Readership, as this is my last post ever on Legally Blind Observations here on Blogger, I just thought I'd do a little "thank you" post.
First, to Dr. Becker, my freshman year DNY professor. If she hadn't told us to make a blog for class, I would never have started Legally Blind Observations. Thanks for that Dr. Becker.
Second, to Maria, my first reader (even though I kinda forced it on her. haha).
Third, to A-Ham aka Tenth Dollar and Maeron aka the Purp, who were the first to randomly make my day by telling me that they read this hunk of dookie, and moreover, that they enjoyed it.
And lastly, to everybody else who has ever read this and gotten a laugh, or felt the need to comment and make me laugh, or to show how much of an asshole they were (cough), I thank you. You definitely made these past couple years pretty flippin' awesome.
Hopefully, the win will continue over at Tumblr. See you there!
And whatever you do.
Stay classy
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Children's Television Shows Upset Me
Before I start, it's with great sadness that I say that this will be my final Observation here on Blogger. It's been a good two years, but I'm not one to go against progress, so you'll have to go to Tumblr for your Legally Blind Observation fix in the future (this post is also available on Tumblr, of course).
Anyway.
Readership, as you remember, I have a thing about children's television shows, and now I'm back because, once again, I've found something that pisses me off.
First off, the Wiggles. What THE fuck. When my sister was younger, she used to watch it all the time, and I would be forced to sit there and make sure she didn't blow the house up, thus being forced to watch the Wiggles myself.
ALL THEY DO IS SING AND MAKE FRUIT SALAD. That's not only a pointless existence (they don't even eat the fruit salad!), but the strangest combination of activities to make up your occupation that I've ever encountered. I mean I can understand that some jobs have you do some weird shit, but sing as part of a four-man group, and make fruit salad that NOBODY EATS? That's fucking retarded.
As an aside, I think most of my anger stems from the fact that I love fruit salad, and feel as though these strange grown-ass men in purple shirts are disrespecting me and the fruit salad every time they make some and nobody gets to eat it.
I digress.
Secondly, we have Scooby Doo. Now, don't start with that "don't hate on Scooby Doo" shit, because I love Scooby Doo, and I always have, but come the hell on. "Ohhhh noes it's a pirate ghost he's chasing us runnnnn!" Nah, fuck that, BEAT HIS ASS. If you had a single black or Hispanic guy in "the gang," the longest episode of Scooby Doo would've been about five minutes. The ghost or witch or monster or whatever would've shown up and tried to scare everybody away, and the brother/boriquen would've been like "fuck you bitch!" and beat the shit outta him. Then Velma would've come through and unmasked him, and everybody would be confused because nobody would have any clues as to why whoever was under the mask was doing what he was doing, but the brother/boriquen would tell them that it's not our fucking job to investigate crimes, that's what the police are for. They have their suspect, he's caught red-handed in the midst of a crime, throw him in jail and then figure out why he's there (isn't that what police do anyway?). Of course, as a brother/boriquen, he would know that the police rarely do anything correctly (including and especially their jobs), but still, he would know even more that it wasn't his job to do the cops' job, even if the cops weren't doing it.
Lastly, and definitely the one that pisses me off the most, is Dora the Explorer. There's just SO MUCH wrong with the message it's sending to kids. Where the hell are her parents? How the hell do they think it's okay for their 7-year-old daughter to go out on a fucking adventure into the wilderness with a talking monkey and a talking backpack? Kids are highly impressionable these days, and they'll see this shit and think that it's all good to do the same shit, but if they try that, you know for damn sure they're not gonna be met with a LOT worse than a bitchass semi-clepto fox dressed as a bandit.
And speaking of Swiper, what the fuck kind of thief is he? How the hell does "Swiper no swiping!" stop you dead in your tracks? It would be more like:
"Swiper no swiping! Swiper no-"
BAM BAM BAM.
"Swipe muh Glock 9, bitch, that's MY talking backpack."
Stay classy
Anyway.
Readership, as you remember, I have a thing about children's television shows, and now I'm back because, once again, I've found something that pisses me off.
First off, the Wiggles. What THE fuck. When my sister was younger, she used to watch it all the time, and I would be forced to sit there and make sure she didn't blow the house up, thus being forced to watch the Wiggles myself.
ALL THEY DO IS SING AND MAKE FRUIT SALAD. That's not only a pointless existence (they don't even eat the fruit salad!), but the strangest combination of activities to make up your occupation that I've ever encountered. I mean I can understand that some jobs have you do some weird shit, but sing as part of a four-man group, and make fruit salad that NOBODY EATS? That's fucking retarded.
As an aside, I think most of my anger stems from the fact that I love fruit salad, and feel as though these strange grown-ass men in purple shirts are disrespecting me and the fruit salad every time they make some and nobody gets to eat it.
I digress.
Secondly, we have Scooby Doo. Now, don't start with that "don't hate on Scooby Doo" shit, because I love Scooby Doo, and I always have, but come the hell on. "Ohhhh noes it's a pirate ghost he's chasing us runnnnn!" Nah, fuck that, BEAT HIS ASS. If you had a single black or Hispanic guy in "the gang," the longest episode of Scooby Doo would've been about five minutes. The ghost or witch or monster or whatever would've shown up and tried to scare everybody away, and the brother/boriquen would've been like "fuck you bitch!" and beat the shit outta him. Then Velma would've come through and unmasked him, and everybody would be confused because nobody would have any clues as to why whoever was under the mask was doing what he was doing, but the brother/boriquen would tell them that it's not our fucking job to investigate crimes, that's what the police are for. They have their suspect, he's caught red-handed in the midst of a crime, throw him in jail and then figure out why he's there (isn't that what police do anyway?). Of course, as a brother/boriquen, he would know that the police rarely do anything correctly (including and especially their jobs), but still, he would know even more that it wasn't his job to do the cops' job, even if the cops weren't doing it.
