Just wanted to send a throwout to religion and partisan politicians.
Thanks for the pointless genocide and awkward phobias. You guys are really doing a stellar job. Way to solve the world's problems.
Next time I see Joel Osteen and Karl Rove on TV I'll be sure to send them each $20 in hopes they buy a lap dance and we're all lucky enough to have a responsible media person around to send them on their downward spiral.
This is my Christmas Wish.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
Collateral Damage
So I says to my kid, I says "Boose? WTF is Boose? Oh...juice. That's fine. Just have some and go away. No. Don't ask me 'why.' You don't want to know. What do you mean 'what? ' Take your juice and go play. Or do a puzzle. Just leave us alone. 'Why?' Cuz I'm trying to stick my dick in your mom's orifice. 'Why?' Cuz that's what I do, and a pretty messed up question considering that's how you came to be. 'Huh?' Yea. Orifice, and I'm not being particular about which one. I really don't care. Fist bump? 'Why?' Cuz I said so. Don't insult your father. I'm in my game."
Kids are so dumb. And so are we.
You know what you know, and I know what I know.
We know what we know.
But we don't know shit.
Of all the things I know and try to learn more about, the more I realize I'm only interested in knowing more about what I know. And it's a real struggle to learn what I don't know. But once I do know, I can learn what I know over and over again, and maybe learn something I didn't know about what I know. Either way, I know only what I know.
And so I know that if you don't spend a lot of time knowing about politics, religion, sex, drugs, business, purpose, and in general the way life works - the more I know you should shut the fuck up, and go fuck yourself.
Cuz the funny thing about humans, is we only know what we know.
So if you don't know, say so. Cuz you don't know.
And leave the knowing about shit you know nothing about to those of us that know enough to give a shit about knowing the things that take more than 10 minutes for you to think about. Cuz we learned how to know. And you didn't.
We both know that.
Kids are so dumb. And so are we.
You know what you know, and I know what I know.
We know what we know.
But we don't know shit.
Of all the things I know and try to learn more about, the more I realize I'm only interested in knowing more about what I know. And it's a real struggle to learn what I don't know. But once I do know, I can learn what I know over and over again, and maybe learn something I didn't know about what I know. Either way, I know only what I know.
And so I know that if you don't spend a lot of time knowing about politics, religion, sex, drugs, business, purpose, and in general the way life works - the more I know you should shut the fuck up, and go fuck yourself.
Cuz the funny thing about humans, is we only know what we know.
So if you don't know, say so. Cuz you don't know.
And leave the knowing about shit you know nothing about to those of us that know enough to give a shit about knowing the things that take more than 10 minutes for you to think about. Cuz we learned how to know. And you didn't.
We both know that.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Love making with a flame thrower 101
Sorry I have been absent from posting lately, I have been extremely busy. Not to worry though, because my hatred has been brimming and seeping from every pore. When it gets this bad and there is an endless supply of dark disgust and fury pumping through my blood stream it becomes very difficult to focus all of this energy onto one subject matter. Where do I start? Well I guess I’ll give it a shot, please forgive me if I jump around a bit.
Dear overly optimistic Dill Rod - Yes you, the guy that nothing can bother. You go to church, you can always “look on the bright side” and “everything happens for a reason”. Well guess what you fucking shit eater? Your sanguine attitude when I am having an especially terrible day is making me want to show you just how mysterious the lord’s work is when I shove a crucifix right up your happy ass! FUCK OFF!
Dear Spawn Factories – Please! For the love of god stop shitting out children! It would be one thing if I thought that these nauseating podlings were going to contribute to society at all. Let’s face it though, I haven’t exactly been running into people that come off as modern day Aleister Crowley’s, Marquis De Sade’s or even a Friedrich Nietzsche’s. No, instead I get some drool bag who probably thinks Applebee’s has great food and can’t wait for the next NASCAR race and probably says things like “Holy crap did you see Jay Leno last night? That guy is fucking hilarious!” This world is going to be more fucked than it already is! Seriously! What do we do to curb this sort of activity? Tax breaks and time off of work. FUCK OFF!
Dear person and or thing that caused La Familia Mexican Restaurant to close down, if I find out who or what you are…I am going to end you! I hate you with all of my black heart and I hope a donkey falls out of the sky and lands on you cock first! FUCK OFF!
A few other quick things that are currently dragging their fingernails down my chalk board.
That retarded stoner comedian Jim Bruer or whatever the fuck he’s called making pizza commercials. The guy or girl who keeps pushing back the release date of the new Slayer album. Gossip with no validity, Men, Women, television, radio, things I can’t afford, Rush (the breathing, talking pile of foreskin) Limbaugh trying to buy a football team, Al Sharpton & Jesse Jackson trying to stop Rush Limbaugh from buying a football team, people who try to analyze me on their own & or ask other people about me rather than just asking me, the moron who sat behind me at Zombie Land, losing lottery numbers, hearing “hey Brother”, food poisoning, the nightmare I had last night…my right nut grew to be the size of a watermelon and when it burst assorted vegetables came falling out of my body and I’m not fucking making that up!, pastel colors, my right to assemble being trampled on by stupid permits, city codes and noise ordinances, while we’re at it…environmental police too! All of this stuff can go fuck itself!
“If you are happy and everything is going great, get ready because something shitty is about to happen.” – Ancient Greek philosophy
XOXO Fuckers
Dear overly optimistic Dill Rod - Yes you, the guy that nothing can bother. You go to church, you can always “look on the bright side” and “everything happens for a reason”. Well guess what you fucking shit eater? Your sanguine attitude when I am having an especially terrible day is making me want to show you just how mysterious the lord’s work is when I shove a crucifix right up your happy ass! FUCK OFF!
Dear Spawn Factories – Please! For the love of god stop shitting out children! It would be one thing if I thought that these nauseating podlings were going to contribute to society at all. Let’s face it though, I haven’t exactly been running into people that come off as modern day Aleister Crowley’s, Marquis De Sade’s or even a Friedrich Nietzsche’s. No, instead I get some drool bag who probably thinks Applebee’s has great food and can’t wait for the next NASCAR race and probably says things like “Holy crap did you see Jay Leno last night? That guy is fucking hilarious!” This world is going to be more fucked than it already is! Seriously! What do we do to curb this sort of activity? Tax breaks and time off of work. FUCK OFF!
Dear person and or thing that caused La Familia Mexican Restaurant to close down, if I find out who or what you are…I am going to end you! I hate you with all of my black heart and I hope a donkey falls out of the sky and lands on you cock first! FUCK OFF!
A few other quick things that are currently dragging their fingernails down my chalk board.
That retarded stoner comedian Jim Bruer or whatever the fuck he’s called making pizza commercials. The guy or girl who keeps pushing back the release date of the new Slayer album. Gossip with no validity, Men, Women, television, radio, things I can’t afford, Rush (the breathing, talking pile of foreskin) Limbaugh trying to buy a football team, Al Sharpton & Jesse Jackson trying to stop Rush Limbaugh from buying a football team, people who try to analyze me on their own & or ask other people about me rather than just asking me, the moron who sat behind me at Zombie Land, losing lottery numbers, hearing “hey Brother”, food poisoning, the nightmare I had last night…my right nut grew to be the size of a watermelon and when it burst assorted vegetables came falling out of my body and I’m not fucking making that up!, pastel colors, my right to assemble being trampled on by stupid permits, city codes and noise ordinances, while we’re at it…environmental police too! All of this stuff can go fuck itself!
“If you are happy and everything is going great, get ready because something shitty is about to happen.” – Ancient Greek philosophy
XOXO Fuckers
Monday, September 7, 2009
More Bully Pulpit, Please.
I fucked up again. Lesson learned: political arguments placed in comment feeds on Facebook hurt my brain. Of all the construed bad things my kids are going to hear in their lifetime, a little bully pulpit from the president isn't a concern. I wonder what the kids would get out of it? Hopefully I'll remember to ask when some political memo goes out getting people to talk about nonsense when we've got bigger & better things to worry about. Like war, economic instability, religious pedophiles, narcissistic celebrities and teenage mirroring, narcissistic celebrities and lemming mirroring, or ... war.
For the record, here is the transcript of his speech. For the brain stems: you have scroll down before the transcript starts. Reading the page should help guide you to the transcript. A "transcript" is written words of what someone said. In this case, the president. Please go away if I've lost you.
http://www.inewscatcher.com/2009/09/obama-school-speech-transcript-video.html
After looking over the reports & quotes of people that didn't like what the tall, skinny black guy had to say I realized we're either operating out of fear, or not fear.
Fear (from cnn.com):
"Thinking about my kids in school having to listen to that just really upsets me," suburban Colorado mother Shanneen Barron told CNN Denver affiliate KMGH. "I'm an American. They are Americans, and I don't feel that's OK. I feel very scared to be in this country with our leadership right now."
Scared? In fear?
From Google.com:
"As far as I am concerned, this is not civics education — it gives the appearance of creating a cult of personality," said Oklahoma Republican state Sen. Steve Russell. "This is something you'd expect to see in North Korea or in Saddam Hussein's Iraq."
Fearful places, no?
From the Seattle Times:
Neal McCluskey, associate director of the Center for Educational Freedom at the conservative Cato Institute, said the lesson plans accompanying the speech are "troubling." "Reasonable people can disagree" about Obama's policies, he said. "But they don't want their kids to be indoctrinated. This is potentially a tool of indoctrination."
Fear the indoctrination!
The transcript is there. And black guys have huge dicks. If Obama keeps getting to speak, American women are going to want him, and guys that are just like him. Black guys. Then my wife is going to leave me for a black guy ... and then what?!? My little white dick doesn't stand a chance!
For the record, here is the transcript of his speech. For the brain stems: you have scroll down before the transcript starts. Reading the page should help guide you to the transcript. A "transcript" is written words of what someone said. In this case, the president. Please go away if I've lost you.
http://www.inewscatcher.com/2009/09/obama-school-speech-transcript-video.html
After looking over the reports & quotes of people that didn't like what the tall, skinny black guy had to say I realized we're either operating out of fear, or not fear.
Fear (from cnn.com):
"Thinking about my kids in school having to listen to that just really upsets me," suburban Colorado mother Shanneen Barron told CNN Denver affiliate KMGH. "I'm an American. They are Americans, and I don't feel that's OK. I feel very scared to be in this country with our leadership right now."
Scared? In fear?
From Google.com:
"As far as I am concerned, this is not civics education — it gives the appearance of creating a cult of personality," said Oklahoma Republican state Sen. Steve Russell. "This is something you'd expect to see in North Korea or in Saddam Hussein's Iraq."
Fearful places, no?
From the Seattle Times:
Neal McCluskey, associate director of the Center for Educational Freedom at the conservative Cato Institute, said the lesson plans accompanying the speech are "troubling." "Reasonable people can disagree" about Obama's policies, he said. "But they don't want their kids to be indoctrinated. This is potentially a tool of indoctrination."
Fear the indoctrination!
The transcript is there. And black guys have huge dicks. If Obama keeps getting to speak, American women are going to want him, and guys that are just like him. Black guys. Then my wife is going to leave me for a black guy ... and then what?!? My little white dick doesn't stand a chance!
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Tender feelings
Sometimes you just can’t win. I was completely capable of driving last night, I am even saying that now in the day light hours so it was not a poor judgment thing…anyway, my friend was pretty sauced up and was convinced that I was not good to drive. This is the point where I got repeatedly bludgeoned with one of those hammers that you use to tenderize meat with until I gave in and turned my car keys over. Well fuck, what’s a man to do at this point? That’s right; he kills the pain with several consecutive shots of whiskey. Now I have a wicked hang over and the sting is twice as bad because several areas of my body are covered with bruises all because I was trying NOT to drink too much. The moral of this story…don’t ever attempt to take it easy and be responsible so that you can drive home. It is a giant waste of time and you are going to wake up feeling twice as shitty anyway so you should never plan on being a pussy for a night. God will hate you and so will your friends.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Hamburger Face
No more trying to play cool on my bike after I've had a few. Went over the handle bars and broke the fall with my face. Knocked myself completely unconscious in the middle of the street. An ambulance came. I think my pride hurts the most.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
it's the final countdown
i'm doing purge of authors on this blog.
so here's the deal: today is (almost) august 21st. if you haven't posted by september 13th, you will be removed as an author from this hatred revolution. and then i'm going to start signing your name to every homophobic, racist, sexist thing i can think of.
for example...
"posted by p__ _rm____ng - i hate all minorities. even the ones who mow my giant yard. i always hope you will fall in my pool and drown so i can laugh instead of save you. i love fox news and secretly beat off to gretta van sustren. and i sucked bill o's dick back in college. my email address and cell phone number are ____________________."
cheers assholes.
so here's the deal: today is (almost) august 21st. if you haven't posted by september 13th, you will be removed as an author from this hatred revolution. and then i'm going to start signing your name to every homophobic, racist, sexist thing i can think of.
for example...
"posted by p__ _rm____ng - i hate all minorities. even the ones who mow my giant yard. i always hope you will fall in my pool and drown so i can laugh instead of save you. i love fox news and secretly beat off to gretta van sustren. and i sucked bill o's dick back in college. my email address and cell phone number are ____________________."
cheers assholes.
Right now...
42,000 thousand couples are breaking up... 1500 people are gaying off on twitter....
Have you seen this fucking Sprint commercial? there is no factual basis for these lies. you know what i want to hear? "right now everyone who signed up for sprint since these commercials started to run just got a metal spike shoved into their skull right out of their faggot ass cell phone because you'd have to be retarded to sign up for that shit. at least my company has catherine zeta jones.
Have you seen this fucking Sprint commercial? there is no factual basis for these lies. you know what i want to hear? "right now everyone who signed up for sprint since these commercials started to run just got a metal spike shoved into their skull right out of their faggot ass cell phone because you'd have to be retarded to sign up for that shit. at least my company has catherine zeta jones.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Soaked from head to toe
Dear soon to be Dad – It’s really fucking fascinating that you found such incredible deals on baby garments for your soon to be born child. I know, you can’t believe it, it’s amazing and it’s one of the great supernatural wonders of the world that you were able to find baby clothes on sale. Congratulations! You know what else should fill you with complete bewilderment? The fact that I REALLY do not give a flying fuck about this topic or any other topic concerning your soon to be born kid and just so you know I will probably care less once it’s born, so just stop.
Dear hippie bum asshole – I stay awake at night wondering how I’m going to pay for my next day and I actually get up and go to work every day. So when I say I can’t spare a cigarette or any change, don’t look at me like I just threw shit on you. You are shit so I don’t need to cover you in it, you have no self respect and you are a plague to society who contributes nothing to this world whatsoever. Please just die.
