To perhaps contrast the out-and-out buffoonery exhibited in my other entries, I feel that I must post something on a slightly more serious note. And this day is the perfect day to do so. For you see, I am celebrating not one, but two monumental events that just so happen to have taken place on this date in history. So raise your glass high, this goes out to the two most important people in my life.
To Ben:
In times when finding someone I could talk to was as difficult as Lindsay Lohan passing a drug test, you were always there.It’s hard for me to imagine what kind of person I would be if I hadn’t met you.You’ve taught me to look at the world with a more skeptical eye, and how to find humor in the most mundane or dark moments.I know I could never find a better friend than you.And on this slightly embarrassing (to both you and I, I’m sure) note, I want to wish you a happy birthday.So don’t screw up you’ve got a lot going for you.
To Chelsey:
Simply put:Happy anniversary.I love you more than you could know.
So on this day so close to the capitalistic clusterf*ck that is Christmas, let us not forget the things that are truly important. Whatever holiday you celebrate or don’t celebrate, make sure you take some time this season to focus on the true meaning celebration.
I'm not a huge reader, thats not to say I don't enjoy a select few novels. And if you are reading this I can only assume that you can read at a basic reading level. And if this is the case than you probably have read the Harry Potter series. Yes Harry Potter, that oh so lovable, acne-riddled teenager. This series found a place in many peoples hearts including my own. I thoroughly enjoyed books 1-6, thats right ONE through SIX. I'm guessing you're picking up what I'm laying down at this point, that the seventh book in this wonderful series has taken a wrong turn to Crappytown. Population, it's own turd-riddled pages of atrocious writing and plot development.
Okay thats what I got from the first 100 pages. See, I haven't actually finished said book but I think that if I take one look at that glasses-wearing bastard again I might just become sterile. The book started out like any other, slowly reintroducing the reader back into the world of Harry Potter, one magical misfit at a time, but something happened, I just couldn't take it anymore the lack of anything actually happening was driving me to contemplation of suicide. I think that if these three jag-offs didn't start doing something and not just sitting around in the god-damn woods, I would have to take my own life. Luckily I don't need nor want to now how it ends, because I can come up with an ending just as good as the real one, and much more pertinent to everyday life. Firstly, Harry defeats Voldemort in some slightly ironic and epic sort of way. Then, becomes addicted to magic infused heroine and moving wizard pornography. Harry finally lives out his days as a balding single loser who eventually goes into self inflicted auto-erotic asphyxiation. Ron on the other hand becomes a famous Quiddich player, and has all the women and disease-ridden whores, he could ever want. He gets AIDS and dies 5 years later bitter and crotchety. Hermione of course is the prostitute that gives Ron this terrible disease but comes up with a cure for her affliction. She gets killed 2 months by Hagrid who has become a serial rapist. This seems like the most realistic, albeit adult, ending to such a fantastical book series. J.K. Rowling obviously wasn't thinking when see came up with the real ending ( of which I can only assume is utterly and completely different than my own). Well Harry, you had a good run and you died a hilarious death; So for that you should be proud, I salute you.
I have long feared the intellectual collapse of this country.We’ve fallen into an era of false idols, red-neck presidents, whorish heiresses, and a general lack of common sense.But never has the prophetic sense of impending doom overwhelmed me like when I became aware of the Alabama Leprechaun.At this point I encourage those not familiar with this story to watch the news report here to see I’m completely serious.
Mobile, Alabama is plagued with what appears to be leprechaun fever.According to eyewitnesses, a short, hat-wearing figure has been spotted perched in large tree causing spectators and leprechaun fanatics alike to unanimously agree that indeed Mobile has an infestation of the Irish dwarf variety.
Are you kidding me?Has all reason and logic been thrown to the wind?Reality check:A leprechaun as defined by Princeton, yes an institution for the further pursuit of knowledge, is “a mischievous elf in Irish folklore”.FOLKLORE, synonymous with legend, myth, fable, fairy tale, and made up shit.However, the acceptance of lies and myth seems to be commonplace in a society where the popular vote doesn’t win an election, wars can be started on a whim, and the environment is an afterthought.And besides, what are the odds of a “mischievous elf” from Ireland paying a visit to Mobile?I mean come on, if I were a magical, two-foot-tall, Irish hooligan going on vacation the last place I’d want to go is a tree in Alabama.What’s worse is the fact this is a news story.You remember the news, it used to be…well…“newsier”.It wasn’t a ticker with talking heads and Nancy Grace draining her guests like the succubus; it was actual events that had bearing on the world as a whole instead of meaningless dribble to satisfy boredom and the monotony of everyday life.Even that this “story” got airtime promotes the stupidity and ignorance this nation embodies.It tells the public it’s okay to be dumb because it’s entertaining.
