Hey, in the spirit of the season, here's a gift from me to you. This is an actual conversation over AIM between two of my suitemates. And for all you creepers out there (ha as if anyone but my girlfriend and A-Ham reads this), I've changed their screen names. So don't try to IM them. Creepy bastards.
Anyway, enjoy, and have a safe and happy holiday. See you in the '09 bitches!
Stay classy,
-Fred the Observer
MrJuicy51 (9:21:46 PM): *grenade to the eye*
PoorRican12 (9:21:57 PM): *throws eye out the window*
MrJuicy51 (9:22:18 PM): why?
PoorRican12 (9:22:34 PM): cuz my eye had a grenade on it
MrJuicy51 (9:22:44 PM): oh it was a sticky
PoorRican12 (9:22:50 PM): spiker actually
MrJuicy51 (9:22:57 PM): ooooo
MrJuicy51 (9:23:03 PM): that had to hurt
PoorRican12 (9:23:05 PM): yea
PoorRican12 (9:23:07 PM): it did
MrJuicy51 (9:23:19 PM): did ur eye blow up
PoorRican12 (9:23:22 PM): i think so
PoorRican12 (9:23:29 PM): i gotta get a new one
MrJuicy51 (9:23:52 PM): good luck
PoorRican12 (9:23:55 PM): thanks
MrJuicy51 (9:24:03 PM): just take one of rays
PoorRican12 (9:24:08 PM): *cuts u in half w sword*
MrJuicy51 (9:24:19 PM): im dead
PoorRican12 (9:24:22 PM): yea u r
MrJuicy51 (9:24:37 PM): i got to get the super glue
PoorRican12 (9:24:48 PM): somehow\
MrJuicy51 (9:25:22 PM): *heat seeking missle to big toe*
PoorRican12 (9:25:34 PM): throws a heater at u
PoorRican12 (9:25:37 PM): i win
MrJuicy51 (9:26:10 PM): but im in antartica in an igloo cover with a bubble shield
PoorRican12 (9:26:29 PM): then ur safe
MrJuicy51 (9:26:35 PM): good
MrJuicy51 (9:27:36 PM): *napalm to right bicep*
PoorRican12 (9:27:55 PM): *instant transmission*
PoorRican12 (9:28:00 PM): *behind u*
MrJuicy51 (9:28:10 PM): fuck!!!!
PoorRican12 (9:28:13 PM): fss fss fss fss fsss
MrJuicy51 (9:28:23 PM): dam u
PoorRican12 (9:28:32 PM): =)
MrJuicy51 (9:28:43 PM): but i had over shield
PoorRican12 (9:28:48 PM): fss fss fss fss
PoorRican12 (9:28:55 PM): fsssssssssssssssss
MrJuicy51 (9:28:56 PM): no im already gone
PoorRican12 (9:29:07 PM): my knife is long
MrJuicy51 (9:29:47 PM): ur in antartica and im in italy
PoorRican12 (9:29:55 PM): its really really really long
MrJuicy51C2(9:29:58 PM): theres no way u could hit me
PoorRican12 (9:30:32 PM): really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really reallyreally really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really
PoorRican12 (9:30:34 PM): really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really reallyreally really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really
PoorRican12 (9:30:36 PM): really really really really really really really really really really really really really20really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really reallyreally really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really
PoorRican12 (9:30:37 PM): long
MrJuicy51 (9:30:51 PM): but u hv no acuracy and missed
PoorRican12 (9:30:58 PM): no ididnt
PoorRican12 (9:31:06 PM): its 10272185157211847651 feet wide
MrJuicy51 (9:32:26 PM): but its a straight knife so its in outer space
PoorRican12 (9:32:49 PM): i hit the moon
PoorRican12 (9:32:56 PM): and it crashed into italy
MrJuicy51 (9:33:15 PM): nNOOOOOOO
MrJuicy51 (9:33:20 PM): FACK U
PoorRican12 (9:33:23 PM): u cant talk
PoorRican12 (9:33:24 PM): ur dead
MrJuicy51 (9:33:37 PM): no im not
PoorRican12 (9:33:40 PM): yea
PoorRican12 (9:33:42 PM): yea u r
MrJuicy51 (9:34:15 PM): *instant transmission*
MrJuicy51 (9:34:19 PM): ur dead
PoorRican12 (9:34:23 PM): u already died
PoorRican12 (9:34:40 PM): u cant post mortem instant transmission
MrJuicy51 (9:35:43 PM): i did it before the moon crashed
PoorRican12 (9:35:50 PM): no u didnt
PoorRican12 (9:35:54 PM): i SAW
PoorRican12 (9:36:05 PM): i have reallystrong binoculars
PoorRican12 (9:36:14 PM): that reflect off of satellites
MrJuicy51 (9:36:25 PM): how could u see me when i was killing u already
PoorRican12 (9:36:30 PM): u werent
PoorRican12 (9:36:36 PM): u were in italy
MrJuicy51 (9:36:40 PM): yeah ur dead right now
PoorRican12 (9:36:41 PM): and i was in antarctica
PoorRican12 (9:36:47 PM): im not dead
PoorRican12 (9:36:48 PM): u r
PoorRican12 (9:36:54 PM): i crashed the moon on u
PoorRican12 (9:36:57 PM): ur dead
MrJuicy51 (9:36:58 PM): no ur confused cause ur dead
PoorRican12 (9:37:01 PM): no
PoorRican12 (9:37:03 PM): im alive
PoorRican12 (9:37:10 PM): and talkin 2 a ghost
MrJuicy51 (9:37:43 PM): NO
PoorRican12 (9:37:46 PM): yea
PoorRican12 (9:37:49 PM): i win
PoorRican12 (9:37:53 PM): I WIN
PoorRican12 (9:37:55 PM): SHUT UP
MrJuicy51 (9:37:57 PM): then were both dead
PoorRican12 (9:38:00 PM): no
PoorRican12 (9:38:02 PM): i killed u
MrJuicy51 (9:38:04 PM): yeah
PoorRican12 (9:38:05 PM): i killed u
PoorRican12 (9:38:10 PM): u didnt kill me
PoorRican12 (9:38:14 PM): i killed u
MrJuicy51 (9:38:28 PM): u cant talk to the dead and neither can i so were either both alive or both dead
PoorRican12 (9:38:58 PM): nah psychics talk 2 the dead
PoorRican12 (9:38:59 PM): brb
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
Wrapping paper - Another WTF?
Hey there folks. I was just talking to my girlfriend about wrapping paper when it dawned on me: Wrapping paper is stupid. Now, I'm not talking drastically stupid - it's note quite at the "bottled water" level, but it's a little higher on the stupid scale than this. Why, you ask? Allow me to explain.
What do you do with wrapping paper? Obviously, you wrap shit with it, usually shit of the present variety (birthday, Chrismahanakwanzaka, etc.). But what's the very first thing you do when handed something wrapped up in wrapping paper? It's okay, just shout it out when you know it.
Yeah, that's right! YOU RIP THAT FUCKER APART! You tear that beautifully-wrapped, painstakingly-chosen wrapping paper to shreds, to get at the good stuff it's hiding from you. I mean, in the end it comes down to basic psychology: the box represents what you want, and the wrapping paper is an obstacle between you and what you want. So, your natural response is going to be to want to remove the obstacle, and as long as you have hands and/or teeth that work, that shouldn't be a problem for you.
Then there's the fact that depending on the age of the recipient and/or people involved in the wrapping of presents, the cardboard tube that the paper comes on can be more interesting and play-with-worthy than anything for which the paper that came on it is being used to wrap up. It's the same with boxes - buy the little shmuck a baby swing and he'll delight way more in goofing off in the box than swinging on that lame ass swing. It's a fact.
Whew.
I just want two things noted, however. One, that none of this is a product of any bitterness that I might be feeling because my dad just popped me in the head with an empty wrapping paper tube (playfully!).
And two that there is one - and ONLY one - exception to this primal instinct, and that is this: if the wrapping paper is comprised of sheets of real, uncut $100 bills, you don't give two shits about what's in that box.
And you shouldn't.
Because it's probably a terrible Christmas sweater.
Stay classy. And have a safe and happy holiday.