Dear asshole pop driven fake rock radio shit bag money hungry band – Stop covering songs that where already huge 15 to 20 years ago. If you are going to insist on doing this you should at bare minimum change the song around in such a grotesque manner that I don’t recognize it. Otherwise you are a tool. What is wrong with covering lesser known songs? By the way, covering George Michael’s Careless Whispers is not cute or funny. As a matter of fact, it is an insult. That was a beautiful song about someone who doesn’t feel like dancing anymore because he has guilty feet and it was never intended to be covered by some flavor of the month shit bag Fallout Boy or Blink 182 type drivel spewing band. I hope George Michael shoves his guilty feet up your ass and then chokes you to death with his semen in a public restroom.
Dear girl who got a tattoo of the Volcom diamond – That is one of the dumbest things I’ve ever seen. Good work!
Lastly I would like to touch on a new term I just became privy to. This hasn't been verified yet, but I love it anyway and don't care if it's true or not. I also don’t know how long I’ve been in the dark on this one but I usually take a huge interest in the antics of Mormons. Somehow this one slipped past me until this weekend when a wonderful friend of mine filled me in. The term is “Soaking”. This is supposedly what Mormon kids have taken to as a loophole to get them around pre-marital sex guilt. They believe that the sin occurs when the in and out action is performed repeatedly. So if you just stick it in and then don’t move you are not committing true pre-marital sex because you are just “soaking”. I know, you’re thinking what I’m thinking. You still have to go in once and out once, so why not just soak 50 times in a minute? Silly Mormons…I can just hear the smooth talk now…
Girl “Why are you trying to take off my magic underwear”
Guy “Oh, come on girl it’s not like I’m going to fuck you, I just want to soak.”
Girl “I don’t know Jeb, Mom told me to never let anyone into my Tabernacle until I was married.”
Guy “Go ahead just try and find the passage where Joseph Smith says thou shall not soak, he never mentions it, it’s totally fine.”
Girl “Yeah, I guess you’re right Jeb, soak the hell out of me!”
Gut "Oh yeah! I'm going to soak you so good! I'm going to soak you till I get pruned"
Mormons...if they were a part of the color spectrum they would be pastel.
Dear hippie bum asshole – I stay awake at night wondering how I’m going to pay for my next day and I actually get up and go to work every day. So when I say I can’t spare a cigarette or any change, don’t look at me like I just threw shit on you. You are shit so I don’t need to cover you in it, you have no self respect and you are a plague to society who contributes nothing to this world whatsoever. Please just die.
Dear asshole pop driven fake rock radio shit bag money hungry band – Stop covering songs that where already huge 15 to 20 years ago. If you are going to insist on doing this you should at bare minimum change the song around in such a grotesque manner that I don’t recognize it. Otherwise you are a tool. What is wrong with covering lesser known songs? By the way, covering George Michael’s Careless Whispers is not cute or funny. As a matter of fact, it is an insult. That was a beautiful song about someone who doesn’t feel like dancing anymore because he has guilty feet and it was never intended to be covered by some flavor of the month shit bag Fallout Boy or Blink 182 type drivel spewing band. I hope George Michael shoves his guilty feet up your ass and then chokes you to death with his semen in a public restroom.
Dear girl who got a tattoo of the Volcom diamond – That is one of the dumbest things I’ve ever seen. Good work!
Lastly I would like to touch on a new term I just became privy to. This hasn't been verified yet, but I love it anyway and don't care if it's true or not. I also don’t know how long I’ve been in the dark on this one but I usually take a huge interest in the antics of Mormons. Somehow this one slipped past me until this weekend when a wonderful friend of mine filled me in. The term is “Soaking”. This is supposedly what Mormon kids have taken to as a loophole to get them around pre-marital sex guilt. They believe that the sin occurs when the in and out action is performed repeatedly. So if you just stick it in and then don’t move you are not committing true pre-marital sex because you are just “soaking”. I know, you’re thinking what I’m thinking. You still have to go in once and out once, so why not just soak 50 times in a minute? Silly Mormons…I can just hear the smooth talk now…
Girl “Why are you trying to take off my magic underwear”
Guy “Oh, come on girl it’s not like I’m going to fuck you, I just want to soak.”
Girl “I don’t know Jeb, Mom told me to never let anyone into my Tabernacle until I was married.”
Guy “Go ahead just try and find the passage where Joseph Smith says thou shall not soak, he never mentions it, it’s totally fine.”
Girl “Yeah, I guess you’re right Jeb, soak the hell out of me!”
Gut "Oh yeah! I'm going to soak you so good! I'm going to soak you till I get pruned"
Mormons...if they were a part of the color spectrum they would be pastel.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Bang over
I must have had a great time at the Judas Priest concert last night because my goddamn neck is killing me. Always a good sign.
Another sign of a quality rocking time is the fact that I am still unable to locate my swimsuit top or my shirt from the pool party on Saturday. I assume I must have taken it off sometime after getting pegged in the chest with a watermelon. I just hope my upper covering went missing after the police showed up at 7:30.
Another sign of a quality rocking time is the fact that I am still unable to locate my swimsuit top or my shirt from the pool party on Saturday. I assume I must have taken it off sometime after getting pegged in the chest with a watermelon. I just hope my upper covering went missing after the police showed up at 7:30.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
the ad says:50 year storm?
Bodhi: [getting ready for their next robbery] 90 seconds Johnny. That's all I ask for, just 90 seconds of your life Johnny, that's it. This is our tatic, is we strike fear. Once you get them peeing down ther leg, they submit. Also about fear, fear causes hasitation, and hesitation, causes your worst fears to come true.
[hands Johnny a shot gun]
Johnny Utah: I can't do this.
Bodhi: Yes you can, who knows, you might like it.
Johnny Utah: Bodhi, this is your fucking wake-up call man. I am an F, B, I, Agent!
Bodhi: Yeah, I know man. Ain't it wild? That's what makes it so interesting. You can do what you want, and make up your own rules. Why be a servant to the law, when you can be it's master?
Grommet: Fuckin' a!
Nathanial: I love this job.
[hands Johnny a shot gun]
Johnny Utah: I can't do this.
Bodhi: Yes you can, who knows, you might like it.
Johnny Utah: Bodhi, this is your fucking wake-up call man. I am an F, B, I, Agent!
Bodhi: Yeah, I know man. Ain't it wild? That's what makes it so interesting. You can do what you want, and make up your own rules. Why be a servant to the law, when you can be it's master?
Grommet: Fuckin' a!
Nathanial: I love this job.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Legalize it! No, not weed...killing hippies of course.
Dear fuck stick concert promoter - why on earth would you put Tool and The Black Keys on the same bill as Widespread Panic?! This is fucking retarded! So, I got a free ticket to see Tool and I guess I shouldn’t complain too much as this venture didn’t cost me anything…but what the fuck? Enjoying Tool and The Black Keys should be a fairly simple process that should use little or no energy to accomplish. Agreed? Well, throw in a few thousand stinky hippies into the mix and all of the sudden I am consumed with wrath. Moments after my arrival I was literally scouring my pockets and my surroundings for anything that might make due as a murder utensil. Not only did I have to torment my eyes with the sight of these putrid beings but I was forced to endure their noxious odor as well. What’s more, these inconsiderate, Flea ridden walking shit piles came equipped with back packs that were so obtrusive that they should have had to buy another ticket for the space they used up.
Hey Asshole, in case you didn’t notice, you are in a massively over cramped crowd, your smell is so repulsive that my visit to the port-o-potty moments earlier was more pleasant than it is to stand next to you & I swear to God if your back pack (house) or your hairy ass girlfriend’s hula hoop gets in my way one more time, I will put on a Hazmat suit and tear every one of your lousy dread locks out of your empty skull and shove them down your throat so I can suffocate you with your own stench! Once I am finished pissing on your corpse, I will feed your remains to your vegan whore, right after I shove her hula hoop up her furry crab trench! Seriously, go die.
Aside from that though, it was a pretty good concert.
Hey Asshole, in case you didn’t notice, you are in a massively over cramped crowd, your smell is so repulsive that my visit to the port-o-potty moments earlier was more pleasant than it is to stand next to you & I swear to God if your back pack (house) or your hairy ass girlfriend’s hula hoop gets in my way one more time, I will put on a Hazmat suit and tear every one of your lousy dread locks out of your empty skull and shove them down your throat so I can suffocate you with your own stench! Once I am finished pissing on your corpse, I will feed your remains to your vegan whore, right after I shove her hula hoop up her furry crab trench! Seriously, go die.
Aside from that though, it was a pretty good concert.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
see, we don't turn evil until AFTER the bar exam
from www.textsfromlastnight.com
(516): Turns out you're obligated under man law to share any passwords you may have for porno sites
(1-516): Is that what they're teaching u at that bar review class?
and the best ever from dontevenreply.com
High-rise Fridge Delivery
Posted at: 2009-07-06 09:51:49 | 147 comments | Add Comment
Original ad:
I bought this GE refrigerator a few years ago, but just got a new one for my kitchen and no longer need it. It still works perfectly and is very large, perfect as your main fridge for a kitchen. I'm asking $300 for it. I am located in Brooklyn, but will be willing to deliver it up to 25 miles for a small fee.
From Mike Partlow to ************@**********.org
Hello,
I am very interested in your fridge. Is it still available? If so, how much would you charge to deliver it to my place in the city?
Mike
From marty ******* to Me
Yes mike it is still available. I will deliver it for an extra $50. where is your place located?
From Mike Partlow to marty *******
I want it delivered to my office on the 67th floor of the ********* Building on **rd st and **********. Now I am pretty sure that the fridge won't fit in the elevator, and if it does, it would exceed the weight capacity, so you will have to carry it up the stairs. I hope this won't be a problem.
When can you deliver it? I work Monday-Friday 9-5 and can be there any time. I do need it sooner rather than later, however.
Mike
From marty ******* to Me
that is absurd. Im not going to heave this very heavy fridge up 67 flights of stairs. Dosent your building have a cargo/utility elevator?
From Mike Partlow to marty *******
Marty, you don't have to lug it up 67 flights of stairs. There is a loading bay around back that starts on the 2nd floor, and I'm pretty sure this building does not count the 13th floor. So you are really only carrying it up 65 flights of stairs. There was a cargo elevator, but building management has told me that I am never allowed to use it again after I attempted to bring my motorcycle up to my office. They don't let just anyone use it anymore, so that isn't an option.
From marty ******* to Me
absolutely not. do you have any idea how heavy this thing is? why do you even need a full size fridge in your office? just buy one of those small mini fridges.
From Mike Partlow to marty *******
Marty,
You are obviously not a very good salesman if you are trying to suggest I buy something else instead of your product. How is that working out for you? Do you make a lot of money that way?
Not that it is any of your business, but I cannot afford rent in my apartment anymore and am slowly trying to move into my office so I can live out of there. I plan on disguising the fridge as a filing cabinet so my company will not get suspicious. If anyone asks you what you are doing when you are moving it into my office, just tell them that you are delivering my new filing cabinet. Try to tuck the power cord under the fridge so they don't realize that it is actually a fridge.
How does next Tuesday work? I am free all day.
Mike
From marty ******* to Me
mike I don't think you understood me. I am NOT delivering the fridge to your office. it's way too big and heavy, and I doubt you will find anyone willing to carry it up to the 67th floor.
From Mike Partlow to marty *******
Marty,
I'm sorry, I must have misread your ad. I could have sworn it said "will be willing to deliver it up to 25 miles for a small fee." Am I crazy, or did your ad say that?
I don't recall it saying "will be willing to deliver it as long as your building isn't too big and scary for my weak little body to carry it."
From marty ******* to Me
Hey listen asshole. You are a Fuckin idiot if you honestly think somebody will do this. It has nothing to do with strength it is just an insane request. the only way you will get a fucking fridge up there is with an elevator. fuck off.
From Mike Partlow to marty *******
Marty, I get what you are saying. It doesn't have anything to do with strength, because even my 120 lb ex-wife could carry this thing up. It is clearly a lack of motivation. You need to be in the right mindset to be able to do this.
Tell you what, I'll stand behind you as you carry it up, and shout encouraging motivational words at you to keep you going. I'll say things like "c'mon Marty, you can do it! You're almost there!" and "don't give up!" I'll even bring a few bottles of Gatorade in case you get thirsty. What flavor do you want? I have frost and orange, but I really don't recommend orange because it doesn't even taste like Gatorade.
So see you Tuesday?
Mike
From marty ******* to Me
shut the fuck up.
(516): Turns out you're obligated under man law to share any passwords you may have for porno sites
(1-516): Is that what they're teaching u at that bar review class?
and the best ever from dontevenreply.com
High-rise Fridge Delivery
Posted at: 2009-07-06 09:51:49 | 147 comments | Add Comment
Original ad:
I bought this GE refrigerator a few years ago, but just got a new one for my kitchen and no longer need it. It still works perfectly and is very large, perfect as your main fridge for a kitchen. I'm asking $300 for it. I am located in Brooklyn, but will be willing to deliver it up to 25 miles for a small fee.
From Mike Partlow to ************@**********.org
Hello,
I am very interested in your fridge. Is it still available? If so, how much would you charge to deliver it to my place in the city?
Mike
From marty ******* to Me
Yes mike it is still available. I will deliver it for an extra $50. where is your place located?
From Mike Partlow to marty *******
I want it delivered to my office on the 67th floor of the ********* Building on **rd st and **********. Now I am pretty sure that the fridge won't fit in the elevator, and if it does, it would exceed the weight capacity, so you will have to carry it up the stairs. I hope this won't be a problem.
When can you deliver it? I work Monday-Friday 9-5 and can be there any time. I do need it sooner rather than later, however.
Mike
From marty ******* to Me
that is absurd. Im not going to heave this very heavy fridge up 67 flights of stairs. Dosent your building have a cargo/utility elevator?
From Mike Partlow to marty *******
Marty, you don't have to lug it up 67 flights of stairs. There is a loading bay around back that starts on the 2nd floor, and I'm pretty sure this building does not count the 13th floor. So you are really only carrying it up 65 flights of stairs. There was a cargo elevator, but building management has told me that I am never allowed to use it again after I attempted to bring my motorcycle up to my office. They don't let just anyone use it anymore, so that isn't an option.
From marty ******* to Me
absolutely not. do you have any idea how heavy this thing is? why do you even need a full size fridge in your office? just buy one of those small mini fridges.
From Mike Partlow to marty *******
Marty,
You are obviously not a very good salesman if you are trying to suggest I buy something else instead of your product. How is that working out for you? Do you make a lot of money that way?
Not that it is any of your business, but I cannot afford rent in my apartment anymore and am slowly trying to move into my office so I can live out of there. I plan on disguising the fridge as a filing cabinet so my company will not get suspicious. If anyone asks you what you are doing when you are moving it into my office, just tell them that you are delivering my new filing cabinet. Try to tuck the power cord under the fridge so they don't realize that it is actually a fridge.
How does next Tuesday work? I am free all day.
