The Gold Standard

Malls: Fuck 'em.

2008-07-28T01:01:00.003-05:00

How hard is it to shop at the mall? It shouldn't be hard at all. Well, for people like me, who are crazy, it's a nearly impossible task. One I must face every time I need a new belt or pair of shorts.

First off, who do you go to the mall with? There are basically two options here: Go with a woman, or go alone. But you know you can't go alone. No man can shop alone at the mall, you just feel way to weird. I mean, when I'm in a store alone, the entire time I'm in there I feel like the employees are just judging me. "Oh, he came to the mall alone, what a freak" "Look what he's buying, that won't look good on him" "This guy must be gay, look at all those pants he's buying." It goes on and on. Now, they may or may not be actually thinking this, but I just feel like they are. I really shouldn't care, it's not like I know these people, but I do care and so I cannot go alone.

But then I go with a woman. Sure, people don't judge me. They think I'm with my girlfriend, she's making me buy all those pants or that stupid looking shirt. It's no longer my fault, the burden has been passed onto whatever girl I'm with. Except now she's judging me. And being vocal about it. "No, no, not that shirt, you should get this one, its so cute!" "These pants are much nicer, buy these ones!"

See, the thing is, this problem only applies to malls. If there was an American Eagle or a PacSun or whatever not inside a mall, I could march right in there and buy anything I wanted, no problem. But you put that store inside a giant building filled with screaming kids and preteen girls and I'm fucked. I can't go in there alone. Maybe it's the cheap tile patterns that scare me, or the fake plants, but malls are no place for a man to go alone.

Not to mention my problem with commitment. It makes it nearly impossible to shop in a mall. Why, you ask? Well, I'll walk into one store and find a shirt that I love. I want to buy it, but then I think, wait, I haven't even been to this store yet, what if they have a better shirt for cheaper? And so I will wander into every store in the mall I like, finding the best shirt I can, like I'm on some sort of fashion related scavenger hunt. This problem means that the five minute task of picking out a shirt is stretched out to about forty-five minutes, all because I can't commit to a shirt. So all I have to say is: Malls: Fuck 'em.

Emergency Alerts

2008-07-11T22:03:00.003-05:00

Yeah yeah yeah, I haven't published anything in a while, get off me. I'm working on it. You know what pisses me off? The EAS. That's Emergency Alert System for you uneducated folks out there. I understand it's an important feature to have, it's really quite helpful and I appreciate the effort.

But the EAS is like the almost popular kid at school, the one that everyone sort of likes and every once in a while he says something funny, but then he takes it too far, or runs the joke into the ground and everyone ends up hating it. See, what the EAS does, is it interrupts whatever you're watching on TV with the most ear-splitting, annoying beep you ever heard, that lasts for about fifteen seconds. I don't understand why they need this. The reason they have it is to get your attention. But, since it only comes on in the middle of Scrubs and The Office, I'm obviously already raptly paying attention. All the beep does is cover up my angry curses as they interrupt my favorite shows. They should switch it to some great theme song, that wouldn't be quite as disappointing I guess.

And the fucking thing is so bright. When it comes on the TV, the EAS is always this bright, glaring yellow that just hurts the eyes. All it says is "EAS Warning" or something, it doesn't even have useful information there. They should toss up a video of the crazy weather going on out there. Actually, they should show a picture of some hot woman. Although I suppose the women wouldn't really care much for that. But anything has to be better than that bright yellow.

But my main issue is that they are so damn long. Seriously. I understand, they want to warn us about the weather. That part is fine and dandy. But then they have to tell me what to do. Seriously folks, this isn't my first rodeo. This is Minnesota, it's not like we've never had a tornado before. They should come on, say "Hey, there's a tornado, duck" and be off. I don't need to know to go to my basement and start praying. Just gimme the news and let my watch my shows. None of this beating around the bush anymore.

So whoever is in charge of the EAS, take notes. Get rid of the beep, hot woman, no instructions. Make it happen. We're counting on you.

An Ode to Those Curvier Women

2008-06-25T00:30:00.006-05:00

Sup homediddlies, long time no update! Blog fodder has been particularly sparce lately, but, as I've said before, that's no excuse for the lack of blogs. So I'm going to try, once again to get back in the swing of this.

