2009

. . . was a helluva year. God Almighty, what a year. A year of opposites, to be sure. Examples? Oh I got plenty.

There was quite a lot of fun. There was quite a lot of terror. QUITE a lot.

I laughed like a madman. I cried like a bitch.

I got to do things that I'd always wanted to do. I had to do things that I'd never wanted to do. Really.

I lost family - and through the loss, gained more family than I even know what to do with (in a good way!).

I got closer to some peeps. I fell out of touch with some peeps.

There were points where I liked the person I was. There were points where I didn't.

But at the end of the day (or year), I'm still standing. I've got my health, my sense of humor, my lovely lady, my homeboys, and (what's left of) my sanity.

One of the things I'm most excited about? I'm going to get published in a major anthology that is slated to be distributed widely in Barnes and Noble and Borders. I'm going to make a name for myself in a field dominated by fifty-plus-year-olds who've been at it since before I was even a glimmer in my mother's eye, and be successful. That sounds like a win to me.

So, in retrospect, as many have been saying, fuck 2009, but do it gently. While 2009 was a screaming terror ride through most of it, it taught me a LOT.

Seems like college is actually teaching me shit about life. Who'da thunk it.

Here I come 2010. Let's do it big.

Stay classy

Get off the Phone, Bad Guys!

Readership, I've noticed something through my scrupulous watching of movies over this winter break (when I should have been working kgb_ shifts, reading, or writing): whenever the movie is about some kind of organized crime bad guy that organizations like the FBI and people affiliated with such organizations want to capture or kill, there's usually a process to the whole thing. First off, we get the guy/gal's name, then someone (usually the superior) gives the FBI agent or FBI-affiliated a large-ish manila folder with a dossier and a bunch of pictures of this bad guy, and, inevitably, in every single picture, this evildoer is ALWAYS ON THE PHONE.

Really, bad guy?

Let's look at this logically - when do you want to be the MOST incognito? When you're talking to your evildoer cohorts, that's when! How is it that they don't catch you doing regular people shit, like jogging, or coaching your kid's soccer team, or running to the store for a gallon of milk, but they're able to catch you - without fail - planning your next diabolical scheme over the telephone?

Here's a free tip for you dumbasses: whatever it is you're doing when you're NOT on the phone, do that when you ARE on the phone. Because it almost seems like you're freakin' INVISIBLE to the people that would gain intel on you to try and stop you, UNTIL you put that phone up to your ear.

Shit. And then you wonder how they catch you in the end.

If you're a criminal mastermind trying to do some epic criminal shit with your evil underground criminal organization, STAY OFF THE PHONE IN PUBLIC.

And whatever you do.

Stay classy

Hey Assholes!

Merry Christmas, from all of us at Legally Blind Observations.

In case you don't know, that's just me. Cletus died of beard cancer. We'll do a Dan Fogelberg and drink a toast to the old guy's innocence/soul/memory.

But yeah. Get drunk, be merry, get laid, but above all, be safe.

Stay classy

-Fred the Observer

Why Do You Say Such Stupid Shit? Volume 4

Once again, readership, I've come back with yet another installment of what seems to be the only thing that regularly pisses me right the hell off, that being how people tend to say the stupidest shit and make me sad on the inside.

As an aside, I might actually make this a "Feature" if I can get enough stupid shit that people say. Shouldn't be too hard.

Anyway.

The first one comes from a question someone (most likely a Communist) asked of Rebecca aka R n' R: "Did you know that Thanksgiving was on a Thursday this year?"

NO WAY SERIOUSLY? If you hadn't told me, I would've celebrated it on Wednesday, like I did last year. Oh no, wait a second . . . I'm pretty sure I celebrated it on Thursday last year . . . and the year before . . . and the year before that.

ARE YOU SENSING A TREND HERE, DUMBASS? It's ALWAYS on a Thursday. If you'd eat turkey instead of STUPID, maybe you'd be a little better off, asshole.

Another favorite: "What have I done!?" Usually it's drawn out, and sounds really REALLY confused, so it's more like "WHAT have I doooooooone!?"

Hey asshole - WHAT DID YOU JUST DO? Assuming you don't have extreme-short-term-memory amnesia (or whatever the technical term for that shit is), then you SHOULD remember what you just did, and thus SHOULDN'T have to ask, ESPECIALLY not in an "I'm not asking anyone in particular" rhetorical manner.

And the best one, by far - usually uttered by parental units when they're trying to make a point. Ironically enough, however, instead of making a point, they make me MAD.

But I digress.

You as a five-year-old: "But Jimmy told me to do it!"
Parents: "So if Jimmy told you to jump off a building, you'd just do it without a second thought too?"

NO, DUMBASS.

I might be young, Mommy, but I wasn't born yesterday. There is a HUGE difference between what Jimmy told me to do and PLUMMETING TO MY FIVE-YEAR-OLD DOOM OFF A BUILDING. And to be quite frank, Mommy, if you can't grasp the distinction between childhood shenanigans and five-year-old DOOM OFF A BUILDING, then perhaps you should put me up for adoption. Because raising retards is hard, but being raised BY a retard . . . is retarded.

Stop saying such stupid shit!

Actually wait. I find myself at an interesting internal struggle here. If people were to stop saying such stupid shit, while it would make my life a lot less stressful, it would also deprive me of something to bitch about here, and writing these Observations DOES make me happy.

Hmm. Carry on, idiots. Give me something to write about.

And whatever you do, for God's sake.

Stay classy

Heat Surge

Readership, I know I've been a little on the low side with the Observations lately. There is a reason - I went through a few of my more recent ones, and realized that there wasn't too much quality in them. I'll say it plainly: after Blame Elevators for Obesity, the next "good" Observation (in my mind) was Pigeons. This saddens me, so now I'm going to opt for a more "quality over quantity" approach. This means that you might have to wait a little longer for Observations, but each one will be a winner.

Like this one.

There's this new product out there called the Heat Surge. It's made by Amish craftsmen, costs around $300, and as you can see, it's basically a portable space heater made up to look like a fireplace, complete with fake coals and a fake roaring fire behind them up against a screen. The cool thing about it is that the "fire" emits heat, but as it's not actually real fire, it doesn't burn when touched. How does it work? From the website's Frequently Asked Questions:

"Virtually silent fan forced technology, 24 blade Air-O dynamic fan draws cool air through the back into the wind tunnel heat chamber, and disperses out into your home the bone soothing heat."

Have you spotted the one little snag here yet? Read it again. Go on, I'll wait.

Still no?

Okay, I'll tell you.

When in the hell have Amish people EVER used "virtually silent fan forced TECHNOLOGY," or ANY TECHNOLOGY AT ALL!? They almost have to go to confession for wearing a damn wristwatch, for God's sake, but a fucking silent forced fan that draws cool air back into a wind tunnel heat chamber and disperses it out into your home, and has a nifty little fake fire and coals to put the image of a cozy fireplace in mind? I mean, shit, might as well just start shopping online and watching TV too, cuz you're Amish-cred is shot to shit after that.

For $300 (more, after shipping), I'll buy a sweater and an Xbox 360 and be warm and entertained.

Sheesh.

Stay classy

Blame Elevators for Obesity

Unintentionally, it seems that I've done back-to-back "Blame X for Y" posts. While this is a complete coincidence, readership, the issue that I'm bringing up in this Observation is quite a serious one.

The following is a true story.

It will sound mean. It is mean.

It will sound exaggerated. It is the truth.

Today, I was going to see my girlfriend Jordan on the fourth floor. I live on the ground floor, which, due to some retard's design decision, is called the "basement." So technically, she lives on the fifth floor, but whatever.

Anyway, I got into the elevator, pressed the button for the fourth (aka fifth) floor, and stood back. As the door began to slide shut, a strange sound reached my ears. It was almost as if a mute elephant had been airlifted to the top of one of those amazingly high and steep staircases that the Mayans seemed to love to put on the sides of their temples, and then dropped down the entire staircase. Except with like fourteen elephants that were three times as large as they would usually be in the wild.

At this point, I'm like "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!?" The ground's shaking, and whatever the hell is making this noise is getting closer - and fast. I start to mash the "door close" button, hoping beyond hope that whatever fucking super-tiger-dinosaur creature that's coming towards me gets assed out of eating me because the elevator door closes on it.

No such luck, however. A large, morbidly obese arm - notice how I said ARM, not PERSON - hooked itself around the door and basically forced it back open again. And what followed was the biggest, morbidestly obesest person I'd ever seen, huffing and puffing like the Big Bad Wolf after an asthma attack. It (because I honestly couldn't tell if this was a dude or a chick) stepped into the elevator with me - and the elevator dropped an inch or two - and I stepped back as far as I could, giving this creature room.

The chubbiest of fingers reached out towards the row of buttons, and pressed . . .

1.

WHAT THE FUCK!?

What you're saying is, you could run at nearly SIXTY MILES PER HOUR so you could finja your way into the elevator and fucking SMOOSH me into the CORNER, but you couldn't climb TWO FLIGHTS OF STAIRS!? And then have the nerve to be like "hurry up . . fucking elevator . . . " under your breath!?

GET SOME EXERCISE ASSHOLE.

And for God's sake, whatever you do.

Stay classy

Blame Darwin for Porn

And anything else people do that you don't like. But I'm gonna stick with porn for this Observation.

Anyway.

Humans are obviously very special, unique members of the animal kingdom, for many reasons. Our opposable thumbs, for example, make us very different from many animals, except for our monkey ancestors.

But there's something else, something so rare in the animal kingdom that we only share it with one other animal (the dolphin). What is it?

We get pleasure from sex.

Now you all see the porn connection. But what about Darwin? Glad you asked.

Darwin's theory of natural selection basically states that traits that will help an organism survive and reproduce - or are basically "desirable" - are passed on to the next generation, and those which will not, or aren't desirable, die with the last carriers of them. For example, most animals that exist today have the right side of their bodies controlled by the left side of their brains, and vice-versa. Why, you ask? Imagine being attacked from the right side, and someone smashing the right side of your head. Now, if the right side of your body was controlled by the right side of your brain, the right side of your body would be pretty nonfunctional right now - not good for you in this situation, because your right side is the side closest to your attacker. However, seeing as in actuality the right side of your body is controlled by the left side of your brain, if you were to be smashed in the right side of the head, you'd still be able to raise your right arm and defend yourself. A desirable trait? Fo sho.