What do you do with wrapping paper? Obviously, you wrap shit with it, usually shit of the present variety (birthday, Chrismahanakwanzaka, etc.). But what's the very first thing you do when handed something wrapped up in wrapping paper? It's okay, just shout it out when you know it.
Yeah, that's right! YOU RIP THAT FUCKER APART! You tear that beautifully-wrapped, painstakingly-chosen wrapping paper to shreds, to get at the good stuff it's hiding from you. I mean, in the end it comes down to basic psychology: the box represents what you want, and the wrapping paper is an obstacle between you and what you want. So, your natural response is going to be to want to remove the obstacle, and as long as you have hands and/or teeth that work, that shouldn't be a problem for you.
Then there's the fact that depending on the age of the recipient and/or people involved in the wrapping of presents, the cardboard tube that the paper comes on can be more interesting and play-with-worthy than anything for which the paper that came on it is being used to wrap up. It's the same with boxes - buy the little shmuck a baby swing and he'll delight way more in goofing off in the box than swinging on that lame ass swing. It's a fact.
Whew.
I just want two things noted, however. One, that none of this is a product of any bitterness that I might be feeling because my dad just popped me in the head with an empty wrapping paper tube (playfully!).
And two that there is one - and ONLY one - exception to this primal instinct, and that is this: if the wrapping paper is comprised of sheets of real, uncut $100 bills, you don't give two shits about what's in that box.
And you shouldn't.
Because it's probably a terrible Christmas sweater.
Stay classy. And have a safe and happy holiday.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Why Do You Say Such Stupid Shit?
You know what I hate? When people ask stupid-ass, obvious-answer, "why-the-hell-would-you-ask-that" type questions, and/or when they say their statement counterparts ("stupid-ass, no-shit-Sherlock, 'why-the-hell-would-you-say-that'"). You know the ones I'm talking about - the ones that every action movie and "first-guy-on-the-scene-of-an-accident" absolutely HAS to say, but they're so obvious and stupid that it makes you want to grab a bat and pop 'em one upside the head.
For example, the classic question of "are you okay?" At least nine out of ten action movies have this in their scripts at least once, and whenever someone busts their ass in public, the first guy on the scene will either laugh himself silly or say this time-tested stupid-ass line. I mean, if I've just been shot by a freakin' terrorist and I'm bleeding profusely, putting pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding and not die, lying prone behind cover with an expression on my face that plainly states "OW THIS FUCKING HURTS LIKE A BITCH" and my gun is on the ground in a pool of my blood instead of in my hand delivering .45 caliber slugs of patriotism to those terrorist bastards, I'm gonna have to say -
NO, I'M NOT OKAY, ASSHOLE.
It's either "are you okay?" or "you're hurt." NO SHIT. What was your first clue, Einstein? Was it the liter or so of blood I've lost, or maybe the bullet hole in my shoulder, or maybe the screams of pain I've been hollering for the last five minutes?
How about you stop stating the obvious and give me a freakin' Band-Aid, douchebag?
Also, there's "run." I mean, shit - I'm glad SOMEONE knows the proper response when something dangerous/deadly/about to freakin' eat us/etc. starts moving towards us at an accelerated rate, and moreover, has the tactical fortitude to let us retards know what we should do. God FORBID something happens that requires me to make a speedy getaway and you're NOT there, because I'll almost certainly be royally screwed!
By the time your infinite wisdom lets you in on the fact that we're being chased and should probably vacate the premises, I'll be safe and sound at my house eating a sandwich and watching the high-speed chase on the news. Dumbass.
And then there's "hold on." Scenario time!
You and I are flying in a helicopter over the ocean, when suddenly there's an epic burst of turbulence. Simultaneously, the latch on the door somehow fails and I'm pitched out of the chopper. Due to my amazingly quick ninja reflexes, however, I'm able to twist around in midair and grab the landing ski-lookin' thingy on the bottom of the helicopter and avoid plummeting to my doom. You immediately reach down and try to pull me back up, but you can't reach my hand. The pilot, meanwhile, has decided to do something actually intelligent and lowers the helicopter closer to the water's surface, so that if I DO fall, I won't hit the water at a zillion miles per hour and die on impact. I look down at the water, however, and see that a group of sharks is swimming around below me, in one of those cliche only-fins-above-the-water circles that they apparently love to do. So, I'm dangling by my fingertips from an airborne helicopter, suspended over freezing-cold water (did I mention it's January and the ocean is the Atlantic?), with hungry-ass sharks circling around maybe five yards below me, and you get the bright idea to shout over the roar of the rotors "HOLD ON!" HOLY SHIT! If you hadn't reminded me, I might've just let go! Jesus Herbert CHRIST, man, you might've just saved my freakin' life!
Here's an idea: Why don't you just pull me into the damn chopper and shut the fuck up!?
Sigh.
People are kinda dumb sometimes.
Whatever.
Stay classy
For example, the classic question of "are you okay?" At least nine out of ten action movies have this in their scripts at least once, and whenever someone busts their ass in public, the first guy on the scene will either laugh himself silly or say this time-tested stupid-ass line. I mean, if I've just been shot by a freakin' terrorist and I'm bleeding profusely, putting pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding and not die, lying prone behind cover with an expression on my face that plainly states "OW THIS FUCKING HURTS LIKE A BITCH" and my gun is on the ground in a pool of my blood instead of in my hand delivering .45 caliber slugs of patriotism to those terrorist bastards, I'm gonna have to say -
NO, I'M NOT OKAY, ASSHOLE.
It's either "are you okay?" or "you're hurt." NO SHIT. What was your first clue, Einstein? Was it the liter or so of blood I've lost, or maybe the bullet hole in my shoulder, or maybe the screams of pain I've been hollering for the last five minutes?
How about you stop stating the obvious and give me a freakin' Band-Aid, douchebag?
Also, there's "run." I mean, shit - I'm glad SOMEONE knows the proper response when something dangerous/deadly/about to freakin' eat us/etc. starts moving towards us at an accelerated rate, and moreover, has the tactical fortitude to let us retards know what we should do. God FORBID something happens that requires me to make a speedy getaway and you're NOT there, because I'll almost certainly be royally screwed!
By the time your infinite wisdom lets you in on the fact that we're being chased and should probably vacate the premises, I'll be safe and sound at my house eating a sandwich and watching the high-speed chase on the news. Dumbass.
And then there's "hold on." Scenario time!
You and I are flying in a helicopter over the ocean, when suddenly there's an epic burst of turbulence. Simultaneously, the latch on the door somehow fails and I'm pitched out of the chopper. Due to my amazingly quick ninja reflexes, however, I'm able to twist around in midair and grab the landing ski-lookin' thingy on the bottom of the helicopter and avoid plummeting to my doom. You immediately reach down and try to pull me back up, but you can't reach my hand. The pilot, meanwhile, has decided to do something actually intelligent and lowers the helicopter closer to the water's surface, so that if I DO fall, I won't hit the water at a zillion miles per hour and die on impact. I look down at the water, however, and see that a group of sharks is swimming around below me, in one of those cliche only-fins-above-the-water circles that they apparently love to do. So, I'm dangling by my fingertips from an airborne helicopter, suspended over freezing-cold water (did I mention it's January and the ocean is the Atlantic?), with hungry-ass sharks circling around maybe five yards below me, and you get the bright idea to shout over the roar of the rotors "HOLD ON!" HOLY SHIT! If you hadn't reminded me, I might've just let go! Jesus Herbert CHRIST, man, you might've just saved my freakin' life!
Here's an idea: Why don't you just pull me into the damn chopper and shut the fuck up!?
Sigh.
People are kinda dumb sometimes.
Whatever.
Stay classy
Sunday, November 30, 2008
James Bond's Bang-a-Chick System (tm)
I'm sitting here watching "James Bond 007: Tomorrow Never Dies" and I just had a freakin' revelation, something that I've probably been subconsciously thinking about for the past twelve years of my life or some deeply profound shit like that.
Basically, I break James Bond's Bang a Chick System (tm) down like this: If James Bond talks to a chick for more than, say, five seconds, there's about a 99.99999999999999% chance that before the movie is over, he's gonna sacrifice her vagina to Aphrodite (metaphorically speaking). Either that or she'll be dead.