Now, this wouldn't be a proper blog if we didn't have some asshole, sexist, womanizing going on up in here, am I right? Well, wait no longer friends, that day has finally come. Last night my friends and I were discussing the hottest women we knew and it made me think about how we, as men, judge a woman's appearance. Now, I'm not talking about how attractive a woman as a whole is, that would be far too fair. We're just down to the sexist bullshit here, tits and ass.

Basically, I've realized that 75% of the guys I know are what I like to call bean farmers. What I mean by this, is that they shoot for the beanpole women. If she's thin, she wins you could say. Now, there's nothing wrong with that, to each his own, but I say it really hurts me. You're not giving the curvier women a chance and that's not right. Now, maybe my sample is skewed, but if this is how the rest of the world operates, then that is disturbing, at least to me. To the right you will find your average "hot" beanpole.

But to the left, you have some nice curves. See, I need something I can dig my hands into. I'm not saying I'm a chubby chaser, and if you are that's cool, but I'm not. All I'm saying is a little ass isn't a bad thing. If I can break the woman over my knee, then she's a little too thin. A beanpole girl is just too boring for me. There's nothing to look at, it's all just a line. But with a woman with some tits, maybe a bit of a butt, you've got surprises around every curve.

It's like you're picking a baseball bat to knock a ball out of the park. Are you going to take the thin, whispy whiffle bat? No, you're going to go for that nice, slightly thicker (but not too thick) bat with a bit of heft to it if you know what's good for you. You're obviously not going to grab a log, but something with just enough weight to knock it home.

You know why I like a curvy woman? Well, your average curvy girl is much classier than your average beanpole. Why? You can get a beanpole chick in any club, bar, street corner, etc. They're everywhere. But a woman who's got a nice round ass is a rare thing. And she knows it. She knows she's above the beanpole women because she's not as common, and that is a good thing. It gives her confidence. Now, a curvy woman is also more down to Earth at the same time. A too-skinny girl spends 50% of her time saying "oh I shouldn't eat that, I'm too fat" and another 50% saying "I wish I had your butt," or "I wish I had your body." But a curvy girl, she doesn't care. She'll eat the cake and flaunt her body. She knows where it's at.

So maybe this post was a little self indulgent, a little womanizing, and a little sexist. But you know what? Somebody had to say it. So you women with the round asses and the big racks, don't let the beanpoles get you down. You and I both know you're of a higher caliber.

Savers

2008-06-20T13:35:00.003-05:00

So as you can see, I'm sticking to my "schedule" like the prom queen sticks to her lunch. I'm having a hard time coming up with funny things to say lately, as you can probably tell. But that's the reason I'm writing this blog, so I'm just going to plow onward.

The other day I went to Savers. I don't know if you have one of these where you live, but it's basically a Goodwill, Salvation Army, etc. People bring their old, crappy shit and you can buy it for a ridiculously cheap price. It's basically an all year garage sale. So pretty much, you can expect to only find shit. But every once in a while, if you keep a watchful eye, you can find gold in the shit mine.

My gold manifested itself in a pair of ancient stereo speakers for four dollars apiece. Now, chances were these speakers were more fried than Amy Whinehouse, but for eight dollars, it was a gamble I was willing to make. Plus, I was able to haggle them down to four bucks for the pair. And by haggle, I mean cheat. I hauled my purchase up to the front of the store and proudly slapped them on the counter. The cashier, who looked like he was between bags of meth at the moment, rang up one speaker, then told me my total of $4.27. Hark, what's this? He only rang up one? Well, fuck him, I'm running with this. I gave the man a fiver, got my change and dashed home.

And hooked those beauties up. And they sound fan-fucking-tastic. I was shocked. I was expected at least a little static. But no. So now I have surround sound, sort of, in my basement. I plan to go to Savers more often, to see what other little nuggets I can find.

Now, before we go any further I'd like to clarify that I really have only been to Savers about three times in my life now, so I don't have a whole lot of experience in these matters. But when I was there, there was what seemed to be a battalion of redneck militia men or something searching the store for useful equipment for their moonshine patrols or whatever the fuck it is they do. I'm sure you're wondering what I mean here. Well, allow me to elaborate.