But back to porn.

Since humans are one of the two known species that gain pleasure from sex, with regards to Darwin's theory of Natural Selection, there had to be a reason why this trait - gaining pleasure from sex - had to be more desirable than the alternative. The reason why? Years in the future, a business called "the porn industry" would make untold millions - even perhaps billions! - of dollars, exploiting the fact that human beings get pleasure from sex (even if it's with Jackie or Palmela instead of with a significant other).

So yeah. Hate porn? Blame Darwin.

But whatever you do

Stay classy

The Wives of Ninjas

Readership, half-asleep in a stupor borne of having to write a 5-page history paper that I didn't know about until yesterday, due today (which I finished), I had a revelation. Ninjas, while awesome, would have made absolutely terrible husbands. Stick with me here.

I'd have to think that a ninja wouldn't tell his wife that he was a ninja at first, which I imagine would lead to some shit.

"Where were you last night, Isao? And what is this stain on your collar? Hmm!?"
"Uhhh. . ."
"Ohhhhh I knew it, you're cheating!"
"Okay, listen. I assassinated a visiting dignitary last night. The stain on my collar is the blood of a traitor."

Yeah that shit wouldn't go over too well.

And also, in Feudal Japan, the wife was basically the servant to the husband. She cooked, cleaned, washed clothes, planted crops, etc. etc.

Ninjas had to have OD high metabolisms (because of all the running, climbing, and fighting they did), so they would always be eating, meaning his wife would be always at the stove cooking some grub up for him to assassinate- er, eat.

Also, ninjas stay slayin' muthafuckas, so there would be a lot of blood splatters on their clothes and whatnot. I dunno about you, but every time I've tried getting blood out of fabric, it's been pretty difficult, especially if it's set in - and you know ninjas did NOT have that Tide To-Go Pen shit handy after they sliced some dishonorable bitch open and got all his blood on his jacket, so that shit's set in by the time he gets home.

From what I understand of women, "I'm gonna sneak around all the time, murdering people and getting my clothes all bloodied and maybe ripped, but you better wash and mend my clothes and make me dinner cuz I'm HUNGRY!" don't fly. I guess for ninjas back in the day, it was less about finding a wife and more about finding a hooker.

Stay classy

Rosetta Stone

Readership, I've seen a bunch of commercials that piss me off. There's this, this, this, and then there's always the classic this. Rosetta Stone has a commercial that doesn't piss me off, per se, but it makes me wonder a little.

You've probably seen it - it's really the only one that they have, to tell you the truth. In the middle of the commercial, the "narrator" says that Rosetta Stone is so amazing that it's used by different branches of the U.S. Government. She mentions the State Department, the CIA, and NASA.

What the fuck? Why do you need to learn a foreign language to go to space? All the dudes in the ISS know English, so not for that. And unless Rosetta stone has created a freakin' Martian disc, then that shit is useless for a NASA astronaut.

Stupid NASA.

Stay classy

Pigeons

Readership, having been born in suburban Connecticut and lived there for 18 or so years before going to college in New York City, there are countless very dramatic differences between the two - as well as a bunch of subtle ones. One such subtle difference is the behavior of the pigeons in New York City as opposed to the ones in Connecticut.

In Connecticut, the pigeons are pussies. Plain and simple. Basically, you look at one the wrong way and it flies south, regardless of what season it is. If you make a gunshot noise, they scatter like the Whos when the Grinch rolls through. It's actually quite pathetic.

In New York City, however - whoa. These pigeons are hard-fucking-core, man. I walked right up to one last year and gave it the evil eye, and it stared ME down. From around the same height as my ankles, it stared me DOWN. I had to back down and give the little thug some space. I've rolled like four deep, with it being me and three pigeons. They're gangsta as hell. And make a gunshot noise at them? I tried that shit once, and the little fucker pulled out a Glock 9 and ran me for my fitted, then flew away. I was like "what the fuck?"

All that said, squirrels in New York City are just as bitchmade as they are in Connecticut.

Stay classy

You Have GOT to be Shittin' Me (Literally)

Readership, as I was settling in to take a nap today before class, a commercial came on. I've come to the conclusion that 99% of commercials are ridiculous, so I guess I shouldn't have been too surprised, but this one pissed me right the hell off.

It's for this stupidass thing, pictured above. Know what it does?

IT SHITS.

The fuck!?

The DAY that I'm cleaning up a DOLL'S shit, is the day that I roll in said dollshit, then roll in some breadcrumbs and bake until lightly browned.

Ridiculous!

Stay classy

Don't You Have a Dayjob?

Readership, as a college student, I see a lot of weird shit on a regular basis. From transvestites to midgets, and from blonde Asians to (what I'm pretty sure are) crackheads, I've seen it all over this past year and a half. But this semester, I've seen something that both puzzles me and pisses me off.

Watch any movie about college and there's a good chance that you'll see the "40+ single mom that's taking night classes to get her degree" character, and those definitely exist. I have one such woman in my Emergence of Global Society class at 6pm (tonight, actually), who is not only out of her fucking mind, but has also hit on me repeatedly (in English AND Spanish).

This doesn't bother me ("this" being the presence of 40+ single moms in night classes at colleges across the country. every time she hits on me I get hella uncomfortable, cuz she's old and ugly). Having a mother who goes to night school in order to get her Masters for Education, I can understand both the need for the class and the need for the timing (aka at night). My mom is far too busy during the day with teaching and being a mom to be taking classes, and thus she's usually up until untold hours of the morning doing homework and the like.

What DOES bother me, however, is the class I'm in right now, which has not one, but TWO OLD DUDES. One of them looks like he's at least 28, and the other at least 35. The fucked up part? THEY BOTH DRESS LIKE THEY'RE MY AGE. The younger one has the single diamond stud, the big "I'm a thug" watch, the spiked hair and the fly kicks. The older one rocks Ed Hardy like it's his fucking job, with the small-brimmed baseball-esque caps that all you white people love to wear - and WRINKLES FIT FOR A 50-YEAR-OLD WOMAN on his face. And even more fucked up? They're CONSTANTLY trying to mack on this one girl who (I'm pretty sure) is a freshman. So we have a 30+ year old guy going after some 18 year old chick (who is admittedly attractive, but that's not the point). What the fuck.

Why are these guys here? Why don't they have jobs - no, fuck a job, at 35 you need to have a CAREER. Shit man, please don't let me be still taking daytime classes when I'm 35, hitting on 18 year old chicks. If that's my fate, snuff me out NOW.

Old bastards. Sorta failing at that whole "livin' life" thing, aren't you?

Stay classy

Revelation on the Bowl

Readership, as I dropped a deuce today, I had a revelation.

While you can argue all day whether the mother of invention is ingenuity or necessity, at the end of the day, its father will ALWAYS be laziness.

An explanation? Oh of course. I'll go even further than just a mere explanation. I'll give examples.

But first, an explanation.

Inventing something new requires a few things. For one, it requires intelligence. This can be debated, but usually when something that's actually worth a damn gets invented, the inventor wasn't an idiot. The key phrase here is "actually worth a damn." I could invent a toothbrush with four heads and three bristles, and since there's nothing out there that can say it's a toothbrush with four heads and three bristles, it's a new invention. Is it worth a damn, though? Fuck no it's not.

Secondly, inventing something requires creativity. This one can't be debated - every single invention, by its definition, is borne of a thought or idea that is OUTSIDE the norm, aka creative. The Sun was nice, but only around during the day, and the idea of a night-light being anything but a candle or a fireplace was a ridiculous, almost asinine concept before Thomas Edison dropped the mindfuck of lightbulbery on the world.

Thirdly, inventing something requires perseverance. Keeping with the Thomas Edison example, his first lightbulb design was FAR from perfect - as were his second, third, fourth, hundredth, and ten thousandth designs. However, after ten thousand designs that sucked major donkey balls and failed completely, the winning design was invented and the lightbulb lived.

Now all that is well and good, but the SINGLE THING that every invention needs - the inciting incident, the catalyst, the spark - is, unequivocally, pure and utter laziness.

Now it's time to be makin' with the examples.

"I don't wanna have to use this bitchass abacus anymore. It takes too much effort." That led to the calculator.

"I'm sick of having to go out in the woods, cut down a tree, cut it up into logs for hours on end, and then throw it into the fire - JUST to have some heat and be able to cook my food!" Enter the heater and stove.

"Why do I have to use this got-damn stove - all that watching the stuff and making sure it doesn't burn takes hella effort." Hello microwave.

"I really don't wanna have to spend time writing a letter and then waiting for it to get to my homeboy across country." And so the telephone was invented.

Courtesy of Waffles: "'I'm so tired of chasing vagina.' And thus the girlfriend was invented.'"

He's kidding. Calm down.

But yeah. I can go on and on with this all day, but I think you've got the gist down. Every single thing that's been invented was invented due to the inventor's laziness, which just happened to be (ironically) coupled with a dedication and ingenuity that would not let them quit until the stimulus that brought on the need for said laziness was eradicated.

And that, readership, is what I think of while I'm taking a shit.

Stay classy

Actually, No I Didn't Hear You

Readership, once again, a conversational "what the fuck." Let me spit it atcha real quick.

Sometimes, during the course of a conversation (textual or in person), you'll simply not understand something the other person says, or even worse, not hear it. In such situations, it's customary for you to say something along the lines of "what do you mean?" or "what did you say?" respectively.

If the person that you're talking to is NOT a douchebag, they will either explain their meaning more clearly for you until you understand, or repeat what they said a little more loudly or clearly so you can hear it, again, respectively.

However, it seems that there's been a recent trend of people acting absolutely retarded and saying "you know what I mean" (as a statement, not as a question), or "you heard me" in these situations.

Really? I know what you mean, eh? Funny, because usually in the course of normal human interactions, if I knew what you meant, I'm pretty sure I WOULDN'T BE ASKING FOR CLARIFICATION.

Oh? I heard you, did I? I mean, it's just that when I hear what people say, I don't tend to ask them to repeat it because I DIDN'T hear it.