Lastly, and definitely the one that pisses me off the most, is Dora the Explorer. There's just SO MUCH wrong with the message it's sending to kids. Where the hell are her parents? How the hell do they think it's okay for their 7-year-old daughter to go out on a fucking adventure into the wilderness with a talking monkey and a talking backpack? Kids are highly impressionable these days, and they'll see this shit and think that it's all good to do the same shit, but if they try that, you know for damn sure they're not gonna be met with a LOT worse than a bitchass semi-clepto fox dressed as a bandit.
And speaking of Swiper, what the fuck kind of thief is he? How the hell does "Swiper no swiping!" stop you dead in your tracks? It would be more like:
"Swiper no swiping! Swiper no-"
BAM BAM BAM.
"Swipe muh Glock 9, bitch, that's MY talking backpack."
Stay classy
Friday, May 7, 2010
Why Do You Say Such Stupid Shit? Volume 9
Once again, before I start this, know that this post is also available in its entirety on Tumblr. There will be only one more post after this one made here on Blogger, before the switch is made permanently to Tumblr, so make sure you migrate on over there if you want your Legally Blind Observations fix!
Anyway.
Readership, I'm gonna level with you. This past week or so has been so obscenely and ridiculously full of absolutely undiluted pure win that I really haven't had much to bitch about. As such, this is going to be the first time I've gone back-to-back with "Why Do You Say Such Stupid Shit?" and only the second time I've ever gone back-to-back with any "feature" (the other time was here and here, with back-to-back "Blame X for Y" posts).
Now, to the Observation.
First off, we have a favorite question asked around exam time in high schools and colleges nationwide.
"How many questions are on the test?"
What the hell does that matter? Are you OCD, and unable to take a test with an odd number of questions? The number of questions is entirely irrelevant; aren't you going to take the test no matter how many questions there are? If the professor says there are 29823729401 questions, if it's a final, and you give a shit about your grades, you know damn well you're gonna take the test. You might bitch and moan about it the whole time (shit, I know I would - that's almost 30 billion questions!), but you would definitely take that test, and three days later (when you actually finished it), you'd think you were the shit. Don't even lie.
Secondly, something said during most emergency situations, or drills for emergency situations: "Please move calmly in a single-file line towards the exit."
NAH BITCH GET THE FUCK OUT MUH WAY I'M 'BOUT TO DIE!
Seriously though, how the hell are you gonna tell me to move calmly away from that RAGING CONFLAGRATION behind us? I understand that losing your head in an emergency is what gets you and people you care about hurt or killed unnecessarily, but still. When there's some terrible shit going down around me - fire, explosions, gunshots, etc. - the LAST thing on my mind is being calm. I want to get the FUCK OUTTA THERE. I'll be calm when I'm several miles away and the probability that I'll die off some dumb shit is a little diminished.
Lastly, the action of making your bed. While it's "technically" not something you say, it's still fucking ridiculous. I mean, look at it logically. What's going to happen to your bed the next time you use it? Depending on how old you are and what your housing situation is, you're either gonna sleep in it or screw in it, and unless you're a quadriplegic, doing either is gonna un-make your bed. So what the fuck.
Stay classy
Anyway.
Readership, I'm gonna level with you. This past week or so has been so obscenely and ridiculously full of absolutely undiluted pure win that I really haven't had much to bitch about. As such, this is going to be the first time I've gone back-to-back with "Why Do You Say Such Stupid Shit?" and only the second time I've ever gone back-to-back with any "feature" (the other time was here and here, with back-to-back "Blame X for Y" posts).
Now, to the Observation.
First off, we have a favorite question asked around exam time in high schools and colleges nationwide.
"How many questions are on the test?"
What the hell does that matter? Are you OCD, and unable to take a test with an odd number of questions? The number of questions is entirely irrelevant; aren't you going to take the test no matter how many questions there are? If the professor says there are 29823729401 questions, if it's a final, and you give a shit about your grades, you know damn well you're gonna take the test. You might bitch and moan about it the whole time (shit, I know I would - that's almost 30 billion questions!), but you would definitely take that test, and three days later (when you actually finished it), you'd think you were the shit. Don't even lie.
Secondly, something said during most emergency situations, or drills for emergency situations: "Please move calmly in a single-file line towards the exit."
NAH BITCH GET THE FUCK OUT MUH WAY I'M 'BOUT TO DIE!
Seriously though, how the hell are you gonna tell me to move calmly away from that RAGING CONFLAGRATION behind us? I understand that losing your head in an emergency is what gets you and people you care about hurt or killed unnecessarily, but still. When there's some terrible shit going down around me - fire, explosions, gunshots, etc. - the LAST thing on my mind is being calm. I want to get the FUCK OUTTA THERE. I'll be calm when I'm several miles away and the probability that I'll die off some dumb shit is a little diminished.
Lastly, the action of making your bed. While it's "technically" not something you say, it's still fucking ridiculous. I mean, look at it logically. What's going to happen to your bed the next time you use it? Depending on how old you are and what your housing situation is, you're either gonna sleep in it or screw in it, and unless you're a quadriplegic, doing either is gonna un-make your bed. So what the fuck.
Stay classy
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Why Do You Say Such Stupid Shit? Volume 8
Readership, I'm no longer surprised that I continue to find stupid shit people say. So I'm gonna skip the "can you believe it?" and get right to the nitty-gritty. Also, as an aside, this post will also be available in its entirety on Tumblr.
First off, we have something courtesy of Hannah aka H-Rose (who, bless her, seems to deal with a bunch of morons, because she's had a hand in the last two or three iterations of this segment. that's true classiness right there). Let's look at a sample conversation to illustrate this.
