There’s this girl at the bunny ranch (which is, for those of you who don’t know, the most famous legal brothel in the US) who’s seven months pregnant. You can go to the website and check out her belly and all that and then make an appointment to go bang her. Pretty interesting move. I guess people need money, and if she’s already a prostitute and that’s how she makes her money it’s not as though things are really all that different, but something strikes me as odd. No? Maybe I’m just a prude. Fuck man. What ever happened to not working when you got knocked up…barefoot and pregnant, that’s how the expression went, right? BUT, those were simpler times. Now, if your job is blowing carloads of sweaty dudes while they high five and chug Bud Lite Lime, well, getting pregnant isn’t the cushy vacation it used to be. In fact, my limited research seems to indicate that it’s actually a boon for her business…so strange. I thought people went to prostitutes to get away from the bloated, gassy, irritable pregnant women that they lived with. Huh. Hey man, whatever floats your boat. I guess it’s one of those things, where when faced with the opportunity to try something new, people overwhelmingly stick with what they know. Maybe they should get a prostitute at the bunny ranch who won’t blow you at all, complains about your appearance and only lets you fuck her in the shower once every few months. Oh, and she should, about half way through the act, probably suddenly say something like “Oh shit! I’ve gotta call the guy about getting the carpets shampooed!” There you go, bunny ranch. This first idea’s free. A gift from me to you.
In Austria, they put the hardcore porn magazines right next to the kids magazines in gas stations. There’s none of those black shields to block the covers, there are no plastic bags and there’s sure as shit no sequestered rack behind the counter. This is a truly awesome setup. When we’d pull into gas stations, we could all go peruse the crazy Austrian porn while our driver and tour manager handled all the gas getting, etc. SO, this one particular magazine that I saw there, which haunts me to this day featured a woman, nine months pregnant, stuffed to the brim with dicks, being choked with a dog collar, wearing a gimp mask while a guy pissed on her face and into her open mouth. This was actually on the COVER of the magazine. Talk about going for it. What was the pictoral like? How did they kick THAT up a notch? Fuck that, actually. The real question is what does she do to get off in private? Have people shit into her asshole and fuck her bones? Jesus. Anyway, it struck me as odd that someone would be so interested in carrying a baby to term and at the same time so disinterested in you know, her own situation that this sort of picture could ever exist. But as I’ve grown up a bit, I’ve realized that this is a pretty crappy way to consider this. In fact, I’m a real dick.
First, it’s Austria and they’re into some pretty freaky stuff, and who am I to stuff my morality down her throat like it was some giant schlong? Realizing this makes me feel like a prude. There’s really, as long as everyone’s healthy and all that, nothing wrong with getting double penetrated in a gimp mask while you suck two other dicks and a fifth guy pisses on you during the last month of your pregnancy. If that’s how you roll, hey, keep a-rolling, babe. I guess it’s actually great that there are people out there challenging the definition of what’s acceptable and making wussy douche liberals like me examine how free of judgment I really am. Wow. Turns out that pregnant Austrian leather fetish porn star might be one of the greatest heroes of free expression in the history of the world! Man, and I was all ready to condemn her and suggest that her child (probably at least four years old by now) was going to have a pretty strange and unique set of issues. Fuck me, man.
Honestly, if people could back off each other and stop with all the judging, the world would be a much better place. I think that’s really the political definition of Anarchy, just slimmed down to an easily digestible little sentence. Don’t judge me, bro! Like, institutionally, that is. Nice.
Interestingly, in my experience, there’s almost no one on this earth as judgmental and shitty as armchair teen anarchists, by the way. You know those stinky, grimy punks with sleeveless, yellowing shirts, dogs on ropes, bad songs about being free and their own labels? Wow. Those guys and girls have it all figured out. It’s hard to discern why they chose to scientifically eliminate everything fun and joyful from their lives for nothing in return. It’s not like the Christians who do it for the glory of getting a nice apartment in the sky where they’ll be young again and their grandma will be young too and live next door. Nope. It’s not like the hippies who eschew traditional societal norms (and act like fucking dickweeds) so they can get high and fuck each other, and it’s not even like organized protesters like Ghandi or MLK because there’s zero organization, or even tangible enemies, beyond sweeping generalizations, dumpster diving for bums (which, by the way, in the form of Food not Bombs is one of the more condescending moves in the world. Hey bum, I went and got you some food from the garbage and prepared it for you, and it’s all vegetarian, because that’s how I think you should eat. Never mind that you already get your food from the garbage. This is more righteous…sheesh.) and a few protests against things like the world bank that are really not going to be brought down by the one flaccid protest every year that these stinkies attend.
Way to take all the problems with punk rock, combine them with all the things that suck about hippies and somehow make something ten times less desirable than either. I’d rather hang with fucking Ultraviolet Hippopotamus than a bunch of teen anarchists. AND, to bring this full circle, I’d rather hang with pregnant whores and pornstars than hippies, although that wouldn’t really be that great either...um…
Jesus…I think I’d actually just rather hang with my friends. Okay, I’m off to get some lunch. Xoxox0
Monday, December 8, 2008
Friday, December 5, 2008
I need a place to defecate.
There’s not a lot of time today. Fuck, I’m late for work already. It’s Friday and everyone wants a little schlong/clam action over the weekend, right? Well, I’m just gonna list a few of the best places to go to get laid, and let you guys do the rest. Think of the great beej you get on Sunday morning as the last paragraph of this blog.
Okay, here goes:
Prison- There’s no guarantee on this earth more solid than this one. If you go to prison, you will have sex had with you. You’ve been beating off to those movies where one girl is in the middle of the room sucking ten or twelve giant black dongs for years. Now you can be her. Ta dah!
AA meetings- Or sex addict meetings, whatever. Like prison, this is a pretty sure thing. Emotionally fragile people who have most likely alienated everyone close to them are, as a rule, pretty easy to bang. Oh, this is also horribly exploitive and wrong, but that’s for another entry.
The old man bar in your neighborhood- There is, in that bar, a person over the age of fifty who is down for some dirty, dirty times. But which one? Well, here’s a guide: The woman is usually wearing lipstick around, but not on her lips, talking loudly, gesturing with her tall vodka-tonic and sporting some crazily dyed hair. The man is all of them.