Extreme circumstances can arise, most notably in textual communications (it's very hard to tell inflection and intent through purely textual communications), although there can be complications in face-to-face communications (especially if one or both of the conversation-havers are sarcastic and/or assholes). But barring that, if you say something to which I respond "what do you mean?" or "wait, what did you say?" FUCKING ANSWER ME SO WE CAN MOVE ON.

Jeeze man.

Oh. And by the way. This is the 150th post of this here steaming pile of shit. To all of you who have been here since day 1 (aka one or two of you, if that), and to all of you who have jumped on board and stayed (for whatever reason), all I have to say is . . .

I am so sorry.

Nah, I'm kidding. Thanks. All the times I've heard positive shit about this (and negative too - haters keep hatin' cuz I thrives off it!) has kept me going.

All that mushy shit aside, you've got homework. And you know what it is.

Stay classy

If Only You Could Speak as Well as You Write

Readership, I'm in a Theology course that emphasizes the connection between pagan literature and Biblical scripture. As such, we delve into some shit that might border on bullshit, and most of this stuff is in the form of written words (essays, written quizzes, message board postings, etc.)

People write some OD eloquent shit, I'm not gonna lie. But then, the professor asks them to read what they've written.

This is when the problems start.

"Like, what I'm, like, tryin' to like, say, is, like this is all, like, myths."

What the fuck? That sentence was ten words long, and you expanded it wholly unnecessarily to fifteen.

Fuckin' bullshit.

Stay classy

Yet ANOTHER Thing that I Hate

Yup, readership, I'm back with something else that pisses me off. You can add this to bottled water, newer Cartoon Network, the Land Before Time, people who act retarded, shoes that make noise, Nostradamus, Kanye West and stupidass commercials. My path to Lewis Black-ness is almost complete haha.

But I digress.

Something that I've noticed people doing a lot lately (not specifically this example, but this is the format) is as follows:

Person A: Do you want a Coke or a Dr. Pepper?
Person B: Yes.

Let us examine this bullshit for a moment. Person B has been given two options (which, I might add, are QUITE different), and instead of opting for one or the other, or even giving the much-hated "I don't care"/"surprise me" response (fucking HATE that), they've chosen to respond with "Yes." Yes what, dumbass?

PICK ONE YA FUCK.

And whatever you do

Stay classy

An Interesting Philosophical Question

Note: While this post operates on what I'll call "THE MAIN POINT" (which you'll see below), this is NOT a post against women, or a post degrading women. While I know in my heart of hearts that women (and more specifically, Vaginas) will bring on the end of the male half of the human race, the following bears no male chauvinistic hatred towards women, and is merely an observation and statement of an opinion which will (hopefully) make you laugh. End of commercial!

Readership, as a kgb_ Special Agent, I handle a lot of questions from the average American (and now, apparently the average UK resident as well). Some of them are normal, involving math, science, or English, or who starred in some movie. Others, however, are ridiculous. I'm not allowed to repeat the questions I find ridiculous outside of kgb_ because of the odd chance that the person who asked the question (technically in confidence with us at kgb_) will see their question and see me saying how ridiculous it was and feel bad and spread the word that kgb_ Special Agents are assholes and make us lose business, etc.

Anyway.

That said, every now and then, there's a question asked that is PURE GOLD, and as it happens, I have one such question currently, which I will put to you. I hope you're ready.

kgb_ customer: If you force sex on a hooker, is it considered rape or shoplifting?

Yes.

That was my reaction.

But before I go any further, allow me to acknowledge that LEGALLY, this is rape. As in, if you were to force sex on a hooker, and were arrested, you would be charged with rape, not shoplifting. The following is more of an Observationalist view than a legal view on the subject.

That said, let us examine this question by first defining our terms "hooker," "rape," and "shoplifting."

Thanks to good ol' Dictionary.com we can easily find those definitions. I'll define them quickly for you.

Hooker - slang n. prostitute
Rape - n. the unlawful compelling of a woman through physical force or duress to have sexual intercourse
Shoplifting - v. to steal (merchandise) as a shoplifter

Now, a hooker (or prostitute) renders sexual services for financial gain. Shoplifting (or stealing) entails getting services rendered or goods delivered and not enduring any (immediate) negative financial repercussions.

THE MAIN POINT: Hookers are criminals, and as such, give up most of their rights when they become hookers. That might sound fucked up, but to everyone who says "that's not right, Fred the Observer! You're fucked up man!" think about this: whenever you see a hooker, do you immediately try to befriend them? Or are you like "fuck this hooker, me and my bros/hos are gonna mess up her day!"? Of course you think the latter. Any responsible American would.

And I don't wanna hear shit about "ohh they have their children to feed and they're raising the kid by themselves cuz the baby daddy left" fuck that shit. If you weren't a loose hussy, you wouldn't have the kid in the first place, so having a kid is no reason to be a hooker (MAYBE a stripper, but not a hooker).

That said, I believe that forcing sex on a hooker is shoplifting. You're stealing a service that you'd normally pay for.

Fucked up? Perhaps. But you won't have to worry about any of this if you just do one simple thing.

What is that thing? Oh readership, you already know.

Stay classy

Boobies

That got your attention, didn't it? Thought so.

But this post is only about 40% about boobies. The other 60% is about some booby-related shit that troubled me greatly. Let me explain.

First off, the product is called Easy Curves. It's this little stick thing that costs $9.99 and looks like a racing baton, with two pistons (one on each side). What females do is they hold the pistons and squeeze them into the baton and then pull them out again, and then repeat. What THAT does is, on average, increase bust size from 36.4 inches to 37.2 inches in 30 days.

Now I'm sure many of you are reading this and thinking something along the lines of "why does a machine that only costs $9.99 (plus shipping and handling) and increases the size of the b00bz bother you so, Fred the Observer?"

And to be honest, I don't really know how to answer the question. Besides the fact that boobies are awesome pretty much 100% of the time and all these shenanigans with shaping and shit are (in my opinion) pretty unnecessary, I dunno.

I think, actually, that the motion is what bothers me the most. That, coupled with the expression on the demonstration chick's face on the home page of the website (linked above). She looks like . . . I dunno. Like she's fixin' to bust a nut or something. Whatever the "official" description of her expression is, it's DEFINITELY not the expression that one would expect one to have when using such a machine.

Be happy with your boobies ladies!

Shit, I am.

Hehe.

Stay classy

That's YOUR Job!

Readership, I'm currently sitting in a core science class (Science Inquiry: Energy), where the teacher is ridiculous. After dropping some ol' profound scientific shit, she'll look around with this empty sorta smile on her face, see that we have no fucking clue what she's talking about, and then follow it with "is that right?"

The fuck? You tell me, teach.

That brings back memories of the two dumbest teachers I ever had. Note how I said "dumbest" and not "worst." These two, while they were about as smart as my right asscheek, were hilarious fun to be in class with, and I actually did learn stuff, so they weren't "bad" teachers, they were just "dumb."

Anyway.

I had a teacher for seventh grade Social Studies, whose first name was Vanessa (I figure I'll protect their identities a little better by giving their first names because everyone knows their last names haha). She was mildly attractive (for an idiot), but she was so dumb it was almost painful. If you'll recall, in seventh grade Social Studies we studied early non-ancient history (aka like right after all that BC shit). We started the year with a quick review, and the discussion came to the Roman Colosseum. She got very excited, snatched up the chalk from the shelf, and started to write it on the blackboard.

R . . . o . . . m, a . . . n . . . K--

Whoa wait? Since when is "Colosseum" spelled with a fucking K?

I have more stories about good ol' Vanessa, but I'll leave those for another time. The next teacher, while infinitely sexier than Vanessa, was also twice as dumb.

Good ol' Lisa (once again, first name basis here, to protect the idiot - I mean, innocent) was my 11th grade Pre-Calculus teacher. When she wasn't flirting with another teacher (who just happened to be married, and had a hot wife, though that's just hearsay as I've never seen her), she was trying her best to teach us Pre-Calculus. She was one of those "I'm gonna write everything on the overhead and then you write it down too" teachers. I sat in the front row, right on the other side of the projector, with my friend Twevito.

There was one time that Lisa spent about ten minutes trying to solve an equation that she had given us for homework the night before. And she COULD NOT DO IT. So she said "screw it, I can't do this anymore."

And we sat there.

FOR FORTY MINUTES!

Fuckin' Lisa.

Stay classy

The One Trump Card We Have

Readership, if you'll recall, my roommate Waffles and I have predicted that the existence of mankind (just the male aspect) will come to an end at the hands (lips?) of Vagina. And if you won't recall, you should read this . . . and then drop 'n gimme fifty.

Anyway.

Faced with the knowledge that our half of the species will inevitably become either enslaved or extinct because of Vagina, Waffles and I decided that something had to be done. As Men, we had to make sure that if we were goin' down, we weren't gonna go down like no bitchass nyukkas.

So we sat down and brainstormed. And brainstormed. And thought. And thought some more.

And then we discovered the solution - the one trump card that we could ever have against the menace that is ({}).

Chocolate.

Flavored.

Semen.

Stay classy

Abortion

Readership, the constant and highly controversial debate over abortion is, in my humble opinion, fucking retarded. This statement might piss a few of you off. Did it piss you off?

Good.

People need to get pissed off. That's the only way shit changes.

But I digress.

Abortion is, to put it simply, the killing of an unborn fetus while it's still in the womb. Usually an abortion is used for "accidental" pregnancies (i.e. "we were drunk" or "the condom broke," etc.).

I don't like abortions. But in my dislike for them, I realize something else. Let me spell it out real nice for you.

Unless either A) I'm a blood relative of the woman considering having an abortion or B) I put the baby INSIDE the woman considering having an abortion, MY OPINION DOESN'T FUCKING MATTER. What I absolutely HATE is when people try to convince other people not to have an abortion, or to have an abortion. WHO THE FUCK CARES WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT THIS? Is it YOUR child? Are YOU gonna be paying for all the food and clothes and diapers and school and doctors visits and all that? FUCK no you're not.

Let me be perfectly clear. It's one thing to express your opinion. The First Amendment of our Constitution allows for freedom of speech, and the fact that it's the FIRST Amendment tells you how important our Founding Fathers thought it was to have such a freedom. And furthermore, if you'll note this very post, above, you'll see that I myself expressed my opinion, and said "I don't like abortions." So I'm NOT against people expressing their opinion; it's what this country was born to do.