Student: Professor, how do you spell the musical term, "ritornello?"
MUSIC PROFESSOR: Look it up.
What the hell? "Look it up"? I don't give a shit about the definition, I just want to know how to spell it, dick. And you, being a MUSIC professor, should know how to spell it. Now, if YOU don't know how to spell it, that's a different story, but even if that's the case, man the fuck up and tell me so we can look it up together and learn something and further our intelligence and shit. Don't be a bitch about it.
Secondly, we have the phrase "fresh-picked." People see "fresh-picked" on advertisements for fruits and vegetables and immediately think "wow, this must be some good shit!"
WRONG. "Fresh-picked" has absolutely nothing to do with freshness of the actual fruit or vegetable. For example, say I'm a farmer. I have a grove of the absolute nastiest apples you've ever seen in your life. I can go through my grove and find the single nastiest apple that the Earth has ever bore. It'll be a Red Delicious, but it will be blue. There will be holes all over it, a coddling moth caterpillar would've done this to it on the inside (and yes, I actually bit into that apple), and I would've sprayed it with so many pesticides that I need a Hazmat suit before I can even get within ten feet of it. But after I get my Hazmat suit on, I could go up to it and pick it right off the tree and hand it to you, and guess what? That apple, as nasty as it is, would still be "fresh-picked." And you, good sir/madam, would be shit outta luck.
Lastly, we have the excuse of "thinking out loud."
Bob: Man, I gotta get that .44 magnum . . . and the sleeping pills. How am I gonna distract Tim so I can put it in his beer and shoot him . . . hmmm . . .
Tim: Uhh, what the fuck?
Bob: Oh! Sorry bro I'm just thinking out loud. Haha.
The fuck? I have several problems with "thinking out loud." First of all, I call bullshit. You're not thinking out loud, you're talking to yourself, you got caught, and now you're making up some bullshit excuse so that whoever caught you doesn't think you're nuttier than squirrel shit. Secondly, why the hell would you think out loud? Your mind (aka where us normal folks do most of our thinking), is a limitless place, where all five senses can be experienced simultaneously. Why would you leave this PERFECT thinking place, where anything you can imagine can be played out in a zillion ways, to narrow your thinking to only words and sound? Are you a retard?
The last time I used "thinking out loud" as an excuse, I almost got my ass beat. My mom was pissing me off when I was around nine years old, and under my breath I said "shut the hell up bitch." She heard me, and I told her I was just thinking out loud. As she started chasing me, I told her that it was an Eminem lyric, which she almost believed, then remembered that I didn't listen to Eminem, and chased me around the house and out into the street.
Thank God I've got Kenyan speed, or else I wouldn't be here today.
But yeah. People say some stupid shit.
Stay classy
First off, we have something courtesy of Hannah aka H-Rose (who, bless her, seems to deal with a bunch of morons, because she's had a hand in the last two or three iterations of this segment. that's true classiness right there). Let's look at a sample conversation to illustrate this.
Student: Professor, how do you spell the musical term, "ritornello?"
MUSIC PROFESSOR: Look it up.
What the hell? "Look it up"? I don't give a shit about the definition, I just want to know how to spell it, dick. And you, being a MUSIC professor, should know how to spell it. Now, if YOU don't know how to spell it, that's a different story, but even if that's the case, man the fuck up and tell me so we can look it up together and learn something and further our intelligence and shit. Don't be a bitch about it.
Secondly, we have the phrase "fresh-picked." People see "fresh-picked" on advertisements for fruits and vegetables and immediately think "wow, this must be some good shit!"
WRONG. "Fresh-picked" has absolutely nothing to do with freshness of the actual fruit or vegetable. For example, say I'm a farmer. I have a grove of the absolute nastiest apples you've ever seen in your life. I can go through my grove and find the single nastiest apple that the Earth has ever bore. It'll be a Red Delicious, but it will be blue. There will be holes all over it, a coddling moth caterpillar would've done this to it on the inside (and yes, I actually bit into that apple), and I would've sprayed it with so many pesticides that I need a Hazmat suit before I can even get within ten feet of it. But after I get my Hazmat suit on, I could go up to it and pick it right off the tree and hand it to you, and guess what? That apple, as nasty as it is, would still be "fresh-picked." And you, good sir/madam, would be shit outta luck.
Lastly, we have the excuse of "thinking out loud."
Bob: Man, I gotta get that .44 magnum . . . and the sleeping pills. How am I gonna distract Tim so I can put it in his beer and shoot him . . . hmmm . . .
Tim: Uhh, what the fuck?
Bob: Oh! Sorry bro I'm just thinking out loud. Haha.
The fuck? I have several problems with "thinking out loud." First of all, I call bullshit. You're not thinking out loud, you're talking to yourself, you got caught, and now you're making up some bullshit excuse so that whoever caught you doesn't think you're nuttier than squirrel shit. Secondly, why the hell would you think out loud? Your mind (aka where us normal folks do most of our thinking), is a limitless place, where all five senses can be experienced simultaneously. Why would you leave this PERFECT thinking place, where anything you can imagine can be played out in a zillion ways, to narrow your thinking to only words and sound? Are you a retard?
The last time I used "thinking out loud" as an excuse, I almost got my ass beat. My mom was pissing me off when I was around nine years old, and under my breath I said "shut the hell up bitch." She heard me, and I told her I was just thinking out loud. As she started chasing me, I told her that it was an Eminem lyric, which she almost believed, then remembered that I didn't listen to Eminem, and chased me around the house and out into the street.
Thank God I've got Kenyan speed, or else I wouldn't be here today.
But yeah. People say some stupid shit.
