I started to write a thing about that nut that shot up everyone in Arizona. It started out with me being sad and kind of generally really creeped out by his picture. Then it went into this whole thing about how he’s gonna spend a lot of time with dicks in him starting real soon, and then I was gonna segue into my real point which was about how all these people that are blaming the right, blaming the tea party and blaming Sarah Palin for inspiring violence with aggressive and divisive political rhetoric are complete fucking assholes.
There’s no doubt that political maneuvering is pretty ugly in this day and age, but there’s just no fucking way that a graphic with crosshairs, or someone making some statement about war or guns as a metaphor for a heated campaign inspired anyone to shoot anyone. That’s fucking nonsense. You know who kills people? I’ll tell you. There are two kinds of people that kill people: 1- people who are suddenly put in situations that they never thought they’d ever be in and react, and 2- complete fucking nutjobs. That’s pretty much it.
The first kind of person can be someone that comes home to find someone has broken into their house, or someone who’s walking down the street and gets mugged or someone who walks in and sees their wife blowing their best friend or something like that. The second one is pretty straightforward. Wacked out, crazy motherfuckers just want to kill. That’s how they come to be called ‘wacked out crazy motherfuckers.’ There’s really no way else to put it (now, sure there are people who are trained to kill, like people in the military, for example, but come on…that’s not exactly what I’m talking about, for one thing, and for another thing, soldiers fire something like 2000 rounds wildly for every single fatal bullet. Regular people, soldiers included, don’t tend to want to kill, even in war).
So, let’s take me as a perfect example of someone who’s not a nut. I’m not gonna go kill someone because someone tells me to. I’m definitely not gonna kill someone because someone says the word “gun” in a metaphorical context somewhere in my vicinity. I’m actually not gonna go kill someone, period. Now, let’s take this dude that ended up killing these people. He’s gonna kill. He’s gonna kill even though he’s not supposed to. He’s gonna kill even if no one ever EVER compares speaking your mind to shooting someone in earshot of him and even if no one ever refers to the people he winds up wanting to kill and/or killing as Hitler.
The evidence, besides the pile of bodies that he’s recently amassed, is in the interviews with everyone that knew him that are coming out now. Everyone knew this was a crazy sumbitch that was about to snap. BUT IT’S NO ONE’S FAULT THAT HE SNAPPED BUT HIS! To argue otherwise is completely retarded.
It’s that same rhetoric that implicates Judas Priest for those kids killing themselves. There’s nothing so fucking self important and shitty than saying “well, obviously, there are lots of stupid people out there just waiting to be told what to do by their heroes (be they Palin or Ice Cube or Danzig or Glen Beck) and well, we can’t have them saying this shit because people can get hurt.” THAT, folks is dangerous rhetoric. Not recapitulating an ideological disagreement as a war, not making up rhymes about ripping the heads off little girls or shooting a carful of dudes. Suggesting that regular people aren’t able to control their impulses and that if free speech is left to run unchecked, we’re all gonna be in grave danger, that’s fear mongering, man.
Now, I’m not gonna go calling anyone Hitler or anything, but…well, that’s a party line for dumbdumbs. And I don’t like Sarah Palin. I think she’s woefully unqualified to be telling anyone what to do or make policy, but you know what? I’m not gonna stoop to the level of blaming her for some crazy asshole’s behavior. She’s already enough of an asshole. I can blame her for the things she actually did and does and will do. This is a different thing. One guy’s at fault here, and he’s nothing but a fucking nut killing people. That’s all.
Okay, that’s that. Um…what else? The Holy Mess is a great band that you should all be listening to, and um felching is hilarious. Follow me on twitter @badsandwich and uh…what else? I dunno. This is exhausting. I’m gonna go shoot some speed into my nuts. You guys should do it too, unless you’re girls, in which case, shoot it into your tits. Okay, bye.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
....or smoking pot out of a bong...
It’s pretty weird to wake up one day and realize how old you are. For most of my life, and especially most of my life as a dude in a band, I was always kind of one of the babies. When my first band started touring, we were all between the ages of sixteen and eighteen. By the time I was in the band I’m in now, I was in my early twenties, but I was still very young for a guy who had been touring for a really long time. However, one day shit spun all out of control and suddenly I wound up in my mid thirties and I’m totally old. I really didn’t see it coming, but here it is. My friends are old, I’m old and (and this is the really weird part to me) the music that I like, or grew up with, is now old.
I mean, that’s crazy to me. music is obviously an important part of my life and it’s totally mindbending to realize that musicians that I think of as somewhat contemporary are (in music generations) generations removed from what’s happening now. I don’t think of the Queers (for example) as an old timey band, but their great album is fifteen or so years old. I don’t think of myself as having been in old bands, but fuck…I was touring when lots of the people that come see my band play were literally not even in kindergarten.
With that in mind, I’m gonna walk you people through a few records I grew up with, some records that I spun relentlessly. See, rock and roll is constantly evolving and the results are that lots of shit that was once seen as awesome or cutting edge ends up lame or forgotten or totally misunderstood. There are also bands (like the Misfits, for example) that are so fucking out there and ahead of their time that their records are every bit as mind blowing today as they were when they came out. This is sort of a very brief compendium of the music I listened to. Some of it’s super lame now, some of it’s awesome. It’s a chance to maybe check out something you missed, because lord knows that I didn’t have any guide to the old timey punk rock back when I was discovering stuff, and as a result, I can’t (for example) name a single song by the Germs (well, there’s that one about the panther…what’s that called? Who cares. It sucks. Sorry. True.). SO, check it out. Or don’t. Fuck. What do I care?
Bad Religion- No Control: This is the record that totally changed my life. It’s smart and bad ass and it just rips your face off for about 21 minutes and then it’s done. The song No Control is not even 2 minutes long and it’s as close to a perfect melodic punk song as you’ll ever find anywhere. It blows my mind that this record is considered to be ‘too old’ for some of the new BR fans. This is THE defining record of my life as a punk rocker and it’s something I still listen to.
Fifteen-Buzz This band has some shit that’s good, some stuff that’s pretty forgettable, whole albums that are embarrassingly terrible and a couple of songs, here and there, that are pretty much the greatest songs ever. This record, Buzz, is the best of the bunch by far. It’s dark and out of tune and it’s so packed with visceral emotion that the fact that no one can play or sing in time or in tune actually adds to the whole experience. This was the other record that changed my life. If bad religion taught me that music could be aggressive and smart and exist completely outside the mainstream and still be slick and polished and every bit as cool as whatever you’d see on MTV, Fifteen taught me that you don’t even need to be slick. There’s beauty in the ugliness of trying. I understand when people say that they think fifteen sucks, but those people generally haven’t sat down with Buzz, one of the best, best, best records in the Genre. Also a record I still listen to, and a crucial record in understanding where a whole generation of sloppy gruff bands got their ideas. Also, check out the songs Petroleum Distillation and End of the Summer from the Choice Of A New Generation album. Great shit.