All that said, it is another thing ENTIRELY to attempt to foist your opinion on someone else. Like the fucking decision isn't difficult ENOUGH already? You feel the need to make these people feel even worse? Fuck you.

Once again. If you're not either A) Related to the mother, B) Responsible for the child, or C) Willing to pay 100% of the expenses that bringing the child into the world will accrue (food, medical, clothing, diapers, etc.), then guess what?

YOU HAVE NO SAY. Leave the potential parents to make their fucking decision in peace.

And God, whatever you assholes do, PLEASE . . .

Stay classy

"With Extreme Prejudice" - You Guessed it, Another WTF?

Readership, before I get into this Observation, let me say this. There is a LOT of shit going on in my life right now (most of it on the so-so side of the line, leaning towards FML). Of all that stuff, the one thing I can actually do anything about is a major essay (a midterm essay, in fact) that's due in my History class tomorrow night at 6:50 . . . an essay, mind you, that I haven't started. I have full confidence that I'll finish it before the deadline, but in the meantime, in true "stupidass college kid throwing his education away" fashion, I'm going to procrastinate by writing this (and perchance, even more Observations!?). So yeah. Enjoy the fruits of my procrastination/fucking-up-my-life-ery.

Anyway.

The phrase "with extreme prejudice" has always baffled me just a little bit. It's just an awkward phrase - look at it: EXTREME prejudice? Is there another, lesser, not-as-extreme version of prejudice? I wasn't around during the Civil Rights Movement and all that, but from what I've read about it, shit got pretty extreme - I mean it doesn't get much more extreme than tear gas, German Shepherds and high-pressure hoses, does it?

The term comes up a lot in military applications, and thus comes up a lot MORE in military-themed video games. I played one such game (I think it was SOCOM Fireteam Bravo on PSP), where my main objective was to infiltrate a known terrorist stronghold and neutralize the cell "with extreme prejudice." To put that in layman's terms, they wanted me to sneak into the bad guys' hideout and kill them all REALLY REALLY HARD. Which is ridiculous. Think about it - how the hell am I supposed to kill them HARD? There aren't degrees of death. Either you're dead or you're alive.

I can understand saying something like "take no prisoners" which would put me in the mind that if it moves, breathes and might have a gun, it's cool for me to shoot it repeatedly until it doesn't move or breathe anymore. But "neutralize the cell with extreme prejudice" is just silly. What do you want me to do, shoot the terrorists dead and then defecate on their bodies? Really, what more can I do to them after they're dead?

So yeah. "With extreme prejudice" is a stupid term. Bitches.

Stay classy

Idiots . . .

Readership, I'm gonna be quick with this one A) because I'm tired as HELL and B) because I'm trying to peep this Yankee game.

But I promised my cousin, electronics and computer guy, creative partner, supplier of all things, and all-around badass Jay that I would bitch about this. And bitch I shall.

Notice, if you will, the picture above. This sign is attached to a wrought-iron gate that's closed 99% of the time, which "guards" the shared driveway between my cousin's house and the neighbor's house. The neighbors, who act as if they're severely retarded, made this sign.

Now, I'm not sure how many of you live in New York (City or State), but for the benefit of those who don't, I'll say this: dialing 311 in New York will give you NY Information. In Connecticut, and most other states (as far as I know), the number to dial for Information is 411 (hence the phrase, "what's the 411?").

In case you haven't gotten the point yet, let me lay it out. These dumb fucks, in an attempt to intimidate anybody who would think "hmm this looks like a good place to park" (because between my cousin, my aunt and my grandma - the three people who live in the house - NONE OF THEM HAVE A CAR), threatened to call Information if someone parks in the driveway.

"Information, how may I help you?"
"There is a car parked illegally in the driveway!"
"Well sir, not to be rude, but WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT ME TO DO ABOUT IT?"
". . . oh shit, this is Information. Not the police."
"No shit. Have a nice day."
Click!

Anyway. There you go Jay. Keep it pimpin' pimpin',

And as for the rest of you.

Stay classy

Shoes That Make Noise

BUG THE SHIT OUTTA ME. I dunno how people wear shoes that make a loud noise EVERY SINGLE TIME YOU TAKE A STEP (unless they're tap dancers. I fucks with that). As a ninja, I move silently all day every day. If with every step I took, I made so much fuckin' noise, I'd have to kill someone.

Sheesh.

Stay classy

THE APOCALYPSE!

Readership, for the past few years, I'm sure you've been hearing about how the Mayans supposedly predicted that the world as we know it would cease to exist in the near future - specifically, on Friday December 21, 2012. Everyone has SOMETHING to say about it, whether it's Bible-thumpers that are saying the Mayans are full of shit, or so-called "scholars" that say that there is a high probability that this might happen, given the past history of the Mayans and their predictions, or the followers of Nostradamus (who apparently predicted every bad thing that's ever happened in the last few centuries), or the fucking geniuses that are milking the whole 12/21/2012 thing for all its worth by making a movie about it (which I'll probably see).

However, they're all full of shit. And what's better, I can prove it. A bold claim, you say? Do I hear a clamor for evidence? Fuck yeah I do. And I've got it. Read on!

Let's talk about these Nostradamus-following idiots - but first, let's play a quick little game. It's called "Completely Nonsensical Statement or Nostradamus' Prophecy?" The way you play the game is pretty simple. Below, I'm going to give you four statements. Your job is to guess if each statement is either A) a completely nonsensical statement or B) a prophecy made by the apparently omniscient Michele de Nostradame (aka Nostradamus). Simple enough right? Ready? Okay - go!

1. Sitting alone at night in secret study; it is placed on the brass tripod. A slight flame comes out of emptiness and makes successful that which should not be believed in vain.

2. The cry of the child is only heard by the few; the silence by the many. With great winds the third day will come and with it darkness that only the light can cure.

3. Through anger and internal hatreds, the exiles will hatch a plot against the king. Secretly they will place enemies as a threat, and his own old adherents will find sedition against them.

4. The prince of light will return in a time of sadness. He will alight upon his palace, only to find it cloaked in darkness and full of woe.

So there you have it. Four statements. Now it's your turn to try and discover which ones are completely nonsensical statements and which ones are actual prophecies from Nostradamus.

Stumped? Okay, here are the answers: 1. Nostradamus; 2. Completely nonsensical statement; 3. Nostradamus; 4. Completely nonsensical statement.

The point I'm trying to make here is, if I hadn't told you which was which, would you have been able to tell the difference - DEFINITIVELY? That means without guessing and just happening to be right. If you can, power to you. But if, as I believe, you can't, then what the hell are you worried about? Some nonsense that can be interpreted freely and differently by almost anyone reading it?

Now, let's look at the Mayans. We all know that their calendar ends December 21, 2012, but that's it. Just because their calendar ends, doesn't mean the WORLD ends. When the Spanish invaded the Mayan lands, they burned almost every book and scripture they could find. So, based on that, a second Mayan calendar, going from December 22, 2012 to some far-future date, COULD have existed, but was just lost in the burnings.

But let's say that the Mayans DID predict apocalypse on December 21, 2012 (WHICH THEY DIDN'T). Apocalypse doesn't necessarily mean the literal "end" of the world. It could mean the end of an aspect of the world, or a revelation, or an end to the old and the bad and a bringing in of the new and the good. By that definition, for example, during the time of the Emancipation Proclamation and the end of slavery, for the slaveowners it was definitely an apocalypse. The old way of evil slavery was abolished, bringing in a new way of good freedom (which, as it happened, would take quite a bit more time afterward to actually bring to 100% fruition).

So yeah. Shut the fuck up about all this 2012 shit. And really, if it's written in some cosmic book that we're all going to die on December 21, 2012, and it's gonna happen and there's nothing we can do about it, then fuck it - stop worrying. It won't help. We've all gotta die someday.

Man the fuck up!

And whatever you do

Stay classy

A Revelation

Readership, I'll be honest with you - there are many things in this world that I don't understand. According to Socrates, that makes me quite intelligent. Let's hope so.

But I digress.

One of these things that I don't understand is how women wear shoes that they KNOW hurt their feet immensely. I recently had a discussion about just that with R n' R, which went a little like this:

Me: Why do you wear shoes that you KNOW hurt your feet?
Her: They're cute.
Me: But they hurt your feet.
Her: But they're cute, and they make me a few inches taller [side note, she's about 5'2" barefoot]
Me: But THEY HURT YOUR FEET. Does that not matter?
Her: They're cute. That's all that matters.

By that logic, as long as it looks good, women will do/wear something painful and deal with the pain with a smile. Men, however, don't play that shit. If something we're wearing is causing us physical pain, UNLESS WEARING IT SIGNIFICANTLY INCREASES OUR CHANCES OF A SEXUAL ENCOUNTER (in ALL seriousness, I say that with the utmost respect for all the beautiful women out there), we're taking that shit off ASAP.

It's really that simple.

So I got to thinking about this, and then my Psychology Major skills kicked in and I drew a very interesting and sensible conclusion.

Women knowingly and purposefully wear shoes that hurt them, in a subconscious attempt to build up a high pain tolerance for the dreadfully terrible pain that's involved in childbirth.

If your mind has just been blown out the back of your head and is splattered against the wall behind you, don't worry. You're not alone.

While you're cleaning that up, though, I'm out. Got laundry and essays to do.

Stay classy

To All My Indian/Arab Brothers

Note: This, like this, is not a racist post. Really. I have Indian and Arab friends. From sixth to eighth grade one of my best friends (and partners in crime) was Arab. I know a hilarious Indian kid back home. Once again, if you know me, you know I'm not racist, I'm just telling it like it is. And once again, if you don't know me and think I'm being racist, you know what you can go do to yourself.
End of commercial!

As the title of the post implies, this post goes out to all my Indian and Arab brothers. I'm gonna be straight with you guys - just because you're Indian and Arab does NOT make you sexy as fuck, nor does it make you badass, nor does it make you "the shit." I mean having self-confidence is one thing (and power to you if you have it, because that takes a certain caliber of person). But when you're just cocky as hell and think you're God's gift to the world, I have to put my foot down. And when I hear you guys calling each other "nigga," I have to put my foot down hard.

