Hate List

It's been said before that if you can think of it, in some manner it has already been done, or occurred. This comes from the philosophy that there is nothing completely new. All we are is a constantly shifting amalgam of everything we have experienced, mentally and physically in our lives... so according to that, everything I have ever said - is! What could be more scary? So, I thought for now I would take the easy way out. Instead of writing something that takes time, patience, and creativity, all of which are in short supply these days, I would follow the favorite format of ineffectual misanthropists, of which category, I do not belong... because I hate them. Therefore, I present: The list!!Da da Daaaaa! The not so thorough, but completely libelous list of annoyances in no particular order:

1) People who make lists of their annoyances - Holy Fuck - do these idiots have any imagination? I can picture these perpetually nasally characters sitting on a stack of porn eating fucking cheese doodles making the keyboard all sticky and yellow, blaming the world for their zits and small penises. The world is not to blame, it was god who has stricken you with the plague of undesirability. It was around the time leprosy stopped being funny that he wised up and realized that it would be infinitely more funny to, instead of have it just fall off which is good for one laugh, make it small and misshapen. It's the hallmark of any good joke; longevity. What a funny guy.

2) Tyra Banks - With so many more fitting people out there to allow into our homes to molest our brains with beams of light(your TV you fucking dipshit), we allow a class 'A' stripper to do it. I don't go to a skin bar to talk politics, or to a Macy's for someone to caress my scrotum while I cough, so why would I allow a hot female idiot to touch my brain? You can extrapolate so much that is wrong with this country from the simple fact that she has her own show that doesn't involve lubricant.

3) Anti-cigarette commercials are the biggest waste of money. Not only do they neglect to mention that people find smoking cigarettes quite enjoyable, and not all consider themselves to be slaves of big tobacco companies, but they insinuate that we are all quite stupid and have yet to get the message. All that money they spend on telling people what they already know could be used to save lives elsewhere. I mean seriously, like cigar smokers are so fucking cool - right?

4) People who join hack circles with no shoes. If you suck with shoes on, how much better do you think you are without shoes?

5) People who go to the gym in flip-flops. I always pray that these people drop a big weight on their stupid, stinky feet and break every bone disabling them for a period no less than 6 months.

6) People with foot fetishes. Really? A fucking foot fetish? You are a step above fucking Asian boys.

7) Feet.

8) The number eight...

9) If I already mentioned Tyra Banks, I don't care. She deserves to be listed twice anyway. Watching that show is torture.

10) And finally, people who always end their numbered lists at ten. It's not a coincidence that they have ten fingers in which to reference. Eventually when our species slides back into the water, and all we have are flippers, you can count on the fact that all lists will only go to two.... and there will be lots of spelling errors.

11) Flippers.

Lucky Bastard

I am pretty damn awesome at most things; sex, drinking, football, sex, guitar, Call of Duty, and sex, and that is why the laws of compensation dictate I must be terrible at something. In my case, it is luck that I suck at. When I was a boy I was mauled by a dog named cuddles. Yup, that's the truth. Ever since then I knew there was something very odd about how things always turned out for me in the game of chance. Seriously, the dog was named cuddles and it fucking mauled me... Do you understand what I am saying here?

Small dogs with attitude are not my only problem when it comes to luck. It's a fact that coin flips, scratch-offs, pull tabs, number draws, and the right-place-right-time phenomenon, all snub me. After loosing $700 dollars in a last attempt experiment with scratch-offs, I decided to consult some witch doctors on the subject... but I couldn't find any, so I went with religious fanatics. I first met with this old Pakistani guy first. He said that I was cursed by Allah for being an infidel and that is why I have zero luck. "The only way you can appease Allah is to spit on an old Jew woman's shoe". Oh - so anti-semitism is lucky now? "Yes", he said. Well... who am I to argue? I decided to find a bat mitzvah.

They stopped me at the door because, "there's something funny about this one"... So I turned around walked back out down to the grocery store; I needed a disguise. Using a shower curtain and a pair of scissors, I cut out a small circular disc about 5 inches in diameter. For you laymen out there, in Jewishishnism, it's called a yamaha... it goes on your head. For further effect I bought a box of matza balls and rubbed it's fragrance all over me. I also took the liberty of learning some popular Jewish phrases like, "Do you believe the heat out today", and "What are you kidding? I can't eat this!" Once I was in the party it was smooth sailing. To avoid detection, I simply complained a lot about anything: The floor is too slippery, the hats are too tight, the cake is too sugary, etc.