The Queers- Love Songs For the Retarded- The queers are like a pop punk version of McDonalds. They crank out records like almost no other band. The songs are usually okay, and the lyrics are stupid and the whole thing reeks of really, truly not giving a shit. They have a record called “Beat Off” for fucks sake. Now, most shit by the queers, while decent, isn’t really worth revisiting. If you’ve heard one Queers record, you’ve kind of heard them all: decent pop punk that’s real catchy and typically just okay, not great, not terrible. There are, however two exceptions. Don’t Back Down is a really solid and enjoyable record and Love Songs For the Retarded is a straight up idiot masterpiece. It’s a kind of concept record where Joe Queer walks us through his life where his parents hate him, he’s a gleefully unemployed waste of space that has no interest in pulling it together at all, and instead wants to fart and get drunk and mock hippies. This is all set to 1950’s beach boys type melodies. The lyrics are completely retarded and reading them is like flipping through a mongo teenager’s trapper keeper, but man…it’s brilliant. It’s a real unique and bizarre concepty record that is too dumb to be as smart as it is.
Goo Goo Dolls Hold me Up- I’m dead serious when I say that this is the record that the Lawrence Arms entire program is based on. Listen to it and you’ll see. The bassist sings faster, raspier more aggressive songs and the guitar player sings the more melancholy or thoughtful jammers with a clean voice that dampens panties up to 2 miles away. I actually sing the way I do based on just trying to imitate the bass player dude’s voice when I was younger. Yes, they’ve gone on to be this toxic avenger version of Bon Jovi that makes the soundtrack to middle aged moms masturbating by candlelight in their jaccuzzis, but man…this record killed me when it came out. Great prince cover too, and I tend to hate shit like that.
Jawbreaker Unfun- I was 12 and standing in Reckless Records looking for some new music when I first heard this record. The clerk was playing it over the system there and she told me that they’d be coming through and playing in the store 2 days later. That was my first concert. I was twelve, and one of 6 people watching this band playing in a record store. The show, I don’t remember if it was actually good or if I was just so psyched to see something so cool happening (I was pretty small and going to a concert was about as kick ass as things had gotten up to that point [I wouldn’t touch breasts for another year]) but the record that they were touring on, Unfun, became a staple of mine and my friends. We eventually got all the Jawbreaker records and watched them get huge and went to almost all of their Chicago shows. The thing is, however, I never loved Jawbreaker as much as everyone out there always assumed I did, and this made me a little bit resentful of the band, which is highly illogical, but what are you gonna do? While we were starting out, we were getting written up as a bad, third tier Jawbreaker clone band. The thing is, we were, if you’ll look above, just ripping off the Goo Goo Dolls and trying to do something a little bit more reckless than Jawbreaker, who can be kind of stuffy and foppish at times. I’ve read some interviews with Blake of Jawbreaker where he says some stuff that really bums me out (I’m not gonna get into it here, but it seems like we don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things) and the ultimate results of all this are that I’m always really hesitant to throw too much praise this bands direction. The fact is, though, that I was pretty fucking obsessed with Unfun and had more than a passing fascination with all the subsequent albums. 24 hour revenge therapy hasn’t aged particularly well to me. I kind of think it’s overwrought, self important and stuck in the 90’s but at the time I thought it was absolutely fucking brilliant. Unfun, however, was always just a rocking good time, beginning to end and it’s still good, even if you can’t understand a single fucking lyric besides “I want you” .
Okay, that’s enough for now. I gotta get my shit together. Happy trails!
I mean, that’s crazy to me. music is obviously an important part of my life and it’s totally mindbending to realize that musicians that I think of as somewhat contemporary are (in music generations) generations removed from what’s happening now. I don’t think of the Queers (for example) as an old timey band, but their great album is fifteen or so years old. I don’t think of myself as having been in old bands, but fuck…I was touring when lots of the people that come see my band play were literally not even in kindergarten.
With that in mind, I’m gonna walk you people through a few records I grew up with, some records that I spun relentlessly. See, rock and roll is constantly evolving and the results are that lots of shit that was once seen as awesome or cutting edge ends up lame or forgotten or totally misunderstood. There are also bands (like the Misfits, for example) that are so fucking out there and ahead of their time that their records are every bit as mind blowing today as they were when they came out. This is sort of a very brief compendium of the music I listened to. Some of it’s super lame now, some of it’s awesome. It’s a chance to maybe check out something you missed, because lord knows that I didn’t have any guide to the old timey punk rock back when I was discovering stuff, and as a result, I can’t (for example) name a single song by the Germs (well, there’s that one about the panther…what’s that called? Who cares. It sucks. Sorry. True.). SO, check it out. Or don’t. Fuck. What do I care?
Bad Religion- No Control: This is the record that totally changed my life. It’s smart and bad ass and it just rips your face off for about 21 minutes and then it’s done. The song No Control is not even 2 minutes long and it’s as close to a perfect melodic punk song as you’ll ever find anywhere. It blows my mind that this record is considered to be ‘too old’ for some of the new BR fans. This is THE defining record of my life as a punk rocker and it’s something I still listen to.
Fifteen-Buzz This band has some shit that’s good, some stuff that’s pretty forgettable, whole albums that are embarrassingly terrible and a couple of songs, here and there, that are pretty much the greatest songs ever. This record, Buzz, is the best of the bunch by far. It’s dark and out of tune and it’s so packed with visceral emotion that the fact that no one can play or sing in time or in tune actually adds to the whole experience. This was the other record that changed my life. If bad religion taught me that music could be aggressive and smart and exist completely outside the mainstream and still be slick and polished and every bit as cool as whatever you’d see on MTV, Fifteen taught me that you don’t even need to be slick. There’s beauty in the ugliness of trying. I understand when people say that they think fifteen sucks, but those people generally haven’t sat down with Buzz, one of the best, best, best records in the Genre. Also a record I still listen to, and a crucial record in understanding where a whole generation of sloppy gruff bands got their ideas. Also, check out the songs Petroleum Distillation and End of the Summer from the Choice Of A New Generation album. Great shit.