There ARE, however, exceptions to this rule, namely two: James Bond's boss, M; and M's secretary, Moneypenny. Now, I can understand staying away from M - I mean, she's old, AND she's his boss. But Moneypenny is neither old nor his boss, and is available (a fact I've gleaned from her constant and obvious passes at Mr. Bond throughout the years). The only explanation I have for this is that Miss Moneypenny has some sort of deadly dangerous venereal disease (my guess is crabs). As we all know, based on his history, James Bond is promiscuous, yes - but he is far from stupid.
Many men, I'm sure, wish that the James Bond Bang-a-Chick System (tm) actually worked. As most intelligent people have known for a while, however, it is, in actuality, bullshit.
So.
Yeah.
Stay classy.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Group Interviews Suck Ass
I recently had a group interview at a major clothing store (since I'm not a dick I won't say which one), and I'm going to have to say that they suck major dong.
When I went to the interview, not only was I kept waiting for twenty minutes, but they bullshat me. After the group interview (which I'll get to later), there were individual interviews - if you could call it that. The interviewer called me into the office, and before I'd even finished closing the door (let ALONE sat down), I was told that there were no job openings (and I was the third person called in out of 16 total - what the hell was the interviewer going to say to the other 13? That's some ol' bullshit).
But yeah, to the actual group interview. There were 16 people in the room, including me, and we were all asked questions as a group and were expressly told NOT to speak over each other (how the fuck does that work? You're asking us all the same question at once and we're competing for a limited number of jobs. Of course we're going to want to get our piece said first). I noticed that there were a few archetypes of characters in the room. There was the SUPER PROFESSIONAL old lady that sat next to me and read off the company's mission statement and other company-morale-related shit in response to the questions being asked; the foreigners who have TONS of work experience in "old country" but none here (not ragging on them, I just found it funny); the single mother who spent more time explaining the hours she was available than she did giving her example of great customer service; the out-of-work professional who's wearing a pimpin' business suit but has 24-7 availability so you know they're unemployed; the cookie-cutter airheads that all give the same exact answers and have the "I'm a people person" speech down to a science; and the one guy from like Uganda who is SUPER PASSIONATE about what he's saying, but his thick-ass accent makes it so you have absolutely no clue what the hell he's talking about.
I mean, I'm sure that there are well-done group interviews (I'm actually positive, as my girlfriend had a well-done group interview today, at the same mall, ironically enough), but this was not one of them. I mean, the thing that pissed me off the most was twofold. One, the fact that I was on time and had left early from my dorm - and brought my girlfriend with me so she could drop off her applications and offer moral support - and was kept waiting for at least twenty minutes past the time for which my appointment was scheduled; and two, the fact that they bullshat the hell out of me, because they knew that there were jobs or else they wouldn't have called me to the "individual interview" (aka "bullshit interview," aka "open door, attempt to close door, get bullshat, leave") third out of 16 people. What happened to the other 13, did they get jobs or did they get bullshat too? Who knows. Moreover, who cares?
I need a fucking job!
Stay classy
When I went to the interview, not only was I kept waiting for twenty minutes, but they bullshat me. After the group interview (which I'll get to later), there were individual interviews - if you could call it that. The interviewer called me into the office, and before I'd even finished closing the door (let ALONE sat down), I was told that there were no job openings (and I was the third person called in out of 16 total - what the hell was the interviewer going to say to the other 13? That's some ol' bullshit).
But yeah, to the actual group interview. There were 16 people in the room, including me, and we were all asked questions as a group and were expressly told NOT to speak over each other (how the fuck does that work? You're asking us all the same question at once and we're competing for a limited number of jobs. Of course we're going to want to get our piece said first). I noticed that there were a few archetypes of characters in the room. There was the SUPER PROFESSIONAL old lady that sat next to me and read off the company's mission statement and other company-morale-related shit in response to the questions being asked; the foreigners who have TONS of work experience in "old country" but none here (not ragging on them, I just found it funny); the single mother who spent more time explaining the hours she was available than she did giving her example of great customer service; the out-of-work professional who's wearing a pimpin' business suit but has 24-7 availability so you know they're unemployed; the cookie-cutter airheads that all give the same exact answers and have the "I'm a people person" speech down to a science; and the one guy from like Uganda who is SUPER PASSIONATE about what he's saying, but his thick-ass accent makes it so you have absolutely no clue what the hell he's talking about.
I mean, I'm sure that there are well-done group interviews (I'm actually positive, as my girlfriend had a well-done group interview today, at the same mall, ironically enough), but this was not one of them. I mean, the thing that pissed me off the most was twofold. One, the fact that I was on time and had left early from my dorm - and brought my girlfriend with me so she could drop off her applications and offer moral support - and was kept waiting for at least twenty minutes past the time for which my appointment was scheduled; and two, the fact that they bullshat the hell out of me, because they knew that there were jobs or else they wouldn't have called me to the "individual interview" (aka "bullshit interview," aka "open door, attempt to close door, get bullshat, leave") third out of 16 people. What happened to the other 13, did they get jobs or did they get bullshat too? Who knows. Moreover, who cares?
I need a fucking job!
Stay classy
Sunday, November 23, 2008
"Do you mind?"
Once again, folks, I'm back with a linguistic "what the hell" in this observation.
Last time it was the fact that 99% of people think that "me too" is the end-all to any conversation (and, if you haven't been reading, I disputed that and asserted that the TRUE end-all to any conversation was "fuck off").
The time before that, it was the fact that a majority of people seem to find pleasure in doing or saying something, and then immediately afterwards, asking you and/or others in the vicinity to tell them exactly how or why they did or said what they just did or said (and, again, if you haven't been reading, I gave reasons why I not only couldn't explain to them why or how, but didn't want to).
This time, however, it's a little different, and it's something that - while it still makes me wonder how these people managed to get into college - I can understand happening.
I'm talking about "Do you mind" as a question. Just for the sake of my argument, I'm going to explain the question. In asking me if I mind that you do something or if I mind doing something for you, or whatever the case may be, you're asking if I would have any qualms about it or any reason not to do whatever it is you're asking me to do. Now, if I did not have any qualms or reasons not to do it, I would answer "No, I don't mind" and would carry out whatever task it was. However, if I DID have qualms or reasons not to do it, I would answer "Yes, actually, I do mind" and would NOT carry out whatever task it was. With me so far? Good.
The thing that bothers me is that people seem to be stuck in a mental rut when it comes to being asked if they mind. I can only fathom at the reason, but the best I can come up with is that they're so used to being asked if they would do something in a much more straightforward manner (i.e. "will you do this for me?"), and as such they know that if they want to do whatever it is, they respond with a "yes." This leads me to believe that they're so used to saying "yes" when asked to do something, that even when the question is switched up a bit and they should answer "no" (which would mean "yes"), they answer "yes" out of habit (which means "no").
I mean, I expected this sort of thing when I was younger. I knew a kid named Chris when I was about three, whose mother took care of me while my folks were at work, and whenever I'd ask him if he minded if I did something, he would always reply "yes" and I would have to clarify if he meant "yes I mind" or "yes you can do (whatever I'd asked)." And he would just keep saying "yes" because he was an idiot.
But that was when I was three. There's no excuse for that shit now.
Stay classy.
Last time it was the fact that 99% of people think that "me too" is the end-all to any conversation (and, if you haven't been reading, I disputed that and asserted that the TRUE end-all to any conversation was "fuck off").
The time before that, it was the fact that a majority of people seem to find pleasure in doing or saying something, and then immediately afterwards, asking you and/or others in the vicinity to tell them exactly how or why they did or said what they just did or said (and, again, if you haven't been reading, I gave reasons why I not only couldn't explain to them why or how, but didn't want to).
This time, however, it's a little different, and it's something that - while it still makes me wonder how these people managed to get into college - I can understand happening.