Beauty school- These girls/guys are to abortion clinics what gamers are to Doritos, man. When’s the last time you woke up next to a stranger who WASN’T in beauty school (or a former student)? Warning: Straight ladies, there’s no one for you here.
Hollywood- In Hollywood, from what I’ve read in my religious monthly magazines, all you have to do is pull out your dick on the street and someone/something will eventually, like steel to a powerful magnet, just fly right up and glom onto it. If you’re a woman, just stand on a corner looking lost. You’ll be taken care of soon enough.
Thailand- Hey, if you’re rich enough to just go to Thailand this weekend on a whim, you should really be able to get laid right here at home…Unless you want one of those underage trannies, in which case, Thailand (and jail) is probably the place for you.
Hmmmm….Oh, those parks- You know the parks, the ones that are full of creepy dudes in sunglasses from about sundown to sun up? Cheeseman park in Denver, the Lagoon in Lincoln park in Chicago, I think like 80% of the parks in SF…I don’t know the others, but they’re in every town and they’re up there with prison as far as sure things go.
Funny story, well, it’s not a story, it’s more of a situation-- when we were kids, this park (the lagoon in Lincoln Park) is one of the many places we’d go to get high/drink beers, so we’d always be walking around with a bag of weed or a case of beer or a bottle of MD 20/20 or something and of course, we’d be terribly nervous, because we were kids off doing something exciting and without fail, we’d round the corner on some mattress in the woods or some guy sucking some other guy off or just some very polite older gentleman in a trenchcoat waving us over or waving a handkerchief our direction. I bet their parents didn’t know what they were up to either.
Okay, Happy hunting. I’m off to work.
Okay, here goes:
Prison- There’s no guarantee on this earth more solid than this one. If you go to prison, you will have sex had with you. You’ve been beating off to those movies where one girl is in the middle of the room sucking ten or twelve giant black dongs for years. Now you can be her. Ta dah!
AA meetings- Or sex addict meetings, whatever. Like prison, this is a pretty sure thing. Emotionally fragile people who have most likely alienated everyone close to them are, as a rule, pretty easy to bang. Oh, this is also horribly exploitive and wrong, but that’s for another entry.
The old man bar in your neighborhood- There is, in that bar, a person over the age of fifty who is down for some dirty, dirty times. But which one? Well, here’s a guide: The woman is usually wearing lipstick around, but not on her lips, talking loudly, gesturing with her tall vodka-tonic and sporting some crazily dyed hair. The man is all of them.
Beauty school- These girls/guys are to abortion clinics what gamers are to Doritos, man. When’s the last time you woke up next to a stranger who WASN’T in beauty school (or a former student)? Warning: Straight ladies, there’s no one for you here.
Hollywood- In Hollywood, from what I’ve read in my religious monthly magazines, all you have to do is pull out your dick on the street and someone/something will eventually, like steel to a powerful magnet, just fly right up and glom onto it. If you’re a woman, just stand on a corner looking lost. You’ll be taken care of soon enough.
Thailand- Hey, if you’re rich enough to just go to Thailand this weekend on a whim, you should really be able to get laid right here at home…Unless you want one of those underage trannies, in which case, Thailand (and jail) is probably the place for you.
Hmmmm….Oh, those parks- You know the parks, the ones that are full of creepy dudes in sunglasses from about sundown to sun up? Cheeseman park in Denver, the Lagoon in Lincoln park in Chicago, I think like 80% of the parks in SF…I don’t know the others, but they’re in every town and they’re up there with prison as far as sure things go.
Funny story, well, it’s not a story, it’s more of a situation-- when we were kids, this park (the lagoon in Lincoln Park) is one of the many places we’d go to get high/drink beers, so we’d always be walking around with a bag of weed or a case of beer or a bottle of MD 20/20 or something and of course, we’d be terribly nervous, because we were kids off doing something exciting and without fail, we’d round the corner on some mattress in the woods or some guy sucking some other guy off or just some very polite older gentleman in a trenchcoat waving us over or waving a handkerchief our direction. I bet their parents didn’t know what they were up to either.
Okay, Happy hunting. I’m off to work.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
I just want something I can never have.
My friend Katie told me the following joke:
What’s the difference between a goth couple?
About 100 pounds.
Now, that’s just funny. Why is it that with the goth kids, there’s a super skinny, mummy type and a gigantic scary powdered donut type but pretty much nothing in between. Every goth couple on earth looks like a number 10 walking around. Funny.
Actually, some of the girls can be pretty good looking if you ignore the…well, you know, corpse paint. I first went to this place in Atlanta called the Masquerade a few years ago for Halloween. It’s got three floors and each floor has a name. There’s heaven, hell and purgatory. It used to be a pretty great place (back when I was first there) but it’s become the most fetid shit stink box of a building in the universe in subsequent years. I think all the pipes that carry shit from the toilets to wherever shit ultimately goes just sort of burst behind the walls and so now, whenever anyone shits in the masquerade, it just goes right into the ventilation system. Whatever, that’s really neither here nor there.
The point is, I was at this place back when it was nice and they were having this goth rave thing and it was wild. Chicks were just in crazy outfits. One girl was in a spangly thong and pasties with angel wings and stripper heels. There was another whole gaggle of chicks dressed as various Hitlers. There were tons of your standard goth girls in sheer clothing, and a lot of these girls were quite attractive, but every dude in the place was SUCH a dork. Pantyhose arms, lipstick, some sort of dumb collar, belly straining against his mesh shirt…you know the dudes. It was at this moment I realized ‘wow, these goth guys really have it all figured out’. I mean, they’ve inserted themselves into a subculture that, however dorky, actually embraces the idea of boning being fun. Sure, that’s the case with metal too, but there are no girls. I guess that in the 80’s there was a pretty hedonistic thing going on in LA with all the fake metal, but that seems like it was kind of one sided. The girls were kind of bimbos and the dudes were assholes. This goth thing is much more bizarre. The girls are kind of in control and the guys are fucking NERDS. Nice work nerds!
