Thursday, July 31, 2008
You were about fifty feet in front of me. I was going to turn right. You turned right. Soon, I was going to turn left. You turned left. I tried walking slower to let you get ahead of me. Unfortunately, you decided to walk slower at the exact moment I did. I then decided to start walking very fast, so that I could pass you by, let you be in control of the situation by being behind me. You started walking fast at the exact moment I did.
I considered taking another turn or stopping. Anything to let you get way ahead of me, to get me off of your path so that you could relax because I know you thought you were being followed by a strange man. It was muggy and smelled of rain outside though, so I continued walking toward my destination, a parking garage. I somehow knew this was your destination as well.
You walked into the sanctuary of the garage, and I paused to give you time to get to your vehicle. With the luck I was having, you were probably parked right next to me and the coincidence would press the situation enough for me to get maced, I thought.
I thought my break gave you enough time to get to your car without some strange guy on your heels. I got in the elevator and pushed the button for the fifth floor, where I was parked.
The elevator stopped on floor 3. The doors opened. And there you were. You forgot where you parked. I wouldn't have been offended if you didn't get on the elevator, but you did. You shrank away from me, and I could smell your fear along with the strong fragrance of whatever alcohol you had been drinking all evening. You didn't push a button on the elevator. Of course, you were getting off on my floor. Shit.
I wanted to get off the elevator first to show you that I wasn't stalking you, to let you walk behind me for a change. Unfortunately, when the elevator doors parted you were off like a horse at the gate. You walked fast, I walked slowly. We were both headed in the same direction, again. It was at this point that I started to become a bit angry, not so much at you, but at the truths of society that helped to create this uncomfortable situation. So I walked slowly, and felt like the killer in a B horror movie who always catches up with the victim no matter how slowly he walks or how quickly the female victim runs.
To make things worse, a pebble was stuck in the grooves of the sole of my shoe. You walked quickly, and behind you you heard the "clink-clomp" of my pebble laden shoe hitting the hard concrete. You panicked at this point, I think. Thankfully, you turned left up the ramp, and I went right, toward my car.
The parking deck was empty of cars, save mine and one parked right next to it. I absolutely knew the car next to mine was yours. You were now wandering around the sixth floor I think, either avoiding me and waiting for me to leave or truly drunk and lost. I got in my car, started it up and let it warm up a bit. I wanted to help you. . .and then I saw you in my rearview mirror. Miss, whomever you are, please don't ever accept a ninja or spy job, because you are suck at trying to conceal yourself from view. Maybe it was the bright pink scarf dangling over the edge of the ramp or the fact that you were perched right underneath a bright halogen lamp, but I could not only see you trying to hide, watching me in my car, but you stuck out like a turd in a punch bowl.
I sighed, put my car into gear, and backed out of my space. I backed out a bit too far, cut the wheel and found my headlights right on you, completely illuminating and exposing your already horrible hiding place. Your eyes looked haunted, like that famous National Geographic cover featuring the woman with the 'haunted eyes.'
The apology: Now I'm truly, truly sorry for my actions at that point I flashed my brights and honked my horn at you like I was firing a machine gun. You jumped and, I think, screamed, but at this point the whole situation had gone too far for me. I also think you needed to sober up a bit more before you got behind the wheel of your car.
As I pulled away, I smiled and waved at you. You gave me the finger. I probably deserved your wrath at this point, but please: In the future, get someone to walk you back or take a cab. You stink at being stealthy. I hope your hangover wasn't too bad.
--Your Unintentional Stalker
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Here's a couple clips....seriously, it's well worth the hour spent...trust me!!
Saturday, July 19, 2008
First and foremost, it took me a really long time to bounce back after Seinfeld was taken off the air. I was hesitant to let myself fall so deeply in love again....Then I discovered The Shield!!! OMG, I was instantly hooked and that Seinfeld bitch was the dirty whore who banged my best friend....damned near dead to me. My new obsession was THE SHIELD. I own every season on DVD and they are guarded like they were my daughters cherry....seriously! I've had friends stop talking to me because I wouldn't lend them out. I have watched every episode at least 3 times and know all there is to know about the greatest show EVER!!! On Tuesday nights during the season.....don't bother me because I'm locked in the house like a hermit hanging on every plot twist. Alas though, there is a panic of sorts brewing.....The new season of The Shield, Season 7 begins on September 2, 2008.....THE FINAL SEASON!!! Yea, that's it...finished, no more, NADA!!! Seriously, I mean it's like knowing your favorite uncle is gonna die of dick cancer in a couple months and he was the only one who would buy your underage ass some beer and porn. This is just NOT cool.
So I pondered what's next........
