Hey readership. I realized that this month I've tied my record for most bitchings - er, posts, in a month (I did 14 in February of this year as well . . . funnily enough, the most posts in the month with the least amount of days haha), and I wanted to break that record.
BUT. I had no idea what to write about!
Enter the amazingly clever R 'n R with a winner. Here it is suckas.
You ever notice that in public places where sitting is supposed to happen (such as subways, buses, park benches, and waiting rooms), that people just do NOT want to sit next to other people? There's always that minimum one-seat gap between people. On the VERY RARE occasion that people DO sit next to someone that's a stranger, as soon as a seat not directly next to somebody opens up, they're on it like late '90s Whitney Houston was on crack (I still blame Bobby Brown). But for the majority, most people would rather stand than sit down next to somebody that they don't know.
What the hell? I mean, there are really only three situations that I can think of where you would want a one-seat space between you and someone else. One is when the person that you're thinking of sitting down next to is visibly ill. Sniffling, sneezing, coughing, blowing of the nose, etc. are all signs of me not sitting next to you (or anywhere near you, if at all possible). Another is if the person you're thinking of sitting next to is MORBIDLY OBESE. Because that usually leads to the person taking up at least 40% of the seat you're thinking of sitting in, in addition to 100% of the seat that the majority of their girth is situated on, and 40% of the seat on the other side of them. I mean I'm not fat, but I still need 100% of my seat on the bus/subway to be comfortable. The last situation is for men only. It's Man Law that when at the urinal, you MUST have at least one urinal between you and the closest man on either side of you. This means that at a five-man urinal, at most three urinals can be in use at any one time. That is Man Law. So you can't break it.
But barring those three situations, what the fuck. I mean if we were still in like second grade I'd say "well you never know if they got their cootie shot. Circle-circle-dot-dot is too complicated for some people." And yes I would say that in second grade, because I was just as sarcastic of a person then as I am now.
But that's second grade. There's no excuse for that shit now.
Man the hell up and take a seat.
RECORD IS BROKEN BITCHES.
Stay classy
Friday, July 31, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Simba was an Asshole
''I just can't wait to be king''? So you just can't wait for your
father Mufasa to die prematurely due to stampeding wildabeast and your douchebag of an uncle?
Oh wait . . .
Fuckin' prick!
Stay classy
ADDENDUM:
Now, I know that Simba a) couldn't have possibly known that this shit was gonna happen to Mufasa and b) wouldn't have WANTED it to happen if he'd had a choice, so hyperbole and assholery aside, "I just can't wait to be king" basically says "I just can't wait for my dad NOT to be king so I CAN be king," and since the only way for Mufasa NOT to be king is for him to die, I'm extrapolating that Simba saying "I just can't wait to be king" is almost synonymous with "I just can't wait for my dad to die."
Thanks to Thirston for bringing it to my attention that some clarification was in order.
Stay classy (again)
father Mufasa to die prematurely due to stampeding wildabeast and your douchebag of an uncle?
Oh wait . . .
Fuckin' prick!
Stay classy
ADDENDUM:
Now, I know that Simba a) couldn't have possibly known that this shit was gonna happen to Mufasa and b) wouldn't have WANTED it to happen if he'd had a choice, so hyperbole and assholery aside, "I just can't wait to be king" basically says "I just can't wait for my dad NOT to be king so I CAN be king," and since the only way for Mufasa NOT to be king is for him to die, I'm extrapolating that Simba saying "I just can't wait to be king" is almost synonymous with "I just can't wait for my dad to die."
Thanks to Thirston for bringing it to my attention that some clarification was in order.
Stay classy (again)
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Newton Ain't Discover SHIT
Hey there readership. I was fitfully tossing and turning last night because, due to a random spat of back spasms (and a general propensity for insomnia), I couldn't sleep. That's when something occurred to me. We all know that Sir Isaac Newton is the man credited with "discovering" gravity. But did he really?
Fuck no he didn't! How absurd is that? One man, discovering gravity? That's like one man trying to take credit for discovering air! If somebody that I knew told me that they'd discovered air (and I was kinda in the old days and whatnot), I'd be like "you mean the stuff we've been breathing since birth?" and he'd be like "yeah that's - " but he wouldn't be able to finish his sentence cuz I'd beat him with a stick mid-speech!
There's no way on God's green Earth that Sir Isaac Newton discovered gravity. Proof? Oh I got that. Drop a beat and lemme spit it to ya.
Gravity, as we all know, is a principle that powers many things. For example, the execution methods of hanging and beheading by way of guillotine (not to be morbid haha). Both rely heavily on the principle and implementation of gravity.