There were approximately six men wearing military surplus camouflage pants, shirts that read things like "Kyle's Auto" or "My Other Shirt is a Kevlar vest (it really said that)," bandannas, and handlebar mustaches storming Savers. They didn't fuck around in the clothing aisles right at the front of the store like most people do, they knew exactly what they wanted. They marched straight to the back. Electronics and Appliances. The boys had done their homework. Once there, they fanned out, calling out useful gadgets to what must have been their ring leader, Chet. "Say Chet, we've got a scanner radio over here," "Chet, how 'bout this nine speed drill?" It was really rather frightening for me.

I'm not sure if this is a common place Savers occurrence, or even where these men came from, but I hope I end up like that someday. Searching Savers for the best electronics from 1986. And I know I'm making fun of them now, but when we get hit by those Red Commie Bastards I know whose door I'll be knocking on.

The Five Most Badass Weddings

2008-06-16T23:53:00.006-05:00

First, I'd like to apologize for my last post. I promise not to blog drunk anymore. I was in a rough spot, I didn't have a lot of options. Actually it just seemed like a good idea at the time. But we're past that now, right? We all learned something from it, and we can move on.

Now, I work at a private golf club in the banquet hall, setting up and serving at parties, weddings, fancy dinners and the like. During the summer months I work at least one wedding a week, and sometimes two, and to be honest, they all blend together. The food, the speeches, the music, its all the same at pretty much every wedding. And so I have vowed that if I ever get married (please God, no) it will be in some awesome, badass way that nobody has ever done before. To get ideas for this, I've found the five most badass weddings.

5. Skydiving Wedding

What's more dangerous than signing your whole life away to some bitch? Doing it while plummeting towards the ground with nothing but a cloth bag strapped to your back, that's what. If completely changing the rest of your life isn't quite extreme enough for you, than this wedding is for you. Your vows are read as you jump out of a plane towards the ground, and the next time you feel sweet earth underneath you, you'll be married to the love of your life. No matter how many pieces you're in.

4. Biker Wedding

Biker rallies and weddings actually have a lot in common. Loud music, drunken bearded men dressed in ill-fitting outfits, and tons of broken glass. So why not combine the two? Nothing says badass like walking done the aisle in a leather wedding dress. And the groomsmen could wear assless chaps. Or something. Actually, this is starting to sound like a Village People Video.

3. The Vegas Wedding

A wedding in Las Vegas is the perfect symbol. Marriage is a huge gamble, so why not incorporate that gamble into that special day? Not to mention, with a Vegas wedding you've got options. Elvis theme, Star Trek theme, you name it, they've got it. Plus, you can have the reception at a strip club. Now that's romance!

2. Metal Wedding

Look, those drunk fuckers pretty much trash the reception anyways, they may as well do it in style, right? This is pretty similar to the biker wedding, except less leather and vibrating seats, and more beer and guitars. No simple wedding band will do for this, you've got to call in some bar band whose van has a pair of tits painted on the side. Instead of a first dance, you and that special someone can share a first mosh, and pour beer down each other's mouths instead of cake.

1. Nude Wedding

Marriage in the nude. I know what you're thinking, what's badass about that? Well, look at it this way. When you two are asked if you will spend the rest of your long lives with each other, and only each other, everything's on the table. All of the sudden that tiny penis isn't going to look like something she can just deal with like she has been, and those less than average sized tits just won't seem like enough. Oh, and keeping your eyes off the Maid of Honor's Ds is probably going to be pretty tough too. If you can pull off a nude wedding, than you know your woman is with you through it all.

In conclusion, I believe you should make your wedding special, because it's probably the happiest day of your married life. And you're probably better off without the whole marriage thing, but that's coming from a 17 year old kid with a fear of commitment, so take it with a grain of salt.

Drunk, Concerts, Dr. Pepper, Piss

2008-06-14T22:39:00.005-05:00

Okay I didn't update last night, fucking sue me. Anyways, I'm drunk right now, but I'm updating and that's what's important. Anyways, maybe I'm funnier when I'm drunk, you be the judge.

So I went to a concert on Wednesday night. Kanye West, Rhianna, N.E.R.D., and Lupe Fiasco. Don't listen to any of them. Don't even like rap. Very much. But my friends do, so I went with them. I'll admit, it was a cool fucking concert. Kanye West had the best goddamn light show I have ever seen since grade school. And I really liked N.E.R.D. I recommend them. They've got some funk, hip-hop, rock, it's sweet shit.