The Queers- Love Songs For the Retarded- The queers are like a pop punk version of McDonalds. They crank out records like almost no other band. The songs are usually okay, and the lyrics are stupid and the whole thing reeks of really, truly not giving a shit. They have a record called “Beat Off” for fucks sake. Now, most shit by the queers, while decent, isn’t really worth revisiting. If you’ve heard one Queers record, you’ve kind of heard them all: decent pop punk that’s real catchy and typically just okay, not great, not terrible. There are, however two exceptions. Don’t Back Down is a really solid and enjoyable record and Love Songs For the Retarded is a straight up idiot masterpiece. It’s a kind of concept record where Joe Queer walks us through his life where his parents hate him, he’s a gleefully unemployed waste of space that has no interest in pulling it together at all, and instead wants to fart and get drunk and mock hippies. This is all set to 1950’s beach boys type melodies. The lyrics are completely retarded and reading them is like flipping through a mongo teenager’s trapper keeper, but man…it’s brilliant. It’s a real unique and bizarre concepty record that is too dumb to be as smart as it is.
Goo Goo Dolls Hold me Up- I’m dead serious when I say that this is the record that the Lawrence Arms entire program is based on. Listen to it and you’ll see. The bassist sings faster, raspier more aggressive songs and the guitar player sings the more melancholy or thoughtful jammers with a clean voice that dampens panties up to 2 miles away. I actually sing the way I do based on just trying to imitate the bass player dude’s voice when I was younger. Yes, they’ve gone on to be this toxic avenger version of Bon Jovi that makes the soundtrack to middle aged moms masturbating by candlelight in their jaccuzzis, but man…this record killed me when it came out. Great prince cover too, and I tend to hate shit like that.
Jawbreaker Unfun- I was 12 and standing in Reckless Records looking for some new music when I first heard this record. The clerk was playing it over the system there and she told me that they’d be coming through and playing in the store 2 days later. That was my first concert. I was twelve, and one of 6 people watching this band playing in a record store. The show, I don’t remember if it was actually good or if I was just so psyched to see something so cool happening (I was pretty small and going to a concert was about as kick ass as things had gotten up to that point [I wouldn’t touch breasts for another year]) but the record that they were touring on, Unfun, became a staple of mine and my friends. We eventually got all the Jawbreaker records and watched them get huge and went to almost all of their Chicago shows. The thing is, however, I never loved Jawbreaker as much as everyone out there always assumed I did, and this made me a little bit resentful of the band, which is highly illogical, but what are you gonna do? While we were starting out, we were getting written up as a bad, third tier Jawbreaker clone band. The thing is, we were, if you’ll look above, just ripping off the Goo Goo Dolls and trying to do something a little bit more reckless than Jawbreaker, who can be kind of stuffy and foppish at times. I’ve read some interviews with Blake of Jawbreaker where he says some stuff that really bums me out (I’m not gonna get into it here, but it seems like we don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things) and the ultimate results of all this are that I’m always really hesitant to throw too much praise this bands direction. The fact is, though, that I was pretty fucking obsessed with Unfun and had more than a passing fascination with all the subsequent albums. 24 hour revenge therapy hasn’t aged particularly well to me. I kind of think it’s overwrought, self important and stuck in the 90’s but at the time I thought it was absolutely fucking brilliant. Unfun, however, was always just a rocking good time, beginning to end and it’s still good, even if you can’t understand a single fucking lyric besides “I want you” .
Okay, that’s enough for now. I gotta get my shit together. Happy trails!
Friday, January 7, 2011
I PEEEEEEEEEEEED!
So, I’m in the process of potty training a human male toddler and it’s pretty amusing. He’s got this potty set up in the living room so he can just pee and keep watching television (because, in the course of my research, it’s been revealed to me that the number one thing that keeps these monsters from focusing on using the potty is being super distracted [like, by a favorite show, for example] and the result you end up with is lots of little wet pants and stained couches) and every time he pees successfully, he gets a mini nutter butter cookie.
Generally, he’s an ace at the pissing, but the shitting is a bit more elusive (and by elusive, I mean, he shits his pants constantly and he’s getting big and he eats regular person food and the whole thing is almost unspeakably gross. Have YOU ever washed a full sized human shit log out of a pair of tiny underoos in your bathroom sink? It’s terrible. There’s just no way to avoid doing so many things that you’d really rather not do…it’s gross) and as a result, he gets more than a cookie when he shits into the potty (it should be noted at this point that I’m not using the term ‘potty’ as some sort of sweet euphemism for crapper, it’s actually just a little toilet shaped dish situation designed for little people. It would be wrong to call it a toilet and I don’t know what else to call it. Believe me, using the term ‘potty’ in a conversation among adults makes me as uncomfortable as it makes you).
In fact, when the boy shits in the potty, he gets a lollipop, which he refers to as a ‘pop.’ It’s a big deal. Pops are his very favorite form of earth matter that exists and will probably remain so until he discovers the wonder of burritos and pussy (in that order, most likely), although, until very recently, the notion of having to shit, hitting the potty and getting a pop as a result haven’t quite connected with him. But yesterday, that all changed.
Yesterday, in an unprecedented feat of shitting the boy shit four times(!) and every time, he used either a toilet or his TV potty and the results were dual: 1) he got 4 pops (a fucking KILLING on the local pop-eating circuit) and 2) he realized the connection between accuracy-crapping and candy. And the subsequent behavior today has been pretty amazing.
Now, to digress a bit. Yesterday I read an article about the production of testosterone in women and how when that slows (very often due to hormonal birth control) it leads to dry beavers and decreased sexdrive (two things that can be totally related [ie, “I’m not even remotely horny and you’re bumming me out so my clam is dusty”] but need not be, and in this case we’re talking about two uniquely different physical results of a lack of testosterone in a female: dryness, and on another note, lack of desire to bone, blow, put things in one’s ass etc.). Of course, too much testosterone in women gives em beards and headaches and zits and all sorts of shit. It’s a delicate balance, which I think has a lot to do with why there’s not some sort of pill or something that makes women horny (because, let’s face it, that’d really clock in above all the Viagra and propecia and ipads and world peace and .3% unemployment and everything else on earth in terms of things that humanity wants to see, wouldn’t it?) but with men, it’s way different.
We’re just gross horniness tanks, fuelled by organs that make testosterone by the bucketload. We get zits and beards and go bald and all that and you know what? Fuck it. Who cares? Anything around here to fuck? Anything at all? Attractive sheep? Dude that looks like a lady? Jelly sandwich? Hole in a bit of fibrous insulation? Anything? Men are just walking around with the desire to constantly bone coursing through their veins. And Unlike women, who exist through hormonal changes which will change them from cock starved 19 yr olds blowing a room full of dudes to a 40 year old mom that would rather hold a log of shit in her hand then fuck with the lights on, dudes have no point where the madness stops or even really slows down all THAT much. They just learn to live with it.