Stay classy
I'm Gonna Take a Tumbl...r
Readership, progress is a beautiful thing, and I'm not one to shit on beautiful things, so I have a bit of news. Starting with the next post (a rousing investigation into our favorite paradoxical question of "Why do you say such stupid shit?"), Legally Blind Observations will be posted both here on Blogger and over at Tumblr. This will continue for a few posts, and then the switch will be made completely and permanently to Tumblr.
Why the change? Nothing against Blogger at all. Blogger has served me quite faithfully these past couple of years. However, Tumblr attracts a lot more readers than Blogger does, and everybody and their mother seems to have a Tumblr. Just like the decision I made when I realized that everybody and their mother had a Twitter (a decision which went against a moral stance I'd taken previously), I'm realizing that it's time to embrace this next big thing and make the move to Tumblr.
So once again, the short version. Legally Blind Observations will be posted simultaneously on Blogger and Tumblr for the next three posts, and upon the fourth, EXCLUSIVELY at Tumblr. I will post a link in the final post here (which by my calculations will be post #197) to the Tumblr blog, and a link back here on the Tumblr blog.
Stay classy
Why the change? Nothing against Blogger at all. Blogger has served me quite faithfully these past couple of years. However, Tumblr attracts a lot more readers than Blogger does, and everybody and their mother seems to have a Tumblr. Just like the decision I made when I realized that everybody and their mother had a Twitter (a decision which went against a moral stance I'd taken previously), I'm realizing that it's time to embrace this next big thing and make the move to Tumblr.
So once again, the short version. Legally Blind Observations will be posted simultaneously on Blogger and Tumblr for the next three posts, and upon the fourth, EXCLUSIVELY at Tumblr. I will post a link in the final post here (which by my calculations will be post #197) to the Tumblr blog, and a link back here on the Tumblr blog.
Stay classy
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Ford's Swap Your Ride - Could it be? Yes, ANOTHER WTF?
Readership, I've been watching a bit more television these days, and I've stumbled upon a new batch of car commercials. Ford has started this sales event, wherein they go to a random-ass person who drives something other than a Ford, and swap that person's vehicle for the closest Ford equivalent. For example, if the person is driving a Chevy Cobalt, they'll switch it for the Ford Fusion, etc. The kicker? The person who's getting their car swapped out doesn't know about it; nor do they give their consent.
Ford Swap Your Ride? Nah bitch, more like Ford SWIPE Your Ride. Where I'm from, that shit would get you shot or arrested, depending on whether you got caught by the car's owner or the cops.
I digress.
In the commercials, every one is all "heyyy we swapped your ride out for a Ford yayyy" and then the person who owned the non-Ford is all "oh my goshhhh you guysss okayyy I'll drive it" etc. etc. And then Mike Rowe (that old guy from "Dirty Jobs" on Discovery Channel) tells them all this sales pitch bullshit about the Ford they're driving, and then at the end they're all sold about getting rid of their non-Ford to get a Ford.
First of all, I'm calling bullshit. If, after driving a Ford, I was sooo impressed that I wanted to get rid of my non-Ford and then buy a Ford, I would first have to sell my non-Ford. I dunno about you, Readership, but my dad's been trying to sell his 1981 Corvette for about two years now. Maybe more. In this recession, it's almost impossible to sell a car because nobody wants to buy one because nobody has any money. Also, how the hell am I gonna be able to sell my non-Ford when everybody's seen these commercials detailing how fucking awesome Fords are and how shitty non-Fords are? Who wants a shitty non-Ford?
Secondly, what the fuck? I hope, that if/when I get a car and if it's not a Ford (which it probably won't be, because my family has owned two Fords and they both blew major donkey balls), that my friends are smart enough to know that randomly swapping my car out for a Ford without my consent will piss me right the fuck off. It's MY SHIT. What gives anybody the idea that basically stealing someone's car to make a point is okay?
The fact that it's stealing aside, people put some very sensitive shit in their car sometimes. The heavier you are into, shall we say, shady dealings, the more this would piss you off, and/or call for idiots getting fitted for cement shoes.
"Hey Carlito! We swapped out your Mercedes CLK for a Ford Fusion! Mira, it's Mike Rowe!"
"WHAT THE FUCK? Venga, Paco - GET THAT FUCKING CAMERA OUTTA HERE! Paco, where's my car?"
"N-no se man, calmate, what's wrong?"
"Puto, there's six kilos of coke in the running boards and taped under the seats, and I was supposed to deliver the car in twenty minutes. We're fucking DEAD, CULO!"
Or something to that degree.
Bottom line, just because you have a camera crew and a quote-unquote "celebrity," does NOT mean that if you steal my car - steal my car, moreover, to replace it with a piece of ABSOLUTE SHIT - you won't get your ass kicked. I've said it once, and I'll say it again: I'm not afraid to beat an old man's ass in public.
Bring it on Mike Rowe. Old ass bitch.
As for you, Readership. You know what to do already.
Stay classy
Ford Swap Your Ride? Nah bitch, more like Ford SWIPE Your Ride. Where I'm from, that shit would get you shot or arrested, depending on whether you got caught by the car's owner or the cops.
I digress.
In the commercials, every one is all "heyyy we swapped your ride out for a Ford yayyy" and then the person who owned the non-Ford is all "oh my goshhhh you guysss okayyy I'll drive it" etc. etc. And then Mike Rowe (that old guy from "Dirty Jobs" on Discovery Channel) tells them all this sales pitch bullshit about the Ford they're driving, and then at the end they're all sold about getting rid of their non-Ford to get a Ford.
First of all, I'm calling bullshit. If, after driving a Ford, I was sooo impressed that I wanted to get rid of my non-Ford and then buy a Ford, I would first have to sell my non-Ford. I dunno about you, Readership, but my dad's been trying to sell his 1981 Corvette for about two years now. Maybe more. In this recession, it's almost impossible to sell a car because nobody wants to buy one because nobody has any money. Also, how the hell am I gonna be able to sell my non-Ford when everybody's seen these commercials detailing how fucking awesome Fords are and how shitty non-Fords are? Who wants a shitty non-Ford?