Mike
From marty ******* to Me
mike I don't think you understood me. I am NOT delivering the fridge to your office. it's way too big and heavy, and I doubt you will find anyone willing to carry it up to the 67th floor.
From Mike Partlow to marty *******
Marty,
I'm sorry, I must have misread your ad. I could have sworn it said "will be willing to deliver it up to 25 miles for a small fee." Am I crazy, or did your ad say that?
I don't recall it saying "will be willing to deliver it as long as your building isn't too big and scary for my weak little body to carry it."
From marty ******* to Me
Hey listen asshole. You are a Fuckin idiot if you honestly think somebody will do this. It has nothing to do with strength it is just an insane request. the only way you will get a fucking fridge up there is with an elevator. fuck off.
From Mike Partlow to marty *******
Marty, I get what you are saying. It doesn't have anything to do with strength, because even my 120 lb ex-wife could carry this thing up. It is clearly a lack of motivation. You need to be in the right mindset to be able to do this.
Tell you what, I'll stand behind you as you carry it up, and shout encouraging motivational words at you to keep you going. I'll say things like "c'mon Marty, you can do it! You're almost there!" and "don't give up!" I'll even bring a few bottles of Gatorade in case you get thirsty. What flavor do you want? I have frost and orange, but I really don't recommend orange because it doesn't even taste like Gatorade.
So see you Tuesday?
Mike
From marty ******* to Me
shut the fuck up.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Go Death Go!
I hope Billy Mays and Ed McMahon are ass and nose raping Michael Jackson right now. He was a pedophile whose music sucks. Good riddance.
Since Death is taking celebrities left and right, might I make a suggestion: Nancy Grace and Sean Hannity next?
Since Death is taking celebrities left and right, might I make a suggestion: Nancy Grace and Sean Hannity next?
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
the ad says:
"How does Jello fit all that chocolaty taste in just 60 calories? Who cares!" well bitch, now that you mention it, i fucking care. what kind of growth hormone or carcinogenic additives are you putting in there?
but that's not why i'm really here. you know that warm feeling you get that makes your soul feel nice and cozy? that feeling that only comes from getting a government worker fired during a recession? yea, i'm there. and it's making me aroused.
but that's not why i'm really here. you know that warm feeling you get that makes your soul feel nice and cozy? that feeling that only comes from getting a government worker fired during a recession? yea, i'm there. and it's making me aroused.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Princess of the asphalt heifers
About a week ago I left the Barnes and Noble book store which shares a parking lot with Whole foods. This is when I was met with a delightful sight. Though it sounds absurd I can assure you that I saw this beautiful occurrence at the very back of the parking lot where I went to retrieve my car. A young girl probably around the age of seven with her picturesque yuppie parents returning from their overpriced escapades at the Whole Foods Market. The girl was all dolled up in a princess outfit complete with a tiara and pink dress adorned with lace and speckled with sequins. All at once the spectacle began, out of nowhere she began projectile vomiting wave after wave of a cotton candy pink substance that was about the thickness of a milk shake. I thought to myself, how perfect, this girl had the princess thing down so well that she even barfed pink. That kid is going to be good at whatever she puts her mind towards, those parents must be proud. Anyway, this got me to thinking about parking lots. I often park my car at the very back end of the parking lot because I am well versed in the manners of fat lazy people whom endlessly disrespect other people’s property. They drive around incessantly waiting to find the closest spot to their destination in an effort to be spared from the minimal but oddly enough much needed exercise that would occur if they were forced to walk all the way from the back end of the lot. They spend so much time driving around in search of the nearest spot to become vacant, that they could have walked the entire span of the parking lot three times over had they just parked on the far reaches of the grid. Then, because of the fact that they have become so obese that their own muscles cannot lift their blubbery body mass, they are forced to swing their car door open as wide as possible without regard for the vehicles next to them in turn denting doors and scratching paint all so they can use the arm rest of the door to steady themselves for lift off from the comforts of their car seat, obliviously leaving a wake of destruction behind them only to achieve fewer paces to the food dispensary so that they may buy more vittles to shove into their cavernous feed holes. It is always in the news how America has become plagued with portliness so why not bring about some legislation to curb this epidemic starting with a fresh law for the parking lot. We can go ahead and let the handicap keep their spots in the front so long as we stop giving fatlings disability and or the chance to be considered handicapped. Then the next several rows back will be given to persons whom weigh in at 200 lbs or less, the next set of rows to follow would be reserved 250 lbs or less and continue down the lot in this manner. Lest saving us all from the auto body shop and needless dings on our doors, at the same time we would be achieving obligatory exercise for these mammoth sloths by actually forcing them to walk a hundred or so feet. We can go ahead and forget about towing these vehicles, as punishment for breaking this parking lot law all offenders would be forced to follow a strict grapefruit/celery diet for a 2 week period. If you disagree with what I am proposing, please come visit the lunch room at my work and try to accomplish the simple task of keeping your lunch down when there are four women sitting next to you that are pushing the structural integrity of their XXXL sweat pants while simultaneously gobbling down some of the most disgusting chow I have ever seen or smelled. I can almost guarantee that you will change your mind.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Spandex abuse
This weekend while driving around with my roommate, we became privy to a new and hilarious form of child abuse. The afternoon began with a terrible hangover, the kind where anxiety is high and you can’t seem to find much that makes you happy aside from the Gatorade that is only dampening the effects of the negligent alcoholic excess of the night before. Then it happened, a little piece of hilarity that actually brought a smile to my face. This moment was brought to me by a teenage boy, fairly overweight and most certainly a kid who gets picked on at school daily. Now imagine this sad being on the back of a tandem bicycle (which I now refer to as “The misery vessel”) with his Father piloting the front half, both of them decked out in full matching gear complete with spandex and those ridiculous helmets that look like Nerf footballs. Now comes the part of this story that is the most difficult to paint with words. I can only say that I am blessed to have been fortunate enough to catch the magical moment that occurred in a split second when this kid raised his head up from his shame slump to look me straight in the eyes. The look on this kids face can only be described as sheer terror and humiliation in its purest form. It was so miserable that I almost felt bad for the little guy before I started pointing and laughing hysterically at him. I then informed my roommate to follow them so that I could try to get a picture with my phone. I thought if I had photo documentation of this kid’s face staring back at me with tears in my eyes as I convulse with laughter I might actually have a fail proof technique of completely ridding myself of depression. If I was feeling down I could simply refer to this picture and feel great just bathing in the solace that if all else fails, I’m not the sad little spandex kid praying that his friends don’t see him looking like a buffoon on the back of a tandem bicycle with his sick and depraved Father. Unfortunately I was unable to capture anything worth saving…I guess I was too distracted to concentrate on steadying my hand and finding the patience to wait for the perfect moment. So we gave up on the photo part but this only lead to our imaginations running wild with scenarios of how this kid got forced into this shameful torture.
“Daaad, I don’t want to put this stupid spandex outfit on…”
“Son, I don’t want to hear this droning and blubbering! Put the god damn outfit on and get on the fucking bike!”
“But Dad, what if the guys see me?”
“Son, I have had enough! You want to keep playing that World of Warcraft thing you do? Do you?! Well then get on the fucking bike! It’s about time you start losing some weight and spend some quality time with your old man! Now shut up and start peddling!”
“Why?! Why?! Why?! I hate you Dad! I hate you!!!!”
It’s sick. It’s just plain sick. Dear gracious hangover God, thank you for easing my pain and making my week palatable with this display of wickedness.
“Daaad, I don’t want to put this stupid spandex outfit on…”
“Son, I don’t want to hear this droning and blubbering! Put the god damn outfit on and get on the fucking bike!”
“But Dad, what if the guys see me?”
“Son, I have had enough! You want to keep playing that World of Warcraft thing you do? Do you?! Well then get on the fucking bike! It’s about time you start losing some weight and spend some quality time with your old man! Now shut up and start peddling!”
“Why?! Why?! Why?! I hate you Dad! I hate you!!!!”
It’s sick. It’s just plain sick. Dear gracious hangover God, thank you for easing my pain and making my week palatable with this display of wickedness.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Tastes like I should be a prick at the coffee shop
So I was so moved by Undfined's beautiful poetry that I decided to take a stab at it myself. So I dug deep into my emotional side this morning and this is what I shat into a word document...I didn't think I was capable of doing this without a Mac...I guess you can be a beatnik with a P.C. too. So here you go.
The white sox in your sandals will soon be red
Your Purple Crocks will soon be red
Your Ugs crimson
Your religion and your mouth are my urinal
I piss petrol, time to flush matches
My eyes are filled with piranhas; my ears are leaches; gobbling up your wounds to the bone
Starving to feast on your emptiness
Every bit of your soul I devour makes mine stronger
You bummed a cigarette from me
You are not my new friend
You should be shamed not coddled
Please direct small talk to other transients not me your nicotine savior
My wallet is a jail cell
Once a month the debt warden lets my little green inmates out
Then my cell is empty and sad, fuck you warden
My vein makes the efforts
My efforts are mostly in vain
B.C. Rich guitar with your custom neck and mother of pearl inlays
Your unholy vibrations are orgasmic, when amplified you are a fire escape for my hatred
I would sleep with you if you weren’t so stringy, solid and pokey
Scotch
The potent topical cream for heartache
You are the jagged bumps that knock me right off the back of my boring wagon
You make smiles on the outside of my mouth and tastes buds aroused on the inside
You make ugly people beautiful if only for a night, they should make mirrors out of you
You make love and war and my back less sore
When I dine in Valhalla the Valkyries will keep my goblet full of you and Odin will wink at me and say “Cheers!”
I love you scotch, you are so cool
The white sox in your sandals will soon be red
Your Purple Crocks will soon be red
Your Ugs crimson
Your religion and your mouth are my urinal
I piss petrol, time to flush matches
My eyes are filled with piranhas; my ears are leaches; gobbling up your wounds to the bone
Starving to feast on your emptiness
Every bit of your soul I devour makes mine stronger
You bummed a cigarette from me
You are not my new friend
You should be shamed not coddled
Please direct small talk to other transients not me your nicotine savior
My wallet is a jail cell
Once a month the debt warden lets my little green inmates out
Then my cell is empty and sad, fuck you warden
My vein makes the efforts
My efforts are mostly in vain
B.C. Rich guitar with your custom neck and mother of pearl inlays
Your unholy vibrations are orgasmic, when amplified you are a fire escape for my hatred
I would sleep with you if you weren’t so stringy, solid and pokey
Scotch
The potent topical cream for heartache
You are the jagged bumps that knock me right off the back of my boring wagon
You make smiles on the outside of my mouth and tastes buds aroused on the inside
You make ugly people beautiful if only for a night, they should make mirrors out of you
You make love and war and my back less sore
When I dine in Valhalla the Valkyries will keep my goblet full of you and Odin will wink at me and say “Cheers!”
I love you scotch, you are so cool
Monday, June 8, 2009
Some Haiku
Fuck off. I use the word "Haiku" loosely.
To the fat girl at
The dry-cleaners nearby home
Please shower you whore
+
Your twat smells from here
Even through the chemicals
And shame of this place
Surround sound, I like
But something's not right. Red-head!
He turned off the sub
Thanks I like to play
With myself while you all sleep
Or while you're awake
A community
Is so far away from here
Phoenix sucks like that
I want to find all
Secrets to female big O
I don't mean Oprah
A girl self indulged
Bought pants uglier than chode
Boyfriend has no shame
+
Persistent winter
Season of relationship
Pants host DNA
And my personal favorite:
Fuck you, fucking fuck
Fuck the fuck you fuck so much
Fuck both fucking fucks
That's all.
To the fat girl at
The dry-cleaners nearby home
Please shower you whore
+
Your twat smells from here
Even through the chemicals
And shame of this place
Surround sound, I like
But something's not right. Red-head!
He turned off the sub
Thanks I like to play
With myself while you all sleep
Or while you're awake
A community
Is so far away from here
Phoenix sucks like that
I want to find all
Secrets to female big O
I don't mean Oprah
A girl self indulged
Bought pants uglier than chode
Boyfriend has no shame
+
Persistent winter
Season of relationship
Pants host DNA
And my personal favorite:
Fuck you, fucking fuck
Fuck the fuck you fuck so much
Fuck both fucking fucks
That's all.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
You can't make this shit up
My wife took our daughter out east for a week to spend some time with family, leaving me here at home with our 2 year old who would like nothing better to do than to watch the same episode of Dora over and over again. And he'll let you know that's what he'd rather be doing. I even took the little shit to the bookstore today and he found the one book based on the particular Dora episode in question.
Anyways, my family likes to get some sort of an update from me on a daily basis and since I don't really enjoy talking to people Facebook has become a convenient way to say what I want and ignore the blathering mind-numbing comments, criticisms, and whatever passive-aggressive vitriol comes my way.
So I put on the Dora DVD while making dinner and tidying up, then I post this:
"MyRealName dropped off the laundry and the stew is on. The boy is eating and winding down. The dishwasher, washer, and dryer are all running. Pool is clean. Now what?"
Shortly thereafter, I get a few comments that I'll summarize:
1.) "Nice work, have a glass of wine." - Brother-in-law.
2.) "Good job! Pat yourself on the back." - Spouse
3.) "Way to multitask! You can do all those other things while being on the computer communicating with us!" - Sister
It's not like I really need the encouragement. I'm happy enough just getting the little fucker to bed on a daily basis without him losing a limb.
But now I'm thinking they are all in cahoots with each other, trying to tell me I'm inadequate in bed and need to get drunk and touch myself in front of the computer.
And I'm the sick one.
Anyways, my family likes to get some sort of an update from me on a daily basis and since I don't really enjoy talking to people Facebook has become a convenient way to say what I want and ignore the blathering mind-numbing comments, criticisms, and whatever passive-aggressive vitriol comes my way.
So I put on the Dora DVD while making dinner and tidying up, then I post this:
"MyRealName dropped off the laundry and the stew is on. The boy is eating and winding down. The dishwasher, washer, and dryer are all running. Pool is clean. Now what?"
Shortly thereafter, I get a few comments that I'll summarize:
1.) "Nice work, have a glass of wine." - Brother-in-law.
2.) "Good job! Pat yourself on the back." - Spouse
3.) "Way to multitask! You can do all those other things while being on the computer communicating with us!" - Sister
It's not like I really need the encouragement. I'm happy enough just getting the little fucker to bed on a daily basis without him losing a limb.
But now I'm thinking they are all in cahoots with each other, trying to tell me I'm inadequate in bed and need to get drunk and touch myself in front of the computer.
And I'm the sick one.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
It was a good day...
Yes my friends, the day is finally upon us. Slayer day. Unfortunately I was not previously enlightened to this glorious day, but I sure as shit am now.
I chose to celebrate by hacking up limes for drinks by the pool in a bikini... with a machete. Not going to complain. I rang in the new Slayer year right. Please go out and do the same because remember, God hates us all. He fucking hates me.