I'm talking about "Do you mind" as a question. Just for the sake of my argument, I'm going to explain the question. In asking me if I mind that you do something or if I mind doing something for you, or whatever the case may be, you're asking if I would have any qualms about it or any reason not to do whatever it is you're asking me to do. Now, if I did not have any qualms or reasons not to do it, I would answer "No, I don't mind" and would carry out whatever task it was. However, if I DID have qualms or reasons not to do it, I would answer "Yes, actually, I do mind" and would NOT carry out whatever task it was. With me so far? Good.
The thing that bothers me is that people seem to be stuck in a mental rut when it comes to being asked if they mind. I can only fathom at the reason, but the best I can come up with is that they're so used to being asked if they would do something in a much more straightforward manner (i.e. "will you do this for me?"), and as such they know that if they want to do whatever it is, they respond with a "yes." This leads me to believe that they're so used to saying "yes" when asked to do something, that even when the question is switched up a bit and they should answer "no" (which would mean "yes"), they answer "yes" out of habit (which means "no").
I mean, I expected this sort of thing when I was younger. I knew a kid named Chris when I was about three, whose mother took care of me while my folks were at work, and whenever I'd ask him if he minded if I did something, he would always reply "yes" and I would have to clarify if he meant "yes I mind" or "yes you can do (whatever I'd asked)." And he would just keep saying "yes" because he was an idiot.
But that was when I was three. There's no excuse for that shit now.
Stay classy.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Shocking Lack of Diversity
This is an issue that, in all seriousness, I feel very strongly about. Diversity in America seems to be one of those things that the average fool thinks is a done deal. Diversity is NOT a done deal. I remember getting pamphlets and whatnot from Yale University with four people on the front of it, all four smiling. There was a white guy, a black chick, an Asian guy and a Hispanic chick. The thing that I got out of this picture of diversity was not "wow, Yale is a pretty ethnically diverse university," it was more along the lines of "wow, how long did it take to find these people at Yale?" I mean, the white guy and the Asian guy would be a cinch to find (let's not kid ourselves here, and if anyone wants to dispute this, bring it on. I lived down the street from Yale University from birth until I left for college. I know what I'm talking about).
What I'm trying to say is, diversity is still a major problem in America. People look around and see all types of ethnicities being included in movies, music, literature, etc. But what are they doing in these portrayals? I mean, the most accurate depiction of a black guy in movies as a "black guy in movies" was in "Not Another Teen Movie," with "the Token Black Guy."
But this isn't about Yale University's show of diversity, which is ironically coupled with a lack thereof. Nor is it about how minorities are portrayed in popular culture. Nor is it about "Not Another Teen Movie," nor about "Token Black Guy"s.
The shocking lack of diversity to which I'm referring is this:
Why is it, on EVERY SINGLE PENIS ENLARGEMENT/MALE ENHANCEMENT COMMERCIAL, THERE IS NOT A SINGLE BLACK GUY?
Stay classy
What I'm trying to say is, diversity is still a major problem in America. People look around and see all types of ethnicities being included in movies, music, literature, etc. But what are they doing in these portrayals? I mean, the most accurate depiction of a black guy in movies as a "black guy in movies" was in "Not Another Teen Movie," with "the Token Black Guy."
But this isn't about Yale University's show of diversity, which is ironically coupled with a lack thereof. Nor is it about how minorities are portrayed in popular culture. Nor is it about "Not Another Teen Movie," nor about "Token Black Guy"s.
The shocking lack of diversity to which I'm referring is this:
Why is it, on EVERY SINGLE PENIS ENLARGEMENT/MALE ENHANCEMENT COMMERCIAL, THERE IS NOT A SINGLE BLACK GUY?
Stay classy
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
No Sound = No Sense
I'm not sure how many of you have been to college or are currently in college (haha like anybody reads this), but at least at St. John's University (where I am), in the main dining hall, there are a bunch of TVs up on the walls. These TVs are perpetually tuned to the MTVu channel, which is supposed to be MTV for college people. About 95% of the time that I actually allow my eyes to wander over to the TV screen closest to me (I really don't like MTV, but that's a completely different observation), there's a music video playing. The only thing is, I'm in a crowded, noisy dining hall. Thus, I can't hear the lyrics of the song for shit. This poses an interesting problem. Have you spotted it?
I'm only getting half the experience. I'm getting all the booty-shakin' and rim-spinnin' and all that, which, granted, really doesn't need lyrics these days to have it make sense. 90% of music videos seem to have either booty-shakin' or rim-spinnin' or both (don't you like these impromptu statistics?), so that's nothing new.
The stuff that gets me, though, is the weird shit. Like today, I watched a music video from start to finish (I don't remember the artist's name, but it was two twin ladies, apparently). In the video, one of the twins was walking through what looked like Mexico while these two guys carrying this huge mirror walked beside her, such that we saw her and her reflection in the mirror. Her reflection's hairstyle was different, she wasn't wearing earrings, and her dress was different. I later realized that this had to be her sister, but it still begs the question . . .
What the hell? What the hell is going on? I don't understand what in the hell she could've been singing about that would allow her and her mirror-dwelling twin to be walking through Mexico and for it to make sense.
Similarly, the next video was a Common song (I don't remember the title of the song). He and a computer-animated robot with red eyes were rapping, and there was just a bunch of weird robot stuff going on. I'll give Common the benefit of the doubt because I don't hate him like I hate Soulja Boy, but I'm still drawing a blank as to what the hell he could've been rapping about that would allow the robot and all the robot-related tomfoolery to make sense.
I dunno, people. Modern music throws me for a loop, apparently.
Whatever.
Stay classy.
I'm only getting half the experience. I'm getting all the booty-shakin' and rim-spinnin' and all that, which, granted, really doesn't need lyrics these days to have it make sense. 90% of music videos seem to have either booty-shakin' or rim-spinnin' or both (don't you like these impromptu statistics?), so that's nothing new.
The stuff that gets me, though, is the weird shit. Like today, I watched a music video from start to finish (I don't remember the artist's name, but it was two twin ladies, apparently). In the video, one of the twins was walking through what looked like Mexico while these two guys carrying this huge mirror walked beside her, such that we saw her and her reflection in the mirror. Her reflection's hairstyle was different, she wasn't wearing earrings, and her dress was different. I later realized that this had to be her sister, but it still begs the question . . .
What the hell? What the hell is going on? I don't understand what in the hell she could've been singing about that would allow her and her mirror-dwelling twin to be walking through Mexico and for it to make sense.
Similarly, the next video was a Common song (I don't remember the title of the song). He and a computer-animated robot with red eyes were rapping, and there was just a bunch of weird robot stuff going on. I'll give Common the benefit of the doubt because I don't hate him like I hate Soulja Boy, but I'm still drawing a blank as to what the hell he could've been rapping about that would allow the robot and all the robot-related tomfoolery to make sense.
I dunno, people. Modern music throws me for a loop, apparently.
Whatever.
Stay classy.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Touch My Laundry Again and You're Dead
Scenario:
You're doing your laundry. You set your phone's alarm for five minutes before the drying cycle is supposed to be done, because you know that about 90% of the time, your clothes come out anywhere from slightly damp to downright moist even after 45 full minutes of spinning and evaporation-inducing heat.
The elevator door slides open, the wave of humidity smacks you in the face, and you walk out into the laundry room, turn left, and -
What the fuck!? Your clothes are thrown willy-nilly on the counter. But the surprises aren't over yet - you look past the pile of clothes and see that the timer on the dryer you were using has 40 minutes left out of 45. You specifically remember, however, that you set your alarm so that you'd come down to get your laundry with five minutes left on the timer.
You do some quick mental math and realize that some douchebag decided that your clothes would magically be perfectly dry after only 35 minutes of drying, rather than the dryer-recommended 45, and took your clothes out ten minutes early to put his or her own in. I mean, you could understand if there were like two or three minutes left and the poor sap was in a hurry because he had to print twelve pages and was late for class (LIKE YOU WERE), but TEN MINUTES?
You're pissed about the fact that some dickhead took your clothes out ten minutes before they were done, but then you turn to the pile and pick up the first shirt - and it's like a wet sponge. So, in their infinite assholery, not only did this person take out your clothes ten minutes early to put their own in, but in doing so they actually touched your clothes and REALIZED THAT THEY WERE STILL WET! What kind of retard takes WET clothes out of the dryer - moreover, someone ELSE'S wet clothes - to put in MORE wet clothes? That makes less sense than bottled water AND this combined!
