Thursday, January 29, 2009
Anyhow, there is an unspoken code amongst men (or "bros", as certain guys like to be called, out of sheer desperation to affirm their masculinity) that a guy shouldn't steal another guy's girl. I've decided that I don't care about this rule for several reasons, with the main reason being that 'life is too short' or some shit. If Karma decides that because of my actions, that in turn, some guy steals MY girl, then that will be it; I will then boycott Karma forever, even if Karma writes me a formal letter of apology, which I will drench in bacon grease and feed to my dog.
Special word from the author: "Karma" would make a great stripper/pornstar name.
According to the above paragraph, my renegade free-lance rebel attitude essentially makes all girls fair game for the taking. So why do I think single girls are cooler?
Because, I actually make friends with girls. I'm not rich or hot enough to sleep with them all even if that was my intention. Also, friendship is something sissies like me value, so fuck all you fuckers. I know, in a perfect world, when a man and a woman meet, they'd immediately have sex in the streets, and the crowds around them would cheer them on, but since we don't live in a perfect world, I will settle for the dreaded friend zone, because there's nothing worse than having a funny, witty conversation with a girl.
Here's why I like single girls better: they actually have shit to talk about. Girls who are taken want to talk about their boyfriend. I hate their boyfriend. I don't care about how wonderful he is. I don't ever want to hear some stupid story about stuff you and your boytoy did together. As you can imagine, this is bad when my gal pals hook up. When they tell me about the hook-up, I always make the mistake of saying "Tell me about it." because the story is always the same bullshit, where some asshole says something sweet to them and then asks them out and they say yes and then talk on the phone all night. Then I say "I'm happy for you." but in reality, I want to ram a unicorn horn through the guy's chestplate.
After that, the girl spends all her time with the boy and then it's pretty much over. I occasionally say hi to her from time to time, and ask her how she's doing. She mentions that she's doing good, but that she's worried about her boyfriend (this always happens). Eventually, I delete her from my Myspace page, but then wonder what's happened to her later.
On the other hand, if I went out with a girl, I'd want her to tell everyone how kick-ass I am (which is true), but that still doesn't make me less pissed off when I start getting ignored. I mean, I would want people to think of my girlfriend as this awesome person with a razor wit, and not just some screaming fan-girl who defines herself by who her boyfriend is (even if it's myself).
This post emits high levels of mushiness. If I decide to post this, I better get someone saying "Aw, you're sweet." or I'm going to be royally miffed.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
During my usual rounds of Myspace stalking, I saw this picture in my friend Gabby's photos. I thought it was cool, because goddamn it, the girl's hair is becoming crows. Don't ask why. It's art; fuck making sense, it's just cool.
Actually, I like art. It's just artists that piss me off. Especially career artists. They want everyone to love their work and love them, and get paid for their art. Right. And I want 49 million dollars right this instant. For no reason.
Yeah, art is great, but you have to be really, really lucky to make decent money doing it. The problem is, artists just figure "Well, I'll just make art, and because I'm really talented, people will buy my shit." and that's a nice thought, but not exactly practical. There are a ton of talented people that no one knows about. On the other tentacle, there are incredibly untalented people that everyone knows about.
Why? Think about that this way: I'm sure quite a few people can grill a decent hamburger, and would probably even say that their burgers are superior to McDonald's. Yet, McDonald's is making quadrillions of dollars. That's because the McDonald's burger has a massive marketing machine behind it; whereas you have nothing, unless you put up a sign in your front yard that reads "I make better hamburgers than McDonald's, so come to my house instead of going to McDonald's"
To be honest, I'd stop at your house if I saw that sign.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Of course, all the countrymen stocked up on large amounts of water, and averted a flaming death (unfortunately). Today, the British Empire is much like an angry old lady who sits around smoking and watching television. Occasionally, she urinates in her pants, but doesn't really give a shit either way. Therefore, with the threat of Redcoats and/or Russian missiles removed, our beloved media figures have decided to compare our current economic "hardship" to the Great Depression, where monstrous lines of people waited patiently just to get a loaf of moldy bread to bring home to their starving children, who also got laid off from their factory jobs. This pisses me off for several reasons, because if the economy is so bad, then personalized license plates shouldn't exist, nor should self-righteous bumper stickers that inform me that someone's offspring has become an Honor Student, an achievement, which on a cosmic scale, amounts to absolutely dick. Her little shit's Honor Student status doesn't really concern me much when she weaves around me to beat me to the red light. I don't care why she's in such a rush; it's probably something unbelievably stupid.
Every time I turn on the television (Always a mistake. Always.) I have to hear about how bad our economy is. Subsequently, gimmicks are introduced. Rachael Ray tells me how I can cook so that it saves me money, and I begrudgingly decide that, despite my hatred for saving money, I will accept the reality of these ground-breakingly "new" recipes.