Now, Sir Isaac Newton "discovered" gravity circa 1666 AD. However, one of the earliest appearances of a gallows is in the Bible in Esther 5:14:
"[Haman's] wife Zeresh and all his friends said to him, "Have a gallows built, seventy-five feet high..."
The Book of Esther is a part of the Old Testament, and scholars believe that it was written circa the third or fourth century BC - meaning that they'd "discovered" gravity (and it's death-dealing ability) nearly two thousand years before Newton's apple bonked him on the noggin.
Whew. I guess that Intro to the Bible Theology course last year actually came in handy after all.
Anyway.
Remember the guillotine? The name "guillotine" came about during the French Revolution, but the machine that received the name had been around in some form since at least 1286 AD with the English Halifax Gibbet, which predates Newton's "discovery" by almost four hundred years.
And let's not forget other, non-deadly uses for gravity, such as irrigation. In Ancient Persia, aqueducts and water drainage systems utilized the principle of gravity almost entirely to facilitate drainage and irrigation. Ancient Persia went through several empires from 728 BC-226 AD (the last one started in 250 BC). Even the fall of the last Persian empire predated Newton's "discovery" by 14 hundred years, and the beginning of the first predated it by over 22 hundred years.
So fuck you Newton. You ain't discover gravity ya li'l bitch.
Stay classy
Fuck no he didn't! How absurd is that? One man, discovering gravity? That's like one man trying to take credit for discovering air! If somebody that I knew told me that they'd discovered air (and I was kinda in the old days and whatnot), I'd be like "you mean the stuff we've been breathing since birth?" and he'd be like "yeah that's - " but he wouldn't be able to finish his sentence cuz I'd beat him with a stick mid-speech!
There's no way on God's green Earth that Sir Isaac Newton discovered gravity. Proof? Oh I got that. Drop a beat and lemme spit it to ya.
Gravity, as we all know, is a principle that powers many things. For example, the execution methods of hanging and beheading by way of guillotine (not to be morbid haha). Both rely heavily on the principle and implementation of gravity.
Now, Sir Isaac Newton "discovered" gravity circa 1666 AD. However, one of the earliest appearances of a gallows is in the Bible in Esther 5:14:
"[Haman's] wife Zeresh and all his friends said to him, "Have a gallows built, seventy-five feet high..."
The Book of Esther is a part of the Old Testament, and scholars believe that it was written circa the third or fourth century BC - meaning that they'd "discovered" gravity (and it's death-dealing ability) nearly two thousand years before Newton's apple bonked him on the noggin.
Whew. I guess that Intro to the Bible Theology course last year actually came in handy after all.
Anyway.
Remember the guillotine? The name "guillotine" came about during the French Revolution, but the machine that received the name had been around in some form since at least 1286 AD with the English Halifax Gibbet, which predates Newton's "discovery" by almost four hundred years.
And let's not forget other, non-deadly uses for gravity, such as irrigation. In Ancient Persia, aqueducts and water drainage systems utilized the principle of gravity almost entirely to facilitate drainage and irrigation. Ancient Persia went through several empires from 728 BC-226 AD (the last one started in 250 BC). Even the fall of the last Persian empire predated Newton's "discovery" by 14 hundred years, and the beginning of the first predated it by over 22 hundred years.
So fuck you Newton. You ain't discover gravity ya li'l bitch.
Stay classy
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Thuggenomics 1000C Intro
Hey readership. What with the state of the economy and all that ungangsta shit, one of my associates Maeron aka The Purp and I decided to bring an alternative method of makin' it rain to your attention. This method has been time-tested by those such as the Notorious B.I.G., 50 Cent, and MC Hammer (for a little while, anyway).
I'm talking, of course, of the well-known but seldom-practiced accounting system known as Thuggenomics. Professor Purp and I (Professor Wolfman) will be teaching an introductory course in the study and application of Thuggenomics. Since Professor Purp's whereabouts during the school year are still in question at this time (she may be too much of a G to only have one address... respect), we will be offering this course in online installments of Thuggenomics wisdom and hustlin'-related homework assignments.
To start off, a list of suggested reference materials:
1. "Ten Crack Commandments" by the Notorious B.I.G.
2. "How to be a Professional Con Artist" by Dennis M. Marlock
3. "How to Cheat at Everything" by Simon Lovell
4. This instructional video which shows you exactly how NOT to be gangsta (tricky bastards purposefully tried to mislead you).
That's good to start. These materials will put you well on your way to mastering the subtle art and exact science that is Thuggenomics. Study them carefully, hustlas-in-training.
And whatever you do.