Just sayin'. I love you guys (no rainbow, as A-Ham aka Tenth Sheisty says), but you need to chill the fuck out.

And everybody, you know what all of YOU need to do

Stay classy

Class Emails

Readership, as you very well know, there are quite a few things in this wide wide world of ours that piss me right the hell off. To name a few, bottled water, people who act retarded, Kanye West, stupidass commercials, newer Cartoon Network, and the Land Before Time.

But something that pisses me off more often than most things are stupidass people sending stupidass emails about class stuff. I'm going to quote an email that I received a little while ago.

"Do we have class this week?"

That's it. That's the entirety of the email. That and the name of the person who sent it (which I'll keep to myself because I'm not a douchebag). Now let's look at how FUCKING STUPID that is.

Without the name of the class, or what time the class is, or what day of the week the class is, there's almost nothing I can do - short of going through every single class I have, looking for the class we share, and then seeing if we have that class (which we inevitably do, because if we didn't, the professor is smart and courteous enough to SEND US AN EMAIL, thus eliminating the need for someone to email the entire class asking if we do or not).

It's just astounding that people actually think that people are willing to do all that shit just to help YOU out. Honestly, people don't give that much of a shit about you. If you want an answer, give enough information to make it easier for the person(s) you emailed to find it and help you, or at the very least give them enough information to give them incentive to do the little bit of legwork needed to see if the class is on for the week.

Ya dumb shit.

Oh. And I broke the record again for most posts in a month with a nice round sixteen.

Suck on that bitches.

Stay classy

Oh White People . . .

Note: This is not a racist post. Really. I have a lot of white friends - and a lot of Hispanic, black and Asian friends too. I don't hate, I just tell it like it is. If you know me, you know that whatever is said below has no racist malice behind it. And if you don't know me and/or think that this is some racist shit, fuck you. You, good sir/madame, can suck my dick. The following is just an observation about some typical white-people stuff. End of commercial!

Readership, I was watching the banginest sci-fi show on Fox ever (aka FRINGE. if you're not watching Fox on Thursday nights at 9pm Eastern on a weekly basis, GET ON IT), and the following scenario presented itself.

White guy, construction dude, goes back out to the site to get his gloves (because he forgot them). The gloves are next to a cornfield, and as soon as he picks up the gloves he sees the cornstalks moving by themselves, as though something's moving through them.

Let's pause for a moment here. Right now, this man has two choices. A) Grab gloves and run away, or B) Grab gloves and investigate these moving cornstalks. Someone with self-preservation in mind would choose option A without even the slightest bit of hesitation. But, white people being white people, he had to choose option B and investigate.

So, this guy chooses option B and goes to investigate. A few seconds later, he finds what seems to be four human fingers - which just happen to be metallic blue - sticking out of the ground.

Now, let's pause again right there. He's already made the wrong choice before, and now he is faced with a similar predicament. Option A) You've investigated, you could draw your own conclusions, you're still alive, you have your gloves, GET THE FUCK AWAY, or option B) Hmmm... I wanna shake its hand.

I'll give you two guesses as to which option he chose.

You really only need one though. Because if you're right, we're done, and if you're wrong, it's the other one, so it's really not a guess. But anyway.

So this guy decides "hey let's shake this (seemingly) dismembered hand that's stuck in the ground." And actually, it turns out that this seemingly dismembered hand is actually membered - that is, attached to someone - that someone being some FUCKING WEIRD METALLIC BLUE HALF-SCORPION/HALF-TWELVE-YEAR-OLD BOY MONSTER THING. Which sucks him under the ground and eats him.

With this experience safely under our belts (said experience being the witnessing of a white guy doing some stupid, "directly against my sense of self-preservation"-type shit), let us examine the modern horror movie.

We all know what happens, inevitably. The black man is ALWAYS the one to die first. Let's take a look at that really quick. Scenario time!

Four white people and their black friend are walking down the street, when it starts raining. Let me remind you that it is the month of November, and is thus quite cold, and the chances of getting seriously ill in the rainy outside world are quite high. The white male leader (cuz there's always one), scopes out an abandoned house down the road a ways, and says to his companions, "Hey gang, let's hole up in that abandoned house down the road, and get out of the rain." And immediately all of the white companions agree, "yeah, that's a good idea, we'll catch a cold out here in the rain."

Black guy's like "FUCKKKKKKKK that shit. Abandoned-ass house? You on some other shit my dude. I'm out."

In the examination of that scenario, we see that the black man is willing to risk pneumonia by staying out in the rain, instead of risking death by decapitation (or worse!) inside that creepy-ass abandoned house (which, as he thinks about it, definitely wasn't there yesterday). In this story, he makes it home, has a nice bowl of soup to warm himself up, and goes to bed. Then he wakes up the next morning and sees the news report that ALL OF HIS FRIENDS DIED in that dumbass abandoned house.

But see, that scenario doesn't exist in horror movies, and in fact, the black guy(s) only begin to think "what the fuck'm I doin' here, this is some white-people-type shit to do, I'm out!" once they're inside the creepy-ass house for a little bit. But, since the white people have been walking around in big-ass groups with flashlights and candles and their Green Day ringtones going off every time they get a "where you at?" text from their wannabe gangsta "homies" for the past hour or so, the crazy ax-wieldin', escaped-from-the-asylum, cut-you-up-and-stew-you murderer dude has already sealed the exits and is fixin' to EAT THEM. So it's too late.

So. In summation. Not saying that white people are dumb, or that they should die first in horror movies. I'm just sayin' that white people tend to do some questionable shit when it comes to "investigating" shit that doesn't seem safe at first glance, and then CONTINUE TO DO SO when they've all but ascertained the fact that THIS SHIT AIN'T SAFE.

And if after all of this, you still think this was a "white people are st00pid" post, then you must be white and talking about yourself. Think about it. Bitch.

Damn. I went in.

Stay classy

"It's a Bird! It's a Plane! It's an Idiot with Visual Spatial Deficiencies!"

Readership, as I drove down the highway with my running mate Waffles and R 'n R, headed towards a day of shenaniganery on Long Island, I had a thought (rare occurrence, I know).

I'm pretty sure that old-school Superman is a little before the times of most people that read this (I know it's before MY time). But the thing that everybody seemed to say when they clapped eyes on Superman has transcended time and space and has become a phrase known all over the place. You know what I'm talking about: "Look! Up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane! It's SUPERMAN!"

How fuckin' stupid is that?

"It's a bird! Something that can only grow to be around 12 feet wide!"

"No! It's a plane! Something that's got a maximum length of 239 feet and a wingspan the size of a football field!"

"No, you're BOTH wrong! It's Superman! A being from outer space that's only about 6'3"!"

So you went from something that can't fit into a football stadium to a PERSON!? How the fuck can you mistake a PERSON in the sky for an AIRPLANE?

Fuckin' ridiculous.

Stay classy

YOUR Life is Rough? Bullshit

Readership, I am quite pissed. I've been hearing a lot of celebrities complaining. A LOT. About stupid shit. Most recently, it was Kanye West. Now by this time I'm sure all of you (or at least most of you) have heard about his recent dick move at the VMAs (and if you haven't, check this out).

Anyway.

Kanye recently appeared on the Jay Leno Show and offered an apology to Taylor Swift (which I'll get to in a bit, because it also pissed me off a little), during which he said something to the tune of "my life is hard."

WHAT THE FUCK!?

YOUR life is hard!? You, Kanye Muthafuckin' West, have a hard life? You, who can shit fifty dollar bills and wipe your ass with C-notes, have a hard life? You LITERALLY have money coming out of your ass. You do NOT have a hard life.

Now I have FAR from a hard life, but let's compare. Kanye West has untold millions of dollars (I'm guessing. for some strange reason people seem to love his music and buy his shit). Whereas with me, I'm already close to seventy thousand dollars in debt due to college loans. Kanye West wonders what to buy with his money. I wonder how the fuck I'm gonna pay back seventy-plus thousand dollars when I graduate.

Kanye West has a job - nay, a CAREER - which gives him so much success it's ridiculous, and almost guarantees him a continual (very high) income and the means to live the life he does and continue to do so. The closest thing I have to a job is working for kgb_ which nets me a grand old ten cents per question I answer, which, if I work my ass off on kgb_, works out to something to the tune of two bucks and change an hour. Also, due to the bitchass Internet connection at my school, I haven't been able to work much on kgb_, so I'm looking at a grand total of around two bucks made for the entire month of September (as opposed to somewhere close to forty bucks for August).

Kanye West (I'm assuming) has limos and private jets that will take him wherever the hell he wants to go. My ailing grandma flew into NYC from Puerto Rico and was staying in the Bronx with my uncle. I'm in Queens, but I didn't have the money for a Metro Card that would get me there and back.

Like I said before, I KNOW that compared to other people my life is a fucking PICNIC. It's not rough at all. But when people who are MULTI-FUCKING MILLIONAIRES start complaining about how rough THEIR lives are, I get kinda pissed the fuck off.

Oh, and about the apology? Some people are like "oh well at least he apologized" but to me, he looks like even more of a bitch for apologizing. Don't get it twisted at all, I would've rather he didn't do that stupid shit he did in the first place, but if you're gonna be a piece of shit on TV - if you feel strongly enough to jump up on stage at the fucking VMAs and insult Taylor Swift in front of countless millions of TV viewers and thousands of live fans inside Radio City Music Hall - then stand by your decision. Don't, after seeing that everyone thought you were a douchebag for doing it, try to apologize and play like you felt that it was wrong the whole time. Little bitch.

Anyway.

Just had to get that out, because it pissed me off just a little bit.

Stay classy

A Short One (that's what she said)

Readership, I've been wondering this for a while. Why, on the covers of fiction books, does it say "a novel"? For example this.

Oh REALLY? So you say it's a NOVEL, eh?

Well shit, man, thanks for letting me know! Here I was - silly me - thinking it was a baby monkey!

Fuckin' dumbass.

Stay classy

GENDER DISCRIMINATION!

Readership, there's something that's been pissing me off.