I have a very short list of DVR worthy shows, and looking at them after going through the loss of Seinfeld and soon, The Shield, I'm asking myself......How can I commit to another long term relationship that will just end in heartache. I have to admit, Weeds is currently the show set to replace The Shield when it's gone. Weeds is brilliant, funny, and quite possibly the best comedy/drama to EVER be made. Although it does have a couple flaws. 1. It's only 30 minutes, which is fine, if the season runs 24 episodes, however...it only runs 12. Secondly; How long can Nancy really sell weed? Weeds is definitely my #2 but it's barely hanging on.
Now my #3 is a tossup between Dexter and Bones. Both shows are incredibly well written. Bones has a cast that just gels...every person on that show meld together perfectly and the show is awesome, so much so that I never miss an episode and I own the first 2 seasons on DVD. When last season ended and Zach seemingly is done, I have to wonder....will I like it as much? Dexter is also an awesome show....I was instantly hooked on it. What a creative concept....a serial killer that you root for and like, who also happens to be a forensics expert working for the police department.....that's just completely new. Dexter is definitely an awesome show....there again lies the problem, serial killers never last long....and with the bastardization of Showtime allowing the show to go to network TV for reruns, only to be hacked and edited to death....leaves me wondering about it's future. If it ever goes exclusively to network TV...it's over, it will never be as good or even close to it...if it stays on Showtime, how long can Dexter continue to hack up people in Miami before he's busted? Dilemmas!!!
So now I have to ponder what to do when the final season of The Shield is over.....I have to say, my TV addiction, my guilty pleasure, my I can't wait to see what happens next.....may all be over soon enough. I need a suitable replacement. UGH!!! So anyone out there that may know of a DVR worthy show, hit me up........oh and...ummm... Grey's Anatomy(also referred to as the show with the UGLIEST cast in the history of TV), Desperate Housewives and all that shit...NOT DVR worthy. CSI lost Warrick and Grissom for the new season, so its out. Criminal Minds is awesome but it hasn't been the same since Mandy Patinkin left (man he was AWESOME in Dead Like Me)...Lost? That's exactly what that show does to you week in and week out...it LOSES you. I mean come the fuck on...an island that disappears? And who don't want to just beat the shit out of Jack? I'd have killed his ass in season 1 and barbecued him over some hot coals wrapped in palm frans. Sure Survivor is always must see TV but it's not a "show" persay that you can follow...it's reality TV. BIG difference. So throw me some ideas....something WORTHY. What show can't you live without?
Here's a clip from Season 1 of The Shield.....Basically where it all began....
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Don't forget to subscribe and leave comments. I love to hear from you. I've added the ability to contact me via Yahoo and Google chat....along with links to my email, myspace, and facebook...I'm looking for something to add for my Windows Live Messenger, but I'm not having much luck......anyway feedback is appreciated and thanks for hanging out in my world.
Monday, July 14, 2008
And don't tell me that GI Joe kung-fu grip on my testicles was all business. There was some caressing going on, or at least it felt that way before you crushed them purple. But don't worry, the ER doc assures me at least one of them will continue to produce sperm, which means you and I can have lots of little state troopers together.
So let's not let your job and my occasional lawbreaking ruin a good thing, sweetie. Put down that doughnut and shoot me an email. I know you're not supposed to fraternize with types like me, but I can't lie, a hot chick with a gun and handcuffs gives me a rock-hard boner. And you had your hands down there -- you know this ain't a misdemeanor I'm packing, if you know what I'm saying.
Write back soon, lover. Don't make me break the law again just to see you.
Dear Internet Porn,
These last ten years have been quite a trip, have they not? My letter to you now, however, is not one of celebration... I don't feel like we are the same anymore. We just don't have that passion we used to.
When we first met I was a loser, and you were there for me. My parents told me that you were no good for me, but I didn't listen. You showed me that there were plenty of people like myself getting laid. It was beautiful and passionate. Your softcore erotic videos were a tasteful introduction to my budding sexuality.
As I got older I started seeing girls on the side. I knew you were jealous, but you have always held a special place in my heart. You became naughtier and it affected my relationships. I started wanting all the things I had seen you do. I wanted to be just like you. I wanted to cover my girlfriend's face, put it up her ass, choke her.
But that's when I realized your dark secret, Internet Porn. You aren't real: you are a fake and shallow individual. No girl wants a load on her face! Anal sex hurts and humiliates, and choking only leads to bruises that friends and loved ones ask about. You lied to me and changed my sexual expectations. Now no girl can please me.
I know it isn't all bad. You've taught me so much. I can surf the internet with either hand and I know all the keyboard shortcuts for my browser. I know positions that aren't even in the Kamasutra. But you have such a dark side. I've been late for work more than once and I find myself wanting to jerkoff at six in the morning. That's what you've done to me.
Even now, on the eve of Christ's birth, I sit hunched over my computer, penis in hand. I had to turn the nativity scene around so that Jesus wouldn't see your filth. Try as I might, I can never hide you well enough either. It is harder to find you squirreled away on my hard drive than it is to get into my online bank account. Yet there is always lingering evidence. I've told you time and again to stop leaving your things at my place. But you ALWAYS forget something: a shortcut here, an unclear history there.