Secondly, what the fuck? I hope, that if/when I get a car and if it's not a Ford (which it probably won't be, because my family has owned two Fords and they both blew major donkey balls), that my friends are smart enough to know that randomly swapping my car out for a Ford without my consent will piss me right the fuck off. It's MY SHIT. What gives anybody the idea that basically stealing someone's car to make a point is okay?
The fact that it's stealing aside, people put some very sensitive shit in their car sometimes. The heavier you are into, shall we say, shady dealings, the more this would piss you off, and/or call for idiots getting fitted for cement shoes.
"Hey Carlito! We swapped out your Mercedes CLK for a Ford Fusion! Mira, it's Mike Rowe!"
"WHAT THE FUCK? Venga, Paco - GET THAT FUCKING CAMERA OUTTA HERE! Paco, where's my car?"
"N-no se man, calmate, what's wrong?"
"Puto, there's six kilos of coke in the running boards and taped under the seats, and I was supposed to deliver the car in twenty minutes. We're fucking DEAD, CULO!"
Or something to that degree.
Bottom line, just because you have a camera crew and a quote-unquote "celebrity," does NOT mean that if you steal my car - steal my car, moreover, to replace it with a piece of ABSOLUTE SHIT - you won't get your ass kicked. I've said it once, and I'll say it again: I'm not afraid to beat an old man's ass in public.
Bring it on Mike Rowe. Old ass bitch.
As for you, Readership. You know what to do already.
Stay classy
Racism
Readership, if you'll recall, I'm very serious about equal rights. This is no joke. Racism, segregation, and the lack of diversity in America are still things that people think are all gone. If you think that this is true, you're still wrong.
Racism is alive and well in America. It pulses with every step of the KKK and every dribble of the basketball in this asshole's basketball league. There is not a single man, woman, or child who knows what racism is, that hasn't had a racist thought. I've had a racist thought. You've had a racist thought. Your momma's had a racist thought. Everybody has.
But this post isn't about the KKK. It isn't about that asshole or his whites-only basketball league (or the hilarious media coverage that he got). It isn't about your momma being a big, nasty, filthy racist.
The racism to which I'm referring is this:
Why is it, that when it comes to the new KFC Doubledown Sandwich, a sandwich made almost entirely of fried chicken, ALL THE IMPORTANT PEOPLE IN THE COMMERCIALS ARE BLACK!?
Stay classy
Racism is alive and well in America. It pulses with every step of the KKK and every dribble of the basketball in this asshole's basketball league. There is not a single man, woman, or child who knows what racism is, that hasn't had a racist thought. I've had a racist thought. You've had a racist thought. Your momma's had a racist thought. Everybody has.
But this post isn't about the KKK. It isn't about that asshole or his whites-only basketball league (or the hilarious media coverage that he got). It isn't about your momma being a big, nasty, filthy racist.
The racism to which I'm referring is this:
Why is it, that when it comes to the new KFC Doubledown Sandwich, a sandwich made almost entirely of fried chicken, ALL THE IMPORTANT PEOPLE IN THE COMMERCIALS ARE BLACK!?
Stay classy
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
For the Ladies
Readership, maybe it's the smell of spring in the air, but I've been noticing a marked increase in what I'd like to call "Oblivious Romantic Attachment." Since today is Opening Day for the New York Yankees, and I'm watching the game now, I'm going to keep this short and sweet. Peep it.
Ladies. If you have a male best friend, who is always down to chill, always there when you want to vent about some asshole, always down to beat the absolute shit out of a random stranger just because he looks at you funny, always okay with buying you stuff and taking you places, etc. etc., if he's not gay, he's totally and completely crazy about you.
Now, with this new-found knowledge, don't just drop it all on him - don't be like "so are you crazy about me?" Because 99% of the time he'll deny it flatly and lie right to your face. You ladies are crafty - feminine wiles and all that shit - so use some of that to see how he really feels, and if you feel the same way, let him know. There's always the chance that he's just a REALLY good guy friend and has nothing but friendly feelings towards you. But it wouldn't kill you to use all your feminine wiles and shit to figure it out. Just to be sure.
Because I've been there, and let me tell you, it's hard to dry the tears off my shoulder after some guy was a dick, and to listen to the whole "I can't find any good guys" speech, and the whole "I want my husband to be my best friend" speech, while all the while I'm standing right there, fulfilling every requirement for her "perfect man" or whatever, and still shit out of luck.
No, this isn't happening currently. I'm happily single. But it's happened before, and I'm trying to prevent it from happening any more. Baby steps.
Stay classy
Ladies. If you have a male best friend, who is always down to chill, always there when you want to vent about some asshole, always down to beat the absolute shit out of a random stranger just because he looks at you funny, always okay with buying you stuff and taking you places, etc. etc., if he's not gay, he's totally and completely crazy about you.
Now, with this new-found knowledge, don't just drop it all on him - don't be like "so are you crazy about me?" Because 99% of the time he'll deny it flatly and lie right to your face. You ladies are crafty - feminine wiles and all that shit - so use some of that to see how he really feels, and if you feel the same way, let him know. There's always the chance that he's just a REALLY good guy friend and has nothing but friendly feelings towards you. But it wouldn't kill you to use all your feminine wiles and shit to figure it out. Just to be sure.
Because I've been there, and let me tell you, it's hard to dry the tears off my shoulder after some guy was a dick, and to listen to the whole "I can't find any good guys" speech, and the whole "I want my husband to be my best friend" speech, while all the while I'm standing right there, fulfilling every requirement for her "perfect man" or whatever, and still shit out of luck.