Perhaps the most unbelievable part of the report is the accounts of the inhabitants in Mobile.Many seem to whole-heartedly believe that there is a leprechaun in their midst.One man is suited up in camouflage and overalls, the overalls of course to ward off evil spells, prepared to fight the leprechaun.He has a leprechaun flute passed down from his great, great, Irish grandfather from thousands of years ago.The flute was made the age old way by cutting a piece of PVC pipe, drilling holes in it, and spray painting it gold.On the other hand, there are detractors who don’t believe in the validity of the myth; however the news report portrays them as complete idiots.“Could be a crack head that got hold to the wrong stuff and it told him to get up in a tree and play a leprechaun” was one of the more realistic explanations given by a woman.
Nonetheless, in a country where the lack of education isn’t nearly as scary as two dudes kissing, more stories like this are bound to pop up.Though, I truthfully cannot place all the blame on our bastard republican government as it was the public that elected it.I also hold the media partially responsible for the sensationalizing of stories that have little significance for this only adds the problem of ignorance in the U.S.It seems that somewhere a group intelligent people should be gathering to try to organize some sort of master plan to reeducate the nation.So I just have one question: “Where the gold at?”
At the risk of emasculating myself further after pouring my half-filled heart out on my friends birthday, I must redeem myself with a post filled with manly intrigue and adventure. I regret to inform that the host of Man vs. Wild on the Discovery Channel, Bear Grylls, has been under fire as of late and been accused of "faking" certain scenarios of danger that he puts himself into. Such claims include: sleeping in hotels and not ever being in any real danger due to the constant, ever watchful eye of his camera crew. Now I don't dispute these claims, in fact they could very well be true. Bear might just be like a money grubbing whore, hoping to get her fix by fellating the next rich businessman that may strike her fancy. If this is the case, It doesn't ever matter to me for so many tasty reasons. I really could care less if he occasionally sleeps in hotels, he is still at least 3 times the man I will ever be. We all know from the awe-inspiring intro that he was in the British SAS, climbed Everest, Blah, blah, bladdity, blah, who cares? I sure as shit don't. All I care about is what will inevitably happen about 10-15 minutes into the show, and will continue for the next half hour. He will either:
a. Eat something horrrible for no good reason. b.Do something horrible to an animal i.e. hitting, slitting , bashing or just causing general discomfort to it. c.Drink his own piss/squeeze water out of another animals back door chocolate d.Jump into quicksand, mud, bog, etc and try to escape, usually losing his shirt in the process. or e. Some mixture of a, b, c and d
Now I challenge any of you to do any of the torturous things that Bear puts himself through to entertain you sons-of-bitches, you should be greatful that there is a man out their willing to pee into a shirt and then wrap it around his head just to stay cool in the dessert. I mean desert, damn I sure could use some pie...
I just wanted to wish my fellow blog-mate, and best friend Jonathan a Happy Birthday! It was (about) 7 years ago that we met and now your a man, so don't screw it up!! I can only assume that the included picture is what you will look like in 80 years so stay away from the prospecting business. Anyway Happy Birthday and here's to our young lives going down the poop-chute!!
Perhaps those reading this are more blessed than I.Perhaps they live in a serine, peaceful world.Perchance, the ululation of the word “YOUUUUU!!!” means nothing to them.I, however, do not live in such a world.Daily, I find myself buffeted by the shit storm that is “Crank That (Soulja Boy)” performed the one and only…you guessed it…Soulja Boy.To some, “Crank That (Soulja Boy)” is a hip new song and dance for all them “gangstas” and “hoes” to worship.To others, it is science.Confused?Ah, well, I’d expect you to be.
See, it’s like this: Every ten years or so, an atrocious song emerges that infects the airwaves and, inevitably, the masses love it.This is song is what is known, in science, as the Indifferentiable Time – transcending Serendipitous Unbiased Course of Kainite Solution, also known as I.T.S.U.C.K.S.Simple algebra along with the use of other variables can be used to predict the next recurrence of I.T.S.U.C.K.S.