Next, I have to encounter conspiracy theorists who always insist that America is on the verge of total destruction. Nevertheless, even after decades of dire tirades proclaiming final doom, we still exist. I credit this to Pat Robertson ending his programs with "God Bless America". Therefore, when the locusts come, it's probably because he finally fucked up and forgot to say it, and the conspiracy theorists were right.
I believe some conspiracies. I think Lee Harvey Oswald was set up. I think the gosh darn Feds got MLK Jr. I'm sure the entire state of North Dakota is a lie.
Here's what I don't believe, though: Aliens, Ghosts, The Illuminati. The end of America usually involves The Illuminati, who, supposedly, control us all. And they have to be real; Zack de la Rocha believes they exist, and he has immaculate dreadlocks.
They probably aren't all-controlling, like conspiracy theorists suggest, but if they are, Facebook is probably part of their evil plan. Consider the following:
- Mark Zuckerburg is a Jew. Conspiracy theorists, being the tremendous closet racists that they are, always look at Jewishness as being a possible link to the Illuminati.
- Mark Zuckerburg went to Yale or Harvard or some shit. HOMYGOD. He's Jewish AND went to a school for rich kids!? If that's not proof that he's in league with Satan, I don't know what is.
All kidding aside, Facebook has created a massive database of personal profiles, because they now know your full name, what you look like, who your friends are, where you go to school, your relationship status, your religion, your birthday, where you work, and your current mood. They know EVERYTHING about you. If this ever freaks you out, well, too bad. They keep all your personal info forever.
That's the main reason -I- hate Facebook; those Ostrogoths want my soul. My precious, precious soul. Let's not even get started on what an enormous suckfest the site is. The so-called 'concept' revolves purely on a new way to reinforce corporate greed by social networking. That's the point behind social networking; to add thousands of friends so that you can promote yourself shamelessly (more like shamefully). Oh, and you thought it was all about keeping track of your friends. Yes, of course... this is the same spoiled country that equates a 7% employment rate to "The Economy going down in flames", so it stands to reason that one can't even be expected to keep track of their own friends without the aid of an internet-based networking fad that appeals to the false sense of self-importance that drives everyone to feel that they need to create a profile about every detail of their lives for everyone to see. Unfortunately, according to a recent study I did, I found through careful analysis, and an algorithm that requires a comprehensive understanding of differential equations, that 80% of people are fucking boring.
Here's another thing about people's profiles: they never post anything you don't already know. Ever. Unless you're perpetually oblivious to everything, that is. So basically, you're networking yourself to people you already talk to, so you can see pictures of what you already know they look like and find out things about them that you already knew.
Special word from the author: Don't try to convince me that Facebook has practical applications. I won't listen. The only thing it's for is for people to network themselves and promote themselves. In fact, I might just make one specifically so that everyone can know how awesome I am. Indeed, I "rock", or whatever the cool kids are saying these days. Who knows? Doesn't matter thought; fuck the cool kids.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Take a page out of the Somalians' book. They've brought sea piracy back in the 21st century, which we can all agree is awesome. They don't attempt to trick easily-confused middle aged yuppies on the internet, but rather, board ships and plunder cargo. They slit throats. Have you ever slitten a throat? No, didn't think so. Have you ever fired a harpoon into the side of a barge, then climbed across the cable onto a ship and started hacking people's limbs off?
You'll never be that cool. You spend all your time fabricating stories that involve 15,000,000 dollars, a prince dying, and you needing to flee the country due to communism/terrorists/the plague/cicadas. You spend all day on your stolen computer (that you took from a government office during a period of unrest) answering e-mails, hoping that you can convince some poor sap that you're legitimate. You have no honor, you heathens.
If you do not cease your malign activity at once, we cut off your supply of porn. Your country will then promptly fall slide into anarchy.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
My computer is utterly worthless. It took me approximately 20 minutes to make that poster, which we all know is true; Obama wakes up every morning to some hot chocolate. Not coffee. Hot chocolate.
Anyhow, I don't wish him good luck, because let's be honest, he's never going to read this, so what would be the point?
So, I went into a shoe store yesterday, because let's face it: My shoes are shit. Subsequently, I discovered a newfound appreciation for the simplicity of my black shoes; all the new shoes are covered in so many different colors that they look like vomit. There was actually an orange and gray shoe that caught my eye, but only because I was gripped in awe of the sheer level of skull-shattering ignorant douchebaggery that would be required in order to wear such behemoths of awfulness in the skin-sheering light of public. As fate would have it, a young, and entirely unenthusiastic employee approached me to inquire as to whether or not I'd like to make a purchase.
In business, it is said that if greeted by friendly service people, customers are more likely to buy shit.