End scenario.
Except, to me, that was no scenario. That was about two hours ago.
For God's sake people!
Stay classy
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
"Me too!"
Let's play a little game, one I like to call "Why are the Following Statements About as Stupid as Bottled Water?" Here's how you play: read the following statements and give me a valid reason as to why they're all about as stupid as the idea and implementation of bottled water. Easy enough, right? Good! Let's start.
1.
"I'm gonna miss you sooo much!"
"Me tooooo!"
2.
"I love you."
"Me too."
3.
"I think you're beautiful."
"Me too!"
4.
"That tree is really far away."
"Me too!"
(kudos to anyone who gets that reference, by the way)
If, for examples one through four, your answer as to why they're about as stupid as bottled water was "BECAUSE THEY DON'T MAKE ANY FREAKIN' SENSE!" then you are quite correct. Granted, examples three and four were thrown in there to hyperbolize the situation (and because I need something to laugh at during these next three hours of Theology), but the answer still applies. Why does it apply, you ask? Simple.
Many people believe that there is a conversational equivalent to water in the English language - a universal solvent that can dissolve all conversations. I'm one of those people, and I believe that Universal Conversational Solvent is, verbatim, "Fuck off." However, most of the other people that believe in the UCS (a nifty little acronym that saves me typing out "Universal Conversational Solvent" all the damn time) is "Me too", and, I'm really sorry to burst your bubbles, people, but you're dead wrong.
"Me too" is the conversational equivalent to vinegar, not water. It dissolves the conversation, yes, as does water (or "Fuck off"), but not in the same fashion. "Me too" dissolves the conversation in a "wow this guy's a moron" sort of way, which means you (the moron) lose the initiative in the conversation - all conversational power is lost, and the unlucky bastard to whom you were talking is the one making the move to walk away, and is doing so out of choice. Now, the REAL UCS (that would be "Fuck off," in case you haven't been paying attention), when used properly, has the same effect, but dissolves the conversation in more of a "this guy obviously doesn't want to talk to me anymore and I should probably leave him alone before he takes out a blade and cuts me" kind of way. This means you (the badass) rob the unlucky bastard to whom you were talking of his conversational power, and although he's still going to be the one making the move to walk away, it's not because he's choosing to, it's because you've just demasculated him and you're staring him down, daring him to stay put for a second longer, and you've probably put it into his head that you have a blade and will potentially cut him. Do you see the difference?
So, in conclusion: "Me too" < "Fuck off" in the Universal Conversational Solvent Olympics (yup), just as Vinegar < Water in the regular ol' Universal Solvent Olympics. So, the next time you say something that warrants a personally-conceived response and you get "Me too," grit your teeth, smile, and tell that dumbass to "Fuck off."
And, as always.
Stay classy.
1.
"I'm gonna miss you sooo much!"
"Me tooooo!"
2.
"I love you."
"Me too."
3.
"I think you're beautiful."
"Me too!"
4.
"That tree is really far away."
"Me too!"
(kudos to anyone who gets that reference, by the way)
If, for examples one through four, your answer as to why they're about as stupid as bottled water was "BECAUSE THEY DON'T MAKE ANY FREAKIN' SENSE!" then you are quite correct. Granted, examples three and four were thrown in there to hyperbolize the situation (and because I need something to laugh at during these next three hours of Theology), but the answer still applies. Why does it apply, you ask? Simple.
Many people believe that there is a conversational equivalent to water in the English language - a universal solvent that can dissolve all conversations. I'm one of those people, and I believe that Universal Conversational Solvent is, verbatim, "Fuck off." However, most of the other people that believe in the UCS (a nifty little acronym that saves me typing out "Universal Conversational Solvent" all the damn time) is "Me too", and, I'm really sorry to burst your bubbles, people, but you're dead wrong.
"Me too" is the conversational equivalent to vinegar, not water. It dissolves the conversation, yes, as does water (or "Fuck off"), but not in the same fashion. "Me too" dissolves the conversation in a "wow this guy's a moron" sort of way, which means you (the moron) lose the initiative in the conversation - all conversational power is lost, and the unlucky bastard to whom you were talking is the one making the move to walk away, and is doing so out of choice. Now, the REAL UCS (that would be "Fuck off," in case you haven't been paying attention), when used properly, has the same effect, but dissolves the conversation in more of a "this guy obviously doesn't want to talk to me anymore and I should probably leave him alone before he takes out a blade and cuts me" kind of way. This means you (the badass) rob the unlucky bastard to whom you were talking of his conversational power, and although he's still going to be the one making the move to walk away, it's not because he's choosing to, it's because you've just demasculated him and you're staring him down, daring him to stay put for a second longer, and you've probably put it into his head that you have a blade and will potentially cut him. Do you see the difference?
So, in conclusion: "Me too" < "Fuck off" in the Universal Conversational Solvent Olympics (yup), just as Vinegar < Water in the regular ol' Universal Solvent Olympics. So, the next time you say something that warrants a personally-conceived response and you get "Me too," grit your teeth, smile, and tell that dumbass to "Fuck off."
And, as always.
Stay classy.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
I Really CAN'T Tell You How, Actually . . .
"Tell me how I knew you were gonna say that."
Good God, I can't stand when people say that. And people say that a lot (at least people I'm associated with).
The simple fact of the matter is, unless either a) you previously explained to me how you did whatever it is you did; b) I was there and thus able to clearly describe exactly how you did whatever it is you did from my eye-witness account; or c) you surrendered control of your mind to me - I CAN'T TELL YOU HOW YOU DID IT! Why the hell are you asking me, anyway? Because nine out of ten times I wasn't there when you were doing whatever the hell it is you did and then asked how you did it.
Then there's the fact that at least eighty percent of the time I don't GIVE a shit about whatever you did and are asking me to explain how you did it. Get the hint. People don't care about explaining the action that you did back to you. I mean, hell, shouldn't you of all people know what the hell you did - didn't YOU do it?
Anyway. I'm having trouble staying awake.
Stay classy
Good God, I can't stand when people say that. And people say that a lot (at least people I'm associated with).
The simple fact of the matter is, unless either a) you previously explained to me how you did whatever it is you did; b) I was there and thus able to clearly describe exactly how you did whatever it is you did from my eye-witness account; or c) you surrendered control of your mind to me - I CAN'T TELL YOU HOW YOU DID IT! Why the hell are you asking me, anyway? Because nine out of ten times I wasn't there when you were doing whatever the hell it is you did and then asked how you did it.
Then there's the fact that at least eighty percent of the time I don't GIVE a shit about whatever you did and are asking me to explain how you did it. Get the hint. People don't care about explaining the action that you did back to you. I mean, hell, shouldn't you of all people know what the hell you did - didn't YOU do it?
Anyway. I'm having trouble staying awake.
Stay classy
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Your Mom's Not Dead, Asshole!
Here's a sample conversation:Bob: Ew Mike, you listen to Celine Dion, what a loser.
Mike: Shut the hell up, Bob, what do you do?
Bob: Your mom.
Mike: Dude. My mom's dead.
Every time I hear this, or something along those lines, I want to kick a baby. I absolutely hate when people say that crap. The whole intention of saying that your mother is dead is to say something that will stop the progression of your self-esteem getting annhilated. In order to do this, you try to make someone feel like absolutely epic shit, and you succeed for about five seconds. During those five seconds, however, you actually are an absolutely epic piece of shit - but only if your mother isn't actually dead. I once made a "your mother" joke to someone whose mother actually was dead and I spent the next week apologizing because I felt like shit. But that's neither here nor there.
It's just a dick move in general. Why would you say something like that just to win a stupidass argument? And moreover, how would you feel if, seconds after you said that your mom's dead but don't mean it, you got a call from the hospital saying your mom actually was dead? You'd feel like shit, and if the person who you just told your mom was dead was as much of a douche as you were, they'd laugh in your face.
Because, as we all know, karma's a bitch.
So . . .
Stay classy.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Get in the Freakin' Stroller!