In fact, is goth the mathematical answer to the eternally unanswerable equation (Nerds+X=Pussy)??? I think it may be. Think about it…highly sexualized music, absolutely no regard for what everyone else in the world deems to be acceptable. Physical shortcomings (I’m looking your direction, number 10 couple) are completely fine because you slather yourself in crap and always use candles as lighting. There’s a highly feminine aspect (makeup, panty hose leather, boots, fashion in general), and as a result lots of girls flock to the scene and it prizes the sensual above all. Nerds…congratulations. You’ve done it. I feel like I just discovered the secret island where all the white seals escaped to or something. Holy shit! That’s why goth dudes are so nerdy! They’re GENUINE nerds in disguise! Actually, in advanced calculus, once all the pretenders have failed out or moved to different areas of study, the professor puts down the protractor and he’s like “okay gentlemen, here it is!” and he pulls up the map to reveal on the blackboard “X=Goth bullshit when Nerds+X=Pussy.” Then they all clumsily high five and go out for Blizzards.
So anyway, at this thing (back at the Masquerade) they started doing ‘suspensions’ (a transparent nerdism now that I’ve cracked the code…they never got suspended from school, so they’ve figured out a way to do it at their nerd/goth functions. Brilliant…) where they put meathooks through your back or your dick or your butt or whatever and they hoist you up and you just float around the room like some sort of side of beef from Rocky I. Gross. I have a friend named Sebas, a Sicilian who lives in Berlin who insists that there is no better feeling than being suspended by a meathook above a room of copulating goth dorks. My theory is that he’s never received a blowjob.
Fuck man. I gotta work today. Happy Thursday to all.
XOXOXO
What’s the difference between a goth couple?
About 100 pounds.
Now, that’s just funny. Why is it that with the goth kids, there’s a super skinny, mummy type and a gigantic scary powdered donut type but pretty much nothing in between. Every goth couple on earth looks like a number 10 walking around. Funny.
Actually, some of the girls can be pretty good looking if you ignore the…well, you know, corpse paint. I first went to this place in Atlanta called the Masquerade a few years ago for Halloween. It’s got three floors and each floor has a name. There’s heaven, hell and purgatory. It used to be a pretty great place (back when I was first there) but it’s become the most fetid shit stink box of a building in the universe in subsequent years. I think all the pipes that carry shit from the toilets to wherever shit ultimately goes just sort of burst behind the walls and so now, whenever anyone shits in the masquerade, it just goes right into the ventilation system. Whatever, that’s really neither here nor there.
The point is, I was at this place back when it was nice and they were having this goth rave thing and it was wild. Chicks were just in crazy outfits. One girl was in a spangly thong and pasties with angel wings and stripper heels. There was another whole gaggle of chicks dressed as various Hitlers. There were tons of your standard goth girls in sheer clothing, and a lot of these girls were quite attractive, but every dude in the place was SUCH a dork. Pantyhose arms, lipstick, some sort of dumb collar, belly straining against his mesh shirt…you know the dudes. It was at this moment I realized ‘wow, these goth guys really have it all figured out’. I mean, they’ve inserted themselves into a subculture that, however dorky, actually embraces the idea of boning being fun. Sure, that’s the case with metal too, but there are no girls. I guess that in the 80’s there was a pretty hedonistic thing going on in LA with all the fake metal, but that seems like it was kind of one sided. The girls were kind of bimbos and the dudes were assholes. This goth thing is much more bizarre. The girls are kind of in control and the guys are fucking NERDS. Nice work nerds!
In fact, is goth the mathematical answer to the eternally unanswerable equation (Nerds+X=Pussy)??? I think it may be. Think about it…highly sexualized music, absolutely no regard for what everyone else in the world deems to be acceptable. Physical shortcomings (I’m looking your direction, number 10 couple) are completely fine because you slather yourself in crap and always use candles as lighting. There’s a highly feminine aspect (makeup, panty hose leather, boots, fashion in general), and as a result lots of girls flock to the scene and it prizes the sensual above all. Nerds…congratulations. You’ve done it. I feel like I just discovered the secret island where all the white seals escaped to or something. Holy shit! That’s why goth dudes are so nerdy! They’re GENUINE nerds in disguise! Actually, in advanced calculus, once all the pretenders have failed out or moved to different areas of study, the professor puts down the protractor and he’s like “okay gentlemen, here it is!” and he pulls up the map to reveal on the blackboard “X=Goth bullshit when Nerds+X=Pussy.” Then they all clumsily high five and go out for Blizzards.
So anyway, at this thing (back at the Masquerade) they started doing ‘suspensions’ (a transparent nerdism now that I’ve cracked the code…they never got suspended from school, so they’ve figured out a way to do it at their nerd/goth functions. Brilliant…) where they put meathooks through your back or your dick or your butt or whatever and they hoist you up and you just float around the room like some sort of side of beef from Rocky I. Gross. I have a friend named Sebas, a Sicilian who lives in Berlin who insists that there is no better feeling than being suspended by a meathook above a room of copulating goth dorks. My theory is that he’s never received a blowjob.
Fuck man. I gotta work today. Happy Thursday to all.
XOXOXO
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
LOL! OMFG! ROFL! YSTWOADP!
The internet is full of assholes. I know, what a profound statement. Believe it or not, I wasn’t even at asspatrol.com when I came up with this little maxim. It’s crazy though, because on paper, it seems pretty flawless. Anonymous dickheads with no fear of reprisal or improper syntax/grammar/spelling just free to say whatever they want with impunity? How could that promote assholiness? The rampant shitheadian orthodoxy on the internet is really just a sad testament to mob mentality, the malleability of the human spirit, the lack of any sort of ingrained sense of protectiveness for our fellow man. Or, perhaps it’s stupidity manifesting and quarantining itself as people with any sense of actually wanting to, you know, DO something don’t tend to spend a lot of time on the internet dicking around and commenting on youtube posts and such, while marginalized dickheads who never get listened to anywhere else suddenly have a forum with which to volley the insults they’ve collected by being human bags of shit back at the world. Is that a fair assessment?