I chose to celebrate by hacking up limes for drinks by the pool in a bikini... with a machete. Not going to complain. I rang in the new Slayer year right. Please go out and do the same because remember, God hates us all. He fucking hates me.
Friday, May 29, 2009
I HATE THAT SHIT TOO!!!
first a disclaimer. i wear a suit every day. but in my defense, when i eat ice cream while wearing my suit: i do it in public, i slurp in a vulgar manner when children walk by, i always ask people if they'd like to share, and when they say yes i tell them it's penis flavor - now at least. but back to your point D, you're right. don't trust us. i can't tell you how many mothers cry at night due to my sins. too much?
i'm not sure what the point of the porn rant was but i guess i'm old fashioned. i don't need anything more than a lesbian gang bang, squirting, the occasional midget, and my new favorite: tribbing. look it up.
JNCO. honestly, i didn't that that brand even existed. i thought it went the way of my Bugle Boys and my Member's Only jacket. and where did it go...? i'm wearing them now. JNCO is what 'bad boys' in Utah suburbs wear. you know, in their rebellious phase when they think about feeling up their Napoleon Dynamite worthy girlfriend.
lastly an excuse. i don't post because i spend 12 hours a day a job that would fire me in a second if they found this on my computer. i can't wait to get fired.
is it weird that i want to fuck half the women on the Food Network? yep. paula dean is on my list.
i'm not sure what the point of the porn rant was but i guess i'm old fashioned. i don't need anything more than a lesbian gang bang, squirting, the occasional midget, and my new favorite: tribbing. look it up.
JNCO. honestly, i didn't that that brand even existed. i thought it went the way of my Bugle Boys and my Member's Only jacket. and where did it go...? i'm wearing them now. JNCO is what 'bad boys' in Utah suburbs wear. you know, in their rebellious phase when they think about feeling up their Napoleon Dynamite worthy girlfriend.
lastly an excuse. i don't post because i spend 12 hours a day a job that would fire me in a second if they found this on my computer. i can't wait to get fired.
is it weird that i want to fuck half the women on the Food Network? yep. paula dean is on my list.
Fuck it, I hate this shit too.
With every day that passes I find it harder and harder for me to maintain interest in conversations of any sort. The worst and most common example of this is when I’m approached at the bar and asked something about the weather, the sporting event or what kind of classes someone is taking. For future reference and as a general crutch to make this endeavor easier, please understand that to successfully converse with me there are some very simple pointers to follow. Just remember to think of your conversation with me as a movie script and realize that this program must contain V, GL, N, R, DU and of course NBR (Necro-bestial rape). When I was 13 I was more than happy to suffer through an entire movie for a glimpse of BN but having been exposed to footage of milk being funneled into someone’s ass and sucked out with a straw only to be spit back into the receiver’s face, girls blowing horses, zombie porn, midget porn, nunsploitation and a number of other truly inspiring uses of the imagination, it’s kind of difficult to go back to Playboy. So please go ahead and keep your ML and BN to yourself, it’s fucking boring.
Next order of discussion is men in business suits. I don’t trust you; you are probably a serial killer. Stay the fuck away from me. I don’t think there is much in this world that gives me the creeps quite like a guy in a coat and tie eating an ice cream cone. This is disturbing to the core, don’t do it. Keep your pedophile shit to yourself and your own living quarters or better yet, get your tie stuck in some machinery and die.
Hey Bizkit guy, you are way too old for this shit. Your stupid baggy JNCO pants and crooked flat brimmed hat makes you look like a god damn clown. This was barely tolerable in high School but now that you are my age this is just downright ridiculous. You should know better by now, for the love of god please just stop. Fred Durste and Kid Rock were retards and so are you. You’re a dick, you make white people look stupid and I hope a plane flies into you.
Lastly, Tibet is cool and all and I would totally be fine with it being free. The problem I have is all of these bumper stickers that say “Free Tibet” and then right next to them “War is not the answer”. Fuck you! To free Tibet you would have to go to war with China which I might add is the largest army in the world. So seriously, fuck you or join the services.
Next order of discussion is men in business suits. I don’t trust you; you are probably a serial killer. Stay the fuck away from me. I don’t think there is much in this world that gives me the creeps quite like a guy in a coat and tie eating an ice cream cone. This is disturbing to the core, don’t do it. Keep your pedophile shit to yourself and your own living quarters or better yet, get your tie stuck in some machinery and die.
Hey Bizkit guy, you are way too old for this shit. Your stupid baggy JNCO pants and crooked flat brimmed hat makes you look like a god damn clown. This was barely tolerable in high School but now that you are my age this is just downright ridiculous. You should know better by now, for the love of god please just stop. Fred Durste and Kid Rock were retards and so are you. You’re a dick, you make white people look stupid and I hope a plane flies into you.
Lastly, Tibet is cool and all and I would totally be fine with it being free. The problem I have is all of these bumper stickers that say “Free Tibet” and then right next to them “War is not the answer”. Fuck you! To free Tibet you would have to go to war with China which I might add is the largest army in the world. So seriously, fuck you or join the services.
Her Name Was Exodus??
Seriously?
You named your kid "a mass exit" and are surprised she lived passed 3?
Tragic? Yes. Funny? Gotta say it is. Kids are stupid. Parents are worse.
You named your kid "a mass exit" and are surprised she lived passed 3?
Tragic? Yes. Funny? Gotta say it is. Kids are stupid. Parents are worse.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
I Can Be Anything I Want To Be
I got an email from a former boss of mine the other day.
He wanted to congratulate me on my new role at my current job. He also wanted to mention how he once told me I "could do whatever I wanted" in my career, in a justification of his support of me.
I have a couple issues with this.
1.) Throughout most of our professional relationship, I had no respect for the guy. This is because he can't make a decision and drags other people into his chaos while also managing to string them along with empty promises. The point at which he gave me his incredible advice was long after I had learned this about him.
2.) I, being who I am, am not really capable of much:
a.) I've worked jobs in sales, both on the phone and in person. It was physically draining and I was too honest with myself and respectful of others to try to manipulate people into buying something from me.
b.) Support roles were fitting up to a point, then monotonous. I did learn I could help people and get loose cannons to focus. Often by being louder than them. But it wasn't that I was particularly good at support, just that I knew how to ask questions, use Google, and point people in the right direction so they could help themselves.
c.) As a manager, I suck. When people start asking too many questions and can't do their jobs without lots of direction I just want to show them the door and bring in someone who can sit down, shut up, and do their job. Effectively making my job easier so I can focus on the bigger questions we have. Even when I setup reminders to give Jon and Jason an attaboy, I got annoyed with my computer constantly interrupting me.
d.) I can't multi-task. I've read a few books on how the brain works and multi-tasking makes people dumb. And I'm no good at it. I get frustrated with the constant topic shifting and it puts me in a bad mood.
e.) I could lie in bed or ditch work to spend all day, with my wife (and now the kids), and not think once about work. Given the opportunity, I do. I'm convinced if my former boss had his priorities straight he wouldn't have been going through a mid-life crisis. Again.
f.) A job is a job is a job. Just give me my paycheck and stop trying to persuade me to help build a corporate culture. Successful small businesses are focused on revenue and service, cost-cutting, and are otherwise boring to everyone else. I am not a Disney cartoonist. Just tell me what you need, I'll tell you the facts, then I can go home and worry about whether my job is worth the risk. Maybe if we had focused on our actual jobs instead of corporate culture, payroll could have cut us some decent sized checks and made everyone happy - successfully implementing a positive culture.
So I have to say it: I can't "do anything I want." Hindsight being 20/20, putting myself first set me back 5 years - a good chunk which was spent around some of the worst advice and empty "you can do it" statements I have experienced so far. Shame, guilt, and failure are natural and motivating. Feeling good about my role in the corporate environment sure as shit didn't feed the kids and send them to school. Nor did it justify the flailing about trying to pawn off work and blame to each other in a pathetic attempt to rid ourselves of the "negative feelings."
Nope, I'll take failure, shame, guilt, and a good old lesson learned over a fake pat on the back any day, and bask in a sense of pride & worth while doing it.
He wanted to congratulate me on my new role at my current job. He also wanted to mention how he once told me I "could do whatever I wanted" in my career, in a justification of his support of me.
I have a couple issues with this.
1.) Throughout most of our professional relationship, I had no respect for the guy. This is because he can't make a decision and drags other people into his chaos while also managing to string them along with empty promises. The point at which he gave me his incredible advice was long after I had learned this about him.
2.) I, being who I am, am not really capable of much:
a.) I've worked jobs in sales, both on the phone and in person. It was physically draining and I was too honest with myself and respectful of others to try to manipulate people into buying something from me.
b.) Support roles were fitting up to a point, then monotonous. I did learn I could help people and get loose cannons to focus. Often by being louder than them. But it wasn't that I was particularly good at support, just that I knew how to ask questions, use Google, and point people in the right direction so they could help themselves.
c.) As a manager, I suck. When people start asking too many questions and can't do their jobs without lots of direction I just want to show them the door and bring in someone who can sit down, shut up, and do their job. Effectively making my job easier so I can focus on the bigger questions we have. Even when I setup reminders to give Jon and Jason an attaboy, I got annoyed with my computer constantly interrupting me.
d.) I can't multi-task. I've read a few books on how the brain works and multi-tasking makes people dumb. And I'm no good at it. I get frustrated with the constant topic shifting and it puts me in a bad mood.
e.) I could lie in bed or ditch work to spend all day, with my wife (and now the kids), and not think once about work. Given the opportunity, I do. I'm convinced if my former boss had his priorities straight he wouldn't have been going through a mid-life crisis. Again.
f.) A job is a job is a job. Just give me my paycheck and stop trying to persuade me to help build a corporate culture. Successful small businesses are focused on revenue and service, cost-cutting, and are otherwise boring to everyone else. I am not a Disney cartoonist. Just tell me what you need, I'll tell you the facts, then I can go home and worry about whether my job is worth the risk. Maybe if we had focused on our actual jobs instead of corporate culture, payroll could have cut us some decent sized checks and made everyone happy - successfully implementing a positive culture.
So I have to say it: I can't "do anything I want." Hindsight being 20/20, putting myself first set me back 5 years - a good chunk which was spent around some of the worst advice and empty "you can do it" statements I have experienced so far. Shame, guilt, and failure are natural and motivating. Feeling good about my role in the corporate environment sure as shit didn't feed the kids and send them to school. Nor did it justify the flailing about trying to pawn off work and blame to each other in a pathetic attempt to rid ourselves of the "negative feelings."
Nope, I'll take failure, shame, guilt, and a good old lesson learned over a fake pat on the back any day, and bask in a sense of pride & worth while doing it.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Did You Know I am NIFOC and a PIR? NALOPKT.
FMLTWIA.
As proof to myself that I am not going insane, I have started using Google Trends to remind myself just how moronic the average Internet user is - which I use to protect myself personally and professionally.
Every once in a while I run into something that's actually funny. Like a religion-inspired group suicide. Or Helen Keller jokes. Usually, though, it's chicks that aren't really hot and sports-related nonsense which I have safely positioned myself and family to avoid.
I guess I'm not really surprised to find a FOX News fear story - on some of that damn slang the kids are using these days - #6 today, behind celebrity idolatry, snake oil, and "senior skip day."
Sweet Banana.
I'm not surprised anymore that the masses buy into this shit. It's only after spending a lifetime trend-watching to become perfectly happy sitting in my house trying to 8 my Man Kitty and learning how not to be so Q2C. Yes, I'm that good.
Are we so stupid as not to understand our language and use of it evolves within every generation?
Well, yes. Look at the pointless, mind-numbing noise everyone is searching. The proof is there.
But to be surprised at the same situation you did as a teenager only leaves you NIFOC - and reminds me just exactly why it is 182.
As proof to myself that I am not going insane, I have started using Google Trends to remind myself just how moronic the average Internet user is - which I use to protect myself personally and professionally.
Every once in a while I run into something that's actually funny. Like a religion-inspired group suicide. Or Helen Keller jokes. Usually, though, it's chicks that aren't really hot and sports-related nonsense which I have safely positioned myself and family to avoid.
I guess I'm not really surprised to find a FOX News fear story - on some of that damn slang the kids are using these days - #6 today, behind celebrity idolatry, snake oil, and "senior skip day."
Sweet Banana.
I'm not surprised anymore that the masses buy into this shit. It's only after spending a lifetime trend-watching to become perfectly happy sitting in my house trying to 8 my Man Kitty and learning how not to be so Q2C. Yes, I'm that good.
Are we so stupid as not to understand our language and use of it evolves within every generation?
Well, yes. Look at the pointless, mind-numbing noise everyone is searching. The proof is there.
But to be surprised at the same situation you did as a teenager only leaves you NIFOC - and reminds me just exactly why it is 182.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
From Patriarch to Matriarch's Bitch
Rest assured I will be buying this book:
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB124243950942426191.html
This is something I've been debating with other fathers the world over. We, as men over the last generation or 2, have stepped up and decided to be more active, involved, and overall better parents than our fathers.
Women still want the same. But, because of various reasons having to do with generational entitlement issues, daddy issues, the failed women's "liberation" movement, and tv commercials that portray men as idiots (most commonly seen in prime-time and daytime tv) women have entered a role where their husband is a tool.
This is proven by the poor fuckers with "Honey Do" lists that can be found on any given weekend at Home Depot.
I'm not saying we were better off when fathers were self-righteous pricks that didn't owe their family anything other than a good paycheck & 2 weeks of "vacation" time. That's not progress.
We still expect our kids to do better than us, be better fathers and mothers than us, and we still work the same (if not more hours) than what was already emotionally possible 50 years ago - all while putting in just as much time & work with our families and homes as our wives.
And what do we get out of it?
Condescension. Emotional games. Chastised for not doing things the way someone else decides (Oprah & Cosmo, aka popular trends, anyone?). We're ridiculed and exhausted. Cratered into an entitled mass of insanity. Left wanting. And fucking offended.
Stronger, but not better.
So, Guys, the next time some chick hands you a list of shit to do, do what I've been doing: point out what's realistic, then tear the fucking thing up and put it in the trash where it belongs.
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB124243950942426191.html
This is something I've been debating with other fathers the world over. We, as men over the last generation or 2, have stepped up and decided to be more active, involved, and overall better parents than our fathers.
Women still want the same. But, because of various reasons having to do with generational entitlement issues, daddy issues, the failed women's "liberation" movement, and tv commercials that portray men as idiots (most commonly seen in prime-time and daytime tv) women have entered a role where their husband is a tool.
This is proven by the poor fuckers with "Honey Do" lists that can be found on any given weekend at Home Depot.
I'm not saying we were better off when fathers were self-righteous pricks that didn't owe their family anything other than a good paycheck & 2 weeks of "vacation" time. That's not progress.
We still expect our kids to do better than us, be better fathers and mothers than us, and we still work the same (if not more hours) than what was already emotionally possible 50 years ago - all while putting in just as much time & work with our families and homes as our wives.