(Combined Greediness of Record Companies x Overall Desperation for Entertainment)/ (Lack of a Competitive Market due to Shitty Musicians) = Date of next I.T.S.U.C.K.S
or in short hand:
(CG x DE)/(SM) = S.U.C.K.
and if we substitute the appropriate numbers…
(1943042.1734693877 x 2352) / 456 = 10022007
and it just so happens that Soulja Boy’s album was released on 10/02/2007
Haha!Proof!!
In all seriousness, if such a thing is possible now, “Crank That (Soulja Boy)” has gotten far more attention than it deserves.Even in a world where Rihanna manages to win countless awards, the burning sensation that is Soulja Boy is felt by all who value the continuation of what was once music.
-Jonathan
P.S. I recommend not even listening to this “song” even if only to be able to complain to your friends about it.You’d only be encouraging poor taste with publicity…as I have just done somewhat…whatever…
I don't pretended to be a history buff, if anything I really could care less about the historical accuracy of a film as long as it entertains (a la 300). So when I heard about a move starring Brad Pitt and Casey Affleck, who continues to wow me with his acting prowess, was set in the wild west and additionally about the outlaw Jesse James, not to sound cliche but, Giddy-up (ok that was terrible I sincerely apologize). The Assassination of Jesse James By the Coward Robert Ford, is haunting drama, more about Jesse and Roberts personal demons and inner struggle than a shoot-em-up cowboy western. The macabre tone set over the entire movie is just build-up to the inevitable end. While I did find the beginning slightly perplexing, the pieces eventually were put into place and were made whole before the first hour came to a close. I expected a decent western drama and what I walked away with was a deeper understanding of the motivation and downfall of The Outlaw Jesse James.
Well It's that time of year again, a time when children become more annoying, adults drink far to much, and your local mall shoves "Jingle Bell Rock" into your ear like a rectal thermometer. The only thing that can cheer me up this holiday season is the fact that Carson Daly is more desperate than I am. This writer's strike has hit Carson Daly, that lovable late night host that nobody loves, especially hard because he is now asking people to call a joke hot line number at (818) 260-5107 and give suggestions for him to perform on his show. He claims that he will "play some, most, or all of your jokes on the air." I don't really see how this will affect the shows quality in any way. In fact it might be funnier off the air than on. Just think in the near future you could say to one of your friends "Hey remember Carson's old talk show?" And then your friend would reply coolly, "Oh yeah, I remember, it was like a Holocaust of the senses."
His show will always be remembered as a cavalcade of mediocrity and poor writing. I still wonder though, Will Carson ever be hailed as the almighty VJ that he once was? Will he be returned to his former glory and sit on his throne of Backstreet Boys and Britney Spears compact discs? I sincerely hope so. I do have some constructive criticism for that lovable loser, if he made his show just musical guests and left the comedy to someone talented like Conan or Dave than his show wouldn't need writers and it would actually be interesting and different, what a concept huh? Now, after taking a verbal baseball bat to Carson'sover sized melon-like head I feel much better about myself and how I will hopefully surpass Carson and his "celebrity" status in the near future. Now if you'll excuse me I am going to go cry in the corner.
Amongst the abundance of web pages involving girls, cups, meat, spinning, and overweight, geriatric men sucking each other off, the most vile and twisted of all shock sites has been ignored. Yes, friends, I’m referring to the proverbial “Big Kahuna”, the mother of all mothers, Willard Scott’s only equal in creepiness: hotornot.com. No other entity brings me pain and morbid fascination like the behemoth of disparity and low self-esteem that is hotornot.com. For those not familiar, hotornot allows members to post their individual photographs and have them rated on a scale from one to ten for hotness. Littered with tubbies, pudgies, lardos, fatties, porkers, and everything in between, hotornot is a magnet for beings so inhuman that the only thing that counteracts their own personal gravity is their repulsive ugliness. Here’s my take on it: I believe we should view hotornot as a sort of public service announcement; a commentary on modern times from which we can learn. I think each picture should have some sort of caption of warning, an advisory statement of how to avoid such a fate. Here are some are altered examples from hotornot.com:
Problem solved. Now, instead of a scar on the face of humanity it’s a usable PSA.
Presto! An end to embarrassing moments at Christmas parties…it’s really that simple!
Now we can understand his meaningless, alcohol induced lyrics. RIGHT ON!!!
It's true...look slightly above the sex produced calluses on her knees.
Who said grammar wasn’t fun?
I feel as though I've done the internet, nay, the world good by putting these images in a different context. It's important to learn from our mistakes in order not to repeat them. After all, we learn as much from poor role models as from good ones. Hotornot.com, here's to you!