I walked up to the first old Jewish woman I seen and hocked a loogy onto her shoe. Trouble. The music stopped and everyone glared at me. The bright side is that every time I find myself in this situation that song Renegade by Styx comes on in my head * The jig is up, the news is out, they finally found me. You renegade, you had it made, the da da bla da da! * The bad news is that I was about to be murdered by a mob of religious nuts with funny hats. In a fit of panic I yelled, MOZEL TOV!! Which I think means, 'just kidding, everyone, I just needed some attention cause I was feeling lonely - let's get this party started! Next thing you know I was being carried around on a crappy folding chair (fact: most injuries among Jews are caused by folding chairs, slippery floors, and muslims), singing songs about Jewish teenage angst. You know you are listening to music of Jewish teenage angst if they yell chutzpah a lot. It's usually found in place of the more commonly used word, fuck.

Shortly after the bat mitzvah, I bought a scratch-off and won forty bucks.... and then I was accosted by a dog named Yappy Doodle the third... Not quite sure what to make of that.

Wishes do Come True

I got into a fight with my girl the other day, and I was thinking how much nicer it would be to, instead of run through the entire disagreement process only to end up at my perfunctory capitulation in order to avoid three days of misery because I didn't do the dishes, bash her in the head with a log and then go to sleep. However, laws state that men can no longer enforce their will like they use to because - I don't know - it's too easy and is less time consuming, not to mention more peaceful in the long term, and that's apparently a bad thing. I was thinking this while she was yelling at me, and then she hit me... and then it hit me: Gorillas don't have to take shit from chicks! That can be my happy place while she yells about crusty eggs and how "they don't clean themselves." No shit?!? Of course they don't clean them-fucking-selves, nature will take care of it! Or you will, which ever comes first.

So now when she yells about me leaving my underwear in between the couch cushions, I just transport myself to that magical place where I am a giant gorilla, with a cigar...and a hat. I jump around, as king, in my magical forest. This fantasy has been going on for quite a while and has developed into something quite ridiculous by most peoples standards. Good thing most people are really fucking stupid.

So there's this one night in particular in which I was gazing up at at the stars, getting way too serious, wishing I really was a gorilla. I mean really wishing, like the kind of wishing little girls do in their bedroom windows in movies after witnessing a shooting star or some shit. When I realize how ridiculous I must look wishing on a star in the window at the local Red Lobster restaurant, I sat back down and wished some more - but this time I did it like an adult; with my head down in a low whisper.

Magic happened that night, because I woke up the next day and... oh shit- I giant black mutant hair growing out of my shoulder. Magic happened that night, and magic is fucking gay. I checked with the local authorities, and a single black hair on ones back is NOT enough to qualify you as a gorilla. Six evenly spaced black hairs is the minimum to blur the line between human and primate, thereby, giving me the right - no - duty, to punish my girlfriend with tree limbs.

Wishing just isn't what it use to be. The entire market has been turned into a third rate discount store where everything looks great because it's super cheap, but when you get home you realize just how cheap it is when you plug it in and get zapped. I was zapped with a freak hair! What the fuck am I supposed to be doing with this thing: It's god damn useless! Since it's freakishly obvious the magic of wishing has been stretched to the point of breakage, I am proposing we end all children's birthday parties. Kids make dumbass wishes anyway. "I wish my parents would get back together" - wah wah wah! What a waste. That's like saying, "Please fix the errors of my ways!" Everyone knows the kid deserves to live with the snoring, farting, perpetual nightgown wearing granny because it's always their fault the parents hate each other in the first place. Why do they think they deserve my wishes to get a second chance?

Fine, I understand that's a lot to do away with. Here is another suggestion: STOP HAVING KIDS! That'll fix a lot more than just the defunct wishing system, and just think of all the ferries and trolls that would get a day off. Think about it; until they're unionized, or get some breaks, all our wishes will be filtered through a pile of ferry dung rendering it unrecognizable and/or regrettable. Kids just aren't worth all the trouble anymore. It's time for us, the adults, to have fun for a while. It's time for us to finally make the decision to choose life over children.

