living.”
One time my sister bet me $10 I couldn’t eat an entire giant bowl of lettuce. I never ate my
vegetables as a boy, but I also never backed down from a challenge. After about 3 bites I felt like
throwing up. I was crying. The lettuce hitting my taste buds was painful. I never finished it and I
don’t remember if I got the money or not. I was alive and at the time that’s all I cared about. Plus
my mom yelled at my sister for almost killing me. I think I was taken out for ice cream after for
at least making an effort at eating vegetables. If I ever say my childhood sucked, remind me of
this event.
I would eat more salads but they’re really expensive. At Subway it’s $5 for a salad with the same
amount of meat you get for a 6-inch sub. Technically you would be better off ordering a regular
foot long sandwich, throwing the bread in the toilet, and eating what you have left out of your lap
or a bowl. Salads I guess are so expensive because you have to pay for the dumb plastic bowls
and the labor it takes to chop the pieces of meat up and properly sprinkle cheese around the outer
edges. You know, grueling tasks like those. If salads weren’t around $5 for around 250 calories,
maybe more people would get them and be healthy. For now I’m going to stick with my
homemade salads. I’ll continue eating them out of a gigantic tin bowl with 4 servings of dressing
on the top. It’s 1/4th the usual fat content or so they say. This way it’s like I’m eating normally
and go through a bottle in 3 days.
***
Who Should Hitler Have Really Gone After?
“Hitler had the right idea; he was just an underachiever.” - Bill Hicks
I need not say another word.
Old People Conversations: Originally Posted 6/19/2012
Throughout our lives we make memories. From these memories we get stories. Stories we share
with unwilling folk who are way too polite to tell us to shut up. We’re boring them. I know I’ve
been guilty of telling awful stories before. I’ve realized it six words in that my listening partner
has no interest in hearing about my amazing adventure involving a screensaver. With that said I
would like to call out the people most guilty of having horrible stories, old people.
I know. You probably have met some old folk who have great tales to tell. My grandfather
chopped off Japanese people’s heads in the 1940s during some famous war I cannot remember
the name of because it involved Roman Numerals. Yet all he ever talked about to me was the
weather or how his friends would go in a lake naked together and stick their dicks out as trains
passed by. Thank goodness for video games and glue huffing.
I have been unfortunate enough to never have a worthwhile conversation with an old person.
With that out-of-the-way I can now tell you what it is old people seem to talk to me about. Avoid
the sounds of oceans or rainforests. Just thinking about these topics could lure you to sleep.
Old people are very nostalgic. You would be too if you can’t remember where the adult diaper
aisle is but you can still remember losing your virginity during a Fireside Chat. I love nostalgia
as much as the next person. The problem with old people is their nostalgia takes place during a
time when I could barely wipe the spit off my own face. Old people like to bring up memories of
younger people when they were children. This could be cute if they had more than three
memories. It gets annoying too because old people enjoy saying the same lousy stories over and
over again. Worse is when they talk about dead relatives you never met. We have more dead
relatives than we have living ones. That’s a lot of names to remember, a lot of people with the
same blood for us to also not care about. Maybe I’d be more interested if anyone in my bloodline
ever did anything interesting. At least my one friend’s ancestor was the first person to ever be
killed by the electric chair. My relatives alive around then probably were the dopes his greatgreat-grandfather killed.
Commercials are a thing old people love to discuss. Television shows, sure. Go ahead. Discuss
away. But commercials? Have they not heard of TiVo, downloading, DVDs, or putting your
fingers in your ears and saying “La La La” while those marketing demons run amuck on our
screens? Young people cannot stand commercials. The colors are not bright enough. Miranda
Cosgrove is not in enough of them. I’ve watched those “Best Commercials” shows before. What
a dumb move by me. I should just get a Coca-Cola logo tattooed on my forehead and go by the
name “TheBigBangTheory ThursdayNightsOnCBS.” Is that show on Thursday nights? I’ve
never seen it. Why would I want to watch a show about nerdy guys who are actually friends with
a hot chick? I can’t get a hot chick to ask me for help during a rape. Is my cheering for the rapist
too obvious whose side I’m on?