I was recently at the Woodhaven Mall in Queens, which, like most malls in the country, is freakin' huge. You see all kinds of people in the mall - from creeped-out old guys that just sit on the benches watching the ladies walk by (or rather, watching the ladies' asses as they walk by) to single mothers with their three sisters pushing their kids around in strollers.
But there is one thing about malls - and crowded places in general - that pisses me the hell off. Before I say exactly what it is, let me lay down the logic of my anger first.
If you're in a tight area, such as in a crowded store or in a crowded subway car, wouldn't you want to try and take up as little space as possible? That makes sense, right?
Apparently not to half the people with strollers at the mall.
Countless times, I was forced to literally hop over small children (like hurdle them) because I was trying to get by and they were tottering along next to their mothers, holding onto EMPTY STROLLERS THAT THEY SHOULD'VE BEEN SITTING IN. I mean, have some freakin' consideration, mom! You know that it's gonna be a tight squeeze regardless, but do your part to make it less of an awkward leap over your child and more of an "excuse me, miss" for me, because almost every time I leapt over a kid the mom was like "what the fuck are you doing!?" all pissed and shit, which pissed me off because if your kid was in the freakin' stroller like he was supposed to be, instead of walking at about -5 miles per hour in front of me and blocking my way to where I'm trying to get (which is unimportant; it's the fact that I was being blocked by a toddler that pisses me off), I wouldn't have to jump over the little shmuck in the first place.
GET IN YOUR DAMN STROLLER FOOL!
And whatever you do . . .
Stay classy
But there is one thing about malls - and crowded places in general - that pisses me the hell off. Before I say exactly what it is, let me lay down the logic of my anger first.
If you're in a tight area, such as in a crowded store or in a crowded subway car, wouldn't you want to try and take up as little space as possible? That makes sense, right?
Apparently not to half the people with strollers at the mall.
Countless times, I was forced to literally hop over small children (like hurdle them) because I was trying to get by and they were tottering along next to their mothers, holding onto EMPTY STROLLERS THAT THEY SHOULD'VE BEEN SITTING IN. I mean, have some freakin' consideration, mom! You know that it's gonna be a tight squeeze regardless, but do your part to make it less of an awkward leap over your child and more of an "excuse me, miss" for me, because almost every time I leapt over a kid the mom was like "what the fuck are you doing!?" all pissed and shit, which pissed me off because if your kid was in the freakin' stroller like he was supposed to be, instead of walking at about -5 miles per hour in front of me and blocking my way to where I'm trying to get (which is unimportant; it's the fact that I was being blocked by a toddler that pisses me off), I wouldn't have to jump over the little shmuck in the first place.
GET IN YOUR DAMN STROLLER FOOL!
And whatever you do . . .
Stay classy
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Not In Service – Then Why the Hell Are You Here?
Standing underneath the foggy glass canopy at the wet bus stop yesterday morning waiting for the Q46 bus to Kew Gardens, rain falling in constant sheets, I realized something: Buses are a pain in the ass.
Usually in New York, from my experience, buses are punctual and efficient. However, yesterday morning, while standing at a bus stop clearly marked as a Q46 stop, it seemed that every bus that stopped was of the QM1 or the QM1a variety, or drove right on by and had “NOT IN SERVICE” flashing across their message boards. “Not in service”? Then why the hell are you driving a clearly marked bus route? Why can I see you when I’m looking impatiently down Union Turnpike back towards St. John’s, anxiously pulling out my Metro Card and praying to God that I have at least two dollars left on it because I don’t have money for a new one, only for your stupid “NOT IN SERVICE” message to crush my dreams and piss me the hell off? At two freakin’ dollars a pop for a ride – coupled with the sheer number of Metro Cards that are bought in any given day (hell, in any given hour) – can’t the MTA afford some sort of portable cloaking devices? You know – so I don’t see these freakin’ “Not in service” buses that flaunt their status as buses with their loud exhaust systems and squeaky-ass brakes, but don’t facilitate their purposes by actually stopping and picking me up? That’s like going to Coldstone for some ice cream, when the place is packed with employees and the ice cream tubs are full of creamy deliciousness, and opening your mouth to order, and one of the guys behind the counter tells you that he’s off-duty. What the hell? Off-duty? Then why are you wearing the Coldstone official uniform and standing in the on-duty employee-only area? That’s pretty damn misleading – not to mention annoying – and I, for one, would be pissed if that were to happen to me (especially because I like Coldstone).
So next time you see a bus with “NOT IN SERVICE” flashing across the top, throw a bottle of Poland Spring at it. Because, as we all know, that shit ain’t good for anything else.
Stay classy.
Usually in New York, from my experience, buses are punctual and efficient. However, yesterday morning, while standing at a bus stop clearly marked as a Q46 stop, it seemed that every bus that stopped was of the QM1 or the QM1a variety, or drove right on by and had “NOT IN SERVICE” flashing across their message boards. “Not in service”? Then why the hell are you driving a clearly marked bus route? Why can I see you when I’m looking impatiently down Union Turnpike back towards St. John’s, anxiously pulling out my Metro Card and praying to God that I have at least two dollars left on it because I don’t have money for a new one, only for your stupid “NOT IN SERVICE” message to crush my dreams and piss me the hell off? At two freakin’ dollars a pop for a ride – coupled with the sheer number of Metro Cards that are bought in any given day (hell, in any given hour) – can’t the MTA afford some sort of portable cloaking devices? You know – so I don’t see these freakin’ “Not in service” buses that flaunt their status as buses with their loud exhaust systems and squeaky-ass brakes, but don’t facilitate their purposes by actually stopping and picking me up? That’s like going to Coldstone for some ice cream, when the place is packed with employees and the ice cream tubs are full of creamy deliciousness, and opening your mouth to order, and one of the guys behind the counter tells you that he’s off-duty. What the hell? Off-duty? Then why are you wearing the Coldstone official uniform and standing in the on-duty employee-only area? That’s pretty damn misleading – not to mention annoying – and I, for one, would be pissed if that were to happen to me (especially because I like Coldstone).
So next time you see a bus with “NOT IN SERVICE” flashing across the top, throw a bottle of Poland Spring at it. Because, as we all know, that shit ain’t good for anything else.
Stay classy.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Rap Music - Non-existent?
Ok, now before I get all the "you better not be talkin' shit about rap" readers (haha like anybody reads this), let me just say I LIKE rap, and that's the reason why I'm bringing its current state into the light.
In my humble opinion, the musical art form known as "rap" all but died with Biggie Smalls and Tupac Shakur. Eminem, Dr. Dre, Fifty Cent and a few others tried valiantly to keep it going in the years following the two rap icons' untimely deaths, and I'll even go so far as to say for the most part they succeeded. However, in light of recent "rap" (coughSouljaboycough), I'm gonna have to put my foot down and call "EPIC FAILURE." I'm about 99% sure that if either Biggie or Tupac were alive to hear this bullshit that is being called "rap," they'd kick the shit out of the perpetrators, and I'm sorry to say (read: damn glad to say) that Soulja Boy would be at the top of the list. His "hit" song, as well as many other songs by many other artists, DON'T MAKE ANY FRIGGIN' SENSE. Whatever happened to that? You know, sense? Biggie used to rap about being in the club with his crew, or about how he used to have to hustle to survive, and the English language was strangled by his grasp of vocabulary - the man would rhyme things that I thought would be impossible, on a constant basis. And most of all, IT MADE SENSE.
Tupac had a way with words as well, but it wasn't in the technical sense - more in the content-sense. As was stated by a co-host on the "Greatest MC" countdown, "Tupac could convince you that the sky was orange. People would tell you 'yo the sky is blue' and you'd be like 'nah bro, it's orange. Tupac said so.'" Tupac rhymed about life on the streets, being a real gangsta shooting at the cops and all that shit. And again, IT MADE SENSE.
"Watch me YOOOOUUUUUUUUU!" What the hell does that mean? You can't turn "you" into a verb. That's ridiculous.
Oh, and I don't just put the blame on Soulja Boy, because he's just riding the wave of stupid-ass songs that have been wrongly-classified as "rap." "Shoulder Lean" and "White T" are both just as dumb. I mean, I can just picture how the songs were thought up: Guy gets pushed in the club by accident, his shoulder dips a bit and he's like "holy shit my shoulder just leaned . . . SHOOOULDA LEEAAAAN, SHOOULDA LEEAAAN." Seriously now?