But that's not what this is about. I want to talk about that douschebag at the concert who gets way to into it. You know, the guy who closes his eyes and just "gets lost in the music, maaaan." Fuck him. You know, I get it. It's great music, you love it, you get into it. But you don't need to make me suffer. And why the fuck are they always, always, always in front of me? At the concert on Wednesday the bitch in front of me happened to be that guy. During Rhianna (who sucked, by the way) he took off his shirt, and danced on his chair. And fell off it. Four times (I liked that part). Then, during Kanye West, he kept his hands raised for THE ENTIRE GODDAMN SHOW. Not a song. Not a verse. The entire hour and 45 minute set. In my face. Fuck.

And there was the son of a bitch at a Coheed and Cambria concert who was in front of me and chose to lean back on me, close his eyes, and lose himself in the music. A two hundred pound son of a bitch I might add. If I leaned back on someone in public, I would get punched in the goddamn neck. But apparently, at concerts, its okay to lean on people and dance because you're "lost in the music." Well you know what? I get lost in the music too. There's entire parts of concerts I can't remember because I just get lost in it. But I don't lean on people, dance around like a fuckass, and other shit. I just listen.

To continue on my drunken ramblings, Dr. Pepper has 23 flavors. I'm sure you know, they advertise it on their cans. But what are the 23 flavors? Because I only taste one. The flavor of Dr. Pepper. I googled 23 flavors of Dr. Pepper just now, and I checked approximately three sites, including Wikipedia, so I've done my homework. Nobody knows. I think it's all bullshit. They just say 23 flavors so it sounds tasty. But why would 23 flavors taste good? It's like when you were a kid and you mixed all the pops together at the restaraunt and it tasted like shit but you said it was good because everyone liked it. Oh well, Dr. Pepper is tasty, a good mixer, and has 23 flavors, so fuck it.

Fuck the Cable Company, Jucy Lucy

2008-06-11T10:36:00.014-05:00

Well, for the fifth time in about a month my internet is broken, and it is total bullshit. They've replaced the modem, the router, the cable line, I don't know what else they can replace. So here I am, sitting at the mall with my laptop like a total social outcast douchebag. Seriously, who brings their laptop to the mall? Freaks, that's who. And the cable company doesn't come until monday to fix this, so don't expect regular updates.

But I do have good news. I have made up for my lack of internet by finally conquering a dish that I have been waiting to experience for quite a long time. The Jucy Lucy. No, I didn't misspell it. Google it. The Jucy Lucy is basically a cheeseburger. But instead of placing the cheese on top of the burger like any old joe would do, you put the cheese inside the patty. This creates a hot, boiling pocket of cheese inside the burger that, if it doesn't give you mouth 3rd degree burns, will send you into cheesy mouth orgasms for hours.

And so the journey begins. First, we aquired the perfect buns. Cheesy potato bread burger fresh from the bakery my friend works at. Many people believe that the bun is merely a tool, used to bring the meat to your mouth, but in fact it is an integral part of the burger, and should be given the same care the meat is given. That is why we use only the finest buns on our burgers.

Getting the optimum ground beef is also important. You can see us prepping ours right here:

Your next step is to prepare the lower patty, and put your layer of cheese on top of that layer. You want to make you patties thin for this burger, since you will be stacking two together. We used provalone cheese, but feel free to mix it up.

Place your top patty on top of the cheese, and pinch it tightly together around the sides. Make sure its tight (that's what she said!), or else you're going to get some serious seperation between the patties. Add whatever seasoning you prefer to both sides now. I used some Lowry's, garlic salt, and pepper, but you can be a bit more daring if you prefer.

The next step is to grill to perfection. Make sure to cook both sides all the way through. This is a thick burger so it's going to take a while. The best approach is a medium to low setting on the grill, so you don't burn the outsides. I prefer mine medium rare because, hey, who doesn't love a little bit of blood in their meat?

Oh, and some chill tunes are important. Make sure you have relaxing, feel good music playing throughout this entire process. Studies have shown that positive music played around cooking meat improves the flavor by as much as 20 percent.

Finally, add your condiments and enjoy! Prepare for hot, cheesy goodness mixed with burgerific perfection. Caution: Hot cheese may spray out, burning your face/mouth. Trust me, it's worth it. And yes, that is the tasty new Mountain Dew flavor THE REVOLUTION next to my burger. THE REVOLUTION is quite a delicious grilling beverage. I strongly reccomend it.