Whenever I run into an “adult” they always ask me about work. When I say adult I mean
someone who could be my parent and we’re never fully honest with each other. Adults love
talking about work. They say how they hate it, how they put in more effort than anyone else, and
so on with lots and lots of boring nonsense about work. When people ask me how work is I
usually shrug and want to tell them that it exists. It’s work! If I loved it then you would have
seen me smile at some point in my life. I never ask people about their work. Either their job is
boring or so incredibly awesome I’d be jealous to hear about it. There’s nothing wrong with
talking about your job when something groundbreaking actually happens. I get it. But finding a
pair of scissors in your desk and not knowing who put them there is not mysterious. It’s a waste
of breath telling me about it.
What do I think a conversation with an old person should actually entail? They can’t talk much
about their childhoods with joy. A lot of old people grew up in dark times. When my generation
was young we’d get Legos stuck up our noses. When my grandparents were young they’d get
tuberculosis stuck down their throats. That’s probably why old people talk about simple happier
things. They’re glad to be out of the dark times. All I ask of old people is not to talk about their
children with me like I should be impressed. Your son is 34. He should be all moved out of your
home. He’s no big deal.
Young People Indiscretions: Originally Posted 6/20/2012
My last post was about how painful a conversation with an old person can be. What to me
exactly is an old person? It’s anyone twice my age or older who also can be easily pushed over.
Are you 48+ and have poor balance? You’re old! I want to lay off the octogenarians here. Instead
my focus will go onto young people and recent events that have arrived into my life to make me
hate them even more. What exactly is a young person you ask? Anyone within 10 years of me
who deserves to die based on their personality. No wonder the Democrats always win. Our
country is full of young people.
I’ve always been a person who has gotten along better with older people. Actually no. Maybe
not. I have had friends much older which always made me feel cool. Then they’d get a new
friend who was younger than me. When this would happen I’d feel like I had been replaced and I
could no longer get away with being bad by saying W’s instead of R’s. “I’m sowwy” doesn’t
work as an apology when you have a beard. Plus I get letters confused sometimes. I’ll say R’s
instead of L’s to try to be cute. Friends will think I’m insulting Chinese Americans and get pissy
with me. They’re young and full of white guilt. Insulting people from a nation who oppress their
people is very insensitive.
One thing young people don’t seem to do is say “thank you.” They do say sorry. If instead of
saying sorry girls would have sex with me I would never have to venture into the city for a
whore ever again. Why is it that a person might apologize but not say thanks? I think it’s a guilt
thing. Young people hate being in trouble. I’m not quite sure what being in trouble really even
means other than with the law. Why would someone over 18 be upset if someone else over 18
was mad at them? I get it if you’re a kid and your parents are mad or vice versa. But if your boss
is mad at you? If the diners at Denny’s don’t seem to like you? Why care? I like being thanked
when I go out of my way for people. I helped a girl out with something recently. Yes, I only
helped her because her breasts shook as she walked. That’s not to say I wouldn’t have helped her
otherwise. I would have been less eager is all I’m saying. Bitch didn’t even thank me! From now
on when I see her I am farting in her general direction and using my hand to wave it up toward
her nose.
Young people also never follow directions or listen to others. I hate this. I mean yeah, if it’s an
old person talking, ignore them. But when a fellow young person like me gives you a warning,
open your ears. Again, recently I warned a young person about a problem. Sorry for being vague.
It’s pretty boring to tell you about how I had helped the big bosomed girl find some keys and
warned this idiot how a computer may not work. He used the computer anyway after a very stern
warning from me. Then he acted as if he had no idea. Didn’t we have a conversation? Take your
Colorado Rockies hat and shove it up your ass. You’re not from Denver. You’re Spanish. They
don’t have Spanish people there. Spanish people can’t breathe in thin air. Your name doesn’t
even start with a C. Don’t pass this off like a dumb rapper would.
Drama is a word homosexuals use when telling you about their college major or young people
use to describe what they hate in their lives. Anyone who says they hate drama is dramatic. Like
people who hate ghosts. You only hate ghosts because ghosts follow you around. You probably
are a ghost too. People who hate drama bring it upon themselves. My upstairs neighbor who is a
year younger than me is the most dramatic woman ever. What did I hear her complaining about
today? Facebook drama! She has two children. She placed the body part of one, or very likely
many, men inside of a certain place on her body and out came two large objects with similar
DNA to herself. This is how babies are made. It’s silly to get all bent up over someone on
Facebook telling you that you “have to get your life together” as she said throwing in a few
motherfuckers like it was punctuation. “Who is she to tell me I don’t have my life together? Fuck
that bitch!” she went on to say. If you get this enraged by what someone says on Facebook then
you clearly do not have your life together.