Stay classy
I'm talking, of course, of the well-known but seldom-practiced accounting system known as Thuggenomics. Professor Purp and I (Professor Wolfman) will be teaching an introductory course in the study and application of Thuggenomics. Since Professor Purp's whereabouts during the school year are still in question at this time (she may be too much of a G to only have one address... respect), we will be offering this course in online installments of Thuggenomics wisdom and hustlin'-related homework assignments.
To start off, a list of suggested reference materials:
1. "Ten Crack Commandments" by the Notorious B.I.G.
2. "How to be a Professional Con Artist" by Dennis M. Marlock
3. "How to Cheat at Everything" by Simon Lovell
4. This instructional video which shows you exactly how NOT to be gangsta (tricky bastards purposefully tried to mislead you).
That's good to start. These materials will put you well on your way to mastering the subtle art and exact science that is Thuggenomics. Study them carefully, hustlas-in-training.
And whatever you do.
Stay classy
Friday, July 24, 2009
And God Himself Seems to Respond....
Okay, so as soon as I posted that last blog post about two seconds ago, I got a HUGE ad on the side that linked to this.
Good lookin' out, Big Guy.
Stay classy
Good lookin' out, Big Guy.
Stay classy
I've Come to Realize....
. . .that after shit like this and this, not to mention all the "Black Jesus" references I've made through these past eleven months (holy shit it's almost been a year! time flies when you're making yourself seem like an asshole!), basically, if God doesn't have an amazingly blasphemous sense of humor, I'm pretty much fucked.
Hope you're laughin' up there, Big Guy.
And as for you, readership, I hope you only do one thing.
Stay classy
Hope you're laughin' up there, Big Guy.
And as for you, readership, I hope you only do one thing.
Stay classy
Monday, July 20, 2009
The Single Biggest Conversational Mistake You Can Make
Readership, this is something I've known for years. However, it took a conversation with R 'n R to make me realize it.
The single biggest conversational mistake you can make - is to ask someone what they do for a living.
Through my metaphysical third eye I can see all of you nodding your heads. You've obviously been there.
"So what do you do for a living?"
"Well . . . basically" - because that's always how this shit starts, as they're trying to dig for extra shit to say to make their job sound important - "basically, I'm a refuse collection technician. What I do is, in the morning, I get into my uniform and I board the RCT - Refuse Collection Technician - vehicle and we drive around the city at specific days and times, using specifically calculated routes, and perform our RCT duties. It's pretty cushy, I get paid pretty well and the work is usually done by noon, so I get the rest of the day to myself."
Do you know what the non-dickhead name for the job I just described was?
A fucking garbage man.
That's a fictional example, but here's a real one. I visited some family in Florida for my cousin Cisco's "welcome back from Iraq/birthday" party. One of my cousins works for the people who do those "As Seen on TV" things. He's the guy who puts the orders in.
That's his job. He's the guy who puts the orders in. If you'll notice, I described the ENTIRETY of his job in an eight-word sentence.
He LITERALLY spent a good 45 minutes to an hour explaining his job to me. Meanwhile I'm nodding and going "yeah, yeah I hear you" and shit, just thinking "Jesus bro, shut the hell up I'm trying to play fuckin' Slime Volleyball over here..."
BIGGEST CONVERSATIONAL MISTAKE.
Remember that.
And please, if you remember nothing else, remember this.
Stay classy
The single biggest conversational mistake you can make - is to ask someone what they do for a living.
Through my metaphysical third eye I can see all of you nodding your heads. You've obviously been there.
"So what do you do for a living?"
"Well . . . basically" - because that's always how this shit starts, as they're trying to dig for extra shit to say to make their job sound important - "basically, I'm a refuse collection technician. What I do is, in the morning, I get into my uniform and I board the RCT - Refuse Collection Technician - vehicle and we drive around the city at specific days and times, using specifically calculated routes, and perform our RCT duties. It's pretty cushy, I get paid pretty well and the work is usually done by noon, so I get the rest of the day to myself."
Do you know what the non-dickhead name for the job I just described was?
A fucking garbage man.
That's a fictional example, but here's a real one. I visited some family in Florida for my cousin Cisco's "welcome back from Iraq/birthday" party. One of my cousins works for the people who do those "As Seen on TV" things. He's the guy who puts the orders in.
That's his job. He's the guy who puts the orders in. If you'll notice, I described the ENTIRETY of his job in an eight-word sentence.
He LITERALLY spent a good 45 minutes to an hour explaining his job to me. Meanwhile I'm nodding and going "yeah, yeah I hear you" and shit, just thinking "Jesus bro, shut the hell up I'm trying to play fuckin' Slime Volleyball over here..."