I don’t know where the idea that everyone should have a platform for their opinion came from. The greeks? Ben Franklin and his merry band of slave owning sexual predators/great thinkers? As far as my research reveals, these people didn’t really think that EVERYONE deserved a voice, and sure, they had some arbitrary and somewhat fucked up logic (uh, you’re black. Uh, YOU don’t have a penis. Sorry) but they had a system. I’m not suggesting that we take all the computers with internet hookups away from women and black folks, because let’s face it, everyone on this mother fucker is a white guy anyway. You want proof that the founding fathers/cradle of western thought had the wrong ideas about who to shut up? Look no further than the internet, where white males are doing an excellent job of unraveling any sort of argument for the superiority of the sex/race. It’s a victory in that sense, I suppose. AND if our collective consciousness is actually acting as a profoundly ingenious performance artist attempting to completely level the intellectual prejudice in this world, and it’s doing so by way of message boards and blogs, well, wow. My bad. This is a pretty great species after all.
But I kind of doubt that, honestly. Here’s the thing. Everyone has an opinion. This is a fact. Most people however, don’t actually express their true opinions. They take the road more traveled, or less traveled depending on their own level of perceived iconoclasm, or they completely ignore their instincts and go with what they THINK they should like/dislike, or they let arbitrary social mores (racism, sexism, I’m from Germany) get in the way of what could be something they would otherwise like or perhaps hate. OR in the case of people who write about things, the people who supposedly have the opinions worth hearing about, they take the tack of whichever opinion is the easiest to argue. (A great example of this is Gavin McGuinness [I don’t think that’s spelled properly] who is the guy who started the Vice ‘do’s and don’ts’. He’s said that he looks at the picture, figures out the best joke and bases his opinion on that. And he’s one of the funniest people I’ve ever read. Just pointing out that writing about something necessarily puts your opinion in the back seat and your ability to write about it shotgun)
This isn’t always true, but it’s true more times than not. Have we discussed the laziness of journalists before? Well, when it comes to constructing a half page review of a movie, for example, someone could list all the great (perceived) cinematic tips of the hat, the masterful lighting and editing, the pedigree of the director and/or actors or they could just say “eh…it kind of blew.” This is the backwards way, though, because it’s almost always easier to negatively write at length about something. This is why so many reviews are negative and so many blogs (BSC included) are mostly rants about things that suck. It’s not that I (we) hate everything. It’s that effusive praise is short in the tooth. Negativity feeds the vocabulary because people always want a new way to call someone an asshole (shit socket!) and people always want a new way to say something sucks (that licked the crisco off a retarded pig’s distended nutsack). That’s the currency of modern opinion. What’s the flipside? “That was good.” “That was great.” “This is the single best thing that ever occurred.” That’s how British journalists write things. Don’t believe me? You should go check out Kerrang’s archives and see how many bands have singlehandedly saved rock n roll in 2008.
Okay, anyhow. I hate the whole “well, if you’re gonna have an opinion on (for example) a record, let’s hear your band. It better be a better band!” line of defense that accompanies so many dumb message board arguments because that’s just stupid. You don’t need to be able to do something in order to think someone else is bad at it. For example, I recently saw (on tv) a guy try to jump a motor bike onto a roof but instead he hit the back porch. I think my “that guy’s a pretty bad stunt biker” opinion is perfectly valid. I am not interested in proving that I could do said stunt (of course I can do it, that’s neither here nor there). It’s the same with movies or music or what have you. You can’t hide your own sucking at something behind the fact that someone else sucks at something too. I can’t do stand up. I think it’s very hard and the people who do it are incredibly brave. I also believe that Dane Cook is terrible at stand up, and I’m at ease with the coexistence of this pair of facts.
The one place where this falls flat, however is with writing. If someone is critiquing someone else’s writing…Let’s say, for example someone is critiquing my blog, and they, themselves rant against it. That’s fine. I’m not the funniest, smartest guy in the world. Cut me down to size. Rant away. BUT you had better be funnier than me if you’re gonna go there. Otherwise, you’re doing EXACTLY what I’m doing here, but worse, and that only outs you as the same, but inferior, type of stupid, blowhard asshole that you were so jazzed up to decry on the internet in the first place. Bad move, eh? That’s why I’ll never comment about anyone else’s blog specifically (except Perez, who is revolting.) I’m much more comfortable broadly swinging insults at large groups. Hmmm…this is the internet, after all.
Does that make sense? Probably not. Now, this is just a kind of a dumb example, because everyone in the world loves my blog (at least, that’s what I glean from the hundreds of thousands of emails I get each week) I’m just using an example that is at once aggrandizing and humbling to prove a point. People are assholes on the internet. And in real life too I guess.
I have a class tonight and I haven’t written shit. I have to clean the house and go to the gym and I haven’t even thought about what kind of porn to look at. Jesus. It’s a busy day.
I don’t know where the idea that everyone should have a platform for their opinion came from. The greeks? Ben Franklin and his merry band of slave owning sexual predators/great thinkers? As far as my research reveals, these people didn’t really think that EVERYONE deserved a voice, and sure, they had some arbitrary and somewhat fucked up logic (uh, you’re black. Uh, YOU don’t have a penis. Sorry) but they had a system. I’m not suggesting that we take all the computers with internet hookups away from women and black folks, because let’s face it, everyone on this mother fucker is a white guy anyway. You want proof that the founding fathers/cradle of western thought had the wrong ideas about who to shut up? Look no further than the internet, where white males are doing an excellent job of unraveling any sort of argument for the superiority of the sex/race. It’s a victory in that sense, I suppose. AND if our collective consciousness is actually acting as a profoundly ingenious performance artist attempting to completely level the intellectual prejudice in this world, and it’s doing so by way of message boards and blogs, well, wow. My bad. This is a pretty great species after all.
