Regular Schedule, Dodge is a Pussy

I've made a regular schedule to follow for my blog, that should help me write more. One issue: I can't follow the schedule. I now plan to update Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. And I was going to update last night, but I worked until midnight, and I was at a good part in my book (Mort, by Terry Pratchett) and I - aw fuck it. I got lazy. But the point is, we're on a schedule now here, and we're going to stick to it (sort of). We're going to stick to it in the sense that a rock band would stick to their deadline for the new album. It's there, but we're just going to go do some coke off a hooker's ass and push it back a few weeks just because we can.

Now, I'm sure I'm not the only one who has noticed that if someone owns a truck, they automatically have an opinion about trucks. It doesn't matter if you just bought it last week because you're an upper middle class husband going through a mid-life crisis, or if you've been plowing the fields with it for twenty years, you know Goddamn right that your truck is the fucking best. I've never understood this mentality, a guy driving a car is pleasant and approachable on the subject of other cars. The same guy driving a truck? Complete nutbag. I drive a car, and someone will say, yeah, your Honda Civic is nice, but for my money I'd really prefer a Mazda. And I would say something like, well yeah I suppose you do have a point. Now if I drove a Ford truck, some guy would say "you should have bought a Chevy." I'd go up to that guy and smash his head through a fucking window.

It's not that I have strong opinions about either, I don't think anyone who drives a car does. But I believe, and I haven't tested it yet, but I will and I'll get back to you all, that when a man gets in a truck and it becomes his, the truck somehow releases a sort of pheromone (probably has to do with that new truck smell, which would explain why that is different than new car smell) that makes his testosterone levels shoot through the roof at the mention of the brands of trucks. I think its meant to cause the man to protect the truck, allowing the truck to survive and breed. At least, that's how these things work in animals.

And it's always Ford and Chevy. It's always the Ford and Chevy people having it out about this thing. "Oh, you drive a Ford? So the extended cab must be so your boyfriend has room to fuck you in the ass then?" "What, Chevy, so how did the penis removal go for you anyway?" Nobody gives two shits about Dodge, and this is because, as my truck driving friend tells me "because everyone knows that Dodges are pieces of shit."

And then I started to relate these vehicles to a bar. Ford and Chevy would be knocking back shots of whiskey, screaming at the top of their lungs as they bared their chest hair "I'm number one!" Dodge would then pipe up, holding his light beer in the air saying, "Now I think I'm pretty -" "Shut the fuck up, Dodge, ya pussy!" Honda would be sitting off in a corner, just drinking cranberry juice, because he is the sober cab after all, being the sensible one of the bunch. And then we'd have Volkswagen, drinking his Mohito and trying to get the other cars phone numbers.

How the Hell Do I Come Up With Ideas? Also: Kid Rock

So, I have found out that you don't just up and write a fucking blog. You need ideas, you need to be funny, you need to have writing talent. Unfortunately, I am lacking in three of these categories. In fact, if critics were to review my blog, they would probably use the following compliments: Good punctuation, strong personality, regular updates, has heart. That's the equivalent of telling a girl she has a great personality and nice hair. But, I started this blog to get better at this shit, so let's plow onward, shall we?

I didn't know about this new Kid Rock album "Rock and Roll Jesus" until quite recently, because I don't listen to fucking Kid Rock. Thank God. But unfortunately, my dad does know about it, and just bought it. He happened to buy it a mere two days before him and I took a two hour drive to a lake to go scuba diving with some friends, meaning I was treated to this abortion known generously as an album.

Holy fucking balls, how to people listen to this drivel? I was treated to generic, tasteless guitar, bland drums that sound like they were pounded out by a six year old, and a strong lack of bass. Not to mention the choir backup vocals, just to give the album some "soul." Kid Rock's "singing" was like listening to some drunk redneck talk about how he ended up stuck in a trailer park, with the exception that Kid Rock somehow found his way out of the trailer park. I should add that we listened to this album not once, not twice, but three fucking times in the car on the drive, so I am not only giving you my first impressions, but my tortured memories from three run throughs of this rape on my ears.