BIGGEST CONVERSATIONAL MISTAKE.
Remember that.
And please, if you remember nothing else, remember this.
Stay classy
You Paid HOW much for that Quarter?
Hey there readership. Today, my dad got the elusive final quarter in that 50 States quarter thing that the US Mint started a few years back, which gave each state a quarter with its name, motto, date of admission into the Union, and a picture on the tails side (standard George Washington on the heads side). Basically, my dad's got this huge folding cardboard map of the United States with fifty quarter-sized holes in it in each of the states. Whenever the US Mint came out with the next state quarter in the series, he'd try to get one and put it in this map. And now, with the elusive Hawaii finally in his possession, the collection is complete. Now, he thinks it's worth something.
If it is, that's fucking sad.
I mean, coins can definitely have sentimental value - I even have a couple half-dollars that were given to me by a close family friend before she passed away. I can even KINDA see coins having some kind of monetary value, like Buffalo Head nickles or pennies or whatever the fuck had the buffalo head on it, and like shit from the Civil War and all that.
But a quarter? Seriously? My dad was telling me - in all seriousness - that people were trading for these quarters and shit starting at $1.25 EACH. A quick bit of mental math will tell you that each quarter is "valued" at 500% of its actual circulation value.
What the fuuuuuuck?
I mean, like I said, super old coins are one thing - hell, I'd probably pay a little bit of money to have the coin that Andrew Jackson wore around his neck, assuming he had one, which is a bad assumption, as he hated the National Bank and fucked its charter in the butt repeatedly, but then again that would make such a coin even more valuable and badass - if it exists.
But I digress.
The day that I'm buying a quarter for anything more than twenty-five cents is the day that I get beaten with a stick until near dead. And then buried under a mountain of "valuable" quarters. Dammit, I feel stupid even saying that. "Valuable quarters." What the hell.
If I catch someone paying more than the face value for a coin that isn't older than their grandfather I'm kickin' their ass on pure principle!
You have been warned.
Bitches.
Stay classy
If it is, that's fucking sad.
I mean, coins can definitely have sentimental value - I even have a couple half-dollars that were given to me by a close family friend before she passed away. I can even KINDA see coins having some kind of monetary value, like Buffalo Head nickles or pennies or whatever the fuck had the buffalo head on it, and like shit from the Civil War and all that.
But a quarter? Seriously? My dad was telling me - in all seriousness - that people were trading for these quarters and shit starting at $1.25 EACH. A quick bit of mental math will tell you that each quarter is "valued" at 500% of its actual circulation value.
What the fuuuuuuck?
I mean, like I said, super old coins are one thing - hell, I'd probably pay a little bit of money to have the coin that Andrew Jackson wore around his neck, assuming he had one, which is a bad assumption, as he hated the National Bank and fucked its charter in the butt repeatedly, but then again that would make such a coin even more valuable and badass - if it exists.
But I digress.
The day that I'm buying a quarter for anything more than twenty-five cents is the day that I get beaten with a stick until near dead. And then buried under a mountain of "valuable" quarters. Dammit, I feel stupid even saying that. "Valuable quarters." What the hell.
If I catch someone paying more than the face value for a coin that isn't older than their grandfather I'm kickin' their ass on pure principle!
You have been warned.
Bitches.
Stay classy
Friday, July 17, 2009
I've Escaped!
It turns out that this was all a plot to kidnap Hat and use his extensive knowledge of astrophysics (it's widely known that he has a doctorate in the field) in order to time-travel to a time where crack was much cheaper to manufacture, make a shitton of it, and then come back and sell it at an epic profit. However, Hat's doctorate is fake, and in actuality he knows about as much about astrophysics as my little sister knows about having a life (aka not even a little bit).
So they tortured the poor bastard with everything from the spin cycle to lintification. I busted out of my holding cell and beat two crackheads with a brick that i found, then grabbed Hat away from the bleach-trap they'd set up, and together we kicked down the door and ran our asses off. In the struggle, the crackwhore Observation was lost.
Whatevs.
Stay classy
On an Unrelated Note
For some reason, as i search for clues pointing to where i'm being
held prisoner, my mind wanders to the old Pokemon Gameboy games.
Remember how at the Pokemon Centers, when you were done getting your
Pokemon healed, the last thing Nurse Joy would say was ''We hope to
see you again!'' Oh really? You hope that my Pokemon get injured
severely enough to warrant a return to the Pokemon Center? Well fuck
you too Nurse Joy. Next time we'll let Brock have his way with you.
Sheesh . . . the things you think of when you're kidnapped. Whatevs.
Stay classy
held prisoner, my mind wanders to the old Pokemon Gameboy games.