Parents wish I was illiterate.

Happy Memorial Day

Imagine how mad you'd be if you gave your life for freedom and you where honored with a traffic jam coupled with carbon monoxide poisoning. Thirty minutes had passed before we realized the parade was over. It was a perfectly seamless transition from boorish emergency vehicles (as if anyone wants to be reminded of fire, disfigurement/death, and prison on their day off) to boorish civilian vehicles. No, I'm not at all embarrassed that we where cheering on '84 Chevy cavaliers and the like, but I was a little irritated, as were the shy owners of these lackluster vehicles. Actually, come to think of it, some looked pretty embarrassed. I guess that kinda makes sense given how self-conscious people are about their cars; as if that's the reason they're fat and dumb. I originally surmised that they must be legless vets who had to drive... Nope. Just boring everyday people that where mad at being stuck behind a parade. "How dare they have a parade on the day I get my hair done!"... You know- those kind of people. The best part of the parade, I feel I should add, was the octogenarians with rifles. That was quite thrilling, if not scary as hell. Anyway, I'm not even sure what I should write about, the 10 minute parade, or the unwilling participants in the parade who thought a 10 minute parade was more than enough to honor the victorious dead.

It has been 17 years since I had last seen the parade in my hometown. Not because I didn't want to, but because I had better things to do and didn't really feel like going... and it's the day I usually go to get my hair cut. The first two years I missed it was because I was in it. Nobody hired me to be in it; I was too young to put fires out with anything but my 'wee-wee', and too cute, on top of having way too much going for me to be in the boy scouts, - It was a freelance thing. It was also the period in which I thought I was the best thing in the parade. I would ride my bike in and out doing faux wheelies and pop-a-wheelies, bunny hops, and things I made up that looked like epileptic fits on two wheels--Incidentally referred to as the "Danger Shakes"! I thought I was the shit. It turns out I was more than just 'the shit', I was absolutely fucking awesome. As a matter of fact, judging by what I seen this past memorial day, I was the best damn thing to hold up traffic in my hometown since the naked, sock sniffing maniac who inhabited the woods near Main Street back in '95. If I had known how interesting my poorly choreographed seizure on a Huffy was, I really would have worked on my act.

After witnessing this mockery of a parade, I thought it a good idea to speak with the "event coordinator", who, I was informed, doubled as the night shift 7-11 clerk, about embellishing next years parade with--me. Not so surprisingly, he remembered me saying, "Those were the best years for the parade, I remember when you stole that old woman's sock right off her foot, taped it to your face, and then mooned the boy scouts- hahahahaha!" I told him he was mistaken, I was the other interesting guy in the parade on the bike. "Oh - I remember now, my wife always feel bad for you. She say you like bird with broken wing." Leave it to an indian to wax poetic while simultaneously mock you. Knowing full well that, unless you want a slurpy, or someone to build you a web page, you don't consult an indian. I continued trying to get on next years roster. I wanted my ten minutes of fame. Because my charm doesn't require a passport it wasn't at all suprising that he said I can ride in next years parade if I can locate the sock sniffer and get him to be in it, too. sonofabitch.

Time does funny things to...well, things. I located the sock sniffer in a federal prison not long after my meeting with the indian guy. Mr. Fanning, a.k.a. snock sniffer, a.k.a. sock sniffer (try saying sock sniffer 5-times-fast), is locked up for an undetermined length of time for unpaid parking tickets... Fuck it! Watching traffic is better than being stuck in it. Leave the parade the way it is. Besides, it deserves to suck if they're going to try and cut expense and have an indian plan a memorial day parade. Unless they're going to broadcast it over the internet.

The biggest tragedy of all this was not the parade, not the fact that I wouldn't ride again in the parade, but it was finding out that a naked guy who sniffs socks was infinitely more interesting than I was.

This blog would have never taken place if they simply would have spent the extra ten dollars on a float that said: THE END!