I just think that whenever any of these so-called "rap songs" come on, Tupac and Biggie roll over in their graves.
Biggie with a little difficulty.
In my humble opinion, the musical art form known as "rap" all but died with Biggie Smalls and Tupac Shakur. Eminem, Dr. Dre, Fifty Cent and a few others tried valiantly to keep it going in the years following the two rap icons' untimely deaths, and I'll even go so far as to say for the most part they succeeded. However, in light of recent "rap" (coughSouljaboycough), I'm gonna have to put my foot down and call "EPIC FAILURE." I'm about 99% sure that if either Biggie or Tupac were alive to hear this bullshit that is being called "rap," they'd kick the shit out of the perpetrators, and I'm sorry to say (read: damn glad to say) that Soulja Boy would be at the top of the list. His "hit" song, as well as many other songs by many other artists, DON'T MAKE ANY FRIGGIN' SENSE. Whatever happened to that? You know, sense? Biggie used to rap about being in the club with his crew, or about how he used to have to hustle to survive, and the English language was strangled by his grasp of vocabulary - the man would rhyme things that I thought would be impossible, on a constant basis. And most of all, IT MADE SENSE.
Tupac had a way with words as well, but it wasn't in the technical sense - more in the content-sense. As was stated by a co-host on the "Greatest MC" countdown, "Tupac could convince you that the sky was orange. People would tell you 'yo the sky is blue' and you'd be like 'nah bro, it's orange. Tupac said so.'" Tupac rhymed about life on the streets, being a real gangsta shooting at the cops and all that shit. And again, IT MADE SENSE.
"Watch me YOOOOUUUUUUUUU!" What the hell does that mean? You can't turn "you" into a verb. That's ridiculous.
Oh, and I don't just put the blame on Soulja Boy, because he's just riding the wave of stupid-ass songs that have been wrongly-classified as "rap." "Shoulder Lean" and "White T" are both just as dumb. I mean, I can just picture how the songs were thought up: Guy gets pushed in the club by accident, his shoulder dips a bit and he's like "holy shit my shoulder just leaned . . . SHOOOULDA LEEAAAAN, SHOOULDA LEEAAAN." Seriously now?
I just think that whenever any of these so-called "rap songs" come on, Tupac and Biggie roll over in their graves.
Biggie with a little difficulty.
Stay classy.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Bottled Water - WTF?
Bottled water is something that's puzzled me for quite some time. According to my ol' man, bottled water came into existence because there were a few wiseasses in New York City who thought that their water tasted better than the water in about 99% of the rest of the country. So, being the wiseasses they were, they thought, "hey, why don't we bottle our water - the extravagance and tastiness of which is so much freakin' better than everyone else's - and, I dunno, sell it to everyone else?" And so they did.Now, my ol' man likes messing with my head about dumb stuff like this, so there is a chance that that story is complete bullshit. Regardless, however, the fact remains that bottled water is quite possibly the stupidest product that has ever been - or ever will be - on the market (and yes, I am including this in that statement). But why is bottled water so dumb?
Why, you ask? It's quite simple, actually - so simple that I can even use your question in the answer: Why the hell would I leave my house, drive my car to a store (especially with gas prices these days), deal with parking, go inside, and wait on a long line to shell out a dollar fifty (and that's minimum) for a bottle of something that I COULD GET FROM THE FAUCET IN MY HOUSE FOR FREE!? In the words of a wise man (I'll let you guess who), "that makes about as much sense as wiping your ass before you take a shit." Also known as, NO SENSE AT ALL.
What's next? Are we going to go to the gas station and drop five bucks in quarters so we can get some air to breathe from the tire pump? That's ridiculous, right?
So is bottled water.
Stay classy.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Captain Obvious - Evil Master of the Self-Evidently Unequivocal?
NOTE: I'd just like to point out that this post is NOT about the Blue Line Comics character called "Captain Obvious," but about the idea of being an ass by calling someone "Captain Obvious," the conditions for doing so being listed below. End of commercial!
Have you ever stopped and tried to count how many times the infamous superhero known as Captain Obvious makes an appearance in your day-to-day life? If you know the nature of this beast, then skip the following paragraph.
For those still in the dark when it comes to this ubiquitous entity, allow me to shed some light on the whole thing: whenever someone says something that's so utterly obvious that it's slightly painful - yet says it as though they just had an epiphany to rival the one the people had at the sight of Jesus turning water to wine at that wedding - that's when you clear your throat, turn to face them with a genuine smile on your face and say, "Why, thank you, Captain Obvious." (I'm in Theology right now, if it wasn't obvious. And yes, I fully realize the irony of that statement. Anyway.)
Now that the recap is over, allow me to continue. Captain Obvious is a menace. Let's just get that out of the way. In any given day, between real-life and Internet conversations, the so-called "Captain" rears his ugly head numerous times. How many, exactly? Too many.
Why exactly is Captain Obvious such an evil force? Why do his nefarious actions directly counter his heroic title? Such astute questions, and the answers, in keeping with the irony inherent in this discussion, are quite . . . obvious.
As the notion of Captain Obvious spread - by word of mouth and through the almost viral mass-communcation abilities of any individual connected to the Internet - people began becoming more and more self-conscious of what they said and, perhaps more importantly, when and how they said it. How many times have you bit back saying something that you knew was important to the situation at hand - regardless of the situation itself - simply because you weren't sure if this important tidbit was already common knowledge amongst those involved? I know that that's happened to me more than once, and I'm not important - imagine if that were to happen to someone who was actually influential in the world? I mean, President Bush must have this happen on a daily basis, because I know he's a student of many of the ancient philosophers, so he's not a complete idiot, yet he sure seems to be about as sharp as a marble.
What I'm trying to say is, Captain Obvious might have had noble roots. Maybe some bored kid (who was somewhat of an asshole) had been having a bad day, and some well-to-do old guy on the street said to him something along the lines of, "wow, you look like you've been having a pretty bad day," to which he involuntarily replied, "thanks, Captain Obvious." The fact remains, however, that in his application, Captain Obvious has changed sides. Like an across-time-and-space version of the classic game of "telephone", what started out as a simple, innocent comment has morphed completely into an evil menace that strikes fear into the hearts of those unsure of the information possessed by their peers, lest Captain Obvious make an appearance at their next utterance.
Captain Obvious went from hero to villain. That's not supposed to happen. He shall be known from now until eternity's end as Evil Master of the Self-Evidently Unequivocal. And now that he has become a villain, I'm going to have to get Batman to kick his ass, because I don't trust Superman. In fact, after class I was thinking of going down to Walgreens and buying some Kryptonite, because for a mineral that only existed on a planet that, ironically, no longer exists, Superman's enemies sure seem to have no trouble procuring large amounts of it.
But that's another observation, that I'll maybe talk about next time, but in the meantime, I hope you think twice about invoking the name of the hero-formerly-known-as "Captain Obvious."
. . . because I have Batman on speed dial.
Stay classy.
Have you ever stopped and tried to count how many times the infamous superhero known as Captain Obvious makes an appearance in your day-to-day life? If you know the nature of this beast, then skip the following paragraph.
For those still in the dark when it comes to this ubiquitous entity, allow me to shed some light on the whole thing: whenever someone says something that's so utterly obvious that it's slightly painful - yet says it as though they just had an epiphany to rival the one the people had at the sight of Jesus turning water to wine at that wedding - that's when you clear your throat, turn to face them with a genuine smile on your face and say, "Why, thank you, Captain Obvious." (I'm in Theology right now, if it wasn't obvious. And yes, I fully realize the irony of that statement. Anyway.)
Now that the recap is over, allow me to continue. Captain Obvious is a menace. Let's just get that out of the way. In any given day, between real-life and Internet conversations, the so-called "Captain" rears his ugly head numerous times. How many, exactly? Too many.
Why exactly is Captain Obvious such an evil force? Why do his nefarious actions directly counter his heroic title? Such astute questions, and the answers, in keeping with the irony inherent in this discussion, are quite . . . obvious.