Now I would like to move on to his single from this album "All Summer Long." This song is a stroll down memory lane for Kid Rock, as he describes a magical summer spent in his home state. Where is this redneck from you ask? Tennessee? Alabama? No, Michigan. It is certainly a shock to me, as it should be to you, especially because the chorus contains these lyrics "Singin' sweet home Alabama all summer long."

But Kevin, that sounds like he's ripping off "Sweet Home Alabama" by Lynyrd Skynyrd. Oh, well that's because he fucking is. Instead of bothering to write a single, Kid Rock realized he wouldn't be able to come up with anything that didn't sound shitty, so instead he raped two quite well known songs. Those would be Werewolves in London by Warren Zevon, and Sweet Home Alabama by Lynyrd Skynyrd. That's right, Kid Rock didn't even fucking write a song. He just stole it. Twice. Now, the term "rape" gets bandied about quite frequently in music circles, but I can promise you that "The Kid" did indeed, rape these songs. I promise you, Ronnie Van Zant and Warren Zevon are spinning in their graves, quite like the cd spinning as it rapes their work.

Don't believe me that this song sucks? Well, let the folks at Cracked tell you*.

Oh, and he rhymes the word "thing" with "thing.**" That's just fucking lazy.

*I tried not to steal any jokes from them, and come on, is there such a thing as too many people hating Kid Rock? I don't think so.

**Except that one, because that is fucking lazy.

Pissing in Public

So I was thinking today about pissing in public, and how I have ridiculously strange issues with it. I probably have some sort of complex or something, that's for sure.

But seriously, am I the only one who considers the following quandary one of the most challenging parts of my day? You walk into a public restroom; there are four urinals. One man takes the far left urinal, another has occupied the far right, leaving only the two middles for you to choose. Where do you go? Is it considered a compliment, or an come-on to pick one? If I choose one of them, am I saying that the man I chose to spend my "moment" next to is easily approachable, or probably gay? When faced with a moral issue like this, I go to the stall like I'm afraid to pee next to other dudes, and those guys forever think I'm socially retarded.

And then there's the trough issue. Do you know what kind of public restrooms have troughs? Extremely busy ones. Well, it makes sense I suppose, since they get the most traffic you want to maximize your space. But do you know what that means? Thirty guys, bumping shoulders as they piss. Seriously, it's uncomfortable. Then there's always a line of people right behind everyone, waiting for someone to squeeze away from the golden river. How am I supposed to piss with a guy who smells like weed and cheap cologne six inches behind me, breathing down my neck?

I've always imagined those extremely busy bathrooms, like the ones at baseball games, are like a sort of human fountain. You've got people of all races and sizes, arcing they're streams over and under and all around, shooting over heads, dodging between knees, bouncing off the mirrors. It's sort of magical, I guess.

My first blog!

So I finally jumped on this newfangled blogging bandwagon that every other fucker on earth has done. I really don't know how long I'm going to be able to commit to this shit, or what I'm going to say, because fuck me we all know my life isn't exactly one to write a book about.

So why should I even start a blog? Well, I'd like to improve my writing and my comedy skills, because both are certainly lacking. Not to mention I get bored easily and this is something to do. So maybe my inane musings will eventually lead to a hilarious, well written blog, but until then my three readers will have to deal with this shit.

Is this playing out like the pilot episode of a bad TV show? Fuck it, it probably is, but everything's gotta start somewhere. I'm hoping to post hilarious anecdotes, funny videos, maybe some food recipes, and other major events in this blog. If I can keep this going over the summer that'd be awesome, sort of like a memorial to my summer break.

Anyways, I'll at least tell you all about myself. I live in a small town in Minnesota where not much happens. The type of town that all the people my age describe as "the hellhole I hate and plan to get out of first chance I get." But I wouldn't say that accurately describes my feelings. It's an alright town, boring as hell and kind of snobby, but one could do worse. Yeah, I want to get out of here as soon as I can, but I don't hate this place. I'm seventeen years old and I'm going to be a senior in the fall. I play bass and guitar, and I'm trying to learn the keyboard but I keep putting it off so it'll probably never happen. Um, well, I'm sure you'll figure the rest out from my writing and stuff, so that'll be good for now.

Anyways, I'll try to update every couple days, maybe throw in a sweet picture or story or something, I promise my other posts won't be quite so self indulgent and boring.