Gas is Combustible

1 pint of beer, a pint of rum, a pint of sour cream, a pint of flatus gas. The first three are quite familiar to most of us, except maybe the Mormons, whom I have been told, think sour cream comes from the the devil's tit. For those of you unfamiliar with the stinkier (that's right: stinkier) side of biology, one pint of flatus gas is how much an average individual expels in a day. That would be approximately thirty expulsions a day. Consider you are in a small office space with forty individuals working a full day: That would be 1200 expulsions, or 40 pints of gas!! Wow! Luckily, as required by law, venting systems are in place at most places to relieve you of about 89% of those gases. Without it, it would be like sitting in your garage with the car running - eventually causing severe sickness, then death.

My girlfriend, on the other hand, does not bend to the physical laws of nature. Instead, she gets earaches, and her left eye quivers. I tell her that she is doing herself harm by not letting nature take it's course, and she says, "I don't know what the fuck you are talking about." I tell her that most other women run a lot of "errands", which is why some men find that they have way too much milk and six dozen eggs in their refrigerators, and she says, "Why the fuck would we want six dozen eggs! Look, Carl, I know what this is about. For your information I fart all the time, but mine smell like kittens." So I said, you could stop eating kittens if we had a lot of eggs. At this last comment she suppresses a smile, and probably some gas, and turns red in the face - I wonder to myself, is that from embarrassment, the gas, or the kittens...

At any rate, I love my little Chernobyl, but I don't want a bug eyed, deaf, and crippled girlfriend, so I decided to take her to a psychiatrist...who happened to be a female. After explaining to the "doctor" what the issue was, taking great care to divulge all necessary science concerning the physical dangers of my girlfriend's issue with flatulence, she looked nervously about, then directed her gaze at me - looking me directly in the chin, in fact, and said, "What the fuck are you talking about?" It goes without saying that my chin was quite upset with the outcome, and I was, too. However, I would be lying to myself, and my chin (ok, I'll stop) if I said I didn't half expect that outcome. So then, my fucking girlfriend is a ticking time bomb, but apparently female code prohibits anyone of her kind to acknowledge it, regardless of the fact that she has become a danger to herself and others. Even though I stopped smoking, it's still a parlous living arrangement. I will just need to face the fact that I am going to die someday... in the most unpleasant fashion.

Enough already!

I've been receiving a lot of flack from people about not having written anything in a while. What you people don't understand is that I haven't been sitting on my ass - I have been out killing drug dealers, cops, civilians, blowing cars up, putting down union strikes, assassinating church leaders, racing cars through the desert, riding camels, discovering lost artifacts, and implementing civilizations in remote corners of the globe (pffffllllpppp, corners on a globe--ridiculous.) So what if I've been sitting on my ass playing PS3 all the while. It was 'me' time.

Another much more tragic reason I have not been writing in a while is because I think I may have graduated to another dimension of humor that can no longer be satisfied in this 3 dimensional world.... Which is another way of saying I suck, and no longer have a sense of humor. To illustrate this more clearly, let us visit this past Saturday when a less fortunate woman with a butterball figure and a bad case of the gout was knocked over by a horny dog (AKC does not acknowledge said breed), and was repeatedly assaulted in the face by a crooked, pink protuberance on the dogs under carriage, and I DID NOT LAUGH! It even played out funny: One man yelled, "Jesus Christ, that poor dog is stuck to my wife's face by some strange pink protuberance!" Not to be outdone, the dogs owner cried, "That's just my dog's misshapen penis; it's looking for a place to hide!" After everyone but me got a good laugh in, we helped this poor gun-shy woman up and got her out of there. So you see, if that's not funny, then what the hell is? The answer is nothing. I am doomed to be a crotchety old man shooting pigeons with my shotgun off my front porch sipping Arnold Palmers because that's what crotchety old men do. I don't even know what an Arnold Palmer is, but it's namesake tells me they taste like sweat and defeat--A suitable flavor for the elderly.

Because nothing is funny anymore I thought I would just tell a couple true stories from my past that may have a moral lesson. If you can find it, you can keep it.