And what do we get out of it?
Condescension. Emotional games. Chastised for not doing things the way someone else decides (Oprah & Cosmo, aka popular trends, anyone?). We're ridiculed and exhausted. Cratered into an entitled mass of insanity. Left wanting. And fucking offended.
Stronger, but not better.
So, Guys, the next time some chick hands you a list of shit to do, do what I've been doing: point out what's realistic, then tear the fucking thing up and put it in the trash where it belongs.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
It Tastes Like Get The Fuck Off The Stage
The last 48 hours have been a painful wash of highs and lows. I love to see people graduate and move onto bigger and better things. Especially if they've struggled more than the status quo bound morons we tend to compare ourselves with. I'm a sucker for success after horror. It sounds cheap but plays better in the long run, and that's all that matters.
I digress. I tend to.
Meh.
Fuck you, Mandy. I just watched my daughter gracefully accomplish the dances we pay you to teach her - all while she noticed her sucker-eyed father taking her picture in the front row with a tear in his eye. She managed to smile, wave at me while jumping up and down and the entire auditorium laughed at her cute antics.
I waved back. Life was good.
Then, Mandy, you talked.
Every fucking gawd-awful frequency that came from those speakers erupted into my ears like my cum after a 3 egg omelette. Even my 2 year old son covered his ears. Do us a favor. Don't ever pick up a microphone and speak. Your voice is annoying enough without 1000 watts of amplification piercing my kids' eardrums.
Next in line is the college graduating class of 2009. Thanks for watering down what was a struggle for the previous 16,054,572 generations. It's time to move on from feeling special about it. After listening to the president's speech last night and combining that with ASU's marketing plan it's safe to say that a college education is what a high school diploma was 50 years ago: normal. So sitting through an hour of hearing every graduate's name called out is not special anymore. You got your name in a book. So did I. There's bigger and better things to worry about than your sense of entitlement. I felt guilty when I got my degree, because I was lucky. Not because I was deserving or special. Get in line.
Being an adult today means realizing how lucky you have it. If you weren't lucky and made it, more power to you & good luck. But for the majority of you college grads: piss off. You haven't earned my respect enough to even hear your name.
Congrats, kids & grads. Welcome to hell.
I digress. I tend to.
Meh.
Fuck you, Mandy. I just watched my daughter gracefully accomplish the dances we pay you to teach her - all while she noticed her sucker-eyed father taking her picture in the front row with a tear in his eye. She managed to smile, wave at me while jumping up and down and the entire auditorium laughed at her cute antics.
I waved back. Life was good.
Then, Mandy, you talked.
Every fucking gawd-awful frequency that came from those speakers erupted into my ears like my cum after a 3 egg omelette. Even my 2 year old son covered his ears. Do us a favor. Don't ever pick up a microphone and speak. Your voice is annoying enough without 1000 watts of amplification piercing my kids' eardrums.
Next in line is the college graduating class of 2009. Thanks for watering down what was a struggle for the previous 16,054,572 generations. It's time to move on from feeling special about it. After listening to the president's speech last night and combining that with ASU's marketing plan it's safe to say that a college education is what a high school diploma was 50 years ago: normal. So sitting through an hour of hearing every graduate's name called out is not special anymore. You got your name in a book. So did I. There's bigger and better things to worry about than your sense of entitlement. I felt guilty when I got my degree, because I was lucky. Not because I was deserving or special. Get in line.
Being an adult today means realizing how lucky you have it. If you weren't lucky and made it, more power to you & good luck. But for the majority of you college grads: piss off. You haven't earned my respect enough to even hear your name.
Congrats, kids & grads. Welcome to hell.
happy happy joy joy
I'm in a good mood for no damn reason. I know all you other ass-holes will probably rip on me but I really don't give a fuck. My day at work was mediocre at best. Everyone fucked a bunch of stupid shit up that I had to fix. My day was twice as long as it should have been. I got some extra lousy news from my work partner that means I'll most likely be working a lot more but not making dick. Speaking of dick I haven't gotten laid nearly recent enough. I spent all my money on alcohol last week and don't get paid until next Friday. For some damn reason I'm psyched on life.. that or delirious. Whatever, I'll take it.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
D's bucket list
I was so inspired by that movie The Bucket List that I decided to get started on my own. I have a feeling that this is going to take some time to complete but here is the first several agendas that came to mind.
1. Grab a photo radar van operator by his throat, drag him out of the van window, beat the shit out of him and light him on fire.
2. Catch a meter maid giving me a ticket, knock him/her out, tie him/her to the meter, shove the ticket up their ass and piss on his/her face.
3. Shit, sneeze and cum at the same time.
4. Follow the jock asshole that was just tailgating me in his Grand Jeep Cherokee complete with CU Buffs bumper sticker and obnoxious Dave Mathew’s racket blasting from his stereo and shoot him right in the face. No questions, no second chances, he failed and doesn’t deserve to live.
5. Lock the Pope in a room with an AIDS ridden Jewish nymphomaniac, tell him that this is the part where he plays the role of altar boy for once, give him a condom and see if he uses it or just chooses to continue being an asshole.
6. I am not certain how to penetrate someone with an American flag other than wrapping it around a giant crucifix but once I figure out how to do that with complete efficiency…those Bush twins are going to have some sore rectums. We’ll see if Papa George is so quick to be a flag waving, bible ranting jackass after that event.
7. Hog tie Barbara Streisand to the ceiling of a grocery store; force her to listen to her own music and then charge everyone 10 dollars to throw the food product of their choice at her.
8. Make fuck with the girl from the television show extreme 4x4. Yes, I know she is kind of boyish and I seem to be the only one I know who finds her attractive…I don’t care. The bitch can weld and that is fucking hot, deal with it!
9. Lay a tarp out on my front lawn, strip down to nothing but a diaper, use my hands to eat a giant birthday cake that is topped with a number 1 candle and make assorted baby noises and grunts at all of various shit bag couples, joggers and bicyclist that perpetually wonder past my house.
10. Bake Jesus tear cookies, lace them with laxatives and sell them at the church bake sale.
11. Place “out of order" signs on all of the bathrooms at the church bake sale.
1. Grab a photo radar van operator by his throat, drag him out of the van window, beat the shit out of him and light him on fire.
2. Catch a meter maid giving me a ticket, knock him/her out, tie him/her to the meter, shove the ticket up their ass and piss on his/her face.
3. Shit, sneeze and cum at the same time.
4. Follow the jock asshole that was just tailgating me in his Grand Jeep Cherokee complete with CU Buffs bumper sticker and obnoxious Dave Mathew’s racket blasting from his stereo and shoot him right in the face. No questions, no second chances, he failed and doesn’t deserve to live.
5. Lock the Pope in a room with an AIDS ridden Jewish nymphomaniac, tell him that this is the part where he plays the role of altar boy for once, give him a condom and see if he uses it or just chooses to continue being an asshole.
6. I am not certain how to penetrate someone with an American flag other than wrapping it around a giant crucifix but once I figure out how to do that with complete efficiency…those Bush twins are going to have some sore rectums. We’ll see if Papa George is so quick to be a flag waving, bible ranting jackass after that event.
7. Hog tie Barbara Streisand to the ceiling of a grocery store; force her to listen to her own music and then charge everyone 10 dollars to throw the food product of their choice at her.
8. Make fuck with the girl from the television show extreme 4x4. Yes, I know she is kind of boyish and I seem to be the only one I know who finds her attractive…I don’t care. The bitch can weld and that is fucking hot, deal with it!
9. Lay a tarp out on my front lawn, strip down to nothing but a diaper, use my hands to eat a giant birthday cake that is topped with a number 1 candle and make assorted baby noises and grunts at all of various shit bag couples, joggers and bicyclist that perpetually wonder past my house.
10. Bake Jesus tear cookies, lace them with laxatives and sell them at the church bake sale.
11. Place “out of order" signs on all of the bathrooms at the church bake sale.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
excuses are like assholes...
...they are the preface to shit. be it fecal matter or bullshit spewed from the mouth. anyway, i'm in that lovely time of the year where i actually have something important going on: finals. although this has given me many many things and people to hate, i have to step back every now and again because at my heightened state of stress i'm liable to kill someone for looking at me wrong. here a few examples of my recent lapses in judgment:
- told a pretty hot girl that i've been into (yep both ways) that her recent drama and bitching ranks about as high with me as the skidmark in a pair of underwear
- told my landlord he is an asshole and that i looked forward to spending my entire summer fighting him for my $300 security deposit in small claims court
- made a "you people" comment to a minority in Circle K. i'm gonna have to leave that one pretty vague as the guilt may cause me sleeplessness
lastly: i come to the library so i'm NOT distracted. i didn't come here to talk to you. i've ignored you all semester for a reason. you have nothing of value to add to any conversation in which you partake - and there is absolutely nothing short of 'hey, i got an advanced copy of the exam and i'm gonna massage your dick while i photocopy it for you" that i want to discuss with you.
please check this out: www.whythefuckdoyouhaveakid.com -- really, it's life changing.
- told a pretty hot girl that i've been into (yep both ways) that her recent drama and bitching ranks about as high with me as the skidmark in a pair of underwear
- told my landlord he is an asshole and that i looked forward to spending my entire summer fighting him for my $300 security deposit in small claims court
- made a "you people" comment to a minority in Circle K. i'm gonna have to leave that one pretty vague as the guilt may cause me sleeplessness
lastly: i come to the library so i'm NOT distracted. i didn't come here to talk to you. i've ignored you all semester for a reason. you have nothing of value to add to any conversation in which you partake - and there is absolutely nothing short of 'hey, i got an advanced copy of the exam and i'm gonna massage your dick while i photocopy it for you" that i want to discuss with you.
please check this out: www.whythefuckdoyouhaveakid.com -- really, it's life changing.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Screw the Perfect People, Fuck They All Look The Same
I enter a mall about 3-4 times a year. Once for my yearly re-supply of socks and underwear. Another for an adjustment in warm clothes. Once for summer clothes. And then there's x-mas, which I usually manage to do all online but still end up suffering (albeit minimally) through the idiocy that is the last minute x-mas shopper maze.
I've gotten older though, as one is wont to do, and there is a new day which requires a certain need to go to the mall. To shop. In lieu of spoiling the surprise, let's just say it involves severely over-priced yellowish shiny objects that women and fucked-in-the-head rich guys covet.
If there was no one in my way, I wouldn't mind. But throughout the retail filled monetary disaster there is a sub-culture of our society that is growing faster than the funk in my son's trash can:
The old woman who's had some work done, then covers it up with too much makeup and perfume.
Let's call them "monsters." It is obvious why.
You're not fooling anybody. When you get old you gain weight and turn ugly. Your parents and anyone who has ever existed has told us that would happen. So what's the fucking deal? You're giving me and my kids nightmares with your tribal mask, and all those plastics and chemicals are filling the air with...taste. Air shouldn't taste!
And your clothes don't help. Wearing dark, baggy clothes and glittering jewelry on your hands doesn't draw attention from the fact that your elbows are sagging. In fact, dark clothes make it worse because we all know you're just trying to hide your shame. Keep your shames for the bedroom. Guys like that. They don't like it when you make yourself look uglier.
And so it happened today. After...shudder...shopping, I was confronted with several of the monsters in their desperate plea to take my money after checking out their make-you-look-like-a-whore products. Miraculously, I didn't buy anything other than the product I was intent on buying before I entered the complex and was happily not suffering through the sensation-fuck that is the modern retail experience. I bought it from an overly sarcastic, obvious loser (who earned my love after admitting he's just landed an easy commission since his plastic co-worker was out getting him lunch). I attest my win as a result of having enough moral fortitude to not buy anything from people that look like crack-whores, or saggy mannequins.
So if you're thinking you need work done or are already spending more than 3 minutes putting on makeup every day, do this instead:
Go home, take a shower, tell your husband(s) he's fat & ugly too, cry about getting old, laugh about it, then get on with your horrible, pathetic lives. Stop eating so much, get some exercise, and fucking grow up before your kids get hurt (assuming you haven't done enough damage to them with your insecurities already).
You can then get a real job that, you know, does something good for society and helps people.
Either way, get the fuck out of public and into something less horrendous.
I'll have my baseball bat ready in case you need some more work done. Just call. I'm available anytime.
I've gotten older though, as one is wont to do, and there is a new day which requires a certain need to go to the mall. To shop. In lieu of spoiling the surprise, let's just say it involves severely over-priced yellowish shiny objects that women and fucked-in-the-head rich guys covet.
If there was no one in my way, I wouldn't mind. But throughout the retail filled monetary disaster there is a sub-culture of our society that is growing faster than the funk in my son's trash can:
The old woman who's had some work done, then covers it up with too much makeup and perfume.
Let's call them "monsters." It is obvious why.
You're not fooling anybody. When you get old you gain weight and turn ugly. Your parents and anyone who has ever existed has told us that would happen. So what's the fucking deal? You're giving me and my kids nightmares with your tribal mask, and all those plastics and chemicals are filling the air with...taste. Air shouldn't taste!
And your clothes don't help. Wearing dark, baggy clothes and glittering jewelry on your hands doesn't draw attention from the fact that your elbows are sagging. In fact, dark clothes make it worse because we all know you're just trying to hide your shame. Keep your shames for the bedroom. Guys like that. They don't like it when you make yourself look uglier.
And so it happened today. After...shudder...shopping, I was confronted with several of the monsters in their desperate plea to take my money after checking out their make-you-look-like-a-whore products. Miraculously, I didn't buy anything other than the product I was intent on buying before I entered the complex and was happily not suffering through the sensation-fuck that is the modern retail experience. I bought it from an overly sarcastic, obvious loser (who earned my love after admitting he's just landed an easy commission since his plastic co-worker was out getting him lunch). I attest my win as a result of having enough moral fortitude to not buy anything from people that look like crack-whores, or saggy mannequins.
So if you're thinking you need work done or are already spending more than 3 minutes putting on makeup every day, do this instead:
Go home, take a shower, tell your husband(s) he's fat & ugly too, cry about getting old, laugh about it, then get on with your horrible, pathetic lives. Stop eating so much, get some exercise, and fucking grow up before your kids get hurt (assuming you haven't done enough damage to them with your insecurities already).
You can then get a real job that, you know, does something good for society and helps people.
Either way, get the fuck out of public and into something less horrendous.
I'll have my baseball bat ready in case you need some more work done. Just call. I'm available anytime.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Coprophagia
Dear Dr. Laura - Eat my shit, seriously, eat it! The only reason you’re not a giant whore like the rest of the world is because you are hideous. It’s not hard to live a life of “values” and “morals” when you are a repulsive wretch who probably can’t even bring itself to rub one out because even you don’t want to have to clean the cob webs out of your decrepit antique gash. It would be like a 4 year old receiving praise for not being a meth head…it’s just not that hard. So pucker up and gulp down my Guinness squirts like a nice refreshing glass of Ovaltine.