So what’s my point? And what does this have to do with my son learning to shit into the potty? Okay, when I was a teenager, as a result of my veins coursing with pure testosterone, the things I’d do to try and get laid were ridiculous. I’d tell my mom I was going to the library and then hop on two trains and go a hundred miles out of Chicago to sit on some girl’s bed and listen to her talk about pearl jam and her dumb friends’ stupid party. I’d forego sleep, education, leisure time, important shit…I’d put myself in physical peril. I’d drive a car with no brakes, I’d sneak out and hitchhike in the middle of the night. I’d, in short, do anything at all to get to a point where someone may POSSIBLY pull down their panties on my behalf. And it almost never worked out, but the possibility was enough. That prize was worth all the risk of whatever nightmarish fate may have befallen me, be it grounding, expulsion, failure, gross manglement, whatever.
Well, as I sit here and look at my kid, I’m reminded of that singleminded sense of purpose. In the pursuit of (lolli)pops, he’s decided that he’s just gonna sit on the potty all day and attempt to squeeze out turds. He’s got his dinosaurs around him and he’s just happy as a clam, sitting there, trying with every fiber of his little being, to make fiber shoot from his little being so I’ll reward him with a pop. It’s not enough to sit on the couch, or play on the ground near the potty. He’s coiled and ready. I don’t think testosterone is really playing a role, but man…he’s in the grip of something mighty, that’s for sure.
Was this weird? Have a good weekend.
Generally, he’s an ace at the pissing, but the shitting is a bit more elusive (and by elusive, I mean, he shits his pants constantly and he’s getting big and he eats regular person food and the whole thing is almost unspeakably gross. Have YOU ever washed a full sized human shit log out of a pair of tiny underoos in your bathroom sink? It’s terrible. There’s just no way to avoid doing so many things that you’d really rather not do…it’s gross) and as a result, he gets more than a cookie when he shits into the potty (it should be noted at this point that I’m not using the term ‘potty’ as some sort of sweet euphemism for crapper, it’s actually just a little toilet shaped dish situation designed for little people. It would be wrong to call it a toilet and I don’t know what else to call it. Believe me, using the term ‘potty’ in a conversation among adults makes me as uncomfortable as it makes you).
In fact, when the boy shits in the potty, he gets a lollipop, which he refers to as a ‘pop.’ It’s a big deal. Pops are his very favorite form of earth matter that exists and will probably remain so until he discovers the wonder of burritos and pussy (in that order, most likely), although, until very recently, the notion of having to shit, hitting the potty and getting a pop as a result haven’t quite connected with him. But yesterday, that all changed.
Yesterday, in an unprecedented feat of shitting the boy shit four times(!) and every time, he used either a toilet or his TV potty and the results were dual: 1) he got 4 pops (a fucking KILLING on the local pop-eating circuit) and 2) he realized the connection between accuracy-crapping and candy. And the subsequent behavior today has been pretty amazing.
Now, to digress a bit. Yesterday I read an article about the production of testosterone in women and how when that slows (very often due to hormonal birth control) it leads to dry beavers and decreased sexdrive (two things that can be totally related [ie, “I’m not even remotely horny and you’re bumming me out so my clam is dusty”] but need not be, and in this case we’re talking about two uniquely different physical results of a lack of testosterone in a female: dryness, and on another note, lack of desire to bone, blow, put things in one’s ass etc.). Of course, too much testosterone in women gives em beards and headaches and zits and all sorts of shit. It’s a delicate balance, which I think has a lot to do with why there’s not some sort of pill or something that makes women horny (because, let’s face it, that’d really clock in above all the Viagra and propecia and ipads and world peace and .3% unemployment and everything else on earth in terms of things that humanity wants to see, wouldn’t it?) but with men, it’s way different.
We’re just gross horniness tanks, fuelled by organs that make testosterone by the bucketload. We get zits and beards and go bald and all that and you know what? Fuck it. Who cares? Anything around here to fuck? Anything at all? Attractive sheep? Dude that looks like a lady? Jelly sandwich? Hole in a bit of fibrous insulation? Anything? Men are just walking around with the desire to constantly bone coursing through their veins. And Unlike women, who exist through hormonal changes which will change them from cock starved 19 yr olds blowing a room full of dudes to a 40 year old mom that would rather hold a log of shit in her hand then fuck with the lights on, dudes have no point where the madness stops or even really slows down all THAT much. They just learn to live with it.
So what’s my point? And what does this have to do with my son learning to shit into the potty? Okay, when I was a teenager, as a result of my veins coursing with pure testosterone, the things I’d do to try and get laid were ridiculous. I’d tell my mom I was going to the library and then hop on two trains and go a hundred miles out of Chicago to sit on some girl’s bed and listen to her talk about pearl jam and her dumb friends’ stupid party. I’d forego sleep, education, leisure time, important shit…I’d put myself in physical peril. I’d drive a car with no brakes, I’d sneak out and hitchhike in the middle of the night. I’d, in short, do anything at all to get to a point where someone may POSSIBLY pull down their panties on my behalf. And it almost never worked out, but the possibility was enough. That prize was worth all the risk of whatever nightmarish fate may have befallen me, be it grounding, expulsion, failure, gross manglement, whatever.
Well, as I sit here and look at my kid, I’m reminded of that singleminded sense of purpose. In the pursuit of (lolli)pops, he’s decided that he’s just gonna sit on the potty all day and attempt to squeeze out turds. He’s got his dinosaurs around him and he’s just happy as a clam, sitting there, trying with every fiber of his little being, to make fiber shoot from his little being so I’ll reward him with a pop. It’s not enough to sit on the couch, or play on the ground near the potty. He’s coiled and ready. I don’t think testosterone is really playing a role, but man…he’s in the grip of something mighty, that’s for sure.
Was this weird? Have a good weekend.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
It's the end of the Year as We Know It (part 2) 2010 edition!
Okay, as promised, here we are at part two of the greatest and most definitive list ever compiled with regards to 2010. I’m not gonna waste your time with an intro, as I know you’re all slathering at the bit like a bunch of horny horses with rabies looking at a horse-pussy-shaped salt lick, so here goes:
Best gay dance hit that sucks but with a little tweaking would be an awesome rock song- Raise Your Glass by Pink.