"Can I help you?" he asks, but in a voice that made me immediately realize that he, with every fiber of his soul, did not want to help me.
"What an idiotic question." I thought, because of course he couldn't help me. My therapist can't help me, which makes me wonder why I pay her, but then remember that I'm slowly working my way into having a love affair with her.
"How much do these ugly shoes cost?" I asked.
"Those are 39.95 for a men's large and..."
I was outraged. The ugliest shoes ever conceived by mankind cost 39.95. Plus sales tax. Damn you, sales tax, damn you.
So, here's the thing: there is a group of people out there buying these shoes. I want to find out who they are, and then eat at a restaurant where they wait on my table, and NOT pay them the 15% tip, but instead, leave something like 8%. Perhaps even leave a special note with the money that says "Your shoes: they are ugly."
If you can't figure out how to calculate 15% of the meal, then drive off a cliff, please. It will help improve the genetics of the human race, thus making us stronger, and that will make you a hero. A HERO, MAN.
Here's how to get 15% easily:
Your bill is 27.51
Round the last two digits to the nearest 10, making the bill 27.50
Divide it by ten to get 2.75
Then, take half of 2.75, which is... something like 1.37 or some shit because 75 doesn't divide into halves very well, which pisses me off. Whoever invented odd numbers is a bitch.
Actually, just bolt. Get out of the fucking restaurant as fast you can. No one can stop you; you're too damn fast.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Finally, the American dream has been realized for the millions of African-Americans, the descendants of the slave days, because some random dude with the same skin color as them came to America in the 60's and knocked up some white woman, and that baby turned into the president.
This, obviously, must be celebrated, and I've been looking for an excuse to throw a party lately. And why do I need a party? To validate my drinking, of course! There's nothing sadder than slipping into a state of vomit-inducing intoxication while clutching a cheap box of wine and crying in corner alone.
It looks like Mr. Obama is already making my life better. Thank you, Mr. Obama.
You know what? Let's just skip to making this day a National Holiday. And let's go all the way by injecting it full of intricate traditional (and heavily commercialized) activities that don't make any sense, like everyone playing a long C-minor note at the stroke of 11:17 p.m., just for the hell of it. Don't worry about why; let the morons on Wikipedia figure it out, and trace it back to some obscure literature in 14th century Germany.
Meanwhile, I will have to endure the prolonged bitching of my die-hard conservative family, who repeat insistently that the hype surrounding Obama is a pile of squid shit, and then criticize minor details of his speeches. They can't wait for his imperfections to be brought to light, so they can get into a jerk-off fest about much they never trusted him. Even now, in the background of my house, my step-mom is yelling at the television set. Why is she yelling? Because Obama, apparently, is half-white. I don't know, I don't speak to her, as she enjoys NASCAR, which I find to be fucking horrible. It's not that I hate seeing cars drive endlessly, or southern accents, or insipidly intellectually insulting sports-commentating, or wasting large amounts of fuel; it's a combination of all those things coming together to create one gigantic soul-destroying robot made entirely out of shit. That shoots lasers. Fucking lasers.
Not that I'm a screaming-fan-girl of Obama's, but I do give him this:
- He's well-spoken
- He's a visionary
- He smokes (A quality which I deeply admire)
Well, that's about it. Let's not get too carried away.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
The wonderful thing about the internet is that’s a wonderful diverse patchwork of all the stupid pricks in the world, all brought together, specifically to annoy me. I will get revenge, of course, and this revenge will involve a death ray. And Oprah. Somehow, I will utilize her fat ass in my plan. Don’t ask me how, because frankly, you just don’t have the capacity to comprehend the complete dicotomy of my scheme, let alone it’s nonsensical intricacies.
Until I am able to wreak chaos in the streets, I must simply let loose my emotions. My deepest, mushiest emotions. Please understand that I had a bad childhood and am simply misunderstood, and if you can’t get through your thick skull, then die immediately.
Here are just some of the people who just need to shut up and/or drive off a cliff:
What a bunch of idiots. They think everything they think about has to be written down and “rambled” about. Fine, go ahead and share your “musings”. Then there are the Blogtards who publish articles for readers, like say, Arianna Huffington. Nothing she has ever said is the least bit interesting; she’s just richer than god-only-knows-what. Then, take Perez Hilton’s blog, for instance. Also a waste of pixels, precious, precious pixels. I’m enthralled that the biggest blogger in the world got where he is by drawing ejaculate on the faces of various celebrities, such as Will Smith. Well done, you fat ass (not Will Smith. He’s not fat, yet)
These people (and I use that term loosely, mind you) have a simple life philosophy: that clothes make people. Obviously, they’ve never heard of nudist camps. Talk to them somtime. They will spout of lines like “I think fashion is an important expression of one’s self. ” and “Imagine what the world would be like without fashion.” and of course, everytime I try, my brain commits various forms of Japanese suicide at such a terrifying prospect. But in seriousness, these people dress in odd outfits that no one else in the world is wearing. Supposedly, that’s their self-expression. I know most people would rather express themselves through actions, and not possessions, but I’m not going to accuse fashion experts of being the brightest people.