No, this isn't happening currently. I'm happily single. But it's happened before, and I'm trying to prevent it from happening any more. Baby steps.
Stay classy
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Real Men Wear Pink?
Readership, this whole "real men wear pink" movement has finally gotten to the top of the "PISSIN' ME OFF!" pile, and now I have to address it.
Pink has been, is, and always will be a girl's color. My generation learned this through watching Power Rangers. There was never, is not currently, and never will be, a male Pink Ranger. Recently, they tried a season where they made the Yellow Ranger a dude and the Blue Ranger a chick.
That shit didn't last long.
But back on topic.
The whole argument for the "real men wear pink" thing is pretty damn asinine. Basically, these fools believe that a "real man" wears pink because a "real man" is manly enough and secure enough to do so. From a psychological and self-esteem view, they might have a point - but even if they do, it's flimsy bullshit at best.
On top of that, I have several facts that shoot their "real men wear pink" bullshit dogma down to shit. And I'll list them below, just cuz I know you're lookin' to read 'em.
First of all, we look to modern-day advertising campaigns. There are a lot of quote-unquote "manly" things that we see advertised on television. For example, pickup trucks, grills, and professional sports teams and their related indicia (apparel, stationary, etc.). Yet, in the advertising campaigns for these products that are widely recognized as "manly," there's a very curious lack of anything pink.
I've never seen a guy wearing anything pink in one of those hard-fucking-core, drop-two-tons-of-cinder-blocks-into-muh-pickup-so-it-kinda-bounces-and-dust-goes-flying-but-I-don't-care-cuz-I'm-a-manly-man pickup truck commercials, and I don't think I've ever seen a pink pickup truck at ALL, be it on TV, in a movie, or in real life. Shit, I don't even think I've ever seen a pink pickup truck in a comicbook or a cartoon. In the two places where there are NO RULES, there are STILL no pink pickup trucks.
Also, when's the last time you saw a pink grill? The only thing pink that EVER touches a man's grill is raw meat. And it doesn't stay pink for long. Because it gets grilled to perfection - if he's a real man.
Ditto for pink in professional sports. The only time you see pink clothing on a professional sports player is when they're playing the game for Breast Cancer, which is the only time a real man should be wearing pink. I hear all you "real men wear pink" dickheads screaming from deep something about pink baseball caps, and I tell you in reply, "shut up, they were made for chicks." And they were, so shut up.
If you don't get the significance of the fact that advertisement campaigns for manly shit NEVER include pink, for one, you're a loon, and for another, I'll have to explain. The SINGLE GOAL of advertisement is for you to buy whatever's being advertised. If you see an ad and buy the product, they've succeeded. If you see an ad and keep on walking, they've failed. Thus, logically they structure their ads to maximize effectiveness, and target their market accordingly.
If you're still not getting it, let me lay it out flat for you: knowing that they're selling manly things to real men, and knowing that they have to maximize their effectiveness with that target market, advertising departments DELIBERATELY LEAVE OUT PINK. Know why?
BECAUSE REAL MEN DON'T WEAR PINK.
Still not convinced? Then you're an idiot, but I'll give you irrefutable proof right now. If you don't believe that real men DON'T wear pink after this next bit, that means a) you're not a real man and b) you're wearing pink for some other reason that I'll leave to you and your psychologist to uncover.
Let's make a list of the top five manliest men. Obviously, this list would vary depending on who you asked, but we'll just assume (for argument's sake) that my list is representative of what the average man would list as his manliest men (as statistics slowly creeps into my non-academic life...).
Anyway, top five manliest men, in no particular order (besides the first one, obviously):
1. Chuck Norris
2. Clint Eastwood
3. Andrew Jackson
4. Sean Connery
5. Grigori Rasputin
If you "real men" in your pink shirts would take a gander, you'd notice two things that each of those five men have in common.
First off, they're INFINITELY manlier than you are, and infinitely to INFINITY manlier than you'll EVER be.
AND SECONDLY, THEY'RE NOT WEARING PINK!
Stay classy
Pink has been, is, and always will be a girl's color. My generation learned this through watching Power Rangers. There was never, is not currently, and never will be, a male Pink Ranger. Recently, they tried a season where they made the Yellow Ranger a dude and the Blue Ranger a chick.
That shit didn't last long.
But back on topic.
The whole argument for the "real men wear pink" thing is pretty damn asinine. Basically, these fools believe that a "real man" wears pink because a "real man" is manly enough and secure enough to do so. From a psychological and self-esteem view, they might have a point - but even if they do, it's flimsy bullshit at best.
On top of that, I have several facts that shoot their "real men wear pink" bullshit dogma down to shit. And I'll list them below, just cuz I know you're lookin' to read 'em.
First of all, we look to modern-day advertising campaigns. There are a lot of quote-unquote "manly" things that we see advertised on television. For example, pickup trucks, grills, and professional sports teams and their related indicia (apparel, stationary, etc.). Yet, in the advertising campaigns for these products that are widely recognized as "manly," there's a very curious lack of anything pink.
I've never seen a guy wearing anything pink in one of those hard-fucking-core, drop-two-tons-of-cinder-blocks-into-muh-pickup-so-it-kinda-bounces-and-dust-goes-flying-but-I-don't-care-cuz-I'm-a-manly-man pickup truck commercials, and I don't think I've ever seen a pink pickup truck at ALL, be it on TV, in a movie, or in real life. Shit, I don't even think I've ever seen a pink pickup truck in a comicbook or a cartoon. In the two places where there are NO RULES, there are STILL no pink pickup trucks.
Also, when's the last time you saw a pink grill? The only thing pink that EVER touches a man's grill is raw meat. And it doesn't stay pink for long. Because it gets grilled to perfection - if he's a real man.