The worst thing young people do is exist. Breathing in air I could be breathing in makes me hate
them. I hate young guys who act as if they’re hot shots. You’re not. You have good posture.
That’s all you have that I don’t. If I ever learn how to stand up straight then what will you have
to gloat about? I hate young girls who act as if they’re princesses and I’m some smelly serf. I get
it that I may smell and usually am plowing fields like a serf might do, but act as if I am present in
mind and body. There is nothing more unattractive about a girl than one who never smiles.
You’re a young white American woman. You haven’t had a problem doing anything in 100
years. You don’t even have to be good at singing to be a famous singer. Smile, look pretty, and
treat everyone you meet like they’re worth something. Otherwise break a high heel and tear an
Achilles in the process you whore.
I’m sure young people have something good to offer. We have already given you Lady Gaga
songs, Zac Efron movies, and other amazing art that puts the Italian Renaissance to shame. I ask
you, what is it you hate about young people? Is there anything to like besides smooth skin?
Gummy Bastards: Originally Posted 5/29/2012
Imagine this paragraph appearing like the opening text to Star Wars. You know, that yellow
slanted moving impossible to read font. Anyway, long ago in a town about 35 miles away, there
was a family that lived next door to me. No. Not that family. The other side. The ones that were
actually a family and not a woman who liked to cut down trees and sleep with men who drove
dirty trucks. The ones on the right if you’re looking at my old house are the ones I’m talking
about. This was a family who declared war on mine. Things never got out of hand, but they were
entertaining enough for me to write about.
Okay, that was not as epic as I had thought it would be. Kind of like the entire Star Wars
franchise. I think I just heard a nerd blow his brains out.
The family in question consisted of a mom, a dad, a daughter, and a son. This is the ideal for any
family who is not Chinese. Their ideal family would be a son, a son, a son, and a robot. This
family was nothing close to ideal. They were evil. Being mean and aggressive was the way they
chose to live their lives. And that brought out the demons in us all.
Mainly battles between our two clans took place over cat poop. They insisted our cats were
pooping on their property. I would argue today that the banks own property and they should take
it up with them, but back then I still had hope that Democracy was real. I’m sure our cats really
were pooping on the lawn and I can see how that might be annoying. Even more annoying was
when they’d put the cat poop in a bag and leave it near our mailbox. No stamp was ever placed
on the bag so it wasn’t like they were trying to send it anywhere. It would be ridiculous if they
placed the stamp on the actual poop. How’s the mailman supposed to see that anyway?
Eventually things toned down and I’m sure there was a lot of yelling between parents that I never
paid attention to. Our cats died and a few times we still had cat poop arrive at our mailbox. I
think one time I threw it onto their roof. I don’t remember for sure. I do remember once when
they were out at a soccer game I accidentally dropped a stink bomb and before it could fully
shatter I broke it on their front door. They arrived home to a horrendous smell. This was a
wonderful victory at my own hands.
Another issue between us was that of balls traveling through the yards. We had an unwritten
policy about returning balls to each other if we found them in our yards. The continued without
problems until they didn’t return one of my balls. Then it was fair game. My first dog Baylee
popped a blow up ball of theirs. Another time, our family’s second dog McGwire grabbed a ball
and took it up to our deck. I remember sitting on the back deck while the kids next door were
outside. At this point I was scary looking and fat. They weren’t about to ask me for their ball
back so they just stood there hoping I could read minds. I can’t. So the ball sat on our deck until
it slowly deflated itself. A perfectly good ball ruined because they were bitches.
I only remember going into their house one time in all the years we lived next door to one
another. Their backyard, a few times, but actually inside once. I had returned home from school
and neither of my parents was home. It was probably St. Patrick’s Day, Cinco de Mayo, or a
work day when “mommy and daddy need a drink to help them with stress.” The neighbors let me
hang at their house for about a half hour. All I remember doing was hiding under a blanket with
the girl who lived there. Nothing happened. I didn’t want it to because I already knew their dirty
secret. They were gummy bastards.
What is a gummy bastard? A gummy bastard is a next door neighbor of mine. More specifically
they were the family who had these strange things on the tops of each of their heads. The dad had
it, the daughter had it, and the ginger son had it. I must have been playing a game of lice check
with the daughter when I first noticed a big red deformity poking out from the top of her head. I
poked at it because that seemed like the only thing to do. It felt like a gummy bear. But we
certainly couldn’t call the family the Gummy Bears. They were not bears. They were bastards.