Okay, this song is so painfully lame that it almost causes me to double over. You know how the government has developed like, super measles and extra deadly ebola, or how because of our obsession with antibiotics, gonorrhea can kill you now? Um…no. Not quite the right analogy…how bout this: in food labs, scientists develop the essence of flavors, they distill it down to just a liquid that they can drop on something and make it taste and smell exactly like something else. This is a common practice for fast food places that serve you plastic food in order to make it taste like real food. In Schlosser’s super awesome (highly sensationalist) muckraking masterpiece “Fast Food Nation” he talks about this and there’s one particularly memorable passage where he mentions that the essence of green pepper is so strong that a single drop will completely flavor six or so Olympic pools worth of water. That’s what this Pink song is like, but instead of green pepper flavor, it’s lame dorkiness. It’s the most concentrated, distilled, essence of lame that’s ever been turned into soundwaves. Ever.
It’s pointless to even examine any one line because every single sentence and phrase in the song is so cringe inducingly horrendous that to isolate any one is to deny the almost sublime shittiness of all the rest of the lyrics. The chorus, however, maybe actually deserves special notice, because unlike the rest of the song, which is simply mindbendingly wack adolescent wordplay with that highly annoying ‘sass’ that has become Pink’s trademark, the chorus is literally BEGGING us, the audience, to choose this song as our anthem. It says ‘c’mon and raise your glass’ but it may as well be saying “please! Pretty please raise your glass and be partying and sing along and love this song and by extension, me! PLEASE!!!!”
And folks, that sucks in a way that shit like “if you’re too school for cool” just can’t even compete with, no matter how fucking stupid it is.
BUT!!!!!! And this is significant: The melodies in that song are fucking AWESOME. The way the verse builds, the way it coils up before the chorus, the all important third line of the chorus melody alteration, the sparkling, beautiful notes in the bridge that decays to a single a cappella line, this shit is good. It leaves me with one conclusion: Namely, that someone who really knows how to write songs wrote all the music and melodies and then Pink came in and cavemanned the words. What’s the end result? Something that sucks but that you don’t turn off. Something that you want to hum along with, because singing along with it forces you to articulate things too stupid to ever come out of your mouth.
So, here’s what I’m gonna do: I’m gonna take that dumb song’s melodies and make it into a cool song. Or maybe I won’t. Maybe you should. It’s SO close to being a great song, but as it stands now, it makes me want to beat up nerds, not drink. And that’s saying something, as I’m a heavy drinking nerd.
Best Website- Bad Sandwich Chronicles
For the third year in a row, this mustard and bloody diarrhea flavored interweb page has run away with this highly esteemed and important honor. You need dick jokes? Introspection? A long rambling near-nonsensical essay about a completely irrelevant pop song? Well, BSC is your place. Somebody should really give the genius who writes that website some money and a big, fancy contract to write a book, or spruce up their dumb writing. That’s what someone should do, all right.
Best Blog- Guess Her Muff
In this day and age, you can find almost anything on the internet. Fuck, someone just tweeted me a link to a fucking forum where people go on road trips with their fuck dolls and post photos of their fuck dolls (for example) lounging at the pool with some other wealthy masturbator’s fuck dolls. So there you go. There’s nothing left. Officially.
However, in the midsts of this cyber hellscape of depravity, there’s a shiny beacon, a place where the simple pleasures of seeing a woman clothed, and then seeing her pussy are highlighted. They aren’t the fanciest place on the internet. They’re doing something very simple and they’re doing a hell of a job. Think of it as the In N Out Burger of internet porn.
Best place to send pictures of your tits/beaver/balls-Bad Sandwich Chronicles
Come on. Did this even need to be said? Have I EVER betrayed any of your trust and posted the pics of your clams/tits/dicks that I get? Of course not. That would be gauche. So, so very gauche. So. Very.
Best drug- Alcohol
(to the tune of ‘The facts of Life’ theme song) It makes you sweat, it makes you fart it tears your fam-i-ly apart, it’s alcohol, and you drank it all. Your liver dies your nose explodes you get sores on your ass and choad it’s alcohol, you woke up in the hall. Cuz the world never seems to be li-vin up to your dreams suddenly you’re drinking bleach and no one’s gonna tell you what to do! Doo-oo-oo-oo-oo.
Best Movie- Um…did Avatar come out this year? No? Fuck. Well…I didn’t see any movies this year except for pornography, but that Lily Labeau seems like a nice girl. How bout something with her in it?
Year end list of the year (highly myopic. The following little essay is for true, die hard regular readers only)- Now, this was a close one, and almost always, Bad Sandwich Chronicles wins this one, but this year things are a little different. As you can see, this isn’t “Best” of the year this time. It’s just the list ‘of the year’, much in the same way Time does the person of the year and it’s been Hitler, and it’s been Mark Zuckerberg (a billionaire jew who spins the loom that weaves the fabric of society together to a degree that you’ve gotta imagine it would make Hitler pretty nervous if he was still alive [and, well…good. Because {and this is a highly controversial statement, folks} fuck Hitler. I mean, am I right? Woo. That felt good.]) and it doesn’t mean that they’re endorsing anyone or anything. It’s just a commentary on the person that seems to have stirred up the most shit for the year. Well, this year the year end list of the year goes to the guy in the sock drawer who did the list of “top Faggots” or whatever the fuck it was just before Christmas.
That’s right.
And here’s why: Firstly, there’s nothing quite so great as a community based awards ceremony. Sure, this one was mean spirited as shit, but hey, you know what? The world is mean spirited and the interworld (my own, soon to be trademarked term for the cybersphere [ooh, I’m doing that one too…] is even meaner than the real world, which is saying a lot. Now, this guy (who’s funny, but mean, and [in what I think may be a stroke of genius, but which is vastly more probably just a showcase of the weakness of his source material when spread too thin,] he’s wildly uneven in terms of quality output; something he seems to be especially unforgiving about with regards to some of the other posters) put out a list where he called a bunch of the people who post in the comment section here ‘faggots’ and gave each person a brief description regarding why they are such faggots.
He (and this guy has to be a he) then gave an ‘honorable mention’ to another group of people, who he purports to like but also mostly insulted, which, well…that’s pretty amusing. He left out my personal favorite poster (the black professor that loves little Richard) but otherwise, he did a decent job of touching on most of the regular posters down in the sock drawer and well, I appreciated the effort to create some sort of compendium of the community’s populace, even if it was kind of mean. I figured, hell, the people that read this shit are tough sumbitches. They can take a little ribbing from an anonymous internet dildo, can they not?
Sadly, the answer seems to be no. Since our friend, who’s handle suggests that he’s the ghost of the dead brother of the guy that played the one young alien that’s actually old, but who was also in inception (which uh…there’s that virtual visor guy who also seems inspired by Inception. Is there something to that? Who cares?) posted his list, the people who once posted here have vanished, scattered into the shadows like mice, or non-cannibals in a post apocalyptic Cormac McCarthy situation. There’s been no retaliation (an admittedly stupid idea, as internet fighting is like two people with Down Syndrome fighting [regardless of which side wins, both are retarded]), no sense of coming together, no witty response. Nothing. At. All. Just an immediate ‘hey! That’s mean’ and then silence. Dusty, tumbleweed ridden silence. It’s amazing. Not great. Not terrible. Simply and literally amazing.