There's no acceptance when you are discovered either. It might have been ok when we started - just innocent flirting with softcore. But now my girlfriends discover my asphyxiation collection, or that one goat video. I hate that you always invite your shadiest friends over when you come.
So I have one request. I know I can't get rid of you... you are the psychopathic stalker to my teenage horror film. But if you won't leave me alone, can you at least do me one favor? If I ever die, can you please format my hard drive? All of them? If you can't do that, just burn my place down. My family can never know of my shame.
- Your shamed lover
Thanks to the "Bonus Gravity" provided by my landlords, whoever moves in above me will weigh approximately 96 times their normal weight. To remind me that you got the "Bonus Gravity" deal, please make sure to stomp your huge, ham-filled feet every step you take. If I cannot track your current location to within a centimeter, you aren't doing your job.
When not watching television, you should take it off the TV stand and face it, screen down, at the floor. Make sure to turn the volume up as loud as possible. If I cannot hear what lesson Kimmy Gibbler learned today on "Full House", I will petition for your eviction.
The best time for your idiot friends to come over is between 2:00 and 8:00 am or whenever I'm sleeping. Once you see my lights turn off, make sure your crazy pal Eddie is on his way over with that DVD of "The World's Largest Explosions - Caught on Film!"
All of your phones must have their ringer hooked up to a bass guitar amplifier. This way, when your phone rings for the 10,000th consecutive time without you picking it up, I will realize you must've accidentally tripped over and broke your 1500-pound skull on the coffee table and your helplessly lying in a pool of your own blood, piss, and other bodily fluids, and I should probably alert the proper authorities.......or not (hmmm)
When shutting doors, pretend the Grim Reaper himself is chasing you throughout your house. Slam them as hard as possible to prevent him from sneaking into your place causing the hundreds of filthy plants you own to die.
Taking a shower at 3:00 am is perfectly acceptable. Since my apartment is lined with hundreds of different pipes which carry water to approximately 17 different countries, make sure to urge your friends to take showers at the same time.
Every day at 8:00 pm, you should drop something large and heavy such as:
-A wheelbarrow full of lead and concrete
-A month's collection of all the Slim Jims and yahoo you consume
- Hell why not just jump in your piece of shit car and continually ram it into the building....
If you don't have access to any of those items, then just trip and fall over. Try to at least be holding some cinder blocks while doing so. You fucking BEAST!
When speaking to a friend who has come over to visit and toss bowling balls around your apartment, make sure to use a megaphone whenever laughing at something he says. This way I'll know your friend is a very funny and witty man (who cannot catch bowling balls).
The "bass" knob on your stereo stands for "Better Acoustic Sounding Songs" and should be cranked up as loud as possible to reflect quality. Try to listen only to rap, techno, and anything which features a kick drum the size of a delivery van. If the song has lyrics, you should turn the bass up so high that it sounds like the the singer is repeatedly chanting, "mwog bbblrrgm gwaf."
Don't ever leave your apartment. Ever. Ypsilanti air is known for its trace amounts of cyanide floating around in it, so it's safer for you to simply hibernate in there for the next nine years.
Much like in exciting video games, hitting surrounding objects with a hammer may reveal magic prizes hidden inside. Smack everything you can find with a hammer or large wooden board. Then smack the wooden board with a hammer because, who knows, it might be a trick.
When the power in the entire block goes out at 10:00 PM and you notice everybody else's lights are off, be sure to shout, "DID THE POWER GO OFF?!?" out your fucking window. There could be a family a few miles away that still has power, in which case you could go over to their house and borrow a cup of electricity so you may operate the jackhammer you've got going in your kitchen.
Fuck me running!!!!
My friends are fond of saying that my last words on this earth will be something akin to, "hey y'all, hold my beer and watch this!" Well, I have outdone myself once again. No doubt you will see this true story chronicled in a LifeTime movie in the near future. Here goes.............................
Last weekend I spied something at Larry's Pistol and Pawn that tickled my fancy. (Note: Keep in mind that my "fancy" is easily tickled. I had gone into the Market to pick up some milk yesterday and I bought a super ball in the checkout line--50 cents. What a bargain! It tickled my fancy--still does. That thing bounces soooooo high, and it has provided me with hours of entertainment. It just doesn't get any better than that, now does it?) I'm so easily distracted. That dang super ball is so much fun. So what were we talking about? Oh yeah, I bought something really cool at Larry's Pistol and Pawn last Saturday. No special occasion other than the fact that I'm divorced at 38 and I love life.
What I came across was a 100,000 volt, pocket/purse sized Tazer gun with a clip. For those of you who are not familiar with this product, it is a less-than-lethal stun gun with two metal prongs designed to incapacitate an assailant with a shock of high voltage, low amperage electricity while you flee to safety. The effects are supposed to be short lived, with no long-term adverse affect on your assailant, but allowing you adequate time to retreat to safety. You simply jab the prongs into your 350 lb. tattooed assailant, push the button, and it will render him a slobbering, google eyed, muscle twitching, whimpering, little bitch. If you've never seen one of these things in action, then you're truly missing out--way too cool!
Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two triple-a batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was so disappointed, you're fucking kiddin me right?. Upon reading the directions (we don't need no stinkin' directions), I found much to my chagrin that this particular model would not create an arch between the prongs like I had so desperately hoped for. How disappointing! I do love fire for effect. I learned that if I pushed the button, however, and pressed it against a metal surface that I'd get the blue arch of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs that I was so looking forward to. I did so. Awesome!!! Sparks, a blue arch of electricity, and a loud pop!!! Way cool..........way, way cool!!!
I'm easily amused. Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn't be all that bad with only two triple-a batteries, etc., etc. There I sat in my recliner, my dog Mocha looking on intently (trusting little soul), reading the directions (that would be me, not Mocha), and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood target. I must admit I thought about zapping Mocha for a fraction of a second and thought better of it (you sick fucker..you really thought I's zap my dog). She is such a sweet doggy, after all. But, if I was going to use this thing to protect myself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong? Was I wrong to think that? Seemed reasonable to me at the time. So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a wife beater, directions in one hand, Tazer in another.
The directions said that a one second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a loss of bodily control; a three second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water while shit and piss uncontrollably flowed from their body. All the while I'm looking at this little device (measuring about 5" long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference, pretty cute really, and loaded with two itsy, bitsy triple-a batteries) thinking to myself, "no fucking way!"
What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best. Those of you who know me well have got a pretty good idea of the event that followed. I'm sitting there alone, Mocha looking on with her head cocked to one side as to say, "don't do it daddy," reasoning that a one second burst from such a tiny lil' ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad (sounds, rational thinking under the circumstances, wouldn't you agree?).
I decided to give myself a one second burst just for the he11 of it. (Note: You know, a bad decision is like hindsight--always twenty-twenty. It is so obvious that it was a bad decision AFTER the fact, even though it seemed so right at the time. Don't ya hate that?) I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and Holy fucking OH MY GAWD jezzuz!!! I'm pretty sure that Hulk Hogan ran in through the front door, picked me up out of that recliner, then body slammed me on the carpet over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, soaking wet, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position. Mocha was standing over me making whimpering sounds I had never heard before, licking my face, undoubtedly thinking to herself, "do it again daddy, do it again that shit was funny!" (Note: If you ever feel compelled to mug yourself with a Tazer, one note of caution. There is no such thing as a one second burst when you zap yourself. You're not going to let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor. Then, if you're lucky, you won't dislodge one of the prongs 1/4" deep in your thigh like yours truly.) SON-OF-A-BITCH that hurt! A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at this point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape. Sitting in a pool of my own piss, My triceps, right thigh and both n-pples were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, as my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. +/- an ounce or two, I'm pretty sure. To date the spot where I zapped myself is still numb......
You can stop laughing any time now, thank you!!
Are we done with the fucking pennies yet?
Because it is time. The American public hasn't been using them for about a decade. They have become so worthless, that people give them to each other as a matter of routine. Get your change, pick out the pennies, and leave them there for the next guy. Need a penny or two? Well, there should be a few there for you, because the last guy sure as fuck didn't want his. That's the game.
I hate when stores don't want to play by the game. If a store doesn't have a little tray, I am immediately annoyed. The hell if I'm fishing another dollar out of my pants because it came to $5.02. When that cash register rings up $5.02 and you look at me, we're fixing to have a long stare down. I'll return an item before I break another dollar and let you give me three more of the fucking things in return. And that item probably had a profit margin of at least $.03 to you, so who's the loser now? Get it? As long as they're still around, you better play by the game.
When there is no tray, my normal routine has become to fish through my change and immediately pick them out and deposit them into the trash. Not only are they worthless, but they are disgusting, and I'm not carrying them around. Most have been in circulation for 20 years, and as the stepchild of your change purse, they have been given no love. They live in ashtrays, parking lots, and huge jars owned by 72 year old men who remember when they were worth something. Old copper is gross enough to start with. Add to the fact that they are covered in gum and shit and filth, and you need to wash your hands every time one touches you.
Think about this: a stamp costs $0.41. 41 pennies weigh 8 ounces. It takes about two stamps to mail 8 ounces of stuff. Therefore, if I wanted to mail someone 41 cents in pennies, it would cost me .82 cents. By my definition, it's pretty clear cut. When a monetary unit can't afford to mail itself, it's worthless. Don't get all cocky either, nickels…….you aren't far behind. (I don't really know how much 41 pennies weigh, that was just a guess. I have a scale in my office, and would find out, but I can't. I threw out all my fucking pennies. Just trust me though….I'm right on this general principal. I know by instinct that they can't mail themselves.)