Ditto for pink in professional sports. The only time you see pink clothing on a professional sports player is when they're playing the game for Breast Cancer, which is the only time a real man should be wearing pink. I hear all you "real men wear pink" dickheads screaming from deep something about pink baseball caps, and I tell you in reply, "shut up, they were made for chicks." And they were, so shut up.
If you don't get the significance of the fact that advertisement campaigns for manly shit NEVER include pink, for one, you're a loon, and for another, I'll have to explain. The SINGLE GOAL of advertisement is for you to buy whatever's being advertised. If you see an ad and buy the product, they've succeeded. If you see an ad and keep on walking, they've failed. Thus, logically they structure their ads to maximize effectiveness, and target their market accordingly.
If you're still not getting it, let me lay it out flat for you: knowing that they're selling manly things to real men, and knowing that they have to maximize their effectiveness with that target market, advertising departments DELIBERATELY LEAVE OUT PINK. Know why?
BECAUSE REAL MEN DON'T WEAR PINK.
Still not convinced? Then you're an idiot, but I'll give you irrefutable proof right now. If you don't believe that real men DON'T wear pink after this next bit, that means a) you're not a real man and b) you're wearing pink for some other reason that I'll leave to you and your psychologist to uncover.
Let's make a list of the top five manliest men. Obviously, this list would vary depending on who you asked, but we'll just assume (for argument's sake) that my list is representative of what the average man would list as his manliest men (as statistics slowly creeps into my non-academic life...).
Anyway, top five manliest men, in no particular order (besides the first one, obviously):
1. Chuck Norris
2. Clint Eastwood
3. Andrew Jackson
4. Sean Connery
5. Grigori Rasputin
If you "real men" in your pink shirts would take a gander, you'd notice two things that each of those five men have in common.
First off, they're INFINITELY manlier than you are, and infinitely to INFINITY manlier than you'll EVER be.
AND SECONDLY, THEY'RE NOT WEARING PINK!
Stay classy
Friday, April 9, 2010
Arbitrary Value
Readership, I noticed something that bothered me slightly today. There are a lot of things that have value, most of which are sold (like products and services). Most of them have clear values, usually based on the costs incurred during the process of manufacturing the products (materials, utilities at the manufacturing plant, salaries, etc.), or the manufacturing processes of making the products that are used in the service provided, as well as labor, etc.
However, there are some things for which there are simply no empirically identifiable values. For example, in those commercials for eHarmony, they say that they'll give you their Personality Profile for free, and stress the fact that it's a $40 value, and that you're getting for free.
I would really like to know how they came to that value. What were your calculations? Dr. Neil Clark Warren has been a Christian Life Counselor for like 30 something years, so are you paying for his experience? That's ridiculous (obviously).
But let's just say, for the sake of an argument, that you actually ARE paying for his 30 something years of experience. Thus, I would have to ask, a) how do you put a value on experience, and b) how the HELL are THIRTY-PLUS YEARS' EXPERIENCE worth only $40?
RIDDLE ME THAT BITCHES!
And whatever you do
Stay classy
However, there are some things for which there are simply no empirically identifiable values. For example, in those commercials for eHarmony, they say that they'll give you their Personality Profile for free, and stress the fact that it's a $40 value, and that you're getting for free.
I would really like to know how they came to that value. What were your calculations? Dr. Neil Clark Warren has been a Christian Life Counselor for like 30 something years, so are you paying for his experience? That's ridiculous (obviously).
But let's just say, for the sake of an argument, that you actually ARE paying for his 30 something years of experience. Thus, I would have to ask, a) how do you put a value on experience, and b) how the HELL are THIRTY-PLUS YEARS' EXPERIENCE worth only $40?
RIDDLE ME THAT BITCHES!
And whatever you do
Stay classy
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
College Apparel
Readership, as I ate my delicious sammich today at lunch, I realized something about college apparel. And then, in an amazing attack of serendipity, I realized something ELSE about college apparel. I was so excited, I had to tell you!
My first realization was centered around the fact that people have this strange habit of wearing college apparel from colleges that they've never attended (even while currently attending a different college). I just don't get it.
Now, it's far from me to tell anybody what to wear or anything like that, and please don't take what I'm about to say as me doing so, but when it comes to this sort of thing, the litmus test (for me, anyway) is a little something I like to call the "ridiculous answer" test. To clarify, that means that if someone were to ask you a question regarding the college apparel you were wearing (for example, "Oh, nice sweater. You go to Yale?"), and your only TRUTHFUL answer (and that's important!) would be some variation of "no" followed by something ridiculous (for example, "Nope, I take online courses at the University of Phoenix. I just like the colors. Matches my Best Buy uniform.") then you SHOULD NOT BE WEARING THAT COLLEGE APPAREL.
In my mind, there are only four scenarios where it would be okay for you to wear college apparel for a college that you don't attend. One, if your parent(s) and/or sibling(s) currently attend or used to attend that school, it's cool to wear that school's shit. Two, if this school is in some sort of college sports competition (including but not limited to the NCAA basketball tournament) - AND IS NOT AGAINST YOUR ACTUAL COLLEGE OF RESIDENCE - it's cool to wear their shit to show support as a fan. Three, if the apparel in question was free. However, I would still (personally) frown upon the wearing of said apparel in public, and would probably ask you "wtf," but if you told me it was free I'd probably be like "oh okay." Four, if you're in high school and have yet to receive acceptance and rejection letters from prospective colleges, you can wear whatever college shit you want. I think you'd look like an idiot, but technically since you could end up at any one of them, it'd be legit on paper.
Otherwise, what the fuck.
Whew.
Secondly, I realized that the whole point of wearing college apparel for your own college is the fact that you have pride in your school. Quick disclaimer: I know that a college education, no matter what institution it's from, is miles better than a high school diploma or GED equivalent, and that the people who graduate from community college or online colleges aren't any less accomplished or intelligent than people who graduate from Yale and Harvard. I'm pretty sure my mom graduated from a community college for her undergrad shit, and she's a fucking genius.
