Monthly Archives: September 2006

Hate This Fridays!

Fucking raspberry vinaigrette! Hate it. I won’t eat it, and I will not date people who do. It’s clown food. If a clown made you a salad he’d put raspberry vinaigrette on it. And gummy worms.

The worst part about raspberry vinaigrette is that it’s for mediocre people who want to add “a touch of class” to their lifestyle. Sure, they wear Reeboks to work and change into their “nice” shoes from DSW after they’ve had enough “wake up juice” (which is shithead for “coffee”), but they also have an appreciation for fahne cuisine. Seriously, can you assholes just drink your Diet Coke and smoke your lite cigarettes and shut the fuck up. What, ranch isn’t good enough for you all of a sudden? It was good enough for that boyfriend who used to hit you. You think you’re better than him now? Well let’s see what he thinks of that!…when he gets out of prison.

I’d rather you just pissed on my salad. Serious.

Cute Friday

Worker #3116: This guy I knew back in [redacted] actually had a pretty good idea for a business. Like, you know how everyone loves puppies? It’s called Perpetual Puppy, and basically the company would deliver a puppy to your house, and then when it got too old would come back and replace it with a new puppy. Also: Constant Kitten.
Bobro: That is a good idea, but what do you do with the puppies that get sent back.
Worker #3116: Shoot them. Shoot them in the head.
Bobro:
Worker #3116: The day they stop being a puppy.
Bobro: It seems like a really wasteful company.
Worker #3116:
Bobro: But a great service!
Worker #3116: Oh sure, criticize us while you enjoy what we provide.
Bobro: No, it just seems wasteful. All those dogs.
Worker #3116: No, we bury them. We shoot them and then we bury them. They return to the Earth.
Bobro:
Worker #3116: They become dirt. Dirt and bullet.

Did You Know I Speak Nerd?

Ti-1000:you should keep an eye on the ‘slist for a bike
Worker #3116: yes
Worker #3116: i should
Ti-1000: even a really fucked up one, with consultation from the ‘chak
Worker #3116: right
Worker #3116: he’s a bike magician
Ti-1000: it’s true
Worker #3116: i know
Ti-1000: well, he might be more of a bike dwarven smith
Ti-1000: (+2)
Worker #3116: ha
Worker #3116: peter, i would like a bike
Worker #3116: that has plus or minus 2 speed points
Ti-1000: (here’s a good time for a heckle)
Worker #3116: and is impervious to dancing lights
Ti-1000: THAT IS THE SHIT I’M TALKING ABOUT
Worker #3116: i know it is
Worker #3116: we should get a game of dd going out here
Worker #3116: you’ve got to know a dungeon master
Worker #3116: i’m sure of it
Worker #3116: i’m sure you know one
Ti-1000: well
Ti-1000: there’s always the crossword dude
Worker #3116: oh right
Worker #3116: you’d probably play like spaceham, though
Ti-1000: fuck, what’s his name again?
Worker #3116: [dungeon masterâ??s name redacted to save dignity]
Ti-1000: right
Ti-1000: you’d probably play like a total bitch, though
Worker #3116: that’s my point
Worker #3116: spaceham all over the place
Ti-1000: depends
Worker #3116: you=spaceham
Ti-1000: I probably don’t necessarily actually want to play d+d, by the way
Worker #3116: whatever
Ti-1000: or, I’d try to play it like real life
Worker #3116: haha
Ti-1000: all sitting in the inn all the time
Worker #3116: well
Ti-1000: all drinking grog
Worker #3116: that’s what would happen
Worker #3116: is the two times i ever played
Worker #3116: i’d be like
Worker #3116: “i would like to get another drink”
Worker #3116: and spaceham would be like
Worker #3116: “you are wasting our time, we need to get to the mines”
Worker #3116: and i’d be like
Worker #3116: “is there anyone to talk to at the inn?”
Worker #3116: he got so mad all the time
Ti-1000: oh
Worker #3116: i was like
Worker #3116: “picnic time! i’m hungry!”
Ti-1000: LIKE WHAT!!!!!
Worker #3116: spaceham was like
Worker #3116: “i’d like to advance one pace and shoot my arrow”
Worker #3116: and i’d be like
Worker #3116: “do i have any cds with me?”

Comment Party

At some point, a few months ago, I made a conscious decision to remove myself from the comments section. It seemed like every time I went in there someone yelled at me for doing something wrong. But I used to like participating in the comments section, if for no other reason than it was the easiest way to tell all of you clowns to get lost already.

So once a week I’m going to try and pay a visit. It’s called Comment Party. I don’t know if it will be the same day each week. I also don’t know if it will work, because you are all, every last one of you, total assholes. I’m pretty sure, actually, that comment party is going to be, like, me, Andrew, and TPS12 being all “Hey, look at this guy!” for 15 comments.

I’m going to comment your brains out.
Partay!