Females in general can have their boobies all hangin' out and wear super short skirts so their sexy legs are all out there and being sexy and whatnot, and it's all good. NOTE: I AM NOT COMPLAINING. KEEP DOIN' WHATCHA DO SEXY LADIES.

But I digress.

While all that's well and good, there's a bit of gender discrimination going on. While chicks can basically have their boobs or asscheeks anywhere from 80-90% visible, if a guy cops a boner - which in all situations but a specific and VERY SELECT few stays INSIDE PANTS - it's suddenly "ewwwww what the fuck is wrong with you!?" etc. etc.

Let's look at this shit for a second. So it's cool for chicas to have their boobs all out, but boners are icky? Not to be vulgar, but last time I checked, boners weren't icky when they were, y'know, inside you. Just sayin'.

And then, there's the fact that, as R 'n R noted, if chicks weren't barely wearing clothes all the time, dudes wouldn't be coppin' boners in your presence in the FIRST DAMN PLACE.

So shit. Give it a rest with the boner-hate ladies.

And PLEASE.

Stay classy

That Stupid Taco Bell Evander Holyfield Commercial

Readership, it seems that commercials have been pissing me off very much lately. Here's the latest addition to the "Stupid Fucking Commercials that Need to Never be Aired Again" category:



Now let's look at this logically. Evander Holyfield is 6'2". Basically, I can look his one-and-one-half-ear-havin' self directly in the eye (I'm 6'1"). But if you see this commercial, they make him look, as YouTube user dclem8 said, "like Andre the Giant."

Now, since whenever I go to a fast food place (which is NEVER Taco Bell because they scientifically engineer THE SHITS into ALL of their food), me and my 6'1" self never make the person behind the counter - NAY, THE COUNTER ITSELF! - look like they were stolen from a Barbie dollhouse, there has to be some shenaniganery going on here. The way I see it, there are two ways that this could have been achieved.

One, there was a little special cinematography going on. There are ways for the camera to be positioned in certain ways that either make things look a lot bigger or a lot smaller than they actually are (mind out of the gutter, readership).

Two, they made the counter a lot smaller than the counter usually is, and then, on top of that, got a small actress (I think her name is Paige? according to the YouTube comments anyway), and then lowered the floor directly behind the counter so that in addition to being short as hell, she was even lower in comparison to the counter and Holyfield.

There was a little bit of both probably.

But what the hell. HE'S NOT THAT FUCKIN' TALL.

And yes, that commercial pissed me off enough to go balls-out here.

Stay classy

Are We Really that Stupid?

Readership, during a Google search of "how to rank up on Halo 3" (yes, I've been getting a little frustrated lately with the seemingly arbitrary rising and falling of my rank online, I'll admit it), my phone went off as Waffles texted me. After answering the text, I looked back to my computer screen to see that of the seven words of my search query, I had only typed in the first two.

Now, Google has this nifty little thing it does that "suggests" what you might be searching for, based on whatever you've already typed in. This is a real time-saver sometimes, because it makes it so that you don't have to type in the entire search query, and can instead just click on the one you intended to type and be on your merry searching way.

With "how to" in the search bar, a few things popped up. Two of the first three bothered me a little bit.

First, we have "how to tie a tie," which, I'll admit, was something that puzzled me until about a year ago. If you have no idea what you're doing, tying a tie is quite difficult, and in this age of Googling the answers to life's questions, it would almost be expected for you to Google "how to tie a tie." So that was the one that DIDN'T bother me.

The second one, however, started to bite at me a little bit. "How to kiss." I mean, boiled down to its bare essentials, kissing in its entirety can be accomplished in two steps: 1. Move in 2. Touch lips. I'm nowhere near naive or ignorant enough to think that that's it, and I do know that there are far more intricacies into the subtle art and exact science that is being a good kisser (and, not to toot my own horn, but I've been told on numerous occasions by different chicas that I'm quite a good kisser - AND I NEVER GOOGLED "HOW TO KISS"). That said, Googling "how to kiss" is A) unproductive (just do it and work it out from there man) and B) kinda pathetic (you're seriously Googling "how to kiss"? come on man). So yeah, that one was a little bothersome.

But the third one - ooooh the third one was the worst of all.

"HOW TO GET PREGNANT"

P IN VAJAY BUST A NUT AND WAIT. If the fucking cavemen didn't worry about all the ovulation cycles and all that other technical bullshit, and WE'RE STILL HERE, I guess it doesn't matter much past penis+vagina+semen+time=pregnancy.

Just had to let that out. Now I'm gonna go see how to rank up on Halo.

Stay classy

Once Again . . .

I've found a commercial that pisses me off.

Readership, at this point I'm sure you've seen the Domino's commercial about the Chocolate Lava Cake and the Bread Bowl Pasta. The whole thing is about who should get the credit for it, between the chefs and the accountants (who apparently are responsible for the whole "buy one Bread Bowl Pasta and get a Chocolate Lava Cake for free" deal). In the commercial, they're legit debating about who should get the most credit. SERIOUSLY debating.

What the fuck? Isn't it obvious?

The chefs are the ones who deserve ALL the credit. Without the chefs, those accountants have nothing to fucking make a price for at all - aka, without the chefs, the accountants have no job at all. Whereas the chefs don't need accountants, they could just make their Chocolate Lava Cakes and Bread Bowl Pastas and then just peddle that shit on the streets dolo and not give a fuck.

The thing that pisses me off the most though is when the accountants are like "well we made it free."

If I was a chef I'd respond with something along the lines of, I dunno, "WELL WE MADE IT PERIOD YA DUMB FUCKS!"

Sheesh.

Stay classy

The MOST AWKWARD EXPERIENCE EVER

Readership, I was waiting for class to start this fine afternoon at around 12, when I suddenly felt the need to drop a deuce - y'know, take a pooper.

So I went into the bathroom. And into the handicapped stall (because I never know when the urge to dance might strike, so I need the space). And then I proceeded to deuce.

Seconds later, someone else entered the bathroom, walked deliberately and purposefully towards the other, non-handicapped stall, and entered. Then shit got weird.

Instead of just unzippin' and taking a leak (as, believe it or not, a LOT of guys do, even with free urinals available), he started taking shit out of his pockets - metallic-sounding shit. And a lot of it.

So there I was, on the bowl, pants around muh damn ankles, and there was this guy in the stall next to me changing out of his street clothes into his fuckin' hitman uniform, checking his guns and shit. I would've shit myself but A) I had already finished shitting and B) I was trying not to have this crazy dude know that there was someone in the next stall watching him prepare and whatnot.

Then it got weirder. Because in the span of like a second and a half, he dropped his pants, whirled around 180 degrees, sat down on the bowl AND RECTALLY EXPLODED.

So then I was trying not to laugh cuz he was still firin' off small arms (as opposed to bombs), and I was able to make myself presentable again, I washed my hands and got the fuck up outta there.

Probably the single funniest/most awkward moment of my life.

Stay classy

Tyler Perry . . .

I thoroughly enjoy the Madea movies. In all seriousness, they're funny movies.

But seriously man. After a while, I gotta wonder why you keep dressing up like a female and parading around in a wig.

Just wondering.

Stay classy

"Aww that's so cuuuuuute"

Okay readership, this is something that makes me very perplexed.

I've noticed that chicks think some strange shit is "cute." Shit that most people (myself included) would NEVER think to call cute. Examples? Please, readership, you know me too well.

Not two minutes ago, I made R n' R a PB&J sammich. I handed her the jar of jelly as she handed me back the peanut butter jar so I could put it back and she could open the jelly so I could spread it on the other slice of bread and make said amazing sammich.

Her words? "Awwww look at this jar of jelly it's so cute!"

What the fuck? "It's just that it's so small, it's cute!"

And then Waffles - "You must LOVE Asian guys."

So small jars of jelly are cute? And that's not all!

I'm sure you've all seen the commercial for this menace. Near the end of said commercial, one of the chicks says, and I'll paraphrase "Ohhhh look it's so cute!"

WHAT!? Let's think about that for a second. First of all, it's a fuckin' VIBRATOR THAT YOU PUT ON YOUR FINGER. I dunno about YOU but I sure as hell don't think "cute" when I think of finger-mounted vibrators.

Then, just LOOK at the fucking thing. It's like a shark with ridges. How the fuck is that CUTE!?

Jesus.

Stay classy

The Most Religious People in the World . . .

. . . are definitely drug dealers. And gangstas. Not like those fake-ass punk bitch kids who're like "yo run your shit I'm gangsta," I'm talking the ones with cocked Berettas held sideways to your temple shouting some crazy shit about your chain and respect.

Maybe gangstas feel bad about all the cap-bustin' and dome-stompin' they do, and feel that maybe they'll get some kind of favorable treatment when they get to that Gangsta Paradise in the sky if they get there rockin' a Jesus piece (or more recently, the "thing" seems to be rosary beads), in addition to their 7 3/8" fitted and the nickel 9 in their waistband.

"How'd you get here, my son?"
"Chill with the questions bitchnigga Saint Peter, I got my Jesus piece so lemme in 'fore I bust a cap up in that halo and wing-rockin' ass o' yours."
"Oooooh I see okay."

Not how I envision a gangsta's reception at the Pearly Gates.

Drug dealers are in a similar vein. Now, let me be clear - I don't do drugs, I've never interacted with a drug dealer (while he or she was dealing, anyway, as I DO know people who sling some trees every now and then). However, I've seen enough drug dealers on the street and whatnot to make this observation: aside from priests, drug dealers have the highest Jesus-piece-per-body percentage out of any other type or person.

Once again, I think it boils down to a redemption type of thing. They're selling all these terrible substances to all these people who will in turn use them and either trip balls and do something stupid to themselves or someone else, or they'll die from the effects, which makes them feel like a piece of shit.

But with all the Jesuses glinting gold in the glow from the streetlamps, you almost want to ask these people: "What would Jesus do?"

And as R n' R said: "Not sell drugs!"

Ain't that the truth.

Stay classy

Mass Transit

Readership, as I walked back to Henley from campus (a distance of approximately a mile), I ironically realized something about mass transit.