Vending machines won't even take them. They hired engineers to assure that any penny which entered the slot would be immediately routed straight to the change opening. Think about the engineering involved. Dimes, which are smaller than pennies, go right into the till, but they had to create some sort of mechanism that would sort out and eliminate any penny that enters the machine, lest they get involved with the REAL money that is in there, and gross it all up.
Have you ever tried to give one to a bum? Seriously. I almost got in a fight in New York City over the fact that I gave a bum some pennies. The man had no home, was hungry, cold, and hopeless, yet when I gave him a handful of pennies, he tried to spit on me. Fortunately, his lack of front teeth seriously affected his aiming abilities and I easily dodged the saliva-based projectile, but nonetheless.
Isn't this enough evidence for Alan Greenspan and the Feds to say enough is enough? I now summarize my case:
1. Pennies are considered worthless, even by homeless people
2. Pennies are disgusting
3. Pennies can't even mail themselves
4. Americans are actually giving them to strangers, like some nationwide game of hot potato
5. Vending machines are even too smart to take them. Their job is to take money, not pennies.
Case Closed. Please, Federal Reserve, I beg you. End the game.
I'm done with the fucking pennies already.
So I go outside to take out the trash (tomorrow is garbage day) and as I walked across the front yard to my garbage can how shocked was I to encounter a DILDO on my lawn? It was flesh-tone… you know a waxy, crayon-ish, unrealistic shade of flesh and it wasn't really smooth. There were bits of grass stuck to it and some small black bugs had claimed it as their own flesh-tone yard log....jesusfuckingchrist what the fuck is wrong with the world?!
NOW, I am all about people having a good time whether it is with other people or by themselves BUT since when did a DILDO become a one-time-use disposable item? I mean does the package say pump in your cunt vigorously until done then dispose of? sonofabitch.
Plausible and not so plausible reasons why a DILDO may have turned up in my fucking yard:
1. It was made out of biodegradable material - so really, any yard would serve as a perfectly acceptable place to dispose of your DILDO. Dispose is such an ugly word shall we use the phrase, return to the Earth, instead? For fucks sake!
2. My yard looked too barren - so instead of placing a creepy gnome or obnoxious pink flamingo on the lawn to liven things up a bit you decided that a flesh-tone DILDO was the perfect choice to add just the right amount of pizzazz.
3. It fell out – so you were walking across my lawn for some inexplicable reason last night and your portable, 9 inches of love fell out of your gigatic flappy twat and you didn't notice. OR maybe you did notice and just thought…ewwww icky grass and bugs, let's just leave it here. I'll buy a new DILDO with my daddy's credit card tomorrow.
4. Someone was practicing – so some big event or competition is coming up. Here is a list of the possibilities as I see them:
a. The Lorena Bobbitt Cock Tossing Competition
b. The rollout of the new board game: Hustler's Scavenger Hunt
c. The 16th Annual Wear Your Cock on the Walk fundraiser for ED.
d. Naughty Lawn Darts on the Eastside – BYOD – bring your own dildo.
5. New Candid Camera Show to Air – so this was all caught on tape and you may soon be viewing it in your living room. I'll be the one with the shorts, flip flops and a WTF expression on my face.
I also apreciate you forcing me to use and subsequently HAVE (fuck NO I'll never use em again) to throw away a perfectlly good pair of bbq tongs because I had to use them to pick your pleasure apparatus us with so I could throw it the fuck away, you nasty bitch. I swear on eveything I beleive in...I hope you fucking DIE SCREAMING!!!!!
March 3, 2008
I need to own my own company or at the very least have a boss that thinks exactly like I do. The thing is, I get a lot of email at work and from numerous people, I get email from our corporate office where the "intelligent" people are supposed to be. What annoys the fuck out of me is the fact that there is a small group of my "superiors" who are illiterate as fuck and it bothers the shit out of me because they make such a big deal out of "working your way up" and "advancing" and just fucking feed you a mouthful of bullshit, the thing is they think they're on a pedestal and you're a fucking ditch digger or something. Sure, I'm a manager at my company...thing is I'm a manager of labor (warehouse) and thus a fucking idiot in the eyes of the suits that "run" the company I work for. Ok back on point......so I get this email today, it's actually been replied to by at least 5 other members of management before I see it. I open the email and all I can see is fucking illiteracy from people who think they're better than the dirty hands people that do the actual work and all I want to do is send a reply like this...........