Why we’re at it,
Jerry Falwell - Rest In Piss.
Rush Limbaugh – What better way to wash down pharmaceuticals than with a tall glass of my shit?
Benny Hinn, Bob Larson, Oral Roberts and Celine Dion…Eat my shit.
Ted Haggard - Don’t bother eating my shit because you might enjoy it. Go ahead and stick to meth, prostitutes and dying.
Dear middle aged Naropa idiot - Take that fucking bindi off of your forehead. You are not enlightened and you have not opened your “third eye”. Just because you dropped a lot of acid back in your Grateful Dead days and or at Burning Man, DOES NOT mean you have any extra insight, you just took drugs and your visions of another plain of existence were generated by a chemical so go fuck yourself. Eat my shit.
Dear middle aged Naropa idiot parent - Isn’t it bad enough that you are a moron? Don’t drag your kid into this too by making it walk around in Tie-Dye clothing and convincing it that it enjoys the same brainless nonsense you do. Also, not letting your child watch so called “violent” television shows such as G.I. Joe or Power Rangers and or banning toy guns from your house is only going to ensure that your kid is going to be a giant twat with no concept of reality. One generation of dildos was enough so don’t make me go on a killing spree. Suck my diarrhea.
Dear plastic playground set inventor – You may also go fuck yourself for making children a bunch of pussies. Eat my shit.
Dear waste of oxygen – I still don’t like Basketball so stop talking about it. Eat my shit.
Torry Spelling and Sarah Jessica Parker – You’re unsightly and dreadfully unattractive so quit pretending you’re not. Yes, you too can feast on my shit.
Dinner is served bitch's!
Why we’re at it,
Jerry Falwell - Rest In Piss.
Rush Limbaugh – What better way to wash down pharmaceuticals than with a tall glass of my shit?
Benny Hinn, Bob Larson, Oral Roberts and Celine Dion…Eat my shit.
Ted Haggard - Don’t bother eating my shit because you might enjoy it. Go ahead and stick to meth, prostitutes and dying.
Dear middle aged Naropa idiot - Take that fucking bindi off of your forehead. You are not enlightened and you have not opened your “third eye”. Just because you dropped a lot of acid back in your Grateful Dead days and or at Burning Man, DOES NOT mean you have any extra insight, you just took drugs and your visions of another plain of existence were generated by a chemical so go fuck yourself. Eat my shit.
Dear middle aged Naropa idiot parent - Isn’t it bad enough that you are a moron? Don’t drag your kid into this too by making it walk around in Tie-Dye clothing and convincing it that it enjoys the same brainless nonsense you do. Also, not letting your child watch so called “violent” television shows such as G.I. Joe or Power Rangers and or banning toy guns from your house is only going to ensure that your kid is going to be a giant twat with no concept of reality. One generation of dildos was enough so don’t make me go on a killing spree. Suck my diarrhea.
Dear plastic playground set inventor – You may also go fuck yourself for making children a bunch of pussies. Eat my shit.
Dear waste of oxygen – I still don’t like Basketball so stop talking about it. Eat my shit.
Torry Spelling and Sarah Jessica Parker – You’re unsightly and dreadfully unattractive so quit pretending you’re not. Yes, you too can feast on my shit.
Dinner is served bitch's!
Sunday, May 3, 2009
No. Really. Shut the fuck up. Where's my cocktail?
hey all, don't you just love people from the restaurant industry complaining as if what they do actually matters? in support of this bold statement, please see my prior posts regarding you wretched children of the earth that will forever live on the razor's edge of volition in regards to spitting in my drink or not. really, people suck. and the only people who haven't figure this out yet have collectively decided to work in the one business that requires seeing them the most. guess what? the world needs ditch-diggers danny. get a new job. so here's my list.
dear douche-tender/waitress slut:
1. i can see my food wilting under the heat lamp. get off your sidekick and bring it to me
2. acting pissed to your next table because the prior table left you 10% is a great way to ensure the cycle continues
3. i'm way too distracted to finish this list because 2 hot chicks are looking at the vacant apartment next to mine. gotta run.
i love you all. and by love i mean hate.
"build a man a fire, keep him warm for a night. set a man on fire, keep him warm for the rest of his life." - edgar frog
dear douche-tender/waitress slut:
1. i can see my food wilting under the heat lamp. get off your sidekick and bring it to me
2. acting pissed to your next table because the prior table left you 10% is a great way to ensure the cycle continues
3. i'm way too distracted to finish this list because 2 hot chicks are looking at the vacant apartment next to mine. gotta run.
i love you all. and by love i mean hate.
"build a man a fire, keep him warm for a night. set a man on fire, keep him warm for the rest of his life." - edgar frog
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Yes, your job sucks... That's why we pay you.
Why the hell doesn't this make sense: There are shitty jobs in this world, but they need to be done and you agreed to do it for a set rate. Please do not complain to me about it, I don't fucking care and you're wasting my time. If you don't want to do the job, then quit; there are plenty of other people who are willing to do it for less pay. The reason I don't care is because you have had the same job for the past 5 years, and other than what appears to be estrogen based whining coming from a fully grown man and the frequent hangover caused absences, all of your actions show that you enjoy your job and are completely content.
The only reason why I am here talking to you now is because you are too incompetent to follow extremely clear instructions. For fuck's sake, there are pictures and everything! At this point, I am positive that if I gave you a child's Lego set, not only would you fail to complete the "pirate in a solid-fucking-plastic rowboat," but I am sure you would have broken the oars after trying to insert them into the gaping neck hole you created after removing the Lego man's head. You should just be happy that I would be watching you so I could give you the Heimlich maneuver once you started choking on the little plastic pirate hat.
It just so happens that it is 11:15 PM on Friday night, and the only reason I am here is to watch you perform a process. At this point, don't make jokes about how much more money I make than you because I am salary. If you didn't have a reputation for fucking this up, I could be out with my friend who visits from a foreign country only once every three to four years. As I mentioned, it is 11:15 PM on Friday, you get a weekend pay differential of 7%, a grave-yard shift differential of %13, and you are getting over time which is an additional 50% on top of that. At that rate, if we do the math on my extra hours and your extra hours on a yearly basis, you make more than me for fucking shit up.
Simply put, don't say a word that does not relate to exactly what you are supposed to be doing. I have a head ache, I have been here since 8:00 AM, and I have to wake up early so i can come back to work on my weekend so I can verify that you fucked up $50,000 of product once I left...
The only reason why I am here talking to you now is because you are too incompetent to follow extremely clear instructions. For fuck's sake, there are pictures and everything! At this point, I am positive that if I gave you a child's Lego set, not only would you fail to complete the "pirate in a solid-fucking-plastic rowboat," but I am sure you would have broken the oars after trying to insert them into the gaping neck hole you created after removing the Lego man's head. You should just be happy that I would be watching you so I could give you the Heimlich maneuver once you started choking on the little plastic pirate hat.
It just so happens that it is 11:15 PM on Friday night, and the only reason I am here is to watch you perform a process. At this point, don't make jokes about how much more money I make than you because I am salary. If you didn't have a reputation for fucking this up, I could be out with my friend who visits from a foreign country only once every three to four years. As I mentioned, it is 11:15 PM on Friday, you get a weekend pay differential of 7%, a grave-yard shift differential of %13, and you are getting over time which is an additional 50% on top of that. At that rate, if we do the math on my extra hours and your extra hours on a yearly basis, you make more than me for fucking shit up.
Simply put, don't say a word that does not relate to exactly what you are supposed to be doing. I have a head ache, I have been here since 8:00 AM, and I have to wake up early so i can come back to work on my weekend so I can verify that you fucked up $50,000 of product once I left...
For you restaurant folks
Little things about working in a restaurant.
1. Telling people very politely that the restrooms are located behind the giant glowing sign that says “RESTROOMS” while pointing at the sign as they try to walk into the kitchen.
2. The couple that have been the only customers in the restaurant for the last hour and a half enjoying their shared glass of house cabernet at 12:30 AM asks what time we close. I inform them, while thanking them profusely for their business, that we close at 10 PM.
3. Pouring water from the bottle sitting on the table into the glass sitting in front of them for a guest that asks me to bring them a glass of water.
4. Obscene food allergies. You’re not allergic to salt, gluten and dairy. You don’t have a corn intolerance, it comes out in everyone’s shit. You are just another rock climber that needs an excuse to be anorexic.
5. We open in 15 minutes. Seriously, 15 minutes. No you cannot come in. Fucking deal with it.
6. A group of bitches. Ignore me while I’m trying to take your order. Try and get my attention to order while I’m talking to another table. Take 20 minutes to do different modifications on our happy hour margarita. Ask what the special is after I just recited it to your table then not order food. Sit for 2 hours sipping your one damn modified happy hour margarita then tip 12%.
7. Ordering water with lemon then not touching it.
8. Paying with change.
9. Splitting a 25$ tab 4 ways.
10. Requesting a taste of every wine we pour by the glass then ordering the cheapest one on the menu.
11. Obscenely waiving down the server or bartender, often accompanied with ooh ooh ooh… (pause, turn to your friends)… do you guys know what you want? Still having no idea what YOU want to order .
12. Ordering a STRONG Jack and Coke. I’m pouring the same damn drink or you’re paying for a double.
13. Telling the bartender, “You take care of me, I’ll take care of you.” (so 14% instead of 10.)
14. We don’t carry Bud Light just to offend you. Quit being so dramatic and get a fucking cocktail.
15. Just because you ate at a restaurant once doesn’t mean you know enough to post your bad experience on yelp when you have successfully pulled off #1-14 on this list.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Things that fill me with murderous rage
1. Bums asking me for money as I leave work.
2. Old asian ladies hitting my parked car 3 times while trying to parallel park their lexus in the two open spots in front of me... then shaking their head at me like it was my damn fault they're incompetent.
3. College girls wearing ugs and mini skirts. If you're cold put on some damn pants. The only exception is if you are a communications major or go to Naropa, then we know you are actually mentally challenged and the fact that you managed to get dressed all by yourself is impressive.
4. Women with way too much plastic surgery. You don't look any younger, you just look like you wasted a lot of money on plastic surgery and now everyone knows that you're insecure and think you're ugly... If you weren't before you are now, way to seal the deal.
5. 3.2% beer
6. People moving slow... anywhere. In their damn car, in the grocery store, taking your sweet ass time walking down the street with your two other fat ass friends. I don't have time for you to enjoy your life. Get the fuck out of my way.
7. I work in a restaurant. Don't ever make a joke about money coming out of a tip... ever. Did you forget we are serving you things that you plan to eat or drink? Don't fuck with us.
8. The Boulder Homeless Shelter having a giant plasma screen TV. I can't afford any TV and you're asking me for money?! See #1
9. The giant fat ass bitch wearing v-neck tank top and short shorts several sizes too small ordering her 9th diet coke after eating a whole burger with extra bacon, cheese and mayo in addition to a large side of fries as ketchup still sticks to her face. Don't kid yourself with the diet coke.
10. Children in public.
More soon...
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
The Only Good Thing To Come Out Of The 80's = Me
seriously, let it fucking go. almost nothing good came from the 1980's. here's the way i see it: the worst porsches ever were made in the 80s. in fact, the worst looking cars EVER were made then. beside Maverick's Ninja in Top Gun, every fucking motorcycle from the 80's looks like a piece of shit. neon green will never be cool. especially when that is all that was produced for ten fucking years. 80s fashion? no one wears it unless it's a joke. really... when is the last time you wore something popular from the wretched decade if it wasn't a gay theme party? if you have an answer to that you should hang yourself. what else comes to mind... Ronny, John Hughes movies, and a bunch of people from my generation whose parents should have had an abortion. i'm in favor of wiping the decade from the history books. trickle-down economics? suck the trickle from my dick.
also, don't hate on abortion. it brings out the little kid in you.
also, don't hate on abortion. it brings out the little kid in you.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
The bloom is off the rose
It’s your lucky night, my friend will fuck just about anyone who is willing and as fate would have it you were fortunate enough to run into him tonight. Congratulations! Now that we have that out of the way and I will be forced to spend a large portion of my evening trying to be polite to you so that my friend can further desecrate your gaping septic tank of a vag, please help me out and make this a little less painful. First off, I will not be addressing you by your name because when you introduced yourself to me all I heard was “Hello, my name is town hole bar tramp”. Secondly, you can go ahead and drop the whole nice girl act because my friend is going to fuck you weather I approve or not. If my opinion mattered at all in this affair, I would tell him not to waste the condom but he doesn’t care so you can stop trying to win me over. My conversations with you will consist of “Uh huh”, “yep” and “neat”. So it’s probably in your best interest to just save your breath. I will however ask you one question. Just how old are you? You may or may not be fooling my friend but I have to applaud you on your shabby attempt to play the part of an illusionist. Well done, you’re probably pushing forty but you’re dressed like a twenty something and the Bettie Page hair cut is fairly distracting. Your make up is so thick that you must have to use turpentine to get it off before you lay yourself down to sleep in your filthy fuck station. Sorry Hun, this is only highlighting your face odometer and I'm reading high mileage. Despite all of your cunning efforts to trick me, I can still tell just by glancing at your face that you have had more dicks in you than a Herman Melville novel. The sad and hilarious thing is that you think you’ve still got it. Last call comes around, a charming young man (in this case my friend) is suddenly talking to you and you are brimming with pride and excitement because you feel all pretty and special and you’re saying to yourself “well he’s pretty cute and young so he must think I’m cute and young too!” Sorry Doll, not the case, you just happen to glow desperateness and you are still conscious at last call. My friend is a little drunk and bored and you might as well be toting around a neon sign that says “Fuck me, I fuck”. So anyway, it was great meeting you but let’s just forget the small talk and flattery because I am pretty positive I’ll never see you again. I am also pretty certain that when your alarm clock goes off and it’s time to get to the early shift at Family Dollar, you will open your mascara crusted eyes to meet the emptiness of your bedroom and realize that you will never see my friend again either. Well I guess it's back to starving yourself and popping prozac.
Monday, April 27, 2009
I went to Sunday School and all I got was this lousy guilt.
More proof faith-based religions can die out and we won't care:
http://www.voanews.com/english/2009-04-27-voa57.cfm
For those of us who didn't have parents force feeding imaginary ghosts and wizards to us, the last 2 sentences say it all.
1.) If you didn't worry about religion as a kid, you most likely won't as an adult.
2.) Those of us who didn't worry about religion as kids, won't worry as adults.
So let's just stop with the nonsense of cramming pointless, inconsistent, conflicting, and ridiculous stories of fantasy into our kids. No wonder we're a bunch of scared shitless pansies over a flu virus - we've constantly got this monkey on our back: The boogey man is gonna judge me! And we're so emotionally crippled about it as a result of being indoctrinated and inculcated as kids that we won't do the proper, right, and just thing: tell religion and its leaders to go fuck themselves.