Have you ever heard the expression “If we stop doing (blank) the terrorists win”? Probably not. It’s not really something that people just bandy about in America to justify doing any shitty, selfish thing that they want to do nowadays.
Anyway, here’s what it means: When someone’s a dick to you, and you let it change your life, you become the very definition of what they think you are: weak, cowardly and willing to sacrifice doing the things you want to do as so not to be further tormented. That, in essence is when people who torment you go “wow. That worked. They WERE soft, ineffectual pussies hiding behind their precious soft, easy lifestyles. This tormenting people shit is all right!” That’s quite a precedent to set. Is that what you want, sock drawer? Is it?
So yeah. He wins. He wins the award for list of the year. Good on ya, ghost of the brother of the guy who played the alien in the show with Jon Lithgow (highly talented, criminally underrated). You seem to have easily and handily vanquished your foes.
But for the record, I like those kids.
Okay, that’s it, folks. Come back next year for more crazy lists. Oh, and tomorrow we’ll get back to the regular program where I pretend to be outraged about something and then call someone a wiener-flosser or something.
xoxo
Best gay dance hit that sucks but with a little tweaking would be an awesome rock song- Raise Your Glass by Pink.
Okay, this song is so painfully lame that it almost causes me to double over. You know how the government has developed like, super measles and extra deadly ebola, or how because of our obsession with antibiotics, gonorrhea can kill you now? Um…no. Not quite the right analogy…how bout this: in food labs, scientists develop the essence of flavors, they distill it down to just a liquid that they can drop on something and make it taste and smell exactly like something else. This is a common practice for fast food places that serve you plastic food in order to make it taste like real food. In Schlosser’s super awesome (highly sensationalist) muckraking masterpiece “Fast Food Nation” he talks about this and there’s one particularly memorable passage where he mentions that the essence of green pepper is so strong that a single drop will completely flavor six or so Olympic pools worth of water. That’s what this Pink song is like, but instead of green pepper flavor, it’s lame dorkiness. It’s the most concentrated, distilled, essence of lame that’s ever been turned into soundwaves. Ever.
It’s pointless to even examine any one line because every single sentence and phrase in the song is so cringe inducingly horrendous that to isolate any one is to deny the almost sublime shittiness of all the rest of the lyrics. The chorus, however, maybe actually deserves special notice, because unlike the rest of the song, which is simply mindbendingly wack adolescent wordplay with that highly annoying ‘sass’ that has become Pink’s trademark, the chorus is literally BEGGING us, the audience, to choose this song as our anthem. It says ‘c’mon and raise your glass’ but it may as well be saying “please! Pretty please raise your glass and be partying and sing along and love this song and by extension, me! PLEASE!!!!”
And folks, that sucks in a way that shit like “if you’re too school for cool” just can’t even compete with, no matter how fucking stupid it is.
BUT!!!!!! And this is significant: The melodies in that song are fucking AWESOME. The way the verse builds, the way it coils up before the chorus, the all important third line of the chorus melody alteration, the sparkling, beautiful notes in the bridge that decays to a single a cappella line, this shit is good. It leaves me with one conclusion: Namely, that someone who really knows how to write songs wrote all the music and melodies and then Pink came in and cavemanned the words. What’s the end result? Something that sucks but that you don’t turn off. Something that you want to hum along with, because singing along with it forces you to articulate things too stupid to ever come out of your mouth.
So, here’s what I’m gonna do: I’m gonna take that dumb song’s melodies and make it into a cool song. Or maybe I won’t. Maybe you should. It’s SO close to being a great song, but as it stands now, it makes me want to beat up nerds, not drink. And that’s saying something, as I’m a heavy drinking nerd.
Best Website- Bad Sandwich Chronicles
For the third year in a row, this mustard and bloody diarrhea flavored interweb page has run away with this highly esteemed and important honor. You need dick jokes? Introspection? A long rambling near-nonsensical essay about a completely irrelevant pop song? Well, BSC is your place. Somebody should really give the genius who writes that website some money and a big, fancy contract to write a book, or spruce up their dumb writing. That’s what someone should do, all right.
Best Blog- Guess Her Muff
In this day and age, you can find almost anything on the internet. Fuck, someone just tweeted me a link to a fucking forum where people go on road trips with their fuck dolls and post photos of their fuck dolls (for example) lounging at the pool with some other wealthy masturbator’s fuck dolls. So there you go. There’s nothing left. Officially.
However, in the midsts of this cyber hellscape of depravity, there’s a shiny beacon, a place where the simple pleasures of seeing a woman clothed, and then seeing her pussy are highlighted. They aren’t the fanciest place on the internet. They’re doing something very simple and they’re doing a hell of a job. Think of it as the In N Out Burger of internet porn.
Best place to send pictures of your tits/beaver/balls-Bad Sandwich Chronicles
Come on. Did this even need to be said? Have I EVER betrayed any of your trust and posted the pics of your clams/tits/dicks that I get? Of course not. That would be gauche. So, so very gauche. So. Very.
Best drug- Alcohol
(to the tune of ‘The facts of Life’ theme song) It makes you sweat, it makes you fart it tears your fam-i-ly apart, it’s alcohol, and you drank it all. Your liver dies your nose explodes you get sores on your ass and choad it’s alcohol, you woke up in the hall. Cuz the world never seems to be li-vin up to your dreams suddenly you’re drinking bleach and no one’s gonna tell you what to do! Doo-oo-oo-oo-oo.
Best Movie- Um…did Avatar come out this year? No? Fuck. Well…I didn’t see any movies this year except for pornography, but that Lily Labeau seems like a nice girl. How bout something with her in it?
Year end list of the year (highly myopic. The following little essay is for true, die hard regular readers only)- Now, this was a close one, and almost always, Bad Sandwich Chronicles wins this one, but this year things are a little different. As you can see, this isn’t “Best” of the year this time. It’s just the list ‘of the year’, much in the same way Time does the person of the year and it’s been Hitler, and it’s been Mark Zuckerberg (a billionaire jew who spins the loom that weaves the fabric of society together to a degree that you’ve gotta imagine it would make Hitler pretty nervous if he was still alive [and, well…good. Because {and this is a highly controversial statement, folks} fuck Hitler. I mean, am I right? Woo. That felt good.]) and it doesn’t mean that they’re endorsing anyone or anything. It’s just a commentary on the person that seems to have stirred up the most shit for the year. Well, this year the year end list of the year goes to the guy in the sock drawer who did the list of “top Faggots” or whatever the fuck it was just before Christmas.