I'm having a hard time trying to get the point made in this email because it is full of fucking illiteracy. Use the below guidelines and resend this email to me when you fucking idiots can get it right. Until then leave me the fuck alone.
lose - the opposite of win, to misplace something, ONE FUCKING O
loose - the opposite of tight, your mother/wife/sister, TWO FUCKING O's
how can so many people get these two confused? IDIOTS
your - a possessive, similar to mine, his, her as in "your loose slut of a sister loses her mind every time she gets railroaded by your whole inbred, shitbag excuse of a family", NO FUCKING APOSTROPHE
you're - a contraction of "you are", as in "you're a dipshit", A FUCKING APOSTROPHE
its - another possessive, similar to your, NO FUCKING APOSTROPHE
it's - a contraction of "it is", as in 'it's fucking simple', A FUCKING APOSTROPHE
Need a trick? Fine - when using it's or you're, expand the contraction. If "you're head is full of shit" becomes "you are head is full of shit" and doesn't make any sense (maybe it will to you because you're a fucking idiot), then you are using the wrong word. Queef.
to - a preposition, as in "turn to the right" or "it's time to go back to school", ONE FUCKING O
too - an adverb (know what that is?), synonymous with "also", "as well" as in "Really? I went to college too. I actually read a FUCKING BOOK." It can also be used to mean "to a regrettable degree" as in "It's too late for you, moron", TWO FUCKING O's
two - a number, it comes after one
there - an adverb, similar to here as in "your tiny bus is over there"
their - yet another possessive, similar to your as in "it's not their fault that you're a fucking retard. It's YOUR fault."
they're - a contraction of "they are" as in "they're not responsible for your complete ignorance of YOUR OWN FUCKING LANGUAGE. READ A BOOK!!"
IT'S NOT FUCKING HARD, DOUCHE BAGS.
But alas I cannot send my rant for fear of being rejected by the cool kids who wear the fancy clothes and hang out in a nice office building all day while grunts like me are down in the trenches where the dregs of society should be. What the fuck is wrong with this picture?!?!?!
DIE SCREAMING MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!!!!!!
I don't typically have a problem with a person or their religious beliefs, however, some members of the Christianity cult feel the need to cram things down your throat. I typically don't post religious blogs or publicly debate religion, however, some members of the Christian cult bring out the evil in me. This is MYspace, not YOURspace....yeah somewhere on MYspace it plainly says "I'm Agnostic" so evidently that opens the door for members of the Christian cult to attempt to sway my beliefs or lack thereof. Now while I don't believe in judging people based on their religious beliefs, some assholes just need to be checked from time to time...it's my little way of keeping the world balanced. So today I get a message from a "devout Christian" on how they are concerned about me and the fact that if I don't change my Agnostic beliefs, I will burn in hell. So I've just spent the last 20 minutes or so writing a reply to this FUNDAMENTALIST Christian who thought it was a good idea to challenge me.....blogs like this are typically reserved for my private blog simply because I don't judge or choose my friends based on their religion and publicly posting things like this generally tend to rub SOME people the wrong way....since the message sent to me via comment (I deleted it) for the whole world to see....I figured it was only fitting to reply for the whole world to see.
10 - You vigorously deny the existence of thousands of gods claimed by other religions, but feel outraged when someone denies the existence of yours.
9 - You feel insulted and "dehumanized" when scientists say that people evolved from other life forms, but you have no problem with the Biblical claim that we were created from dirt.
8 - You laugh at polytheists, but you have no problem believing in a Triune God.
7 - Your face turns purple when you hear of the "atrocities" attributed to Allah, but you don't even flinch when hearing about how God/Jehovah slaughtered all the babies of
6 - You laugh at Hindu beliefs that deify humans, and Greek claims about gods sleeping with women, but you have no problem believing that the Holy Spirit impregnated Mary, who then gave birth to a man-god who got killed, came back to life and then ascended into the sky.
5 - You are willing to spend your life looking for little loopholes in the scientifically established age of Earth (few billion years), but you find nothing wrong with believing dates recorded by Bronze Age tribesmen sitting in their tents and guessing that Earth is a few generations old.
4 - You believe that the entire population of this planet with the exception of those who share your beliefs -- though excluding those in all rival sects - will spend Eternity in an infinite Hell of Suffering. And yet consider your religion the most "tolerant" and "loving."
3 - While modern science, history, geology, biology, and physics have failed to convince you otherwise, some idiot rolling around on the floor speaking in "tongues" may be all the evidence you need to "prove" Christianity.
2 - You define 0.01% as a "high success rate" when it comes to answered prayers. You consider that to be evidence that prayer works. And you think that the remaining 99.99% FAILURE was simply the will of God.
1 - You actually know a lot less than many atheists and agnostics do about the Bible, Christianity, and church history - but still call yourself a Christian.
Dear person in the Applebee's Restaurant bathroom:
While I don't make a habit of calling people out on their movements I need to put this one out there. YOU SIR, need to start each and every day with a bran muffin. Do you have the fucking bird flu? In 30+ years on this planet I have never heard, heard of, had or otherwise experienced as violent a shit as you took in the Applebee's bathroom. It sounded like you were pouring out a 5 gallon bucket of ice water from 10 feet above the toilet. My ears have never heard so horrific a sound as your liquid fecal being fired downward between pockets of pressurized methane gas. I was only there to wash my hands before eating my lunch...but my appetite was foiled by your ass-disaster. Moaning and wheezing in your stall while wave after wave of dysentery ran from your bowels. What had you consumed?! Raw chicken, 2 bowls of chili, 1 bottle Ex-Lax and a gallon of milk? You single handedly ruined every molecule of oxygen in the room. 45 minutes later back at work it still seemed like someone had wiped a log of shit under my nose. You foul fucker, you need an autopsy!!!!!