Shut your dirty whore mouth, Chris.
From what I understand about human biology, it’s almost impossible to skip through your teenaged years, not without drastic surgery that is only legal in Mexico. Therefore, people, in particular, girls, have to be 15 for at least one complete Terran revolution around the sun, which I find to be God’s way of punishing me for all the times I’ve tried to eat my Bibles while in church as a kid. Girls (who are 15) are overwhelmed by estrogen, and therefore, must compensate for the explosion of emotions by:
a. Worshipping random boys, and ignoring everyone in the world except for that boy.
b. Becoming obsessed with horrid trends, especially those pushed by fashion designers.
c. Experiment with drugs and claim to be bisexual.
d. Starve themselves.
e. All of the above.
If any 15-year-old girl ever reads this, they will simply scream “That’s not true! WHAT THE FUCK?” or, if they realize it’s all true, they’ll go “You’re a jerk. It’s people like you who make the world a worse place. You need to grow up and accept that there are viewpoint other than your own.” Oh, I know, 15-year-old girls, I know. I’ve heard all the same recycled liberal bullshit before, especially when criticizing Scene Kids. Guess what, though? No adult I know approves of Sceneness. They just put up with it because it’s illegal to beat up kids these days.
Why? Just why.
People who can’t stop talking about whether or not Obama is black
Black person (spazzing out): OHMAGOD OBAMA IS BLACK N ITZ A GREAT TIME TO B AN AFRICAN-AMERICAN CUZ DA DREAM OF MLK HAS FINALLY CAME TRUE AND I NEVER THOUGHT ID SEE IT IN MY LIFETIME
White person (who foams at the mouth at the thought of a black president): NO HE’S HALF WHITE, SO HE AIN’T FULLY BLACK, SO IT’S NOT LIKE HE’S BLACK OR ANYTHING SO YEAH.
Third person (who needs to inject their so-called ‘wisdom’ into the conversation): Obama represents all races and colors!
I hope the world ends soon.
Message Board Trolls
First of all, to anyone who uses the word “Newfag”: Never reproduce. Not that you could if you wanted to, but statistically, someone, eventually, is going to get laid. It better not be with my sister, either. Or I will incinerate their souls in the fire of my wrath. Anyhow, all memes suck. Think about it. Occasionally, they may pull a chuckle out of me, but they don’t go much further than that. You know what this means? They’re for idiots. Of course, it’s easy to be a jackass when you have an army of idiots behind you, so it’s often very amusing when a /b/tard is cornered in some place without any additional /b/lackup around normal people.
Often, my conversations with them will go as such:
Me: Would anyone here know where I might be able to find this plug-in?
Me: That’s helpful, you moron.
Them: Try reading the thread archives, you fag.
Me: Instead of me wasting my time going through a bunch of worthless shit that’s not going to help me, why not serve a purpose as a sentient being and just tell me where to find the patch, because the one on the website that was recommended doesn’t exist anymore.
Them: gtfo noob
To them, I say: you’re all worthless. The message board is labeled “Tech support and help”, not “The Jerk-off Cafe”. If you want to “hang out” on the internet, don’t do it in the fucking help section.
That’s all I’ve got for now. I’ll probably update this later with more people who, really, need to shut the hell up. If you have suggestions for an annoying group, or just want to bitch about your life, email me: email@example.com
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Now, for my friends, you're probably wondering "What about your Wordpress blog?" and I say to you: What Wordpress blog? You're crazy.
To be honest, I'm not sure where to go on the internet. I seem to be wandering around aimlessly, accomplishing virtually nothing, and rapidly am approaching a critical point where drugs and alcohol become necessary. Well, perhaps not drugs. I don't want to seem like I'm promoting drug use and get my account deleted right away.
Well, I'd better get the curse words out of the way: Fuck, Shit, Whore, Fluffjob.
There. I am now branded as a scourge. All the nice, conservative, middle-aged Republican do-gooders who attend church twice a week will now let me know that, despite my freedom of speech, they disapprove of my behavior, and will add that I am "a talented writer and ninja poet", and that I should be using my powers for good.
Last time I worked for the light side, I was locked in an enormous crate and shipped to Peru. Well, never again I say.
Now, allow me to jinx this blog to failure: This blog is going to be the greatest blog in the world. It will have untold success, and bring me 80,000,000 page views.
But seriously, the universe is now mine.