Follow up your delicious burger with a rousing game of outdoor poker. Remember, happy grilling!

The End of the Year, Drinking, The Office, and Other Shenanigans

2008-06-06T21:49:00.006-05:00

This school year has come to a close at last, making me, officially, a senior. That's right. This next year is going to see me giving freshmen swirlies, fucking the principles daughter, and stealing school mascots, just like every other senior around the world. But this brings a crushing reality down on my life. By this time next year I'll be packing my shit up and heading off to college to do God knows what. In the mean time, I plan to continue living the dream.

So, as everyone knows, the last day of school is a slack off day when nothing gets done. So a few of my buddies and I decided to have a pre-end of the year gathering, where we stayed up late into the night, drinking ourselves to oblivion. It was all in all a good night. We played Super Smash Bros. Brawl, we rocked some Guitar Hero (I kicked my friends ass every time, even though I was drunk of my cock and he was sober as a priest. He proceeded to flip a tit and quit Guitar Hero forever.), oh and we created a new drinking game. The Office drinking game.

I'm sure you're all familiar with this show, and if you aren't, then you can fuck right off because this won't make any sense to you. Here are the rules. As with any TV related drinking game, stock up on your beverage of choice, and hunker down to watch The Office. Now, when Dwight kisses Michael's ass at any point, you take a drink. When Jim pranks anyone in the office, that's two drinks. When anybody copies a piece of paper, that's three drinks.

Now, there is one more rule, and it is the one rule that separates this drinking game from any other. When Michael makes a "That's what she said" joke, you must stand on one foot. The person who stands on one foot the longest, doesn't have to take any drinks, and everyone else must take as many drinks as that person stood on their foot for (in seconds). This rule will get you drunk quite fast.

So that was a good night, I'd say. Now the next night, the night of the last day of school, there was a party. Naturally, people were partaking in adult drinks at this party. I happened to be sober cabbing a couple of my friends so I was not. But my friend, we'll call him Sam, who does not have very much experience drinking, was out to get some of that experience. Or rather, a lot of that experience. His drink of choice was strawberry vodka in Gatorade. A fairly girly drink, but we're not here to judge, alright. Little did I know, he was also pounding back beers between drinks of his vodka-ade. And, as I'm sure many of you know, mixing liquor and beer is never good.

The end result, was that Sam was transformed into a human shaped cannon, who was loaded up with a full magazine of puke. Sam proceeded to fire his payload, not only onto the bathroom floor, but eight feet across the bathroom onto the wall, about four feet up. I'm not quite sure about the physics of this, but that has got to be some kind of world record. I just checked Guinness World Records, and they do not have a distance puking section. Looks like I'll be giving them a call.

So, all in all I'd say that this year couldn't have ended in a better way. At least for me. Watching that puke fly was like watching a jet plane take off. Anyways, here's to a good summer.

Oh, and Sam jumped through a trampoline. What a fatty.

Weezer Album Review

2008-06-04T13:13:00.005-05:00

Yesterday was a very important day for me. A day I had waited for for quite some time. All my wildest dreams would come true and I would find new meaning to life. This is because, as you may know, the popular band Weezer came out with a new album yesterday. The fabled Red Album. Sure, the whole album leaked last week, but I loyally waited for that piece of acoustic gold to hit the shelves. And so I trooped down to Best Buy, money clenched firmly in my hand. I stormed to the new releases, saw the bright red album cover, and quickly snatched it up, lest another hip indie kid like myself steal away the last one. And so, it was with a shameful look on my face that I walked back in fifteen minutes later to return the cd. Because, unbenownst to me, the Kung Fu Panda soundtrack also came out yesterday, and also was bright red, or at least it was at a fleeting glance.

I drove home as fast as I could. When I got home, I sprinted inside, knocking aside coffee table, coat rack, cat, nothing could stop me now. I tore open the cd case, and when I opened it, much like the mysterious briefcase in Pulp Fiction, a beautiful glow shined upon my face as I gazed at this brand new cd. Turning up my stereo as loud as I could, I threw the cd in the player and pressed play. As the first guitar intro blasted out at dangerous levels, I fell to my knees. It was like listening to a thousand angels ejaculate onto a birthday cake. Exactly 41.8 minutes later, I stood up, a dazed look upon my face and I walked outside, to see the new world that lay before me. As I walked out the door, my mother asked me something, but there was too much blood coming out of my ears to even hear whatever drivel she planned to bother me with.