And while we're at it, it's time to stop claiming people who hear voices in their heads are not insane. They are. And they need to be treated for mental illness - not supported by blind faith (actually, that's redundant since all faith, by definition, is blind) until the voices tell them to hurt somebody.
Won't somebody, please, think of the children?!
Jokes. For you.
Probing questions.
Q: What did the blind orphan get for Christmas?
A: Cancer.
Q: Why didn't Superman save JFK?
A: Because he was in a wheelchair.
Q: How do you make a clown cry?
A: You kill his family.
Q: What's the hardest part about going on a shooting spree in a nursery school?
A: Getting the blood stains out of your clown suit.
Q: What did the blind orphan get for Christmas?
A: Cancer.
Q: Why didn't Superman save JFK?
A: Because he was in a wheelchair.
Q: How do you make a clown cry?
A: You kill his family.
Q: What's the hardest part about going on a shooting spree in a nursery school?
A: Getting the blood stains out of your clown suit.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
STFU, you sober prick.
Just because you went sober 3 months ago doesn't mean your opinion, on the exact type of person you were (and are), matters . In fact, you're playing catch-up to a life that's been going on while you've been drunk. We can live fine without you bringing us down. In fact:
Fuck you, recently sober guy.
I can empathize with your problems. But get in line. And just because you're sober doesn't entitle you to shit. I'm not driving 16 miles out of my way to take you home because you lost your license in a drunken mishap last year. You're supposed to suffer, whether you've sobered up or not. So here's the bus stop. Get out of my car.
You know what we do when we don't want to be around drunk people? We go home. So go home, sober guy. Apply yourself to something that matters for a change. You're sober. There's gotta be something you can do, aside from telling your friend how hard you have it. We became friends with you because you had something to offer. Now, we just feel sorry for you. So go home, figure something out, and if you come back with something to offer again, my door is open. But if you keep making me feel guilty for knowing you I'm gonna release a box of coyotes into your shitty apartment.
Fuck you, recently sober guy.
I can empathize with your problems. But get in line. And just because you're sober doesn't entitle you to shit. I'm not driving 16 miles out of my way to take you home because you lost your license in a drunken mishap last year. You're supposed to suffer, whether you've sobered up or not. So here's the bus stop. Get out of my car.
You know what we do when we don't want to be around drunk people? We go home. So go home, sober guy. Apply yourself to something that matters for a change. You're sober. There's gotta be something you can do, aside from telling your friend how hard you have it. We became friends with you because you had something to offer. Now, we just feel sorry for you. So go home, figure something out, and if you come back with something to offer again, my door is open. But if you keep making me feel guilty for knowing you I'm gonna release a box of coyotes into your shitty apartment.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Touch that button and die, kid.
I swear to gawd. If this little red-headed terror wakes me up again I'm going to put him in a dumpster and be completely, legally, ethically, and morally justified.
I'm asleep. Stop turning off the volume of the babysitter (TV).
I'm asleep. Stop turning up the volume of the babysitter (TV).
I hate you and the puzzles you think you need to show me you can do for the 789,654th time.
Your mother is a dirty whore, and that's why I pay attention to her.
All kids are accidents: biology dictates the decision to have kids but given the choice, nobody - and I mean NO-BO-DY - is that stupid.
Uncle E married us, making you 1189% illegitimate.
Your evil laugh was taught to you by me, and if your mother learns our secret I'll be a happy suppporter of 8th trimester abortions.
I'm asleep. Stop turning off the volume of the babysitter (TV).
I'm asleep. Stop turning up the volume of the babysitter (TV).
I hate you and the puzzles you think you need to show me you can do for the 789,654th time.
Your mother is a dirty whore, and that's why I pay attention to her.
All kids are accidents: biology dictates the decision to have kids but given the choice, nobody - and I mean NO-BO-DY - is that stupid.
Uncle E married us, making you 1189% illegitimate.
Your evil laugh was taught to you by me, and if your mother learns our secret I'll be a happy suppporter of 8th trimester abortions.
The Susej
Ladies and Gentleman,
Some of you may feel like you just haven’t brushed up on the teachings of the Lord for a while so I took it upon myself to share with you my favorite way to do this.
http://www.thebricktestament.com/
I think you will be enlightened. My personal favorites are under the category “The law” especially the section that explains “When to stone your children” and also the precious lesson of how to punish someone who performs bestiality. Oh yeah, you can also go ahead and cancel your porn subscriptions because there is plenty of stuff to masturbate to under the newly added “Revelations” section. You can thank me later for saving your souls.
Thy Kingdom cum, on earth as it is in your vagina.
Some of you may feel like you just haven’t brushed up on the teachings of the Lord for a while so I took it upon myself to share with you my favorite way to do this.
http://www.thebricktestament.com/
I think you will be enlightened. My personal favorites are under the category “The law” especially the section that explains “When to stone your children” and also the precious lesson of how to punish someone who performs bestiality. Oh yeah, you can also go ahead and cancel your porn subscriptions because there is plenty of stuff to masturbate to under the newly added “Revelations” section. You can thank me later for saving your souls.
Thy Kingdom cum, on earth as it is in your vagina.
Lots of people go to school for 7 years...
...they're called doctors. And they're still dumb as a fucking doorknob.
My wife and I recently got back from an out of country vacation. We do that sometimes, since traveling is the best way to educate yourself and learn about the world. That is, for those of us who actually give a shit about it.
As sometimes happens, we picked up a bug that left us violently ill. Probably from some sushi. We're adventurous like that. She got over it rather quickly. I suffered a little longer, Definitely longer than I needed to. At one point I laid down, shaking uncontrollably, in our hotel room after heaving my colon through my esophagus and thought that this was the end. I'm was coming to terms with the fact that I was going to die in a tiny pink room to the sound of techno, creaking wooden steps, & moronic opinions coming from CNN.
Much to my surprise, I woke up the next morning, relatively alive, and we managed to get ourselves home the following day.
After the dysentery kicked in we figured a trip to the doctor was necessary so we went to an Urgent Care center at 7 pm on a Saturday night. I spent about 20 minutes with a nice nurse who took all of my info and she wrote down anything we had a remote feeling was relevant to my health. I was home. Being cared for. Comfortable (aside from the whole rectal bleed thing).
About 30 minutes later, a doctor came in asking "what's wrong?"
No file was in her hand. This through me off - so I didn't know where to begin.
I gave her some sparse details and she rattled off some drugs I'd have to take while they ran some tests, of which would take a few days to run.
An hour or 2 later we paid, left and went home with my prescriptions in hand, to worry ourselves through the night. The next morning I got my drugs, took the ones that would let me drink (I'm not one to restrict my diet when I don't have a good factual reason to), and went through my day, persistently calling every couple hours to get my test results as they came in.
2 days later, after all tests were run, I'm dizzy, lethargic, hungry, and living in a steady state akin to an out-of-body experience. And I still have the shits.
Still, nobody could give me a good reason to start taking the drugs I couldn't drink on, so I put those in the cabinet and kept up with the antibiotics. After 2 more days of drooling over my keyboard at work, too stoned to even drive myself home, I called my regular doc who told me to keep up with the drugs until they were all gone. And to take the other ones. The shits continued.
Fuck that.
I went home, put the drugs away, and got drunk.
After 2 days of being drug free the dizzyness went away and the shits stopped. The fog had lifted so I looked up side effects of the drugs I was taking. "May cause drowsiness." No shit.
Lo and behold, after a little Google time (like, 3 seconds) the same drug may cause the shits.
So let me get this straight: we have an industry of health care professionals, recommending a drug whose side effects worsen the pain of people who are already bleeding out their ass. Then when the patient complains the drugs are making it worse, you tell them to shut the fuck up, dose up, and call if there's any change.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
I pay my insurance out of pocket, plus a deductible and co-pay, for all these people to develop and run tests, develop and sell drugs, scare the shit out of my wife and I, all while an industry spends billions of dollars on research and education. And not only can you tell me NOTHING about what's eating away at my insides, but at the end of the day I would have been better off, both financially and health-wise, had I stayed at home that night and quietly bled out of my ass.
What scares me the most: What the fuck do you inefficient geeks do when someone is really sick?
My wife and I recently got back from an out of country vacation. We do that sometimes, since traveling is the best way to educate yourself and learn about the world. That is, for those of us who actually give a shit about it.
As sometimes happens, we picked up a bug that left us violently ill. Probably from some sushi. We're adventurous like that. She got over it rather quickly. I suffered a little longer, Definitely longer than I needed to. At one point I laid down, shaking uncontrollably, in our hotel room after heaving my colon through my esophagus and thought that this was the end. I'm was coming to terms with the fact that I was going to die in a tiny pink room to the sound of techno, creaking wooden steps, & moronic opinions coming from CNN.
Much to my surprise, I woke up the next morning, relatively alive, and we managed to get ourselves home the following day.
After the dysentery kicked in we figured a trip to the doctor was necessary so we went to an Urgent Care center at 7 pm on a Saturday night. I spent about 20 minutes with a nice nurse who took all of my info and she wrote down anything we had a remote feeling was relevant to my health. I was home. Being cared for. Comfortable (aside from the whole rectal bleed thing).
About 30 minutes later, a doctor came in asking "what's wrong?"
No file was in her hand. This through me off - so I didn't know where to begin.
I gave her some sparse details and she rattled off some drugs I'd have to take while they ran some tests, of which would take a few days to run.
An hour or 2 later we paid, left and went home with my prescriptions in hand, to worry ourselves through the night. The next morning I got my drugs, took the ones that would let me drink (I'm not one to restrict my diet when I don't have a good factual reason to), and went through my day, persistently calling every couple hours to get my test results as they came in.
2 days later, after all tests were run, I'm dizzy, lethargic, hungry, and living in a steady state akin to an out-of-body experience. And I still have the shits.
Still, nobody could give me a good reason to start taking the drugs I couldn't drink on, so I put those in the cabinet and kept up with the antibiotics. After 2 more days of drooling over my keyboard at work, too stoned to even drive myself home, I called my regular doc who told me to keep up with the drugs until they were all gone. And to take the other ones. The shits continued.
Fuck that.
I went home, put the drugs away, and got drunk.
After 2 days of being drug free the dizzyness went away and the shits stopped. The fog had lifted so I looked up side effects of the drugs I was taking. "May cause drowsiness." No shit.
Lo and behold, after a little Google time (like, 3 seconds) the same drug may cause the shits.
So let me get this straight: we have an industry of health care professionals, recommending a drug whose side effects worsen the pain of people who are already bleeding out their ass. Then when the patient complains the drugs are making it worse, you tell them to shut the fuck up, dose up, and call if there's any change.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
I pay my insurance out of pocket, plus a deductible and co-pay, for all these people to develop and run tests, develop and sell drugs, scare the shit out of my wife and I, all while an industry spends billions of dollars on research and education. And not only can you tell me NOTHING about what's eating away at my insides, but at the end of the day I would have been better off, both financially and health-wise, had I stayed at home that night and quietly bled out of my ass.
What scares me the most: What the fuck do you inefficient geeks do when someone is really sick?
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Books are for pussies and survivalists
Late December I read an article on how bad drinking alcohol was for me. So I made a new year's resolution: No more reading.
4 months later, I broke my resolution. A couple of friends convinced me to read a book called "World War Z." Now, please don't get me wrong, the last thing I want to do is sit around and waste my time reading a book. I learn more watching TV and i can comfortably refill my drink at the same time. Books do not get me laid, nor do they for anybody else. Unless, of course, you kidnap the kid who is sitting all by himself at a play ground reading a book just to drag his ass down to the public library to convince the fucking sexy librarian you are a great uncle and she should sleep with you. Even then, thats stretching it and you still don't have to read. Well, back to my story: I ended up reading a book about a zombie apocalypse. Fucking awesome.
The only problem is that now I have spent $1500 on a new M4 carbine (fuck 3 day waiting periods), purchased 1000's of rounds for it, a $50 machete (they don't run out of ammo), a crow bar, and a sledge hammer. When Vietnam vets walk into a room, they immediately look for exits. I now look for entrances so I can barricade them. I spent 2 hours in a meeting today with my company's management in a posh conference room. I forgot what the fuck they were talking about because I was contemplating how I could separate the CEO's head from his body using one of the doors from cabinet, if he were a zombie it would even be justified.
Now that I am home and writing this, I have realized that I need help. I need some serious help and I am sure you have realized it: How am I going to destroy the stairs leading to the top floor of my house alone.
4 months later, I broke my resolution. A couple of friends convinced me to read a book called "World War Z." Now, please don't get me wrong, the last thing I want to do is sit around and waste my time reading a book. I learn more watching TV and i can comfortably refill my drink at the same time. Books do not get me laid, nor do they for anybody else. Unless, of course, you kidnap the kid who is sitting all by himself at a play ground reading a book just to drag his ass down to the public library to convince the fucking sexy librarian you are a great uncle and she should sleep with you. Even then, thats stretching it and you still don't have to read. Well, back to my story: I ended up reading a book about a zombie apocalypse. Fucking awesome.
The only problem is that now I have spent $1500 on a new M4 carbine (fuck 3 day waiting periods), purchased 1000's of rounds for it, a $50 machete (they don't run out of ammo), a crow bar, and a sledge hammer. When Vietnam vets walk into a room, they immediately look for exits. I now look for entrances so I can barricade them. I spent 2 hours in a meeting today with my company's management in a posh conference room. I forgot what the fuck they were talking about because I was contemplating how I could separate the CEO's head from his body using one of the doors from cabinet, if he were a zombie it would even be justified.
Now that I am home and writing this, I have realized that I need help. I need some serious help and I am sure you have realized it: How am I going to destroy the stairs leading to the top floor of my house alone.