In Connecticut (from whence I hail), there are only three reasons to EVER ride the bus. One, you're too young to drive. Two, you're too old and fucked up to drive. Three, you're a bum. Back home it was VERY rare to see someone on the bus other than the driver that didn't fall into one or more of those three categories. Occasionally you'd have the businessman that recently got into a car accident or had his transmission take a shit on him and catch him at a financially vulnerable time, so he doesn't have money to get a rental or whatever, and thus takes the bus. But those guys are like freakin' ninjas - they're not trying to be seen on the bus.

However, all that said, in New York (where I'm at and hope to stay), it's weird as shit to drive. I mean, a ton of people do it still, but there are a couple of things that make people not want to drive. One, drivers in New York are ABSOLUTELY FUCKING CRAZY. Magnify whatever stereotypes or jokes you've heard about crazy drivers in New York by like 10 and you'll be about 1% of the way there. Another, the mass transit system is SUPER legit (as long as you know where you're going and how to get there).

But there ARE still bums on the bus. Yay for similarities

These are the things I think about on the walk back to Henley haha

Stay classy

BULLSHIT

Readership, currently my roommate and Xbox LIVE running mate Waffles is on the phone with some cunt-ticklin' customer service team for this wireless router he just got for the room (because the wireless here sucks donkey penis). You know how when you call customer service they always put you on hold, and there's this like montage of bullshit about their company and how awesome they are, complete with "motivational" music and shit? Well that's the part he was at about a minute ago. For like twenty minutes.

He turned to me mid-shit and said "they just said some shit about 'award-winning customer service.'"

And then we both said....

"BULLSHIT."

Stay classy

"Do Not Attempt"

Readership, the advertisement agencies of America are retarded - either that, or they think that the average American is retarded (and according to the first paragraph of this, they're ALMOST right). Allow me to explain.

This mainly applies to advertisements on television, usually car commercials, but basically any commercial with anything completely ridiculous included in it. For the car commercials, you see the car in question driving around, maybe at a speed slightly higher than the speed limit, but otherwise doing some normal-ass shit. Like the car will drive around a corner in a deserted intersection, and on the bottom in letters that almost perfectly blend in to the background, it says "Do not attempt."

Well what the fuck? Am I supposed to just drive in a straight line all the damn time, hoping that somebody hits me while I cross through the intersection, so I can turn and get on my merry way? Or is it that you're talking about not attempting to corner in a deserted intersection during what's obviously early afternoon (based on shadows and whatnot), meaning that there would be cars all over the fucking place? Because if THAT'S your concern, then shit, you got me. I was totally planning on KILLING EVERYBODY so I could just drive through fucking intersections all day and night.

And then there's the fact that you almost have to be looking at it with a magnifying glass connected to some kind of super military goggles to even SEE the damn "Do not attempt" at the bottom. It's almost like these bastards WANT us to attempt it, but just in case we do and fuckin' KILL OURSELVES, they can have their lawyers point to the bottom of the screen and say "Ahem . . . 'do not attempt.' Not our fault." Freakin' retarded.

The ones that get to me the most though, are in the recent batch of Toyota commercials. The formula for these commercials is as follows: a beat-up, piece of shit, budget-ass car gets grabbed up by some fuckin' Transformers-esque metal claw, and then a sparkly brand-new Toyota drops from the piece of shit's chassis onto the pavement, much to the surprise and joy of the owner.

But along the bottom of the screen it says "Do not attempt."

OH REALLY! Because shit, I was JUST thinking of calling up OPTIMUS FUCKING PRIME to lend me his crane claw thing so I could pick up this piece of shit car and have a BRAND NEW BLUE TOYOTA COROLLA DROP OUT.

I mean seriously? How can you even FATHOM an attempt at something like that? Who has the means to even USE a crane like that? First off you need to have access to the crane and the know-how to use it. And then there's the whole BRAND NEW CAR DROPPING OUT OF A PIECE OF SHIT thing. There are these things called THE LAWS OF PHYSICS that prevent shit like that from ever happening.

Ridiculous.

Stay classy

You Know What I Hate?

Besides bottled water, people who act retarded, newer Cartoon Network, Canadian scientists, Gamestop, the guy who leaked the 2003 MLB steroid list, the Land Before Time, and a whole bunch of other shit, I mean?

Olive Garden Commercials. They're all like "hey look at us we're having such a good fucking time at Olive Garden. Oh man we're such good friends look at us passing the Neverending Breadsticks and laughing at some unfunny shit. Look at this guy, he's my best friend, I wonder if he knows I banged his wife while he was at that conference in Oklahoma hahaha just kiddin' Frankie (but Darline, how's tonight at 10 sound?) hahaha we're such awesome friends."

I've BEEN to Olive Garden, this shit doesn't happen. Believe me.

And whatever you do.

Stay classy

Forest Whitaker . . .

FIX YOUR DAMN EYE! Shit man, you have money comin' out your fuckin' ass, instead of buying that new Ferrari BUY A NEW FUCKIN' EYE. Ain't no need for your shit to look like this.



GET YOUR SHIT FIXED.

And please.

Stay classy

They Must've Thought 1950s Kids Were RETARDED

Readership, I was surfing through good ol' YouTube when I caught this little gem. The more I watched, the more ridiculous it became, to the point where it wasn't even funny anymore, because I realized that the people making this video (aka the U.S. Government, against which I've called shenanigans before) were quite serious. Peep.



Some quotes that made me chuckle or scratch my head - and in some cases, both:
1:05- "The principle dangers of a blast are flying glass and debris."
Really? No, seriously? Yeah? Well shit, then I'm a lot better off than I thought. Cuz I was thinking the principle danger would be, I dunno, THE FUCKING NUCLEAR EXPLOSION. Who knew?

1:45- "However, the majority of people exposed to radiation recovered completely."
Hahaha BULLSHIT. A quick Google search yields this. The quick version? YOU CAN'T FUCKING TREAT RADIATION SICKNESS.

2:55- "If you live in a private home that is well-built, the cellar is the safest place to be."
Not it's not dumbass. If a 50 Megaton explosion (i.e. the equivalent force of 50 million tons of TNT) goes off anywhere near your house, you could be anywhere you want, you're fuckin' dead times twelve and a half.

The funniest one though, is visual. From 6:48 to 7:02. I'm not even gonna say anything more than YOU'VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME HAHAHAHAHAHA.

Holy Black Jesus, what in the sam hill was the U.S. Government thinking? I mean, I understand not wanting to freak people out and whatnot, but there's a difference between not wanting to cause an uproar and COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY BULLSHITTING THE HELL OUT OF THE AMERICAN PUBLIC.

Which is what the U.S. Government did.

Surprise surprise.

Stay classy

Just Kick His Ass Already!

Little-known statistic: One in every four Americans act retarded. Props to Bovice for the statistical research. As many of you know (if you've been reading this for any span of time, anyway), I absolutely hate and despise people that act retarded. Now, notice how I said people that ACT retarded, not people that ARE retarded. I hate when people don't get that distinction (ironically enough, making them fall into the category of "people who act retarded," which, concurrently, is a category of people that I absolutely hate and despise).

But I digress.

In keeping with the opening paragraph of this rant, the following commercial series makes me quite pissed off. While this isn't necessarily the worst commercial in the series, or the commercial that pissed me off the most out of all of them, it was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. The camel's back being the dam that held back my pissedoffery at this stupid fucking commercial.

But yeah.Watch it, let it sink in, and then read on.




How many fucking times does this kid have to hear it? THEY ARE FUCKING ROLLOVER MINUTES.

THEY DO NOT EXPIRE.

THEY DO NOT GET OLD.

It's not like they're FOOD, they don't SPOIL, they're MINUTES. It's fucking TIME, you idiot. The notion that time would have an expiration date is absolutely asinine, and so stupidly paradoxical that I might have to search this little prick out and kick his ass.

Once or twice, I can understand. The concept of rollover minutes is a little bit . . . miraculous, at first. Minutes that recycle over into next month? Oh hell yes.

But after the first couple times that your mom tells you that the minutes don't get old, that you don't need "new" minutes (and that's another thing - what in the monkeyfuck are "NEW" minutes?), you need to get it through your thick-ass head and fucking chill with asking for new minutes.

If the situation were different, I would've expected the mom to have whupped this little moron's ass already. I mean, if MY mom had told me that, for example, you can't touch flowers, and I kept doing it, she would've kicked my little ass. And this fucking idiot is at least 13-14 years old. When you're young, there's a little bit of what I like to call a "cute buffer" wherein because you're young and cute they'll let you get away with shit - to a point.

At 13-14 years old, though, you're just a dumbass.

Stay classy

WHO has a State Quarter!?

Readership, if you'll recall, I made my feelings clear when it came to the idea that quarters could be "sold" for more than $.25 (and if you don't recall, read this . . . and then drop 'n gimme fifty).

However, a credible (if mildly reckless) source has just informed me that, in addition to the fifty state quarters that came in that ridiculous set (which my father has been sadly convinced will make him rich in twenty years), there are MORE so-called "State" quarters. "How the hell?" you wonder? As do I. Let's take a look and see what we can find.

Through the strategic use of my battle-honed kgb_ skills (aka Bing), I discovered that there are to be six - onetwothreefourfivesix, six - new quarters. The corresponding locales (because we can't call them "states" . . . because they're not) are Washington, D.C.; Puerto Rico (woot woot); Guam; the U.S. Virgin Islands; American Samoa; and the Northern Mariana Islands.

Now, despite all the "to be, or not to be (a State)" debate in Puerto Rico, I'm going to say that out of all of those locales, Washington, D.C. would be the ONLY one I would give a "State" quarter to, for obvious reasons. For starters, it's (geographically, if not politically) IN a state - as a matter of fact, it's actually in TWO states (Virginia and Maryland, for all the Commie scum out there). Secondly, regardless of the fact that Article One of the U.S. Constitution allows for a Federal district that is separate and distinct from the states to serve as the nation's permanent capital, Washington, D.C. is STILL in the Continental United States. It's much more a part of the country than Puerto Rico or Guam (the latter of which, in case you didn't know, is closer to Australia and Japan than it is to the USA). Thirdly, it's fucking Washington, D.C. Shit goes down. Respect.

Then there's the whole "what the fuck is ____?" issue. I'm not the smartest man in the world, and I am FAR from a whiz at geography (I thought Ohio was somewhere near Washington state until about seven months ago), but if you gave me a world map I could instantly point out Washington, D.C., Puerto Rico, Guam and American Samoa. I'm sure if you gave me a minute or two, I could even find the U.S. Virgin Islands.