Ok so I have this rule, it's a rule set in stone and a rule that is never broken.....ever!! The rule states....There is no penis in my porn. Simply put, my porn consists of girl/girl or solo girl....hell even 3 girls, I've gone as far as a group of girls. But under no circumstance is there a penis in my porn. Let me explain why...
I only watch porn for 1 reason, to rub one out. Let's be honest here, when I put a porn movie in my DVD player, I'm in the mood for self gratification. Thing is, in the past when my porn collection was a cornucopia of content, the risk was always there....and as Murphy's law goes, the risk ALWAYS happened. What's the risk you ask? The risk is....if you allow penis in your porn, it is a guarantee that the moment you deliver the money shot, the camera in the porn you are watching will pan off of the lovely female you were so vigorously stroking your tool to, and pan directly on her male counterpart, not just on the guy himself, but directly to his cock and balls...you know the camera angle where the camera man has to contort himself in order to shove the camera in the guys taint and you blow your load staring straight at this guys hot mess. What a fucking let down
So one day I took every porn I had that had a penis in it and I chucked it right in the trash can. From that day forward.....I knew I could deliver the money shot in pleasurable confidence.
8) Lame message hearts. The only thing worse than feigning gratitude when you hand me three hearts with "Be Mine", "You Stud", "So Hot" is falsely complementing you on your third grade creativity. After that, I have the pleasure of choking down these delightful little confections that taste like a combination of elementary school chalk, pepto bismol, and baseball card chewing gum.
7) Overpriced Dinners. Thank you for bumping up your prices by $25 for the pleasure of eating your attempt at realizing your culinary dreams. Mmmmm… love that odd lemon/foot flavored cream sauce you doused on the new potatoes. Did you use dill on this flank steak you are passing off as veal? That makes you a real chef. This should go well with that moldy tasting boxed cabernet you're serving at the reasonable price of $9 a glass. P.S. nobody likes FLAN!!
6) valentine Cards. Thanks sweety, I'm glad it took you 10 minutes to decide between the Winnie the Pooh card that said "You're my Honey" and the Tiger Card that said "Your Terrifficccc!". I want to shit on your head for wasting 5 dollars.
5) DeBeers commercials. Oh DeBeers, You most bastards of the Belgium families. Congratulations on raping the people of South Africa, exporting all the wealth to Europe, and artificially inflating the price of diamonds by restricting the supply to the market. But why stop there you ask? You didn't. You successfully launched a marketing campaign that has ever women in America believing that a not so rare carbon-carbon stone is the incarnation of love itself. Thanks for securing my dates disappointment when her gifts are wilted roses, dusty chocolates, and… an overpriced dinner. Diamonds are Forever?? Fuck You is Forever too you waffle-slinging assholes!!
4) That fuckin guy who goes WAYYYY overboard. Guess what dude, those years of being a neglectful father and husband or the affair you had with your coworker won't be forgiven simply because you bought this girl a tennis bracelet, sent 100 roses to her work, and hired a wandering serenade for the night. The only thing your accomplishing is making the rest of us look bad. BTW- she's fucking your best friend.
3) Valentine's Night Sex. I just spent 4 hours pretending to enjoy the evening, I am half cocked on bad wine, and my stomach is turning because of that awful dinner and shitty candies. I am in no mood for athletics. It doesn't help that my penis is on DEFCON 5 and about to blow any minute because you stopped having sex with me two weeks ago to make this night "special". The most you can hope for is two minutes of awkward half pumps and that I don't fart on you in my sleep as I try to digest all that nastiness.
2) Singles Parties. Hmm… two choices of girls here. The really drunk chick who wants to tell me about her shitty ex, or her annoyinh friend who "chooses to be single" but couldn't get a date if her life depended on it. Hey Betty, here's a tip, that bleach job you did for the hair on your upper lip glows underneath the black light. No I do not want to do a body shot off of you, you yeti.
1) I'm single god damn it. I either have to spend it with some needy girl who wants me to treat her like a princess, or all my bitter friends who don't have a date for valentines day. Yippee!!!