But I kind of doubt that, honestly. Here’s the thing. Everyone has an opinion. This is a fact. Most people however, don’t actually express their true opinions. They take the road more traveled, or less traveled depending on their own level of perceived iconoclasm, or they completely ignore their instincts and go with what they THINK they should like/dislike, or they let arbitrary social mores (racism, sexism, I’m from Germany) get in the way of what could be something they would otherwise like or perhaps hate. OR in the case of people who write about things, the people who supposedly have the opinions worth hearing about, they take the tack of whichever opinion is the easiest to argue. (A great example of this is Gavin McGuinness [I don’t think that’s spelled properly] who is the guy who started the Vice ‘do’s and don’ts’. He’s said that he looks at the picture, figures out the best joke and bases his opinion on that. And he’s one of the funniest people I’ve ever read. Just pointing out that writing about something necessarily puts your opinion in the back seat and your ability to write about it shotgun)
This isn’t always true, but it’s true more times than not. Have we discussed the laziness of journalists before? Well, when it comes to constructing a half page review of a movie, for example, someone could list all the great (perceived) cinematic tips of the hat, the masterful lighting and editing, the pedigree of the director and/or actors or they could just say “eh…it kind of blew.” This is the backwards way, though, because it’s almost always easier to negatively write at length about something. This is why so many reviews are negative and so many blogs (BSC included) are mostly rants about things that suck. It’s not that I (we) hate everything. It’s that effusive praise is short in the tooth. Negativity feeds the vocabulary because people always want a new way to call someone an asshole (shit socket!) and people always want a new way to say something sucks (that licked the crisco off a retarded pig’s distended nutsack). That’s the currency of modern opinion. What’s the flipside? “That was good.” “That was great.” “This is the single best thing that ever occurred.” That’s how British journalists write things. Don’t believe me? You should go check out Kerrang’s archives and see how many bands have singlehandedly saved rock n roll in 2008.
Okay, anyhow. I hate the whole “well, if you’re gonna have an opinion on (for example) a record, let’s hear your band. It better be a better band!” line of defense that accompanies so many dumb message board arguments because that’s just stupid. You don’t need to be able to do something in order to think someone else is bad at it. For example, I recently saw (on tv) a guy try to jump a motor bike onto a roof but instead he hit the back porch. I think my “that guy’s a pretty bad stunt biker” opinion is perfectly valid. I am not interested in proving that I could do said stunt (of course I can do it, that’s neither here nor there). It’s the same with movies or music or what have you. You can’t hide your own sucking at something behind the fact that someone else sucks at something too. I can’t do stand up. I think it’s very hard and the people who do it are incredibly brave. I also believe that Dane Cook is terrible at stand up, and I’m at ease with the coexistence of this pair of facts.
The one place where this falls flat, however is with writing. If someone is critiquing someone else’s writing…Let’s say, for example someone is critiquing my blog, and they, themselves rant against it. That’s fine. I’m not the funniest, smartest guy in the world. Cut me down to size. Rant away. BUT you had better be funnier than me if you’re gonna go there. Otherwise, you’re doing EXACTLY what I’m doing here, but worse, and that only outs you as the same, but inferior, type of stupid, blowhard asshole that you were so jazzed up to decry on the internet in the first place. Bad move, eh? That’s why I’ll never comment about anyone else’s blog specifically (except Perez, who is revolting.) I’m much more comfortable broadly swinging insults at large groups. Hmmm…this is the internet, after all.
Does that make sense? Probably not. Now, this is just a kind of a dumb example, because everyone in the world loves my blog (at least, that’s what I glean from the hundreds of thousands of emails I get each week) I’m just using an example that is at once aggrandizing and humbling to prove a point. People are assholes on the internet. And in real life too I guess.
I have a class tonight and I haven’t written shit. I have to clean the house and go to the gym and I haven’t even thought about what kind of porn to look at. Jesus. It’s a busy day.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Number 8, number 8, number 8
There’s nothing that will so instantly insure that the baby begins screaming more than me beginning to write this thing in the morning. This is a test of the baby broadcast system. Right now he seems happy. He’s developed this interest in talking/shouting, but of course he can’t say anything (he busts out ‘dad’ and ‘dadadada’ on occasion, but even I have to admit that he’s probably not connecting those phonemes to any sort of meaning) so he kind of blathers like a drunk old man from eastern Europe, just screaming these sounds I don’t understand. Another interpretation would maybe be that he’s a little evangelical and he’s already speaking in tongues, but I don’t think he’s that stupid. Anyway, let’s move on.
I’d fuck Oprah. Oh sure, I’ve got a kid and fucking Oprah would violate the trust I have with his mother and ultimately do bad things to his mental health and all that. Okay, fine, you fucking party pooper…I wouldn’t fuck Oprah. Jesus. But it would be great, wouldn’t it? It would be just exactly like fucking your therapist’s big leather couch, if we presuppose that the couch is rich and never shuts up. I think it would be better to fuck Oprah than Tyra (to stay in the rich leather couch that never shuts up category for a moment) despite what some would say about Tyra being the much more attractive giant couch. Tyra is obsessed with herself on a level that even Oprah can’t come close to, and that would make for some pretty bad couch fucking, in my opinion. Of course, since this is hypothetical, my golden rule stands, namely, that you MUST always fuck a famous person if you have the chance, no matter how gross or self obsessed they may be, if for no other reason than at some point in the future, you’ll be sitting there in an airport bar watching an old rerun of Roseanne while you’re waiting for the unseasonable ice storm to blow over Omaha and you can lean over to the old guy next to you in the tinted glasses, point to the screen when Roeseanne walks in and say, “see her, yeah, the fat one? I fucked her. No seriously, we stayed in the same hotel in Fresno once and it just kind of happened. Nah, she had already divorced Tom Arnold. Oh sure it was gross. What do you expect? I’d do it again though.”
It’s a good rule, and it applies to girls too. Here’s how it works for girls. You’re dating some guy and he’s being a cocky dick and he’s treating you like shit in front of his friends and blah blah blah and you pretty much know you’re going to break up with him, well, that’s when you spring “you know, I fucked Lars Ulrich when I was in highschool” on him. Watch Lars Ulrich instantly become his most hated celebrity ever. Oh, he’ll spiral out of control with jealousy that can’t really be confined to either one of you. He’s jealous of Lars because he got there first, but he’s jealous of you because you fucked someone famous and he’s still just dreaming of the day that he’s gonna somehow get the opportunity to strike up that conversation with the chick that played the wife on Everybody Loves Raymond at the Laundromat. Oh, shit man. It’s a great rule. And yes, of course, once you have kids, all rules are out the window. Rules like “I’ll never wipe someone else’s ass” or “I won’t ever wear sweatpants outside” just kind of go out the window. So does “I’ve gotta fuck a famous person if I get the chance.” But for those people without kids, and established deadbeat dads and moms out there, keep it in mind. In the spirit of the morning, here are some people who are famous that I’d have sex with (non hot chicks category):
Grace Jones- Yup, she’s scary. No, I don’t think she’s hot. This is the non hot chicks category, man! I just said that shit. Okay, she’s scary, did we get that out of the way? It’s gotta be like nothing I’ve ever done before. And that’s a good reason, right? Okay…well then, without further ado:
Linda McCartney- She’s got one leg. That’s crazy, no? I mean, not to fetiishize the differently limbed, but yeah…I guess that’s not really the right way to start that sentence since that’s exactly what I’m doing. Well, fuck it then. That’s what I’m doing. Just to tread where a Beatle has dared is not enough, man. I’m not gonna fuck, say, for example…wait, nevermind. I guess that brings us to:
Yoko Ono- She’s gross, for sure, but at a time when he could have banged anyone on earth, from Boutros Boutros Gahli to Liz Taylor, John Lennon chose this crazy bitch. You know what that means? It’s most likely pretty exciting down there.