That’s right.
And here’s why: Firstly, there’s nothing quite so great as a community based awards ceremony. Sure, this one was mean spirited as shit, but hey, you know what? The world is mean spirited and the interworld (my own, soon to be trademarked term for the cybersphere [ooh, I’m doing that one too…] is even meaner than the real world, which is saying a lot. Now, this guy (who’s funny, but mean, and [in what I think may be a stroke of genius, but which is vastly more probably just a showcase of the weakness of his source material when spread too thin,] he’s wildly uneven in terms of quality output; something he seems to be especially unforgiving about with regards to some of the other posters) put out a list where he called a bunch of the people who post in the comment section here ‘faggots’ and gave each person a brief description regarding why they are such faggots.
He (and this guy has to be a he) then gave an ‘honorable mention’ to another group of people, who he purports to like but also mostly insulted, which, well…that’s pretty amusing. He left out my personal favorite poster (the black professor that loves little Richard) but otherwise, he did a decent job of touching on most of the regular posters down in the sock drawer and well, I appreciated the effort to create some sort of compendium of the community’s populace, even if it was kind of mean. I figured, hell, the people that read this shit are tough sumbitches. They can take a little ribbing from an anonymous internet dildo, can they not?
Sadly, the answer seems to be no. Since our friend, who’s handle suggests that he’s the ghost of the dead brother of the guy that played the one young alien that’s actually old, but who was also in inception (which uh…there’s that virtual visor guy who also seems inspired by Inception. Is there something to that? Who cares?) posted his list, the people who once posted here have vanished, scattered into the shadows like mice, or non-cannibals in a post apocalyptic Cormac McCarthy situation. There’s been no retaliation (an admittedly stupid idea, as internet fighting is like two people with Down Syndrome fighting [regardless of which side wins, both are retarded]), no sense of coming together, no witty response. Nothing. At. All. Just an immediate ‘hey! That’s mean’ and then silence. Dusty, tumbleweed ridden silence. It’s amazing. Not great. Not terrible. Simply and literally amazing.
Have you ever heard the expression “If we stop doing (blank) the terrorists win”? Probably not. It’s not really something that people just bandy about in America to justify doing any shitty, selfish thing that they want to do nowadays.
Anyway, here’s what it means: When someone’s a dick to you, and you let it change your life, you become the very definition of what they think you are: weak, cowardly and willing to sacrifice doing the things you want to do as so not to be further tormented. That, in essence is when people who torment you go “wow. That worked. They WERE soft, ineffectual pussies hiding behind their precious soft, easy lifestyles. This tormenting people shit is all right!” That’s quite a precedent to set. Is that what you want, sock drawer? Is it?
So yeah. He wins. He wins the award for list of the year. Good on ya, ghost of the brother of the guy who played the alien in the show with Jon Lithgow (highly talented, criminally underrated). You seem to have easily and handily vanquished your foes.
But for the record, I like those kids.
Okay, that’s it, folks. Come back next year for more crazy lists. Oh, and tomorrow we’ll get back to the regular program where I pretend to be outraged about something and then call someone a wiener-flosser or something.
xoxo
Monday, January 3, 2011
It's the end of the Year as We Know It (part 1) 2010 edition!
Okay, so welcome to 2011. So far, I’ve gotta give the new year a big thumbs up. Sure, I feel like a sack of crap due to sitting around and drinking beer and eating chicken wings for the last 2 weeks, but you know what? I’m already in my gym clothes, I had a good night of sleep and I’m currently immersed in 4 of the best books I’ve read in a long while. Plus, if I do say so myself, my dick is looking better than ever. No small feat, considering its usual (remarkably high) level of resplendence.
And that’s good, because this year I’m gonna get back into reading a lot. See, I love to read, but having a new baby seriously cuts into reading time (and since nothing is harder than reading while you’re tired, it kind of becomes impossible to read at all during the first few months of a new person’s life), but now this monster is getting to the point where she can kind of just chill, and as such, I’m ready to feed my head again. Right now I’m reading Garner’s Modern American Usage (Bryan A Garner) The Bin Ladens (Steve Coll), the Innocents Abroad (Mark Twain) and 2666 (Roberto Bolano). It’s a nice curriculum. If you’re out there with nothing to do, go ahead and pick these up. The Garner isn’t really something to read cover to cover, but if you’re at all interested in writing or just language in general, it’s a GREAT thing to have sitting in the bathroom for a highly sophisticated crap sesh. 2666 is already shaping up to be up in the top five or so books I’ve ever read in my life and the other two are must reads for pretty obvious reasons. Yeah. So let’s leave it at that, kay? New year. Feed the head. Good game.
Now, to get down to brass tacks. Of course, no new year would be complete without a compendium of the successes and failures of the previous year and that’s where I come in. What sucked? What ruled? Look no further than this page, underlings, for I, your master am about to impart your official guide to remembering 2010. Ready? Good. Okay, without any further ado, the official End Of the Year as We Know It guide to 2010 starting with…
Best Place To Shit- Your pants.
‘The toilet’, ‘the sidewalk’ and ‘into a paper towel and then gently placed into the oven of an enemy’ were all strong contenders this year, but nothing really said ‘2010’ like taking a steamy dump right there in the pants your mommy dressed you in. I’m kind of hoping this trend goes into decline for ’11, but you know what? What do I know? I’m an old man. And if you kids want to shit your pants right there at the party, who am I to say it’s not the coolest (are you kids still saying ‘coolest?’), grooviest move out there. Cowabunga, bro.
Best Dick Substitute- Tube of Toothpaste
This is a hot category every year, with previous winners like cucumbers, gear shifters and wadded up socks (bulge subcategory) all being in strong contention this year, but here at BSC we decided that this slightly more whimsical entrant should get the prize. It starts out hard, it shoots paste, you wind up with it all over your face and in the end, it’s crusty and spent and your old lady tells you to put it away. Now THAT’S a dick substitute, folks.
Worst Off With Their Heads Record- In Desolation
There weren’t really a lot of contenders in this category, and uh…well, this one kind of ‘won’ by default. This is saying a lot, because this is a really, really good record, so you can imagine how great all the other OWTH records this year had to have been for this to get voted the worst, right? Yeah. Uh…moving on.
Ugliest Celebrity that I’d still bone- Joy Behar
This one’s a bit of a misnomer, because I really, really want to fuck Fred Armisen, but uh…that’d be kind of gay, so I’m just gonna fuck Joy Behar and pretend it’s him on the set of the SNL View.