I'm not going to break all the tracks down into all their glory, but I will hit on a few major songs. Song two, The Greatest Man that Ever Lived, is a long, rambling tune, switching styles several times before it's climax. Many of its elements would be considered corny, or products of over-production, but its obvious Weezer is using these to illustrate how comfortable they are in a studio. The rap-rock first verse, the singing choir, the spoken word breakdown with the deep meaning, the cheering crowd, yeah they're all corny by themselves, but put them together and you've got a gem on your hands.

Track four, The Heart Songs, is a vocal masturbation to rock and roll greats (and Rick Astley, for some reason) Overdone? Cliche? Hell no. Not when Weezer is rocking it. Some complain that the song never goes anywhere, keeping its slow tempo and mellow guitar through the entire four minutes, but that's just to convey how much he loves these rock legends.

And just to prove how edgy they are, Weezer throws out a creepy stalker tune with number eight, Cold Dark World. As bassist Scott Shriner sings about watching a girl from his car and stalking her, chills will certainly run up and down your spine. Although, that might be because you remember that these guys are going on forty.

To summarize, Weezer's latest album may have some issues that others would make fun of, but it just proves how awesome they are, that they're comfortable releasing an album with that stuff on it. This cd will rip your dick off and force feed it to you. All in all, I give it 9 Steve Buscemis out of 10.

Text Message Body Language

2008-06-02T19:55:00.007-05:00

Have you ever noticed that text messages have a sort of body language? That's not really the right word for it, since a text message doesn't have a body, but what I'm getting at is that you can tell a girl's mood or feelings just by the punctuation or spelling in the text. Here's a few examples:

1. Lack of Punctuation: You can tell that a girl is happy or excited if there is no punctuation in the text. No periods, question marks, apostrophes, etc. To an avid texter, these things act like weights, holding your text from reaching its destination as soon as possible. These are, believe it or not, the best kinds of texts. If a girl is excited and wants to talk to you, she doesn't want to waste time hammering on the one key six times, missing the period and hammering on it again just to get to the fucking period.

2. Poor Spelling: If your text partner is typing things like "hay budy watr tp", then my friend, you have a drunk texter on your hands. A severely intoxicated woman has enough trouble speaking clearly, let alone hammering on those tiny keys while they're humping your best friend. Now, if they aren't humping your best friend, then this is the perfect time to seduce them. So remember: Poor spelling = Drunk = Easy fuck.

3. Proper Use of Punctuation: This is a serious text. Remember the weight thing we mentioned earlier? Well, this time your text buddy is using these weights just to show how heavy this text is. If a girl is typing in complete sentences, using apostrophes and commas, you better pull over pal, because you are in for it.

4. Exclamation Points: Remember that last bit about punctuation? Well, if you see an exclamation point in that text, you can throw that all out the window buddy! An exclamation point is a one way ticket to boob town my friend. Let me break this down for you. An exclamation point looks like what now? That's right, a penis. So by using exclamation points in a text, a woman is basically saying to you, "See, I like dicks, now get over here and whip it out!" But, if a man uses an exclamation point in a text, then he is definitely gay.

5. ...: No, I'm not trying to make a fancy new emoticon, I'm talking about ... Like, in a text it would be used as such: "Oh ok..." Do you see that? Those dots at the end? That is the A-bomb of the text message world. If you see dotdotdot, then you are totally fucked. Dotdotdot is the skinhead in the corner catching you hitting on his girlfriend. Dotdotdot is the car about to run over your cat Buster. Dotdotdot is the dull razor as it cuts your sack the night of the hot date with Kelly. If a girl sends a text ending in dotdotdot then I am sorry, but you are in for it. At the sight of dotdotdot, immediately begin kissing ass and apologizing.

So with this helpful guide I've made up, I hope I can save some confusion in those moments when the meaning of the text just isn't quite clear enough. Never again will you be dumped for responding "LOL!" to "My grandma just died..." Just remember these five tips to text message body language and you'll be A-ok.

Regular Schedule, Dodge is a Pussy

2008-05-31T15:19:00.006-05:00

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

2008-05-28T16:12:00.005-05:00

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

2008-05-25T19:44:00.000-05:00

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!

2008-05-23T15:23:00.000-05:00

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.