Hence the name, the Gummy Bastards.
I’m not exactly sure why we really hated each other. I guess that’s just what neighbors do. You
find things to be disgusted about one another. It’s natural though. When you are forced to see the
same ugly faces everyday only feet away from where you rest your head at night you’re going to
grow to hate them. They were everything my family wasn’t. They were social, had family
friends, athletic kids, their father smoked cigars instead of cigarettes like my dad did, their mom
jogged while mine watched Dawson’s Creek, the daughter’s nickname was Cookie for some
diabetic reason while my sister’s nickname was bear for reasons that made sense at the time, and
their son was a Ginger while I had the hair color of champions, dirty blondish brown. All that
separated us was a damn fruit snack on top of the head. Could it have been the source of their
bastardness? The hair to their Samson. The genitals to their Ron Jeremy. The being married to
the executive of E! to their Chelsea Handler. I can only speculate what it was. What I do know is
that they were animal hating bastards. I hope a loud black family moved into our house after we
left you gummy bastards.
***
What Are Your Favorite Movies?
Movies are one of the most universally appreciated forms of entertainment. Two people with
completely different belief systems can manage to bond over a favorite film. Talking about
movies on a blog is always a relatable topic just about anyone can enjoy.
Rather than simply reviewing movies like everybody else, you will want to stand out. Go further
than the average person. Don’t stop at telling us whether or not the movie was good or not.
Compare it to something else. Let us know some strange thought you had while watching the
movie even if it seems miniscule. It’s those little ideas we throw away that sometimes turn into
something so much more.
Unknown Origins: Originally Posted 10/18/2011
When I watched the film Schindler’s List I noticed something. It wasn’t how I laughed more at
this movie than I did in all of Dodgeball which is complete fact. Schindler’s List had one funny
scene in it and this scene got my goat. Oscar is in need of a new secretary and holds a tryout. He
is very interested in all of the young and attractive women who come out for the job. Many of
them type poorly, hunting and pecking. Then, it cuts to a fat woman typing marvelously. Oscar
Schindler could not care less. It’s not a genius comedy moment but in such a serious movie it
was nice to see Spielberg say how sexually unappealing fat women are, even if they are efficient
at their jobs. The rest of the movie was very serious except for the scene where the Three
Stooges have to disguise themselves as S.S. Officers. Larry accidentally swings a ladder and
knocks Hitler out of a German castle, thus ending the war.
None of what I have said so far is the point I want to mention. What I want to say is a question. I
began watching Band of Brothers and there was a concentration camp scene in it. That resparked a question in my head I’ve thought about in the past. Where do they find these actors to
play Holocaust victims?
I can’t imagine a human being much thinner than those I have seen wearing striped pajamas in
film and television. They look very realistic, like they really had been through a lot of
concentration camp horrors. You can see all of their bones; some of the men must weigh 80
pounds. I guess some of it is CGI (I use that word having no idea what it means) but it all still
looks incredibly real so I don’t buy it.
There must be an agency out there in Hollywood. They only hire very thin actors for such a role.
They give them diets of apple cores and are only allowed to drink whatever they can lick off a
celery stick. That’s the only way to get a Holocaust film body at least as far as I know.
It’s got to be a tough gig to be an actor who plays someone living through the Holocaust. You
really have to treat your body poorly for a non-speaking role. Your whole film career involves
having dirt on your face and crying over a fake dead body that’s supposed to be your brother. In
a way, actors who play Holocaust victims are the Holocaust victims of actors. I know that’s a
stretch, probably insensitive to people who actually did suffer through the Holocaust to compare
the two. But I don’t know. If I survived the most famous genocide in human history I wouldn’t
really care what people thought about me. Being compared to a no-name actor wouldn’t bother
me very much. I survived months or years in a Nazi work camp. I’m the fucking shit.
There are still so many questions I want to ask these actors. Are you always this thin? Does it
hurt to look that way? Are you even Jewish? In a way, it sort of mocks what the people went
through in those camps by treating your body the same way. I know it’s essential to prove a point
visually, but still, why not make all of the Germans really fat and the Jews can just be kind of
thin? If all the Nazis were 250-300 pounds, a 130 pound twink would look like he was knocking
on death’s door. But then we always have ourselves to compare it to and we’ll just hate the
Germans even more for being fat. There really is no solution.