The More Things Change, the More You Look Fat

I’ve always come out publicly against the golden-tinged, misty-eyed, nostalgiac viewpoint that things used to be better back before… Things have always sucked. Take this passage from Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States

A writer in early 1930, boosting the beauty business, started off a magazine article with the sentence: “The average American woman has sixteen square feet of skin.” He went on to say that there were forty thousand beauty shops in the country , and that $2 billion was spent each year on cosmetics for women—but this was insufficient: “American women are not yet spending even one-fifth of the amount necessary to improve their appearance.” He then gave an itemized list of the “annual beauty needs of every woman”: twelve hot-oil treatments, fifty-two facials, twenty-six eyebrow plucks, etc. (Zinn, pgs. 503-4)

Awful! The real tragedy, of course, is how little progress we’ve made. Women, get your shit together already, you’re (still) fucking disgusting. Just because your mom burned her bra in college doesn’t mean you wouldn’t look better with a little goddamn makeup, Sleater Ugly.

Lame Joke Pt. II

Somehow, when I was a kid, I was convinced that I had coined the phrase “No way, Jose.” Up until probably, like, college, I was convinced this was true. I also thought that “wind chill factor” was “windshield factor,” but that is a totally different issue.

But it’s not true. I did not coin the phrase “No way, Jose,” and now, at the age of [redacted], I think I’m finally able to admit that.

Get ready for a recycled joke from last week:

These are my confessions
Just when I thought I said all I could say
My chick on the side said she got one on the wayI didn’t coin the phrase “No way, Jose”
These are my confessions
Man I’m thrown and I dont know what to do
I guess I gotta give part 2 of my confessions
If I’m gonna tell it then I gotta tell it all
Damn near cried when I got that phone call
I’m so throwed and I don’t know what to do
But to give you part 2 of my confessions

Now this gon’ be the hardest thing I think I ever had to do
Got me talkin’ to myself askin’ how I’m gon’ tell you
’bout that chick on part 1 I told ya’ll I was creepin’ with, creepin’ with
Said she’s 3 months pregnant and she’s keepin’ it
how I didn’t coin the phrase “No way, Jose”
The first thing that came to mind was you
Second thing was how do I know if it’s mine and is it true
Third thing was me wishin’ that I never did what I did
How I ain’t ready for no kidphrase coining and bye bye to our relationship

[Chorus]

Sittin here stuck on stupid, tryna figure out
When, what, and how I’mma let this come out of my mouth
Said it ain’t gon’ be easy
But I need to stop thinkin’, contemplatin’
Be a man and get it over with (over with)
I’m ridin’ in my whip
Racin’ to her place
Talkin’ to myself
Preparin’ to tell her to her face
She open up the door and didn’t want to come near me
I said “one second baby please hear me”

[Chorus]

[Breakdown]

This by far is the hardest thing I think I’ve ever had to do
To tell you, the woman I love
That I’m having a baby by a woman that I barely even knowI didn’t coin the phrase “No way, Jose”
I hope you can accept the fact that I’m man enough to tell you this
And hopefully you’ll give me another chance
This ain’t about my career
This ain’t about my life
It’s about us
Please

[Chorus]

Loved the Wedding, Invite Me to the Annulment

I saw this ad on the New York Times website yesterday.

I just honestly…who doesn’t remember their wedding day? That seems much harder and a much more interesting challenge. I’m not sure it’s possible, but I’ve come up with a few things you could try.

1. Don’t send out invitations. Just send out an email to a few people, and then at the bottom put “I know I’m probably forgetting someone, so please forward this on to anyone you think I missed.”
2. Take a bunch of vicodin.
3. Have it at your house, but don’t decorate your house in any way. Don’t even move any of the furniture.
4. Cater the event with something you eat on a regular basis, like pasta, or tacos.
5. Don’t have a DJ, just turn on the radio, preferrably to a station that won’t play anything that can stick out in your mind. NPR?
6. Don’t get a tux or a wedding dress. Wear your work clothes, since those tend to be the least expressive of any kind of personality.
7. Have the wedding in the middle of the week. If you can, have the wedding in the middle of the day, and just take a long lunch. Get back to the office as quick as possible.
8. If you can’t keep people from giving you wedding presents, have them give you things that will blend in with what you already have, like CDs you already own, or junk mail.
9. Annul the marriage the next day.
10. Take a bunch more vicodin.

War in Iraq = Bourgeoise Leisure Time

In some ways, squash offers a window into [Donald] Rumsfeldâ??s complicated psyche, revealing much about his stubborn competitiveness and seemingly limitless stamina. Pentagon officials and employees say Mr. Rumsfeldâ??s play closely resembles the way he has run the Defense Department, where he has spent six years trying to break the accepted modes of operating.

â??He hits the ball well, but he doesnâ??t play by the rules,â? says Chris Zimmerman, a devoted squash player who works in the Pentagonâ??s office of program analysis and evaluation and is sometimes in the Pentagon athletic complex when Mr. Rumsfeld in [sic] on the court.
(New York Times)

One could argue that, for better or for worse, Rumsfeld is a maverick when it comes to foreign affairs and miliatry strategy. One could make a clear, defensible case for how he abandons accepted doctrine for an idiosyncratic policy that effectively changes the way the U.S. wages war and deals with its allies and enemies abroad. When it comes to running the D.O.D., you might be tempted to say, Mr. Rumsfeld doesn’t play by the rules.

But, um, when you don’t play by the rules in squash it’s just called cheating.