Live strong, Die fast
Look out everyone! The parade of arrogance and closeted homosexuality is waving its revolting man ass in front of my vehicle! What should I do?! The grand spectrum of emotions is overwhelming. Should I throw up at the site of 50 grown men wearing day glow spandex that would even nauseate Milly Vanilly in this day and age? Don’t do it, don’t let them win by soiling your upholstery. I know, step on the gas and extinguish their miserable existence. Do it!? Don’t do it!? Do it?! Don’t do it!? Fuck! I don’t want to go to prison! Aaaahhh!!!! FUCK!!! I am stuck trying to pass these cock drinkers and they are slowing me and every other poor bastard behind me from getting to happy hour before it ends! I fucking hate them! My dollar wells and free pool will now cost full price and all of the truly degenerate cheap whores that would have actually let me take them home are now going home by themselves to hit their stash of plastic bottled Gordon’s vodka half pints because it is more cost effective and they know that no one in their right mind is going to buy them a full priced drink when they could have received the same shitty blow job for half the cost 20 minutes ago. Fuck you Lance Armstrong for making these lemmings believe that they are participating in something manly or even respectable. Fuck you Lance Armstrong for helping these fucks mask their desire to watch their friend’s sweaty ass bounce rhythmically in front of their cock hungry eyes for miles on end. Fuck you Lance Armstrong for helping these dildos fulfill their aspirations to dress in woman’s clothing and shave their legs by making these people think that riding a bike down the street is a real sport. I hate to break it to you turd anglers…but I learned how to ride a bike when I was five years old and it never made me think I should make a spectacle of myself by plastering everything I wear with a corporate logo (and no, you are not sponsored so don’t bullshit me!) and at no point did I pretend that I was a car so that I could stoke my own ego and make everyone else have to contemplate murder every time they passed me. Fuck you! Please do me favor, come out of the closet, get off of the road and drop your ridiculous hobby. Then I can redeem some respect for your life and buy you a drink, even if it means I have to meet you at the Blue Flame or the Mud Miner’s Saloon.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
hey fucktards
to those who are 'authors' but have yet to post... come on do it.. i'm right here... kill me!!! but really. fucking do it already. or i will delete you.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Ode to the Old Town Deli
O Old Town Deli
how i love thee so
with your overpriced deli meat
and 'sides' consisting mostly of mayo
only open for 4 hours a day
and shut tight as a virgin on weekends
RC Cola and Boar's Head
but do you really want to know,
why out of my way to you i go?
because the owner has a creepy handlebar mustache and his wife makes the sandwiches - and every single time i go in there he's screaming his head off at her to the point where i just know sooner or later i'll finally see him hit her.
it took me forever to figure out why they make such good sandwiches and today it dawned on me: every sandwich is flavored with a drizzling of tears. tears of domestic violence. mmmmm... battered wife.
how i love thee so
with your overpriced deli meat
and 'sides' consisting mostly of mayo
only open for 4 hours a day
and shut tight as a virgin on weekends
RC Cola and Boar's Head
but do you really want to know,
why out of my way to you i go?
because the owner has a creepy handlebar mustache and his wife makes the sandwiches - and every single time i go in there he's screaming his head off at her to the point where i just know sooner or later i'll finally see him hit her.
it took me forever to figure out why they make such good sandwiches and today it dawned on me: every sandwich is flavored with a drizzling of tears. tears of domestic violence. mmmmm... battered wife.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Silent scream
I have some new rules of engagement I would like people to start applying during any time spent with me. This applies to all of the following social events but is definitely not limited to them. If you are hanging out with me at the bar, the concert, my bedroom, the restaurant, the car ride to the abortion clinic, the trunk of my car, the hotel room, the whore house, bible study, the woods, my basement wall, the movies, on a boat, skiing, the dumpster behind the bar, anger management class, basket weaving class, your house, your bedroom or at work. Please try to abide by the following.
#1 and the most important – If there is a Kerry King guitar solo coming from the stereo, the juke box or the stage. Do not under any circumstances talk or even look at me like you want to say something.
#2 - If you decide that you are more important than a Kerry King guitar solo and decide to talk anyway…please do me a favor and spare my clothing and hands from having to be covered in your blood and cut your own tongue out for me. This would at least restore a miniscule piece of your honor.
#3 – If you think Kerry King is done blowing my mind and you think I am still interested in following that up with whatever you want to say, please reach in your purse for your bottle of Ritalin and be patient because I can almost guarantee you that his solo will be followed by a Jeff Hanneman solo. Listen closely! It is also VERY important that you do not speak during this either.
#4 - To make certain that rules #1, 2 and 3 cannot accidentally be broken, it would be in your best interest to just wait for silence and there for guarantee that I don’t miss any part of the audible copulation that is a Slayer song.
#5 – Now that the air has been completely cleansed of all of the unimportant drivel that preceded this enlightening experience and there is absolute certainty that we have reached complete silence (that you have been waiting on for reasons that are beyond my comprehension), please be sure to not ruin the moment by saying anything other than “Wow! Did you fucking hear that?!”
#6 – Never make mention of the show Sex in the City.
#7 – If you want to refill me glass of whiskey silently at any point during #1 through #5, this is acceptable.
Thank you ahead of time for your cooperation.
#1 and the most important – If there is a Kerry King guitar solo coming from the stereo, the juke box or the stage. Do not under any circumstances talk or even look at me like you want to say something.
#2 - If you decide that you are more important than a Kerry King guitar solo and decide to talk anyway…please do me a favor and spare my clothing and hands from having to be covered in your blood and cut your own tongue out for me. This would at least restore a miniscule piece of your honor.
#3 – If you think Kerry King is done blowing my mind and you think I am still interested in following that up with whatever you want to say, please reach in your purse for your bottle of Ritalin and be patient because I can almost guarantee you that his solo will be followed by a Jeff Hanneman solo. Listen closely! It is also VERY important that you do not speak during this either.
#4 - To make certain that rules #1, 2 and 3 cannot accidentally be broken, it would be in your best interest to just wait for silence and there for guarantee that I don’t miss any part of the audible copulation that is a Slayer song.
#5 – Now that the air has been completely cleansed of all of the unimportant drivel that preceded this enlightening experience and there is absolute certainty that we have reached complete silence (that you have been waiting on for reasons that are beyond my comprehension), please be sure to not ruin the moment by saying anything other than “Wow! Did you fucking hear that?!”
#6 – Never make mention of the show Sex in the City.
#7 – If you want to refill me glass of whiskey silently at any point during #1 through #5, this is acceptable.
Thank you ahead of time for your cooperation.
cave-in at the nose gold mine
every now and again, i actually learn my lesson. point and case: last semester i took this small seminar class that involved a large amount of presentations to the class. well being the wonderfully functioning alcoholic that i am, i was hung over as shit for the first presentation. to my utter horror from my vantage point at the front of the class if have a direct view of a grown man (later to find out he has a wife and kids) picking his nose and fucking eating it. i started to throw up in my mouth a little bit and excused myself for about 20 minutes.
so this time around, i made sure to sit in a place where i cannot see him at all. but every time he talks i vomit a little in my mouth. now my friend sits next to him and i just got this email:
"do you know this _____ guy? am i crazy? i think he just picked his nose and ate it!!!!!! omg!"
how the fuck do you make it into your 30s picking your nose and eating it without be so embarrassed at some point that you (1) stopped doing it forever or (2) just fucking kill yourself. i'm voting for number 2.
so this time around, i made sure to sit in a place where i cannot see him at all. but every time he talks i vomit a little in my mouth. now my friend sits next to him and i just got this email:
"do you know this _____ guy? am i crazy? i think he just picked his nose and ate it!!!!!! omg!"
how the fuck do you make it into your 30s picking your nose and eating it without be so embarrassed at some point that you (1) stopped doing it forever or (2) just fucking kill yourself. i'm voting for number 2.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Leave Me Alone, Retard.
I'm a quiet fellow. I mind my own business. An introvert. Loner. I like to do things by myself and prefer to not have to work in a large group. I was born this way. It happens. It's natural.
As I am, I often venture out into the world - on my own - to places like restaurants, bookstores, and the grocery store. I go in with my mentally or physically prepared lists (or no list, if in case of the bookstore), get what I need, have a brief checkout/chat process with the cashier, and then get on my way. Years of experience have taught me how to properly time my endeavors and what coversations I will need to be prepared for.
Normally, I care not for idle chit-chat about things like the weather, professional sports (the bane of my existence), or popular TV (Survivor, the Biggest Loser, etc.). In fact, it bores me and the longer it goes on the more of an idiot the other person becomes for not being able to notice I'm politely ignoring what is being said - and not propogating the conversation further. Idle chit chat is a time waster and a faux way of pretending your life doesn't suck as bad as it really does. Thus, idle chit chat need not exist for me. Nor for anyone.
Including retards.
And yes, I mean the handicapped. People who where helmets and kneepads to go for a walk. People with a clubbed foot, cleft lip and an IQ below 95 that need someone to keep an eye on the amount of saliva pooling up on the floor. The 57 year old that works as a grocery bagger and isn't allowed to have a drivers license. The stammering, slobering, slightly-smelling-of-excrement autistic kid who couldn't figure out the Dewey Decimal System but he's not retarded he's "unique" (just like everyone else) so he's entitled to a job shelving returned books at Border's. Those retards.
To those retards, I have one request: stop talking to me.
Don't ask me if I have kids when you are bagging diapers. Don't ask me if I'm having a party when I've just purchased a handle of whiskey. And if I've ordered a combo meal then yes, I did want (in fact, expected) fries to come with it - so don't ask.
I feel for you. I really do. If I believed in God I'd curse him too for making you in his image. But sexually harassing the one good looking woman at Safeway isn't helping your cause. In fact, that's why you shouldn't be allowed in public unsupervised.
And to the parents/guardians/daykeepers of these vocal monsters please do us all a favor: keep your feel-good project under control. If I caught an employee making moronic or harrasing remarks to anyone in my place of business (in open daylight, nonethless) they would be out the door in seconds. Just becasue little Kenny's 16 year old retarded hormones are, you know, dysfunctional doesn't forgive his persistent left hand in his pants. And if I'm eating alone it's because I came here alone, want to eat alone, and will quietly pay my bill and leave, alone. I don't want anyone tapping me on the shoulder, asking me how I am, where my friends are, and what my name is while drooling in my rice bowl, then making me feel guilty because I want some peace to myself.
Shut the fuck up, retards. Leave me alone.
As I am, I often venture out into the world - on my own - to places like restaurants, bookstores, and the grocery store. I go in with my mentally or physically prepared lists (or no list, if in case of the bookstore), get what I need, have a brief checkout/chat process with the cashier, and then get on my way. Years of experience have taught me how to properly time my endeavors and what coversations I will need to be prepared for.
Normally, I care not for idle chit-chat about things like the weather, professional sports (the bane of my existence), or popular TV (Survivor, the Biggest Loser, etc.). In fact, it bores me and the longer it goes on the more of an idiot the other person becomes for not being able to notice I'm politely ignoring what is being said - and not propogating the conversation further. Idle chit chat is a time waster and a faux way of pretending your life doesn't suck as bad as it really does. Thus, idle chit chat need not exist for me. Nor for anyone.
Including retards.
And yes, I mean the handicapped. People who where helmets and kneepads to go for a walk. People with a clubbed foot, cleft lip and an IQ below 95 that need someone to keep an eye on the amount of saliva pooling up on the floor. The 57 year old that works as a grocery bagger and isn't allowed to have a drivers license. The stammering, slobering, slightly-smelling-of-excrement autistic kid who couldn't figure out the Dewey Decimal System but he's not retarded he's "unique" (just like everyone else) so he's entitled to a job shelving returned books at Border's. Those retards.
To those retards, I have one request: stop talking to me.
Don't ask me if I have kids when you are bagging diapers. Don't ask me if I'm having a party when I've just purchased a handle of whiskey. And if I've ordered a combo meal then yes, I did want (in fact, expected) fries to come with it - so don't ask.
I feel for you. I really do. If I believed in God I'd curse him too for making you in his image. But sexually harassing the one good looking woman at Safeway isn't helping your cause. In fact, that's why you shouldn't be allowed in public unsupervised.
And to the parents/guardians/daykeepers of these vocal monsters please do us all a favor: keep your feel-good project under control. If I caught an employee making moronic or harrasing remarks to anyone in my place of business (in open daylight, nonethless) they would be out the door in seconds. Just becasue little Kenny's 16 year old retarded hormones are, you know, dysfunctional doesn't forgive his persistent left hand in his pants. And if I'm eating alone it's because I came here alone, want to eat alone, and will quietly pay my bill and leave, alone. I don't want anyone tapping me on the shoulder, asking me how I am, where my friends are, and what my name is while drooling in my rice bowl, then making me feel guilty because I want some peace to myself.
Shut the fuck up, retards. Leave me alone.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
preface to the next post
like any piece of literary genius (genious if you're walker), a good preface by a notable celebrity is needed. as far as this blog goes, i'm the best you're gonna get.
just in case any of you are confused, "undfined" is saying 'fuck you' to his 4 year-old daughter. who he dressed as JonBenet Ramsey 2 years ago. all bask in his glory, for he is the chosen one.
just in case any of you are confused, "undfined" is saying 'fuck you' to his 4 year-old daughter. who he dressed as JonBenet Ramsey 2 years ago. all bask in his glory, for he is the chosen one.
You Owe Me $40, Bitch.
I love my iPod. It's my little personalized piece of heaven. It sounds good. It works in my car, in my house, and in my office. Even on a Big Wheel. Or a dinghy. Roller coasters, even. So when it goes missing I obsess about where I had it last and where it possibly could have gone. For this reason, I tend not to lose the shit I pay good money for. Like my car keys or sunglasses. Or an iPod.
But then you came along and fucked it all up.
I spent weeks looking for my lovely little music dispenser, to no avail - blaming it stolen by the cleaning lady of a Vegas hotel (I found solace in believing it was hocked for a cab ride with a lesbian hooker girlfriend, gambling, cheap booze, and an eventual double homicide of a couple mormons in Utah).
So I bit the bullet, reviewed my bank account, and verified I was unable to afford and therefore purchase a new iPod. Not that that stopped me.
After customizing the newer, more glorious unit and loading you, my dear, into the car to go to your overpriced daycare you said some of those magical words that make me want to go out for cigarettes and never come back.
"Hey, what's that?"
"Daddy's new iPod."
"Did you get that from my Dora backpack?"
Fuck you.
"No. Do you have one of these in your Dora backpack?"
"Yea, in my pink room!"
Fuck you.
After locating my bless-ed jukebox, I was prompted to return the newer, more glorious device to the store - minus a 15% "restocking fee" that the hairy fat cunt manager wouldn't refund because her shitty retail store is unable to make money competing with that Interweb thingy.
So the way I see it, you owe me $40.
But then you came along and fucked it all up.
I spent weeks looking for my lovely little music dispenser, to no avail - blaming it stolen by the cleaning lady of a Vegas hotel (I found solace in believing it was hocked for a cab ride with a lesbian hooker girlfriend, gambling, cheap booze, and an eventual double homicide of a couple mormons in Utah).
So I bit the bullet, reviewed my bank account, and verified I was unable to afford and therefore purchase a new iPod. Not that that stopped me.
After customizing the newer, more glorious unit and loading you, my dear, into the car to go to your overpriced daycare you said some of those magical words that make me want to go out for cigarettes and never come back.
"Hey, what's that?"
"Daddy's new iPod."
"Did you get that from my Dora backpack?"
Fuck you.
"No. Do you have one of these in your Dora backpack?"
"Yea, in my pink room!"
Fuck you.
After locating my bless-ed jukebox, I was prompted to return the newer, more glorious device to the store - minus a 15% "restocking fee" that the hairy fat cunt manager wouldn't refund because her shitty retail store is unable to make money competing with that Interweb thingy.
So the way I see it, you owe me $40.
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