Remember how at the Pokemon Centers, when you were done getting your
Pokemon healed, the last thing Nurse Joy would say was ''We hope to
see you again!'' Oh really? You hope that my Pokemon get injured
severely enough to warrant a return to the Pokemon Center? Well fuck
you too Nurse Joy. Next time we'll let Brock have his way with you.
Sheesh . . . the things you think of when you're kidnapped. Whatevs.
Stay classy
Distress Call
Readership, i'm in trouble, broadcasting from my cellphone. While in the urban wilderness of New
Haven, preparing an Observation on the sub-species of human being
called ''the crackwhore'' i was compromised. As i spoke to a
crackwhore (an adventure in and of itself), her dealer spotted me. One
look at Hat's soft black felt ass and my sexy mustache was all he
needed to conclude that i was a pimp trying to steal one of his
customers. Now, that was far from true - however this was hard to
communicate when 7 of his thugs freakin' Apparated all around. They
came outta the freakin' woodwork (like those midgets in the temple in
the last Indiana Jones movie); i'm sure that when i scoped out the
spot before i talked to the crackwhore, there weren't any crazy fucks
with Glocks and attitudes hanging around. I ran, of course, but didn't
get far; the crackwhore had fastened her arms securely around my
waist, cutting my usual near-Kenyan speed down to circa drew carey.
Thus i was captured and transported. Idk where i am. But i will
escape! Stay classy
Haven, preparing an Observation on the sub-species of human being
called ''the crackwhore'' i was compromised. As i spoke to a
crackwhore (an adventure in and of itself), her dealer spotted me. One
look at Hat's soft black felt ass and my sexy mustache was all he
needed to conclude that i was a pimp trying to steal one of his
customers. Now, that was far from true - however this was hard to
communicate when 7 of his thugs freakin' Apparated all around. They
came outta the freakin' woodwork (like those midgets in the temple in
the last Indiana Jones movie); i'm sure that when i scoped out the
spot before i talked to the crackwhore, there weren't any crazy fucks
with Glocks and attitudes hanging around. I ran, of course, but didn't
get far; the crackwhore had fastened her arms securely around my
waist, cutting my usual near-Kenyan speed down to circa drew carey.
Thus i was captured and transported. Idk where i am. But i will
escape! Stay classy
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Rocket Power Pisses Me Off
Hey there readership.
I'm sure many of you remember classic Nickelodeon - All That (the original with Keenan and Kel, not this bullshit with Brittney Spears' little sister), AH! Real Monsters, Rocco's Modern Life, Doug, Rugrats, etc. Each show was legit in its own way.
Each show, that is, except Rocket Power.
Let me preface this by saying that I KNOW THAT IT WAS AN ANIMATED TV SHOW. I know. So shut up about that. I'm fully aware that I'm mad about fictional animated children's show characters. If you don't like it, bite me.
But yeah.
Let's start with the kids. I know that there are some child prodigies when it comes to extreme sports - BMX, skateboarding, rollerblading, etc. But by definition a prodigy focuses on one discipline. These fucking kids are like twelve and are LEGIT AT EVERYTHING. These little herbs can do some borderline professional shit on their BMX bikes, their skateboards, their snowboards, and their surfboards, and they're all legit at rollerblade street hockey - even the "Squid" (whatever the fuck that means), who never played hockey a day in his life and is just a naturally FUCKING AMAZING goalie. And even on their first try they're amazing. There was one episode where Twister and Otto (Otto? Seriously? What the hell) basically discovered and mastered the street luge in about ten minutes. The street luge is probably one of the most dangerous extreme sports simply because of how fast you're going (average speeds from 40-97 mph), and the degrees of the turns you have to take. Combine that with the fact that you're in competition with several other people who are taking the run at the same time (unlike the winter version of the luge, where you go one at a time), and you've got some super dangerous shit that no twelve-year-olds should be doing unsupervised and as a "hey let's try this" type of thing.
Second, where in the hell do these little punks live, that they're able to surf, constantly be swimming and wearing beach-weather-type clothes, AND fucking snowboard in good conditions AT THE SAME TIME? The only state in America I can think of for this kind of thing would be California, but the skiing/snowboarding in California is up north, where it's cold, and these kids live by the beach and it's always hot. I remember in the first episode where the "Squid" is introduced, Twister sees his long pants and asks him sarcastically "What're you expecting snow?" But the way they talk about it, when they're thinking of going snowboarding they're not like "okay let's pack shit up for the three-hour ride from Venice Beach to Sierra Nevada for snowboarding," they're like "okay grab your stuff this shit is down the street." Which is bullshit.