But what the fuck are the Northern Mariana Islands? More importantly, WHERE the fuck are they? I'll answer both of those questions: from my research, they're tiny (emphasis on TINY, with a capital TINY, as in SMALL AS HELL) islands north of Guam. The image that they conjure up is this one, times like a billion.

So. U.S. Government. I put the question to you. A question that I'm sure you've been asked many a time in your 235-year career.

THE FUCK'RE YOU THINKING?

Stay classy

What the Hell, Cartoon Network.

Readership, most of you, I'm sure, remember old school cartoon network (which is now known as "Boomerang"). You know what I'm talkin' about - Space Ghost, Johnny Bravo, Scooby-Doo, Dexter's Laboratory, Powerpuff Girls, Samurai Jack, etc. You know what all those shows had in common? A few things: 1) They were freakin' awesome; 2) They were on Cartoon Network; and 3) As such, they were actually cartoons. Cartoon Network was the shit back in the day. I would sit down and veg out in front of the TV for countless hours watching Dexter and DeeDee doing ridiculous shit, or the Powerpuff Girls beating the crap out of Mojo Jojo, or Samurai Jack being a FUCKING BADASS.

Now I check out Cartoon Network and guess what I see?

FUCKING REALITY SHOWS!?

CARTOON Network. Showing REALITY shows. With REAL, NON-CARTOON people.

What the fuck? That's like the History Channel showing the future.

Fucking ridiculous.

Stay classy

Zombies? Shut the Hell Up

Props to Bovice for the topic.

Okay readership, there are a bunch of shenanigans going on in this world. Some of them are hilarious. Some of them are stupid. And then you have shit like this.

According to this article (which by now I'm sure most of you have seen already), scientists have been doing serious research into what would happen in the unlikely (aka FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE) event of . . . a zombie uprising.

It's kind of hard to write a serious sentence with the words "scientists," "serious research," and "zombies". Jeeze.

But yeah. There are "scientists" that are seriously looking into zombie plagues/uprisings. Their excuse? That a zombie uprising could be closely related to an epidemic of an unknown disease, and through modeling the progression of a zombie uprising, they could gain a higher understanding of what to expect if such an epidemic were to occur.

So lemme get this straight. "Scientists" are using a FICTIONAL and, moreover, IMPOSSIBLE OCCURRENCE to "accurately" predict and model the spread of a disease THAT HASN'T AND WILL PROBABLY NEVER HAPPEN.

What the fuck.

And they're quite intelligent, these "scientists." According to Professor Neil Ferguson, UK Government's Chief adviser on controlling the spread of Swine Flu and consultant to this research, "My understanding of zombie biology is that if you manage to decapitate a zombie then it's dead forever."

HOLY SHIT YOU FUCKING GENIUS! NO WAY!

This is serious research into something ridiculous and impossible, not to mention completely impractical. They're using government money to fund ridiculous research. If these were my tax dollars at work, I'd be pissed as hell.

But they're not my tax dollars.

Cuz they're doing this shit in Canada.

Where else could this kinda shit go down?

Fuckin' Canada.

Stay classy

Why Are Songs So Damn Sketchy?

Hey there readership. I was talking to Maeron aka The Purp last night about music (she's got a music IQ off the charts, by the way), and I realized that there are some songs that are just too freakin' sketchy to be serious. Examples? Oh of course. Read on, peeps.

Example #1: Every Breath You Take - Sting Have you ever listened to this song? At the end of every verse it says "I'll be watching you." What the fuck? Why? Creeper.

Example #2: Sweet Love - Anita Baker At around 1:15 and 1:31. What the hell? C'mon Anita Baker, let's not be a creeper here.

Example #3: If I Was Invisible - Clay Aiken WHOA! "I could just watch you in your room"? No fucker, you couldn't. Cuz that would be illegal. And then I'd shoot you with my shotgun for trespassing. And now we know that that song was about a man. As my homeslices the Purp and A-Ham would say, "SMH."

Damn these sketchy ass songs. Sheesh.

And whatever you do.

Stay classy

Gamestop Can Burn in Hell and Get Anally Penetrated

. . . after Waldy gets Halo 3: ODST and Assassin's Creed 2.

Readership, Gamestop is so fucking ridiculous. Let me spit it as it is real quick.

I don't usually play video games when I'm home (at school is a different story though). So, I figured I'd get a little bit of money trading in the games that I NEVER play (as opposed to the games that I SELDOM play). There were four games: Tony Hawk's Underground 2 (PS2), All-Star Baseball 2004 (PS2), Pa-Rappa The Rapper (PSP) and SOCOM: Tactical Strike (PSP). I honestly can't remember what I paid for the PS2 games, but realistically, it was at least $20 each. That's a VERY minimalistic estimate. Honestly, it's probably more like $30, but we'll go with $20. I got SOCOM for Christmas, but I saw it in the store and it was $40. Pa-Rappa The Rapper was $30. I know this because it still had the "$29.99 NEW" sticker on the box. So let's add that up. Two PS2 games at $20 each is $40, plus a $40 SOCOM is $80, plus a $30 Pa-Rappa is $110.

Let's pause here for a moment. I know that trading in games means a few things. One, as even if I just opened the box - and didn't even play it! - the game is used. Used means less value. I understand that. Two, when you trade games in to Gamestop, you can either get 100% of the trade-in value as a store credit, or get it in cash - minus 20%. I was short on money and needed some so I could go grab some food with my homies. I knew that my usual costs about 5 bucks. I knew how FUCKING RETARDED Gamestop is with their trade-in shit going into the situation. "What do you mean, Fred?" I'll tell you a true story: I've literally bought a game, played it, marked the box visibly and irreversibly, traded it in, and seen it back on the shelves as a used game for ten or fifteen bucks more than what they gave me for it.

Yeah. That's what I said.

Even STILL, I figured I'd get $15 (if I was lucky). Four games, one of them pretty recent (I got SOCOM for Christmas last year), and one of them clearly marked with its original price when new ($29.99). But regardless of all that, at the BARE MINIMUM, I thought I'd get $10.

AT THE LEAST.

You know how much I got back?

FIVE DOLLARS.

AND THIRTY-TWO CENTS.

THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN $6.65 STORE CREDIT. FOR GAMES I ORIGINALLY PAID $110 FOR.

Fuck you in the ass and burn in Hell, Gamestop.

Just give my homey Waffles his shit first.

IF YOU CAN, FUCKER.

Stay classy

Blue Whales are Dicks (no pun intended . . . sorta)

Readership, I was having a conversation with R 'n R, and we had a freakin' revelation: Blue Whales are dicks!

Now looking at things literally, Blue Whales actually are dicks. Blue Whales have the largest penises in the entire world, at a whopping 16 feet. That would tear your shit up, Vaginas. Their entire length is around 80 feet. Holy shit. The Blue Whale's penis is twenty percent of its total length.

Just let that sink in for a second (no pun intended . . . again).

Now, whales don't get freaky - they don't put P in Vajay, as we do. Basically, a Blue Whale just swims around into warm waters, doing his "I'm a Blue Whale" thing, and spontaneously busts a nut. And then, a female whale is just chillin', swimmin' through some warm water doin' her whole "I'm chillin'" thing, and then - whoops, she's pregnant.

What a dick move, male Blue Whale.

What if that female Blue Whale wanted to go to college? Now you've just fucked her chances up. What if she was swimming on her way to go buy books, or register for classes? Now she's preggers. What the hell is she supposed to do now? How is she gonna tell her parents?

YOU'RE A DICK, MALE BLUE WHALE! AND YES THE PUN WAS INTENDED!

Dick.

Stay classy

This Bullshit Needs to Stop NOW

Just a warning: I feel pretty passionately about this issue, so this is gonna get pretty angry.

Well, angrier than usual.

You've been warned. ONWARD!

Readership, I would consider myself a fan of baseball. The sport, the tradition, and my team, the New York Yankees (since the womb, so don't go starting with that frontrunner bullshit or I'll cut you).

Recently, as most baseball fans know, there have been rumors and leaks and discussions regarding a list of MLB players who tested positive for steroids in 2003.

This troubles me - no, this pisses me off - for a few reasons. One, the results were to remain confidential. Confidential is defined, loosely, as "DON'T FUCKING TELL ANYBODY." Loose definition, but it'll suffice for this argument. So some dumb fuck leaked it, DIRECTLY disobeying a direct order from a superior. Somebody sat the guy who leaked it down, at some point in 2003, and said "Listen buddy, here are the results of the steroid test. KEEP IT TO YOUR FUCKING SELF. Thanks!" Such a SIMPLE command - "don't tell anybody" - and yet the dipshit FAILED.

Another reason that this pisses me off is the date - 2003. What was going on in 2003? My Yankees got beaten in 6 games by the Marlins in the World Series (painful). A-Rod was AL MVP and Barry Bonds was NL MVP. That's dicey enough right there. But still - it was in 2003! A) Why are we hearing about this shit NOW, in 2009 and B) Why the fuck does it matter? What does it change? Everything that happened in the 2003 season HAPPENED and there's nothing we can do to change it. What, are we gonna go back into the record books and take away A-Rod's AL-leading 47 homers? What about Barry Bonds' NL MVP Award? Hell no, we're not.

I'm pissed that some stupid fuck leaked something that was supposed to remain CONFIDENTIAL, but I'm more pissed that A) He leaked it SIX YEARS LATER and B) He leaked it in fucking drips and drops. If you're gonna be a piece of shit and leak something that's supposed to remain confidential A) Do it when it's FUCKING RELEVANT and B) DROP IT ALL AT ONCE! The way this shit has been going, just when we're like "oh okay, people are playing by the rules now and have been for a while," this fucking twat drops another big name into the steroid stigma and we're left wondering "Who the fuck else?"

And that shit pisses me off. Who the fuck is the dumb shit douchebag that leaked this shit in the first place? We need to find him, piss on his door, egg his house, and kick the shit out of him.

All day. All night.

And twice on Sunday.

Because honestly, he deserves that.

At the least.

For fuck's sake!

Stay classy