Bridget the Midget- Speaking of it being exciting down there, here’s a midget porn star. Oh sure, throw your stones. This one’s kind of cheating, since she’s pretty hot, but whatever. I’m just here to challenge your conventions as far as who’s fuckable and famous, so you midget haters out there can consider yourselves served.
Monique- She’s really fat and sassy. That’s a new one for me, honestly. Also black. That would be new too. Did I mention black? Accompanied with fat and sassy, I’m powerless, at least in theory. And don’t start with the “what about Grace Jones, she’s black too?” shit, okay. Grace Jones is from space. Monique is from Maryland.
Dolly Parton- She, along with Pam Grier are both no longer hot but they get a by since they were both SO hot at one time. Now, I don’t want to come off as an asshole saying they’re no longer hot. They both look great for their ages, BUT show your teenaged nephew a picture of Dolly Parton and a picture of Mindy Main and see how hot he still thinks Dolly is. No worries. We live in an ageist society, man. It’s a bummer. Or something. I guess.
Bill O’reilly, Sean Hannity, or Dick Cheney- I would so happily forfeit my heterosexuality just to bang any of these three dudes and then appear on every news channel in the hemisphere and tell everyone all about it. There’s little to no doubt in my mind that Hannity has chugged a cock or two, but he’s just such a prick…the other two, I mean, I’d be revolted but I’d be thrilled just knowing that within an hour, I’d be face to face with Anderson Cooper saying “yeah, the former VP loves it when you spit into his asshole”. Dream come true, man.
Okay, that’s all for today. And just to clarify, the above list isn't a list of 'favorites' or anything like that. Just a slice. Okay, good. I’m going to the fucking gym, where maybe Amber, winner of Rock of Love 2 is still working out, that is if she hasn’t moved to LA to pursue a career in softcore milf porn. xoxo
I’d fuck Oprah. Oh sure, I’ve got a kid and fucking Oprah would violate the trust I have with his mother and ultimately do bad things to his mental health and all that. Okay, fine, you fucking party pooper…I wouldn’t fuck Oprah. Jesus. But it would be great, wouldn’t it? It would be just exactly like fucking your therapist’s big leather couch, if we presuppose that the couch is rich and never shuts up. I think it would be better to fuck Oprah than Tyra (to stay in the rich leather couch that never shuts up category for a moment) despite what some would say about Tyra being the much more attractive giant couch. Tyra is obsessed with herself on a level that even Oprah can’t come close to, and that would make for some pretty bad couch fucking, in my opinion. Of course, since this is hypothetical, my golden rule stands, namely, that you MUST always fuck a famous person if you have the chance, no matter how gross or self obsessed they may be, if for no other reason than at some point in the future, you’ll be sitting there in an airport bar watching an old rerun of Roseanne while you’re waiting for the unseasonable ice storm to blow over Omaha and you can lean over to the old guy next to you in the tinted glasses, point to the screen when Roeseanne walks in and say, “see her, yeah, the fat one? I fucked her. No seriously, we stayed in the same hotel in Fresno once and it just kind of happened. Nah, she had already divorced Tom Arnold. Oh sure it was gross. What do you expect? I’d do it again though.”
It’s a good rule, and it applies to girls too. Here’s how it works for girls. You’re dating some guy and he’s being a cocky dick and he’s treating you like shit in front of his friends and blah blah blah and you pretty much know you’re going to break up with him, well, that’s when you spring “you know, I fucked Lars Ulrich when I was in highschool” on him. Watch Lars Ulrich instantly become his most hated celebrity ever. Oh, he’ll spiral out of control with jealousy that can’t really be confined to either one of you. He’s jealous of Lars because he got there first, but he’s jealous of you because you fucked someone famous and he’s still just dreaming of the day that he’s gonna somehow get the opportunity to strike up that conversation with the chick that played the wife on Everybody Loves Raymond at the Laundromat. Oh, shit man. It’s a great rule. And yes, of course, once you have kids, all rules are out the window. Rules like “I’ll never wipe someone else’s ass” or “I won’t ever wear sweatpants outside” just kind of go out the window. So does “I’ve gotta fuck a famous person if I get the chance.” But for those people without kids, and established deadbeat dads and moms out there, keep it in mind. In the spirit of the morning, here are some people who are famous that I’d have sex with (non hot chicks category):
Grace Jones- Yup, she’s scary. No, I don’t think she’s hot. This is the non hot chicks category, man! I just said that shit. Okay, she’s scary, did we get that out of the way? It’s gotta be like nothing I’ve ever done before. And that’s a good reason, right? Okay…well then, without further ado:
Linda McCartney- She’s got one leg. That’s crazy, no? I mean, not to fetiishize the differently limbed, but yeah…I guess that’s not really the right way to start that sentence since that’s exactly what I’m doing. Well, fuck it then. That’s what I’m doing. Just to tread where a Beatle has dared is not enough, man. I’m not gonna fuck, say, for example…wait, nevermind. I guess that brings us to:
Yoko Ono- She’s gross, for sure, but at a time when he could have banged anyone on earth, from Boutros Boutros Gahli to Liz Taylor, John Lennon chose this crazy bitch. You know what that means? It’s most likely pretty exciting down there.
Bridget the Midget- Speaking of it being exciting down there, here’s a midget porn star. Oh sure, throw your stones. This one’s kind of cheating, since she’s pretty hot, but whatever. I’m just here to challenge your conventions as far as who’s fuckable and famous, so you midget haters out there can consider yourselves served.