I mean, I know in the end, it's a cartoon. I get it. Really. But seriously. You're giving kids false hopes here. Nobody's super legit at skateboarding, snowboarding, surfing, BMX, rollerblading and street hockey. At best you find someone legit at two or maybe three (Shaun White comes to mind, being good at skateboarding and snowboarding).
So fuck you, guys who made Rocket Power!
But as for the rest of you.
Stay classy
I'm sure many of you remember classic Nickelodeon - All That (the original with Keenan and Kel, not this bullshit with Brittney Spears' little sister), AH! Real Monsters, Rocco's Modern Life, Doug, Rugrats, etc. Each show was legit in its own way.
Each show, that is, except Rocket Power.
Let me preface this by saying that I KNOW THAT IT WAS AN ANIMATED TV SHOW. I know. So shut up about that. I'm fully aware that I'm mad about fictional animated children's show characters. If you don't like it, bite me.
But yeah.
Let's start with the kids. I know that there are some child prodigies when it comes to extreme sports - BMX, skateboarding, rollerblading, etc. But by definition a prodigy focuses on one discipline. These fucking kids are like twelve and are LEGIT AT EVERYTHING. These little herbs can do some borderline professional shit on their BMX bikes, their skateboards, their snowboards, and their surfboards, and they're all legit at rollerblade street hockey - even the "Squid" (whatever the fuck that means), who never played hockey a day in his life and is just a naturally FUCKING AMAZING goalie. And even on their first try they're amazing. There was one episode where Twister and Otto (Otto? Seriously? What the hell) basically discovered and mastered the street luge in about ten minutes. The street luge is probably one of the most dangerous extreme sports simply because of how fast you're going (average speeds from 40-97 mph), and the degrees of the turns you have to take. Combine that with the fact that you're in competition with several other people who are taking the run at the same time (unlike the winter version of the luge, where you go one at a time), and you've got some super dangerous shit that no twelve-year-olds should be doing unsupervised and as a "hey let's try this" type of thing.
Second, where in the hell do these little punks live, that they're able to surf, constantly be swimming and wearing beach-weather-type clothes, AND fucking snowboard in good conditions AT THE SAME TIME? The only state in America I can think of for this kind of thing would be California, but the skiing/snowboarding in California is up north, where it's cold, and these kids live by the beach and it's always hot. I remember in the first episode where the "Squid" is introduced, Twister sees his long pants and asks him sarcastically "What're you expecting snow?" But the way they talk about it, when they're thinking of going snowboarding they're not like "okay let's pack shit up for the three-hour ride from Venice Beach to Sierra Nevada for snowboarding," they're like "okay grab your stuff this shit is down the street." Which is bullshit.
I mean, I know in the end, it's a cartoon. I get it. Really. But seriously. You're giving kids false hopes here. Nobody's super legit at skateboarding, snowboarding, surfing, BMX, rollerblading and street hockey. At best you find someone legit at two or maybe three (Shaun White comes to mind, being good at skateboarding and snowboarding).
So fuck you, guys who made Rocket Power!
But as for the rest of you.
Stay classy
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Cash For Gold? Now That's Some Ol' Bullshit
Okay readership, apparently the price of gold has absofuckinglutely skyrocketed in the past maybe month and change. If not skyrocketed, at the very least the price of gold risen enough to warrant about a zillion different companies that all seem to have the same sales pitch: put all of your fucked up/unwanted gold into our envelope and send it to us. We'll weigh it and pay you in cash through the mail, then melt the gold down and do basically whatever the fuck we want with it.
Okay let's take it back a little.
First of all, have you ever seen one of those envelopes? Check it out. If that doesn't scream "STEAL ME!" I don't know what does. It's freakin' ridiculous - why the hell am I gonna put all my scrap/fucked up/unwanted gold into THAT and then send it in the mail? Do you really think I'm THAT stupid? I mean, yeah, if you put it into a legit mailbox (like the blue ones on the corner) instead of into your own mailbox outside your house, then there's less of a chance of it getting stolen - by common thieves.
But now you have the problem of the bitchass postal workers stealing your shit (I'm sure that there are a lot of trustworthy, nice postal workers. But they don't seem to work anywhere around me). I mean yeah, a couple hundred bucks to a G and change definitely isn't worth the trouble they'll be in if they get caught (which they most likely won't), but when was the last time that logic was ever worth a damn with people? Yeah, I can't remember either.
And then there's the simple fact that you can't send cash through the mail. At all. So IF your gold gets to their "processing plant," you're gonna have to wait for a check to clear to get your money. Wasn't the whole point of this entire transaction to get money for your gold QUICKLY? It ends up being a question of whether you get money for your gold at ALL.