The gray, waxy thing that my pizza is sitting on sucks. It's a lie. "They" tell us that it will make our food crispy when we microwave food on it. You know what I'm talking about. You're supposed to put your pizza or your hot pocket or whatever on it and it's supposed to make your food as crispy as if you baked it. You don't bake it because you don't have 30 min to wait to stuff your face because you are a lazy fuck and you want your food NOW so you nuke it in the microwave instead. yeah. It doesn't work. It never works. It's not a crispy-maker, it's a sadness-maker. It raises your hopes only to dash them. It's like the dead beat dad that never went to your soccer games. It's like the loser boyfriend who never keeps his promises but you stay with him because he's cool and he plays a little guitar and drinks snapple. It's like the presidential election where you vote hoping that Bush will lose. It sucks. The pizza comes out just as soggy, except this time, it comes with the added suspicion that you have just increased your chances for getting cancer because you nuked it on the gray thing. It's bullshit. In fact, I don't even know what it's made of but I hate it. If ever an inanimate object could mock someone, it would be this thing. I hate you, you gray-colored, waxy, sorta-shiny-yet-dull, plastic, paper thingy that comes with my microwave pizza.
Fully automated bathroom, I hate you. I hate all of your advanced features. I hate you so much that I will sometimes hold it in for hours to avoid coming into contact with you.
Motion-activated lights, I hate you. I hate your wan, pathetic, green-tinted glow that makes me look like a Russian convict. I hate the way you turn on when I first open the door, and I hate the way you turn off if I sit quietly on the toilet for too long.
Auto-flush toilets, I despise you. I hate the way you begin flushing as soon as I stand up. I hate the way you won't let me get in a courtesy flush should I be recovering from a night of Indian food. Most of all, I hate the way you flush so violently that you spray little droplets of water of dubious cleanliness all over the stall, forcing me to press myself against the farthest corner, pants still around my ankles, and you, like a rogue Catholic priest, spray holy sewer water on my favorite shoes.
Motion-activated sinks, I loathe you. I don't like having to bend over and hold my hands in front of you like I'm making an offering at a Buddhist temple and want to make sure that everyone sees me lighting my incense. I hate how half of you are malfunctioning most of the time. I hate how it takes 30 seconds to get the water warm enough to really get your hands clean. I hate your stupid accompanying automated soap dispenser. I am not so fucking lazy that I can't turn a faucet on and off all by myself. God, I hate you.
Last, but not least, automated air freshener, I really don't like you. I don't mind the scent you dispense, and your timing is decent (usually around the time that I would, if possible, issue a courtesy flush, were I not using the stupid auto-flush toilets), but your location (on the shelf right as you enter the door) scares me - I'm never sure if you are going to aim some mountain fresh scent right at my navel as I pass by you. The sound that you make when dispensing said scent sounds EXACTLY like the door opening onto an angry, hissing cat - why do you have to do that? Can't you just leak the scent quietly? It startles me in the middle of my daydreaming, and I need those few minutes of respite so that I can be mentally prepared to fling myself away from the toilet and avoid the deluge while waving my arms around to turn the lights back on while activating the sink.
I hate all parts of you, bathroom. I hate you so much.
January 26, 2008
I have a couple of friends that are privy to my private blog. It's a network of sorts. A few of us have blogs and we all read each others shit. Normally I would never post outside of this inner circle, as I would not want my private blog postings made public. In this case I went out of my way to get permission to post. My friend Amanda posted a blog that made me laugh so hard I was crying and I HAD to share it. So for the enjoyment of all, Amanda has let me take some of her work outside of our inner circle so that you may enjoy as well....This is some classically funny shit, I must have read it fifteen times already. The "monkey gets a nosebleed" line....holy shit I thought I'd die....So for your enjoyment....below is an extraction of our private world...Thanks Amanda!!!!
Today, I turned a perfectly good pair of panties into Period Underwear. I hate when that happens. Men may not know what Period Underwear are. I shall explain and enlighten. Period Underwear are what chicks wear when (surprise!) they're on their period. NOTE: they start out as panties, but morph into underwear - PERIOD underwear. A few things can turn panties into Period Underwear. Here are some examples:
1. You're wearing a capable pair of panties and the Monkey Gets a Nosebleed. It leaves an awful stain on the panties, which USUALLY can't be removed, rendering them Period Underwear
2. They're older panties, no longer favorites and you'd never wear them if there was a possibility you were getting laid, so you feel comfortable wearing them when Aunt Flo Comes to Visit, demoting them to Period Underwear status
3. They're granny panties, you can't remember why you have them and you pretty much only wear them when you're home sick, or just plain suffering from the pain and bloat of being OTR because they're really comfy and never ride up so they're by default Period Underwear
4. These are nice panties, something you'll wear even if you're NOT Surfing the Crimson Flow and you're not at all afraid to be seen in them but they're dark colored (black, navy, red), thereby making them both Non-Period Panties and Period Underwear
That should do it! So men, now you know one of our dirty little secrets. If you see us in items 1 - 3, consider it notice that George is in Town. How you handle that knowledge is your affair, I'm just here to give you the low-down. If you see us in item 4, things could go either way, proceed as you wish.
Ladies, as one of THOSE commercials says, Have a Happy Period!