Monique- She’s really fat and sassy. That’s a new one for me, honestly. Also black. That would be new too. Did I mention black? Accompanied with fat and sassy, I’m powerless, at least in theory. And don’t start with the “what about Grace Jones, she’s black too?” shit, okay. Grace Jones is from space. Monique is from Maryland.
Dolly Parton- She, along with Pam Grier are both no longer hot but they get a by since they were both SO hot at one time. Now, I don’t want to come off as an asshole saying they’re no longer hot. They both look great for their ages, BUT show your teenaged nephew a picture of Dolly Parton and a picture of Mindy Main and see how hot he still thinks Dolly is. No worries. We live in an ageist society, man. It’s a bummer. Or something. I guess.
Bill O’reilly, Sean Hannity, or Dick Cheney- I would so happily forfeit my heterosexuality just to bang any of these three dudes and then appear on every news channel in the hemisphere and tell everyone all about it. There’s little to no doubt in my mind that Hannity has chugged a cock or two, but he’s just such a prick…the other two, I mean, I’d be revolted but I’d be thrilled just knowing that within an hour, I’d be face to face with Anderson Cooper saying “yeah, the former VP loves it when you spit into his asshole”. Dream come true, man.
Okay, that’s all for today. And just to clarify, the above list isn't a list of 'favorites' or anything like that. Just a slice. Okay, good. I’m going to the fucking gym, where maybe Amber, winner of Rock of Love 2 is still working out, that is if she hasn’t moved to LA to pursue a career in softcore milf porn. xoxo
Monday, December 1, 2008
Let your star just shine on, bro
Well, I’m thankful that’s all over. It was great, but fuck man, there were dishes in my house until today…We cooked for fifteen people including a very old Englishman with his own bottle of gin, a seven month old and three guys who call themselves the Cobra Skulls. I’d say Thanksgiving was a success. Take that, Indians.
On Friday night, after work, I went with some friends to watch the Cobra Skulls play. They were absolutely great. I was really, really happy after the show and as we went next door to the adjacent bar to spend a few complimentary drink tickets I felt like the night was shaping up perfectly. Then I saw them.
On the stage in all their waterproof boots and cargo pants and dumb sweaters and five string basses and sparse, overthought goatees and floppy knitted hats and fifteen minute songs and irritating smug “jam faces” and hemp chokers and hackey sack calluses and beads and braided belts and dreadlocks and bongos and windchimes and instrumental interludes were a bunch of fucking hippies. HIPPIES! And they were jamming. This is unacceptable, man. Hippies? Now? In this fucking day and age? Haven’t you hippies gotten the Lebowskian memo? The bums lost, man. Besides, there’s just nothing threatening about being a hippy. You know who was a hippy? The guys who started Ben and Jerry’s. That’s a real rebellious and dangerous paradigm you’re forcing on everyone, BRO. Ugh. It’s enough to make me sick.
Okay, so these hippies—they were called, and I’m not kidding, Ultraviolet Hippopotamus. Did you read that shit correctly? Ultraviolet Hippopotamus!!!! ULTRAVIOLET HIPPOPOTAMUS?????????????????? FUCK, MAN!
I was pissed. I was so pissed. Here’s the thing, I’m thirty two. Phony, bullshit wealthy hippies in fancy hiking boots and jeep Cherokees and crappy jam bands are the very thing that got me angry with mainstream culture and into punk rock in the first place. When I was in highschool, the fake hippies were the dominant class. They were the athletes (oh, and they’d just wear the letter jacket and the rasta hat at the same time, like ANYONE could ever believe that shit’s acceptable) they were in the bands that played at all the functions. Hell, in my first band in highschool, we had a bona-fide hippy on the fucking guitar, complete with a poncho! They were everywhere! You couldn’t even throw together a group of dudes to start a punk/funk/pseudo stoner rock band without a hippy being in there. These were the people I vowed to never be. These fake ass hippies made me sick when their band (called Smile High, as though THAT'S somehow okay) rigged the fucking battle of the bands my sophmore year and pretty much stole the prize money from my punk/funk/pseudo stoner rock band, and then, in the same month, held me down and shaved my head with sheepshears at a hockey practice. These were the hippies of the early nineties—entitled rich bully douchebag, aggressive, dicks with a ‘hey bro, I’m just chillin, what’s your beef?’ attitude in their back pockets for when people decided to call them on their completely unacceptable bullshit.
When I started traveling, going on tour, and visiting a large collection of my friends from highschool out in Boulder, I was shocked. The hippies ran the town. Everywhere I went was some dick in two hundred dollar corduroys and a fully loaded SUV ASKING ME FOR CHANGE?!?!?! This was a new low. Now these fucks, who had more money than me were expecting me to bankroll their glass pipe/kind bud fetish? Unacceptable, man. Just unacceptable. (On a bit of a side note, in my experience, these hippies, with their crystally weed and their glass pipes and their dogs on a rope and all that, were as a general rule, SO STINGY with their weed. They were, as per my recollection, mind you, to the last, a bunch of uptight pricks who would rather look at weed [and make you smell it and comment on the ‘red hairs’ or whatever] and tell you all about how great it is and then put it back in a jar than let you try it. This is neither here nor there, just sayin.)
Okay, so that’s out of the way, and we’re back. I’m absolutely furious at Ultraviolet Hippopotamus. AND, these guys are in their early twenties? You know what that means, man? They’re still making hippy jam bands! Didn’t the death of hippy santa, the subsequent disbanding of the Dead, the slowdown and hiatus of Phish, the completely stupid name of the Stringcheese incident and the general realization that these people are a bunch of stinky dildos teach the kids anything? HOW ARE PEOPLE STILL DOING THIS? Anyway, I was through the roof, so I did what any self respecting person would do.
I booed.
I booed the shit out of this band. Over and over and over and over as loud as I possibly could. Their gross merch skank with her hairy armpits and new york slice of a bush was ‘grooving to the energy’ and giving me a dirty look at the same time, so I booed her ass too. Booo! Stupid hippies! Boo!
I guess I kind of see it as when your parents shame you when you do something ridiculously stupid. I was helping these kids out, man. I booed them mercilessly. I was trying to show them the consequences of being so recklessly unacceptable. And you know what they did? They smiled and kept jammin’ bro. How cool is that? They didn’t let the neg vibes harsh their mellow, not for a bit, bro. The groove must go on, bro. The groove must go on. Ugh.