I did some research online to see if there was an easy answer out there. I was met with a deadend and gave up after the first link I clicked on didn’t fully answer my question. I think this is
one of those questions with no answer like the meaning of life or the real average size of a man’s
penis. We’d all love to know these things, but we’re not meant to. To you Holocaust Survivors
and actors who play Holocaust Survivors, I salute you. The former for being brave and strong for
living through the toughest of times. The latter for making me scratch my head as to where your
origins lie.
Visual Stimulations: Original Posted 5/19/2012
I’ve never been too into pornography. I know, a male born between the years of ever to present
not being all that interested in porn sounds like a lie. I must be a rare commodity. I’m one in a
million for real. I should tell this to girls more often. Say to them “Hey I’m not really into
looking at other people having sex. I truly am unique.” then they feel silly because we just met
and they’re handing me back my change. Do you know what I hate about getting back change? I
hate it when I get more than quarters in change back. I feel like they judge me when I keep the
quarters. I need to do my laundry somehow. My breath, arm pits, belly button, and ass smell bad
enough without having to wear dirty clothes. Don’t look at me funny when you see me going
through my change. I’m doing it for your nostrils Indian woman at Dunkin Donuts with the nose
stud. Stop trying to look 13. End Andy Rooney rant.
Despite my lack of pornographic aficionado-ism I do like looking as sexy images. Mostly in
movies though. Without having the Internet at home or cable I have to make do with the DVDs I
own. Problem is I don’t really own any romantic comedies. Say what you want about their
implausible plots and predictable endings. The stars of these films are usually attractive in some
shape or form. All you have to do is ignore the crappy jokes, the moments of socially awkward
attractive women falling down way more than humanly possible, and the tall handsome bluecollar men with beards that seem to have gone unnoticed by all other women on the planet who
aren’t starring in this movie.
I’m looking at my DVD collection. That’s actually a lie. I’m sitting on my couch in the dark
typing while sitting on a blanket with butterflies on it. Let’s pretend I’m standing near my DVD
shelf which also contains batteries, thank you cards, and a fingernail. Some of these movies are
sexier than others. There isn’t much visual stimulation in some of them though. You may have to
be a bit of a movie buff to know the exact scenes I’m talking about. If you’re unsure you should
go out and watch it. Most of them are pretty old so I guess you can’t go out and watch them
unless you’re one of those weird people who watch movies on their laptops outside. You don’t
know how much I hope a rainstorm damages your movie night.
Full Metal Jacket: Not a sexy film by any means. It’s a mostly male cast which could be a
problem for a 110% straight guy like me. I can’t even eat the ends of hot dogs or mushrooms
because of what they remind me of, penises. I guess the best scenes to look at for sexual
stimulation would be the famous “Me So Horny” part or the end when they kill the female sniper
and she begs them to kill her. Sorry if that’s a spoiler. The movie is as old as I am. If you haven’t
seen it yet that’s your own fault. The “Me So Horny, Me Love You Long Time” chick isn’t that
terrible to look at. At least she’s not dying like the sniper in the last scene. I choose that part, the
one with the Vietnamese prostitute over the one with the dying Vietnamese sniper. There’s
nothing sexy about dying. The Grim Reaper doesn’t have enough sex appeal for me to ever enjoy
it.
Reservoir Dogs: Again, this film has a mostly male cast. The only instance I remember a woman
appearing was the pregnant chick Mr. Orange shoots in the car. You can’t really tell that she’s
pregnant or anything. She’s only on-screen for a brief moment. What this means is I wouldn’t
feel creepy being aroused by an expecting mother. She does reach for a gun in her glove
compartment and that’s what gets her shot. Chicks with guns are always sexy. I’ve never shot a
gun, but would love a subscription to a magazine like “Babes & Ammo” if that’s even real. I’d
go into something critical of the jumper the woman wears in the scene, but I won’t because I’m
not quite sure if that’s what she was wearing or even what a jumper is. There’s not much of a
choice for this film. I have to go with the pregnant lady who gets shot by Tim Roth.