Hottest Animal- Pixel
For those of you who were lucky enough to watch Animal Passions this year, you know that no single one of god’s creatures stood out quite like Pixel, the little pony. God, she’s a vision of loveliness. Waiter, the lady will have the salt lick and the bucket of oats and we’ll split a bottle of Dom, please.
Best Taco Bell ingredient- Beans
Ah, Taco Bell, is there anything you can’t make from your five voltron-esque ingredients? Well, this year, the beans seemed somehow even more necessary than the plastic cheese, the plastic meat, the plastic tomatoes or even the plastic tortillas. Beans win, for their mortar-like consistency, their complete lack of taste, their fecal appearance and of course their ubiquitous presence. Take a bow, Beans!
Best Celebrity Dick- T.I.
Nothing says ‘check out my hot dick’ like squatting naked in just a hat, watch and sneakers in a sort of furious “I’m about to take a dump right here in this sauna room” pose.
Best Celebrity Tits- Lindsay Lohan
Drunk tits are always great tits and Lindsay happens to have GREAT drunk tits. I can’t wait until the hoopla dies down and she can get back to flashing her drunk, high tits and beaver with the dignity and grace she’s brought to the vocation in the past.
Okay, well, as you guys know, a year end list can’t all come at once. This is just the first part (there is precedent here. Check out last years list or the list before that [I’ve been doing this for 3 years? Jesus…I need a job] for the general 2 part template and of course some of the hottest shit from ’08 and ’09) see you tomorrow with more of what was hot and what was not (heyo!) in 2010.
Keep watching the stars, folks!
And that’s good, because this year I’m gonna get back into reading a lot. See, I love to read, but having a new baby seriously cuts into reading time (and since nothing is harder than reading while you’re tired, it kind of becomes impossible to read at all during the first few months of a new person’s life), but now this monster is getting to the point where she can kind of just chill, and as such, I’m ready to feed my head again. Right now I’m reading Garner’s Modern American Usage (Bryan A Garner) The Bin Ladens (Steve Coll), the Innocents Abroad (Mark Twain) and 2666 (Roberto Bolano). It’s a nice curriculum. If you’re out there with nothing to do, go ahead and pick these up. The Garner isn’t really something to read cover to cover, but if you’re at all interested in writing or just language in general, it’s a GREAT thing to have sitting in the bathroom for a highly sophisticated crap sesh. 2666 is already shaping up to be up in the top five or so books I’ve ever read in my life and the other two are must reads for pretty obvious reasons. Yeah. So let’s leave it at that, kay? New year. Feed the head. Good game.
Now, to get down to brass tacks. Of course, no new year would be complete without a compendium of the successes and failures of the previous year and that’s where I come in. What sucked? What ruled? Look no further than this page, underlings, for I, your master am about to impart your official guide to remembering 2010. Ready? Good. Okay, without any further ado, the official End Of the Year as We Know It guide to 2010 starting with…
Best Place To Shit- Your pants.
‘The toilet’, ‘the sidewalk’ and ‘into a paper towel and then gently placed into the oven of an enemy’ were all strong contenders this year, but nothing really said ‘2010’ like taking a steamy dump right there in the pants your mommy dressed you in. I’m kind of hoping this trend goes into decline for ’11, but you know what? What do I know? I’m an old man. And if you kids want to shit your pants right there at the party, who am I to say it’s not the coolest (are you kids still saying ‘coolest?’), grooviest move out there. Cowabunga, bro.
Best Dick Substitute- Tube of Toothpaste
This is a hot category every year, with previous winners like cucumbers, gear shifters and wadded up socks (bulge subcategory) all being in strong contention this year, but here at BSC we decided that this slightly more whimsical entrant should get the prize. It starts out hard, it shoots paste, you wind up with it all over your face and in the end, it’s crusty and spent and your old lady tells you to put it away. Now THAT’S a dick substitute, folks.
Worst Off With Their Heads Record- In Desolation
There weren’t really a lot of contenders in this category, and uh…well, this one kind of ‘won’ by default. This is saying a lot, because this is a really, really good record, so you can imagine how great all the other OWTH records this year had to have been for this to get voted the worst, right? Yeah. Uh…moving on.
Ugliest Celebrity that I’d still bone- Joy Behar
This one’s a bit of a misnomer, because I really, really want to fuck Fred Armisen, but uh…that’d be kind of gay, so I’m just gonna fuck Joy Behar and pretend it’s him on the set of the SNL View.
Hottest Animal- Pixel
For those of you who were lucky enough to watch Animal Passions this year, you know that no single one of god’s creatures stood out quite like Pixel, the little pony. God, she’s a vision of loveliness. Waiter, the lady will have the salt lick and the bucket of oats and we’ll split a bottle of Dom, please.
Best Taco Bell ingredient- Beans
Ah, Taco Bell, is there anything you can’t make from your five voltron-esque ingredients? Well, this year, the beans seemed somehow even more necessary than the plastic cheese, the plastic meat, the plastic tomatoes or even the plastic tortillas. Beans win, for their mortar-like consistency, their complete lack of taste, their fecal appearance and of course their ubiquitous presence. Take a bow, Beans!
Best Celebrity Dick- T.I.
Nothing says ‘check out my hot dick’ like squatting naked in just a hat, watch and sneakers in a sort of furious “I’m about to take a dump right here in this sauna room” pose.
Best Celebrity Tits- Lindsay Lohan
Drunk tits are always great tits and Lindsay happens to have GREAT drunk tits. I can’t wait until the hoopla dies down and she can get back to flashing her drunk, high tits and beaver with the dignity and grace she’s brought to the vocation in the past.
Okay, well, as you guys know, a year end list can’t all come at once. This is just the first part (there is precedent here. Check out last years list or the list before that [I’ve been doing this for 3 years? Jesus…I need a job] for the general 2 part template and of course some of the hottest shit from ’08 and ’09) see you tomorrow with more of what was hot and what was not (heyo!) in 2010.
Keep watching the stars, folks!
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Happy new year, you fucking mongoloids!
SO, tonight I'm gonna be nursing your sick, depraved asses back to life at the L and L tavern. I don't really do this 'serving the public' shit much anymore, so come down and hang and witness the spectacle. I'll be there from 9-3 for all your 'drinking away my bad decisions' needs. And coming tomorrow, the list to end all lists: the end of the year as we know it, BSC style. So sack up, pussylips, and come see me tonight and steel yourself for the most brutal year-end round up ever!
Are you on the list? Probably. Not.
I know I said 2010 was gonna be awesome, but I think actually it sucked. what's up with that?
Are you on the list? Probably. Not.
I know I said 2010 was gonna be awesome, but I think actually it sucked. what's up with that?
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