As the notion of Captain Obvious spread - by word of mouth and through the almost viral mass-communcation abilities of any individual connected to the Internet - people began becoming more and more self-conscious of what they said and, perhaps more importantly, when and how they said it. How many times have you bit back saying something that you knew was important to the situation at hand - regardless of the situation itself - simply because you weren't sure if this important tidbit was already common knowledge amongst those involved? I know that that's happened to me more than once, and I'm not important - imagine if that were to happen to someone who was actually influential in the world? I mean, President Bush must have this happen on a daily basis, because I know he's a student of many of the ancient philosophers, so he's not a complete idiot, yet he sure seems to be about as sharp as a marble.
What I'm trying to say is, Captain Obvious might have had noble roots. Maybe some bored kid (who was somewhat of an asshole) had been having a bad day, and some well-to-do old guy on the street said to him something along the lines of, "wow, you look like you've been having a pretty bad day," to which he involuntarily replied, "thanks, Captain Obvious." The fact remains, however, that in his application, Captain Obvious has changed sides. Like an across-time-and-space version of the classic game of "telephone", what started out as a simple, innocent comment has morphed completely into an evil menace that strikes fear into the hearts of those unsure of the information possessed by their peers, lest Captain Obvious make an appearance at their next utterance.
Captain Obvious went from hero to villain. That's not supposed to happen. He shall be known from now until eternity's end as Evil Master of the Self-Evidently Unequivocal. And now that he has become a villain, I'm going to have to get Batman to kick his ass, because I don't trust Superman. In fact, after class I was thinking of going down to Walgreens and buying some Kryptonite, because for a mineral that only existed on a planet that, ironically, no longer exists, Superman's enemies sure seem to have no trouble procuring large amounts of it.
But that's another observation, that I'll maybe talk about next time, but in the meantime, I hope you think twice about invoking the name of the hero-formerly-known-as "Captain Obvious."
. . . because I have Batman on speed dial.
Stay classy.
Monday, September 8, 2008
A Little Poetic . . .
Here's a little self-reflection. There's an observation in there somewhere. I swear.
"I Don't Know"
When time and space converge, upon the verge of irrelevance
That’s where I am, standing torn, between ill will and benevolence
I try and try as the seconds go by to strike a balance
Hanging over the edge of reason like a brown-skinned valance
With mind and soul, using eyes unseen
To view an unclear world through glasses that are scratched and unclean
Standing on the precipice of an upward plunge to heaven above
Loving life but knowing nothing of living in love
Why does it seem that the faithless can always rely on the facts,
When the fact is, they don’t fear failure, but failure to act?
I don’t fear either, but I do fear or a lot
As in, do I know why I’m here, or not?
God knows I’m trying to discover the reason
That I wake up every morning – that I’m still breathing
I don’t know.
"I Don't Know"
When time and space converge, upon the verge of irrelevance
That’s where I am, standing torn, between ill will and benevolence
I try and try as the seconds go by to strike a balance
Hanging over the edge of reason like a brown-skinned valance
With mind and soul, using eyes unseen
To view an unclear world through glasses that are scratched and unclean
Standing on the precipice of an upward plunge to heaven above
Loving life but knowing nothing of living in love
Why does it seem that the faithless can always rely on the facts,
When the fact is, they don’t fear failure, but failure to act?
I don’t fear either, but I do fear or a lot
As in, do I know why I’m here, or not?
God knows I’m trying to discover the reason
That I wake up every morning – that I’m still breathing
I don’t know.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
First and a Half Observation
Okay, so that was Maria. She's freakin' awesome (that's another observation, you get that one for free).
But the actual observation here is kind of depressing.
I'm sorry guys, but we're idiots. That's one thing that at least 99.99999% of dudes have in common, and I'm including myself in that one.
See, when (not if) we mess up and our lady friends get that "why'd you say/do that" teary-eye look that tells us we've messed up pretty fucking royally, we don't get it. Not immediately anyway. So right off the bat we're 0 for 2; not only have we fucked up, but we haven't realized it. Actually, 0 for 3, because in addition to those, we haven't started trying to fix whatever we did.
I said that we don't get it, at least not immediately. But we get it eventually. There will be a time where it'll hit you, and when it does, it won't matter what you're doing. You can be brushing your teeth, mowing the lawn, playing Halo, hell - you can be curing cancer. But when that realization hits you, you'll freak the hell out. You'll try and do and say anything in your power to get back what you've lost. And in doing so, 9 out of 10 times you're going to fuck it up even worse.
So what can you do? The only thing you can do is wait.
Yup.
Wait.
It's probably the hardest thing to do in that situation, but it's the smartest thing to do, and the only thing to do if you want there to be a chance in hell for you to get back on any sort of good terms with your lady friend that you hitherto unknowingly hurt intensely. The ladies know things, man. They know themselves better than we know them (an obvious statement that seems to puzzle most when they're in this situation). They know when they'll be ready to say something to you about it. So shut the hell up and wait.
If this sounds a lot like "don't be a 'man' and let the chick handle it" to you, then congratulations, you're getting the gist. If you really want this chick around, you'll be willing to lose a few man points - and maybe gain them back later. ;-)
That's it. I'm out.
Stay classy.
But the actual observation here is kind of depressing.
I'm sorry guys, but we're idiots. That's one thing that at least 99.99999% of dudes have in common, and I'm including myself in that one.
See, when (not if) we mess up and our lady friends get that "why'd you say/do that" teary-eye look that tells us we've messed up pretty fucking royally, we don't get it. Not immediately anyway. So right off the bat we're 0 for 2; not only have we fucked up, but we haven't realized it. Actually, 0 for 3, because in addition to those, we haven't started trying to fix whatever we did.
I said that we don't get it, at least not immediately. But we get it eventually. There will be a time where it'll hit you, and when it does, it won't matter what you're doing. You can be brushing your teeth, mowing the lawn, playing Halo, hell - you can be curing cancer. But when that realization hits you, you'll freak the hell out. You'll try and do and say anything in your power to get back what you've lost. And in doing so, 9 out of 10 times you're going to fuck it up even worse.
So what can you do? The only thing you can do is wait.
Yup.
Wait.
It's probably the hardest thing to do in that situation, but it's the smartest thing to do, and the only thing to do if you want there to be a chance in hell for you to get back on any sort of good terms with your lady friend that you hitherto unknowingly hurt intensely. The ladies know things, man. They know themselves better than we know them (an obvious statement that seems to puzzle most when they're in this situation). They know when they'll be ready to say something to you about it. So shut the hell up and wait.
If this sounds a lot like "don't be a 'man' and let the chick handle it" to you, then congratulations, you're getting the gist. If you really want this chick around, you'll be willing to lose a few man points - and maybe gain them back later. ;-)
That's it. I'm out.
Stay classy.
First Post!
Hey. I'm Fred, currently a college freshman at St. John's University in Queens, NY, majoring in Psychology.
I'm actually (like seriously) legally blind in both eyes without my glasses. However, it seems that because I can't see the fine details, I get to see the big picture - the forest for the trees and all that jive - and in doing so, I see things that most people either don't see or pretend not to see.
So that's the purpose of this blog. I'm going to try to update this whenever I witness or hear something that would be a "what the hell . . .?" sort of thing. Oh yeah. There will probably be a bit of profanity (it's something that I've been working on limiting though, so I'll try to keep it to a minimum), as well as a few not-for-youngsters situations (I mean, hell, I'm in college).
Anyway, I'm in class here, so I'm going to have to get on this assignment.
Until next time.
Stay classy.
I'm actually (like seriously) legally blind in both eyes without my glasses. However, it seems that because I can't see the fine details, I get to see the big picture - the forest for the trees and all that jive - and in doing so, I see things that most people either don't see or pretend not to see.
So that's the purpose of this blog. I'm going to try to update this whenever I witness or hear something that would be a "what the hell . . .?" sort of thing. Oh yeah. There will probably be a bit of profanity (it's something that I've been working on limiting though, so I'll try to keep it to a minimum), as well as a few not-for-youngsters situations (I mean, hell, I'm in college).
Anyway, I'm in class here, so I'm going to have to get on this assignment.
Until next time.
Stay classy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