The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly: I sure do love guy movies with guns. This Clint Eastwood
classic, everything but the wagon painting shit of his is classic, does contain a few more women
than the previously mentioned. There’s the Spanish woman in the beginning whose husband gets
killed. I don’t think she talks at all which is a plus when it comes to women. Then there’s the part
when Angel Eyes finds the woman in the hotel and smacks her around a bit. Again, a very
arousing scene to see a woman get slapped by a renegade cowboy. I’m kidding, sort of. There’s
also a fat woman during one of the hanging scenes with large breasts. She doesn’t do much other
than act disgusted at the crimes committed by Tuco, the Ugly. Am I boring you with my
knowledge of this film? It’s my favorite so excuse me. Clint Eastwood at this point in his life
kind of had a female model’s body too. He was really tall and thin. If it wasn’t for his five
o’clock shadow I would consider any scene he was in as visually stimulating.
The Mighty Ducks/The Sandlot: These are just about the same film. I was going to put Bad
News Bears in here but don’t feel like trying to come up with a reason why I find either Tanner
Boyle from the original or remake sexy. The Mighty Ducks and The Sandlot mostly only have
the moms who are sexy, sort of. The mom in The Mighty Ducks is a widow. You know what that
means. She’s desperate for attention! The mom in The Sandlot has remarried Denis Leary. All
this means is she doesn’t mind having sex with Bill Hicks cover-comedians. I think the mom
might also be Karen Allen who for some reason I do have sexual tension with. Yes, tension. The
Sandlot also has the hot lifeguard. If she wasn’t 18 when that was filmed add in “hot to the
children” to the last statement so I am not arrested.
Fahrenheit 9/11: Politics aside, this was a pretty good film. I agree less and less with Michael
Moore the “moore” he opens up his fat mouth. I like how his last name is Moore because that’s
always what he asks for, more. I know, silly fat joke. But stop complaining about the economy.
You’re fat. You’re clearly doing well. I haven’t watched this film in a while. But if I had to find
something visually stimulating about it I’d probably have to go with clips of Condoleeza Rice.
She doesn’t really do anything for me in normal situations, but we’re going hypothetical. If I had
never seen a woman before then sure, why not get with Condy? She’s got a nice smile--if you
squint. She’s a powerful dominant woman who has proven she can carry her own. That’s got to
be a turn on for me, right? Okay, maybe I’ll skip this one. All of the 9/11 footage would make it
almost impossible to get aroused at all. You could throw as many nude girls as you want at me
during this film, I just don’t think I could get anything out of it.
Quitters: Originally Posted 10/8/2011
“Stick to your day job.”
If you suck at anything, you’ve heard that phrase. I’ve heard it once and it was at my day job.
My boss said it. This was her way of telling me to stay around and get a promotion. Now I make
lots of money and am the head of the western sales region. I’m glad I stuck with my day job!
I didn’t quit. If the above fictitious story tells you anything, it’s not to quit. Sometimes it’s good
to be a quitter. Here are two people who I wouldn’t mind quitting.
1) Tim Burton
He has not made a good movie since 1998. And by good I mean entertaining and somewhat
original. Sleepy Hollow did exactly what I wanted it to do for me. It had me entertained. The
pedophile from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off gets his head caved in which was awesome. Johnny
Rico from Starship Troopers gets his head chopped off next to a bridge which was even better.
And Christopher Walken made a cameo as a Hessian only to get his head chopped off and then
buried separately from his body. I think I’ve sold you a copy.
Tim Burton to me is the most unoriginal filmmaker out there. He can’t make an original movie.
All of his ideas are stolen now. It’s like he had some great original ideas (Nightmare Before
Christmas, Edward Scissorhands) and then stopped caring. He got married to the chick from
Fight Club which I think may have something to do with it. I like all Tim Burton’s movies preFight Club. The first two Batman movies were awesome, much better than the stupid Batman
Begins or Dark Knight scenes without The Joker. Batman Begins was terrible. The Scarecrow
was barely in it. What the hell man? He’s one of the best obscure villains and he’s barely in it.
Plus you got that dick-sucking-lipped Cillian Murphy to play him. I don’t have a problem with
Cillian Murphy. I just think he should be doing gay porn instead of playing comic book villains.