I seriously thought their band was called Electric Rhinoceros, too, or Technicolor Rhinoceros, and that was pissing me off, until I realized that their actual name was so much worse than that. See, though, the thing about an ultraviolet hippopotamus is, he’s not visible to the naked eye. Chew on that, bro.
This is all making me very angry. Let’s just suffice it to say I don’t like hippies. And you didlos in Smile High, if you’re out there, you guys suck too, and regardless of your bullshit shenanigans that cost Gladhand (yes, I know) the BHS battle of the bands title in 92, your dumb hippy ways have only made me stronger. I don’t care how big your parents house was, or how big yours is now. I played real music in fucking Japan, Europe, Australia, Mexico and Cleveland and got paid for it, you fucking fake hippy dicks. Heh.
On Friday night, after work, I went with some friends to watch the Cobra Skulls play. They were absolutely great. I was really, really happy after the show and as we went next door to the adjacent bar to spend a few complimentary drink tickets I felt like the night was shaping up perfectly. Then I saw them.
On the stage in all their waterproof boots and cargo pants and dumb sweaters and five string basses and sparse, overthought goatees and floppy knitted hats and fifteen minute songs and irritating smug “jam faces” and hemp chokers and hackey sack calluses and beads and braided belts and dreadlocks and bongos and windchimes and instrumental interludes were a bunch of fucking hippies. HIPPIES! And they were jamming. This is unacceptable, man. Hippies? Now? In this fucking day and age? Haven’t you hippies gotten the Lebowskian memo? The bums lost, man. Besides, there’s just nothing threatening about being a hippy. You know who was a hippy? The guys who started Ben and Jerry’s. That’s a real rebellious and dangerous paradigm you’re forcing on everyone, BRO. Ugh. It’s enough to make me sick.
Okay, so these hippies—they were called, and I’m not kidding, Ultraviolet Hippopotamus. Did you read that shit correctly? Ultraviolet Hippopotamus!!!! ULTRAVIOLET HIPPOPOTAMUS?????????????????? FUCK, MAN!
I was pissed. I was so pissed. Here’s the thing, I’m thirty two. Phony, bullshit wealthy hippies in fancy hiking boots and jeep Cherokees and crappy jam bands are the very thing that got me angry with mainstream culture and into punk rock in the first place. When I was in highschool, the fake hippies were the dominant class. They were the athletes (oh, and they’d just wear the letter jacket and the rasta hat at the same time, like ANYONE could ever believe that shit’s acceptable) they were in the bands that played at all the functions. Hell, in my first band in highschool, we had a bona-fide hippy on the fucking guitar, complete with a poncho! They were everywhere! You couldn’t even throw together a group of dudes to start a punk/funk/pseudo stoner rock band without a hippy being in there. These were the people I vowed to never be. These fake ass hippies made me sick when their band (called Smile High, as though THAT'S somehow okay) rigged the fucking battle of the bands my sophmore year and pretty much stole the prize money from my punk/funk/pseudo stoner rock band, and then, in the same month, held me down and shaved my head with sheepshears at a hockey practice. These were the hippies of the early nineties—entitled rich bully douchebag, aggressive, dicks with a ‘hey bro, I’m just chillin, what’s your beef?’ attitude in their back pockets for when people decided to call them on their completely unacceptable bullshit.
When I started traveling, going on tour, and visiting a large collection of my friends from highschool out in Boulder, I was shocked. The hippies ran the town. Everywhere I went was some dick in two hundred dollar corduroys and a fully loaded SUV ASKING ME FOR CHANGE?!?!?! This was a new low. Now these fucks, who had more money than me were expecting me to bankroll their glass pipe/kind bud fetish? Unacceptable, man. Just unacceptable. (On a bit of a side note, in my experience, these hippies, with their crystally weed and their glass pipes and their dogs on a rope and all that, were as a general rule, SO STINGY with their weed. They were, as per my recollection, mind you, to the last, a bunch of uptight pricks who would rather look at weed [and make you smell it and comment on the ‘red hairs’ or whatever] and tell you all about how great it is and then put it back in a jar than let you try it. This is neither here nor there, just sayin.)
Okay, so that’s out of the way, and we’re back. I’m absolutely furious at Ultraviolet Hippopotamus. AND, these guys are in their early twenties? You know what that means, man? They’re still making hippy jam bands! Didn’t the death of hippy santa, the subsequent disbanding of the Dead, the slowdown and hiatus of Phish, the completely stupid name of the Stringcheese incident and the general realization that these people are a bunch of stinky dildos teach the kids anything? HOW ARE PEOPLE STILL DOING THIS? Anyway, I was through the roof, so I did what any self respecting person would do.
I booed.
I booed the shit out of this band. Over and over and over and over as loud as I possibly could. Their gross merch skank with her hairy armpits and new york slice of a bush was ‘grooving to the energy’ and giving me a dirty look at the same time, so I booed her ass too. Booo! Stupid hippies! Boo!
I guess I kind of see it as when your parents shame you when you do something ridiculously stupid. I was helping these kids out, man. I booed them mercilessly. I was trying to show them the consequences of being so recklessly unacceptable. And you know what they did? They smiled and kept jammin’ bro. How cool is that? They didn’t let the neg vibes harsh their mellow, not for a bit, bro. The groove must go on, bro. The groove must go on. Ugh.
I seriously thought their band was called Electric Rhinoceros, too, or Technicolor Rhinoceros, and that was pissing me off, until I realized that their actual name was so much worse than that. See, though, the thing about an ultraviolet hippopotamus is, he’s not visible to the naked eye. Chew on that, bro.
This is all making me very angry. Let’s just suffice it to say I don’t like hippies. And you didlos in Smile High, if you’re out there, you guys suck too, and regardless of your bullshit shenanigans that cost Gladhand (yes, I know) the BHS battle of the bands title in 92, your dumb hippy ways have only made me stronger. I don’t care how big your parents house was, or how big yours is now. I played real music in fucking Japan, Europe, Australia, Mexico and Cleveland and got paid for it, you fucking fake hippy dicks. Heh.
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