When I first got my license I thought I was the shit. With the wind in my face and the sun warming my cheeks as I passed through numerous toll stations with my butt hanging out in an effort to attract a mate, I motored through life without a care in the world. Everything was beautiful, until one day....: I was dropping my younger sister and her friend off at a little league game so that they could drool over pre-pubescent boys when I was accosted by a group of said individuals blocking the narrow causway I needed to take to get out of there and go home. Their leader, who was not in uniform and on a bike, thought it would be a good idea to play the 'tough guy' role for his friends by, not only blocking my way, but also giving me the "I'm not to be messed with" eyes. If there is one group of people I don't take shit from more than any other, it is 13 year old thugs. Unlike all you pussies who probably would have found a way around these ruffians all the while being sure not to make eye contact muttering to yourself about how kids have no respect today, I did what any good citizen should have done: I ran those punks over with my car. Unfortunately for me, bad parents no longer appreciate when their children are disciplined by others, regardless if their method yields a more long term result. These ungrateful swine actually sent cops to my house to investigate me. Of course when they found out who I was they dropped all the charges - but would you believe that the mother of the child that had his bike justifiably destroyed demanded that I fix the thing? Clearly, I thought to myself, she must be kidding. I told her I may have taken away his bike, but I gave him the XP 9000, which as everyone knows, is the best wheel chair they have out right now (IT HAS THREE SPEEDS!). I told her that I would come back and fix his arms if she didn't start appreciating what I did for her family. 10 years later, that guy whos legs I fixed won a silver medal in the special Olympics. I still have yet to receive some recognition.

This next true story will also feature other people's children, and how simple misunderstandings can turn into horrible misconceptions that spread like AIDS in Africa.

I like kids - really. I wouldn't want them, and they annoy me horribly, but I do like them. I also think it's funny, before attending family functions such as Christmas and Thanksgiving, to ask if all the kids where invited, too. The answer is of course, yes, and then I let out a god-awful groan as if some one where twisting a knife inside my stomach. You don't think that's funny, but in the 7th or 8th dimension that would be hilarious. Because of all these things.. and of course that time I ran over a bunch of kids, I have to be extra careful around every one's children. For a while I didn't notice, but there was a reason that when I attended social gatherings with kids present, they part for me like the red sea. I considered it lucky - in the way that people think carrying around severed feet of small animals is lucky. But I realized that it wasn't just luck when I caught my first murmur of a concerned parent, "I can't believe they let that monster in! Did you know he once ran over a bunch of kids just because they where blocking his path! One of them is in a wheel chair now!" and the other said, "Oh I know.... Did you hear the one in the wheel chair won a silver medal last year?" So after hearing this, to avoid starting another witch hunt, I started being extra nice to kids. For a while, that kept me out of trouble.

4th of July, 2007, 7:42 pm:

It was a festive occasion, I was drunk and having a blast. That in itself was an accomplishment, i.e. - I was a drunk at what seemed like an arts and crafts festival. I made my way across the street to the party that was happening there to find that the owner of the house was willing to sell me a couple black jacks and such; the kind or fireworks you can hold in your teeth and blow up, albeit uncomfortably. I was so happy and drunk that I was throwing fireworks this way and that. When I got back to the house, I lit a black jack and through it about 4 feet away from a group of people to startle them, but guess what was in the center of that group of people hidden from my eyes - A DAMN KID!!! AHHHHH!! All that hard work of making believe I turned over a new leaf went to shit. It only took a moment before people realized who was responsible(it probably didn't take that long.) "WITCH HUN... I mean, THERE HE IS!", someone shouted. Soon parents began to amass. There where only 20 people at the party, so imagine my confusion and fear when no less than 70 parents came before me brandishing pitch forks and flood lights (torches went out of style with the mob back in 1870, but for some reason they kept the farm tools) - Parents from far and wide responding to some archaic signal in the brain where ready to burn me alive! I was forced to try and reconcile with an angry, drunk, and fanatical mob that was out for my blood. If there is one thing I learned about dealing with an angry mob, it is that you need to use small words, speak slowly, and use lots of hand signals. Preferably the same kind Italians use. I was able to assuage their blood lust and remind them that American Idol was about to start using these simple techniques. And in doing so, I ended the fiasco. However, my troubles are far from over. I am now, "That guy who ran over a bunch of kids with his car" and, "that guy who tried to blow that kid up with class A fireworks."