In this century, Tim Burton has made nothing but duds. Corpse Bride was just Nightmare Before
Christmas with a blue chick. Why not just make it a sequel? At least then you’d be stealing your
own ideas. He did Charlie and the Chocolate Factory which was dreadful. The original film is a
classic. It made me want to eat chocolate nonstop and that’s all I ever remembered doing as a
kid. They didn’t even have music in Mr. Burton’s version. I guess he made up for it with the
lousy Sweeney Todd, ripping off the musical of the same name. Look, a movie with Johnny
Depp and Helen Bonham Carter, your wife. This isn’t like anything else I’ve seen. More recently
he had Alice in Wonderland come out. For some reason, he thought it would be cool to have
Alice be the heir of a world traveler and at the end she would suggest that her dead father’s
friends trade with China. What the fuck? You learned all that from talking animals, a pot
smoking caterpillar, and Burton‘s butt buddies Johnny Depp and Helen Bonham Carter? Shit. I
don’t care if you’re “following the original stories” more closely. The reason the original films
were made the way they were is because the original stories had flaws. People who want to know
the original stories will, guess what, read the book!
I have now sworn off seeing any more Tim Burton movies. I have had it with him. I was very
excited about Alice in Wonderland, a dark version of it that shouldn’t have ended with Johnny
Depp doing a dumb dance. It was shit. Any movie with Johnny Depp is fantastic except when he
dances. Please Mr. Depp, if you happen to be browsing every website with your name on it, stop
dancing in your movies. Why do I get the feeling the Illuminati will force him to do a Dirty
Dancing remake just to piss me off?
2) M. Night Shyamalan
He’s become a parody of himself. The Twilight Zone was a half hour show for a reason. 80
minutes of boring dialogue with a pretty setting doesn’t cut it for an implausible twist.
M.’s first movie that really made it big was of course The Sixth Sense. He had another before
which had Rosie O’Donnell playing a nun. I remember the trailer for this too and the main kid in
the movie saying “You’re so pretty you could be in a calendar.” That line of course not being
said to Ms. O’Donnell. She’s not even pretty enough to be the shit stain on a toilet seat.
Everybody agrees The Sixth Sense was his best movie. It caught everybody off guard and a kid
outside of the theater where I saw it said “That was the best movie I ever saw!” Kids know best.
That’s why Justin Bieber has like a billion dollars. Christ I wish I was still blonde.
Then came Unbreakable and Signs which people seemed to enjoy. They were entertaining, dark,
and had big names in them. That’s what gets people to go to the movies, a recognizable name. A
person is his own product. Maybe that’s where he went wrong with his first real dud, The
Village.
The Village had Adrien Brody, Sigourney Weaver, and Richie Cunningham from Happy Day’s
daughter in it. The main star of the entire film was Joaquin Phoenix, a guy who was raised in a
cult of nuts and the one we all wish had turned out like River instead. He tried to act silly and
doing weird schtick to get hype for a movie about him wanting to be a rapper, but it was all fake
and nobody cared. He has a hair lip and he’s not as handsome as his dead brother. That was M.’s
problem. He could write movies about ghosts but he can only get the surviving family members
of those ghosts to actually play a role in his films.
Lady in the Water came around at some point. So did The Happening. Those two get lumped
together. Nobody likes them. My dad told me to buy his girlfriend Lady in the Water for her
birthday one year. I warned him and now he has to breathe through his neck thanks to a stab
wound. A friend of mine liked The Happening and owns it. The movie sold three copies total in
the entire world. The other two were by suicide bombers needing something cheap to place their
bomb wires in.
Somewhere in there M. tried to change genres. He made The Last Airbender. I guess this was a
“twist” on his life. Nobody liked the movie and it’s probably because they didn’t know it was
based on something that already sucked. It’s the only movie of his I haven’t at least seen a part
of. I never will either. Bending air sounds lame and if it’s the last then it looks like I have a lot of
catching up to do! That’s your cue to as the kids say, “lol.”
From ghosts, to aliens, to plants making people commit suicide, M. has jumped the shark. If he
doesn’t get what that means, go ask Richie Cunningham’s daughter who you seem to be so fond
of. Her uncle Arthur Fonzerelli can explain it.
“Ehhh!” - The Fonz or every Canadian falling to his death
Board Game Movies 3/10/2012
I saw a movie trailer for a film called Battleship recently. This cannot possibly be based off of
the board game with the same name. There’s no way Satan has that much influence on
Hollywood. No way. I’m not willing to believe it. People are giving out money, millions of
dollars, to create a movie not only based on a board game but also one that looks so incredibly
lame? So here you go Hollywood. Come steal my ideas. I want nothing to with these awful
movie ideas based off of classic board games.
Twister: Five of the most flexible gymnasts from around the world wake up in a room with
nothing but a Twister board, a spinner, and a clock that will run out in 60 minutes. A weird video
plays for them describing that when the 60 minutes is up they will all be killed unless one winner
of the classic board game is declared. The five soon begin to grow suspicious of each other that
they aren’t who they each say they are. Look for lots of “twists” and “turns” because each person
takes a turn. That’s where that part comes into play. Get it?