And that, dear readership, is some ol' bullshit.
Stay classy
Okay let's take it back a little.
First of all, have you ever seen one of those envelopes? Check it out. If that doesn't scream "STEAL ME!" I don't know what does. It's freakin' ridiculous - why the hell am I gonna put all my scrap/fucked up/unwanted gold into THAT and then send it in the mail? Do you really think I'm THAT stupid? I mean, yeah, if you put it into a legit mailbox (like the blue ones on the corner) instead of into your own mailbox outside your house, then there's less of a chance of it getting stolen - by common thieves.
But now you have the problem of the bitchass postal workers stealing your shit (I'm sure that there are a lot of trustworthy, nice postal workers. But they don't seem to work anywhere around me). I mean yeah, a couple hundred bucks to a G and change definitely isn't worth the trouble they'll be in if they get caught (which they most likely won't), but when was the last time that logic was ever worth a damn with people? Yeah, I can't remember either.
And then there's the simple fact that you can't send cash through the mail. At all. So IF your gold gets to their "processing plant," you're gonna have to wait for a check to clear to get your money. Wasn't the whole point of this entire transaction to get money for your gold QUICKLY? It ends up being a question of whether you get money for your gold at ALL.
And that, dear readership, is some ol' bullshit.
Stay classy
Monday, July 6, 2009
The Hindsight Genius Effect
Hey readership. Tonight, I was chillin' with some of my homeslices (Jesus and JavaGrava, and Mr. Sanchez joined a little later), and Jesus, ironically enough, had an epiphany. Lemme spit it as it went down in H-Town.
Have you ever done something amazing? Like, "remember it and treasure it always, and every time something remotely related to it comes up in conversation, retell it in true 'HOLY BLACK JESUS DID I TELL YOU THAT STORY!?' fashion" amazing? I'm talkin' the stuff of legend - the stuff that the witnesses' children will be telling THEIR grandchildren. The stuff that will never be forgotten, or at the least never remembered in the correct order.
Of course. Everybody with at least one crazy friend has at least one such story. And when that story was happening, you were scared maybe. Exhilirated definitely. And when whatever it was that happened finished, you felt like you had just conquered the entire universe and made each and every occupant your bitch. The feeling is unquestionably one of the best you'll ever experience, and the euphoria lasts well into the next day.
And then, the Hindsight Genius Effect kicks in.
For those who don't know what the Hindsight Genius Effect is (i.e. everyone besides me, Jesus and JavaGrava), allow me to explain. As I stated above, the euphoria lasts for a day and some change. During that day and change, you're reliving the event, be it an actual escapade, a joke, a snappy comeback, etc. You go through every single detail of it, from the position you were in, to the weather, to the lighting, to any music that was playing - every detail of the event and the atmosphere around it . . . and then you start to think.
There's where you go wrong - you start thinking. "How could I have improved this?" It's a natural human desire, to be better, to improve upon the past. However, in doing so, you take what was hitherto an amazingly epic memory and turn it into a hollow shell of "what could've been."
You could've said "monkeytwat" instead of regular ol' "twat." You could've ran up the wall to the roof instead of climbing the ladder. Etc. etc. etc.
The fact of the matter is this: there's always a better way to do shit. All you need is a little time and a batshit-crazy imagination (friends of questionable moral compasses help too), and you'll easily think of a way that that epic adventure could've been more epic. But don't look at this realization that you could've done something 1000000x better as a negative. Rather, realize that you did the best you could with the little bit of time you had to react, and that next time, you'll do a shit-ton better.
Ya fuckin' pussy.
Stay classy
Have you ever done something amazing? Like, "remember it and treasure it always, and every time something remotely related to it comes up in conversation, retell it in true 'HOLY BLACK JESUS DID I TELL YOU THAT STORY!?' fashion" amazing? I'm talkin' the stuff of legend - the stuff that the witnesses' children will be telling THEIR grandchildren. The stuff that will never be forgotten, or at the least never remembered in the correct order.
Of course. Everybody with at least one crazy friend has at least one such story. And when that story was happening, you were scared maybe. Exhilirated definitely. And when whatever it was that happened finished, you felt like you had just conquered the entire universe and made each and every occupant your bitch. The feeling is unquestionably one of the best you'll ever experience, and the euphoria lasts well into the next day.
And then, the Hindsight Genius Effect kicks in.