Scrabble: In the not too distant future tablets have been discovered in an ancient Mayan cave.
Legend has it that a code lies within the letters provided. Four family members set out to crack
the code for an evening of what they thought was fun. It soon turns deadly because movies aren’t
good when nobody dies.
Connect Four: A young teenage boy is suspicious of his sister. During a game of Connect Four,
she completes a very sneaky move. The rest of the film doesn’t have much to do with the board
game. It’s mostly about a cute discovery of the relationship between a brother and a sister.
There’s also a ghost.
Gator Golf: Tad Hendrickson is your average lawyer. He screws people over, he’s going to hell,
and he enjoys putting golf balls into the mouths of animals. What happens when he putts a ball
into the wrong one’s mouth? It eats his family. That’s what happens. And what happens when
Tad realizes the golf ball he putted into that alligator’s mouth is worth millions of dollars as it
wasn’t really a golf ball, but rather the testicle of Julius Caesar? You’ll have to watch to find out
that he gets eaten in the end. Oops. Did I spoil it?
Don’t Wake Daddy: Four abused children want to head to the kitchen for a late night snack.
Their evil father, played by Tom Hanks, voiceover done from clips of Bea Arthur, wants to
starve them to death. The foursome dare out of the bedroom for a bite to eat in hopes of not
dying. The key to their mission, not to wake daddy, as the title suggests.
Apples to Apples: A bunch of drunk friends in their 20s gather together for a game of Apples to
Apples. What they forgot to do was invite their good friend Ernie, the loner fat kid from work.
Ernie gets wind and feels really bad about this. He gets vengeance by killing his coworkers one
by one. He makes sure to do it using whatever adjective he draws from the deck.
Strat-O-Matic Baseball: Dictatorial baseball owner Greg Steinbender has come to a crossroads
this season. His team, the New York City Americans, aren’t doing too well. He decides to spend
millions of dollars in free agent signings thus helping to create a future problem known as the
1%. Other owners follow the tradition and soon athletes in every sport are paid way too much.
Based on true events.
Gooey Louie: Louie is your average kid. He picks his friends, he picks his nose, and he never
picks his friend’s noses. What happens is while picking his nose on the school bus ride to school
there is a terrible accident. His brain shoots out of his head yet somehow Louie survives. He’s a
medical miracle. Scientists do tests on him and realize they made a mistake. Louie was dead all
along and his real name is Bernie. This is all just a way for a new Weekend at Bernie’s film to be
created.
Monopoly: What do a racecar, a thimble, and a few other tiny metallic objects have in common?
They’re buying up property in Atlantic City! Mayor of the city, Mr. Moneybags, has been taken
hostage by terrorists. A clause has been found at the municipal building claiming that if terrorists
ever take the mayor hostage all property ownership is open to be bought. Watch as these random
items bid to buy streets and cover them in hotels with their ultimate goal of breaking the law by
creating a monopoly.
Operation: Presidential Candidate Barry Fuchenbottom falls ill a week before the election. He
has butterflies in his stomach, water on the knee, and a charley horse. An actual horse in his leg!
It’s up to a team of surgeons to get together to remove these items from his body. Thing is,
Fuckenbottom needs the surgery done pronto and without anyone touching the sides while
pulling these foreign objects from his body. If they do, he makes a loud buzzing sound.
Guess Who?: In a politically incorrect world, a murder has been committed. The only witness, a
teenage mobster with a heart of gold. Detective Pete Peterson and Doc Tubbs play a little good
cop, bad cop with the teen. He won’t talk and give out names, but what he will do is give details
on what the murderer looked like. Using the facial flaws of a group of the usual suspects,
Peterson and Tubbs have a 10 minute task ahead of them. Does this movie have a beard? No.
Movies can’t have beards.
***
Thank you for reading. Please visit my blog for more musings like this. And while you’re at
it, start your own awesome blog.
Blog: http://mooselicker.wordpress.com
Email: [email protected]
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/mrtimboyle
Twitter: @warlordtimboyle
Check out these other works by Tim Boyle:
Satan: Little League Superstar
Silence: My Worst Stand Up Comedy Performances and Experiences
Surviving Sandy: A Battle Against That Deadly Whore Mother Nature
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