For those who don't know what the Hindsight Genius Effect is (i.e. everyone besides me, Jesus and JavaGrava), allow me to explain. As I stated above, the euphoria lasts for a day and some change. During that day and change, you're reliving the event, be it an actual escapade, a joke, a snappy comeback, etc. You go through every single detail of it, from the position you were in, to the weather, to the lighting, to any music that was playing - every detail of the event and the atmosphere around it . . . and then you start to think.
There's where you go wrong - you start thinking. "How could I have improved this?" It's a natural human desire, to be better, to improve upon the past. However, in doing so, you take what was hitherto an amazingly epic memory and turn it into a hollow shell of "what could've been."
You could've said "monkeytwat" instead of regular ol' "twat." You could've ran up the wall to the roof instead of climbing the ladder. Etc. etc. etc.
The fact of the matter is this: there's always a better way to do shit. All you need is a little time and a batshit-crazy imagination (friends of questionable moral compasses help too), and you'll easily think of a way that that epic adventure could've been more epic. But don't look at this realization that you could've done something 1000000x better as a negative. Rather, realize that you did the best you could with the little bit of time you had to react, and that next time, you'll do a shit-ton better.
Ya fuckin' pussy.
Stay classy
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
"I Could Give a Fuck!"
Readership, if there's one thing I hate, it's people who try to correct you when you use a figure of speech or turn a phrase. For example: "I could care less." Yeah, yeah, if you say that, TECHNICALLY it means that you have the ability to care less than you actually do, which means that if there was a numerical equivalent to how much you cared at the moment, it would be greater than 0 - an indication that you actually DO care. Everybody KNOWS what you mean when you say "I could care less," but there are a select group of DOUCHEBAGS who will make it a point to correct you and say that it should be "I COULDN'T care less," indicating that there is no level of caring below your level of total notgivingafuckery.
So yeah. I hate those select douchebags who love to correct shit like that. However, what I hate even MORE is when these douchebags correct that shit AND ARE DEAD FUCKING WRONG. Examples? Oh, I have a good one, readership. It's the phrase, "I could give a fuck."
The argument with "I could give a fuck" is that since you're admitting that you have the ability to give a fuck, that means deep down somewhere, you actually DO give a fuck. This is WRONG. Why is it wrong? Let me give you an alternate scenario.
There are three people in a room. One is just your average guy off the street. Nothing special, nothing remarkable, just your average Joe. The second guy has an extremely rare disease, which is slowly killing him, and is in its final, painful, terminal stages. He has less than a week to live. The disease is curable, but only by one doctor in the entire world. Lastly, the third guy IS the one doctor that can cure the disease. Also in the room is every piece of medical equipment that the doctor would need to cure the sick man.
Now answer me this: If the sick guy asks each of the other men, one by one, to cure him, is it worse that the average Joe says no, or is it worse that the doctor says no? Of COURSE it's worse that the doctor says no. The average guy couldn't cure the sick guy no matter how much he wanted to, but the doctor COULD, yet he CHOOSES NOT TO.
This brings me back to my original point. In saying "I could give a fuck," I'm saying that yes, I could give a fuck if I really wanted to - it's wholly and totally within my power to do so - but I DON'T FUCKING WANNA. Which, in my opinion (and logically), is a lot worse than me just not giving a fuck.
So take that.
Fucker.
Stay classy
So yeah. I hate those select douchebags who love to correct shit like that. However, what I hate even MORE is when these douchebags correct that shit AND ARE DEAD FUCKING WRONG. Examples? Oh, I have a good one, readership. It's the phrase, "I could give a fuck."
The argument with "I could give a fuck" is that since you're admitting that you have the ability to give a fuck, that means deep down somewhere, you actually DO give a fuck. This is WRONG. Why is it wrong? Let me give you an alternate scenario.
There are three people in a room. One is just your average guy off the street. Nothing special, nothing remarkable, just your average Joe. The second guy has an extremely rare disease, which is slowly killing him, and is in its final, painful, terminal stages. He has less than a week to live. The disease is curable, but only by one doctor in the entire world. Lastly, the third guy IS the one doctor that can cure the disease. Also in the room is every piece of medical equipment that the doctor would need to cure the sick man.
Now answer me this: If the sick guy asks each of the other men, one by one, to cure him, is it worse that the average Joe says no, or is it worse that the doctor says no? Of COURSE it's worse that the doctor says no. The average guy couldn't cure the sick guy no matter how much he wanted to, but the doctor COULD, yet he CHOOSES NOT TO.
This brings me back to my original point. In saying "I could give a fuck," I'm saying that yes, I could give a fuck if I really wanted to - it's wholly and totally within my power to do so - but I DON'T FUCKING WANNA. Which, in my opinion (and logically), is a lot worse than me just not giving a fuck.
So take that.
Fucker.
Stay classy
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