That said, let's face it, there are some schools that you should not have pride in attending. These include, but are not limited to, Stone Academy, the Sawyer School, ITT Tech, and any and all online-only universities. Wearing a DeVry University sweatshirt in public equates to you saying something along the lines of "Look at me, I got into DeVry!"
Must've been really hard for you, huh? All you had to do was open the fuckin' door.
Stay classy
My first realization was centered around the fact that people have this strange habit of wearing college apparel from colleges that they've never attended (even while currently attending a different college). I just don't get it.
Now, it's far from me to tell anybody what to wear or anything like that, and please don't take what I'm about to say as me doing so, but when it comes to this sort of thing, the litmus test (for me, anyway) is a little something I like to call the "ridiculous answer" test. To clarify, that means that if someone were to ask you a question regarding the college apparel you were wearing (for example, "Oh, nice sweater. You go to Yale?"), and your only TRUTHFUL answer (and that's important!) would be some variation of "no" followed by something ridiculous (for example, "Nope, I take online courses at the University of Phoenix. I just like the colors. Matches my Best Buy uniform.") then you SHOULD NOT BE WEARING THAT COLLEGE APPAREL.
In my mind, there are only four scenarios where it would be okay for you to wear college apparel for a college that you don't attend. One, if your parent(s) and/or sibling(s) currently attend or used to attend that school, it's cool to wear that school's shit. Two, if this school is in some sort of college sports competition (including but not limited to the NCAA basketball tournament) - AND IS NOT AGAINST YOUR ACTUAL COLLEGE OF RESIDENCE - it's cool to wear their shit to show support as a fan. Three, if the apparel in question was free. However, I would still (personally) frown upon the wearing of said apparel in public, and would probably ask you "wtf," but if you told me it was free I'd probably be like "oh okay." Four, if you're in high school and have yet to receive acceptance and rejection letters from prospective colleges, you can wear whatever college shit you want. I think you'd look like an idiot, but technically since you could end up at any one of them, it'd be legit on paper.
Otherwise, what the fuck.
Whew.
Secondly, I realized that the whole point of wearing college apparel for your own college is the fact that you have pride in your school. Quick disclaimer: I know that a college education, no matter what institution it's from, is miles better than a high school diploma or GED equivalent, and that the people who graduate from community college or online colleges aren't any less accomplished or intelligent than people who graduate from Yale and Harvard. I'm pretty sure my mom graduated from a community college for her undergrad shit, and she's a fucking genius.
That said, let's face it, there are some schools that you should not have pride in attending. These include, but are not limited to, Stone Academy, the Sawyer School, ITT Tech, and any and all online-only universities. Wearing a DeVry University sweatshirt in public equates to you saying something along the lines of "Look at me, I got into DeVry!"
Must've been really hard for you, huh? All you had to do was open the fuckin' door.
Stay classy
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Fitted Caps - Secretly Fucking Your Brain Up?
Readership, in the past four days I've noticed something that I've found quite strange. Between my time spent in the club on Saturday night, and my time spent watching a Wale video (with no sound) while at breakfast, I noticed that when people wear fitted caps (such as those from Lids), they have this strange tendency to spin them around and continuously rearrange them on their heads, constantly, and for seemingly no reason.
I looked at people wearing other types of headwear, however, and noticed a distinct lack of constant rearrangery - and shockingly, non-fitted caps (even of the same team as their fitted counterparts!) were not constantly rearranged and spun around the dome. Ski caps remained firmly in place (even if "in place" equated to dangerously dangling off the back of the head, in most cases), skullies weren't messed with, and the only possible exception was fedoras, which were given that little swipe across the front of the brim to accentuate the fact that the person was, indeed, wearing a sexy-ass fedora.
This leads me to postulate that there is something inherent in Fitted Caps (as they are now known to be some kind of unexplained entity, their name will become a proper noun) that almost forces someone to constantly arrange and rearrange them while wearing them, which serves no purpose practically or aesthetically.
With that said, I go further and theorize that Fitted Caps were invented and developed by the Feds, and as soon as they touch someone's head, they begin to secretly leech out information pertaining to whereabouts, illegal habits, and daily schedules. Every time information is leached and transmitted, the Fitted Cap sends a signal directly into your nervous system that makes you raise your arm up and rearrange the Fitted Cap, so it can get at a different area of your cortex and get more information. It's all a part of what I like to call the Federal Keeping the Black Man Down Act. Allow me to explain this a little further.
The Federal Keeping the Black Man Down Act was secretly enacted in 2009 after Oprah used her considerable influence to push it quietly through the House and the Senate, and since Oprah is Oprah, Barrack Obama signed that shit into law without hesitation.
IT'S NOT HIS FAULT. THIS IS OPRAH WE'RE TALKIN' ABOUT HERE.
I digress.
Don't take this the wrong way, but if there was a chart that displayed which ethnic group wore fitted caps most by percentage, African Americans would be at the top - and the government knows this (fucking Census!), and uses the Fitted Caps to implement the Federal Keeping the Black Man Down Act and exploit this knowledge.
That said, don't think that just because you're not black that the Federal Keeping the Black Man Down Act doesn't work on you. The Federal Keeping the Black Man Down Act works on EVERYBODY - all you have to do is wear a fitted. How do you think they caught Bernie Madoff? He was in the mall, saw a Lids store and thought "hmm. maybe I should go see about copping me the ill Yankees fitted, perchance?" The minute he tried that first Fitted Cap on, the FBI froze his assets and by the time he got home they were waiting to bust his ass and steal his Coldstone (cuz he got some on the way out of the mall).
So yeah. Beware the Fitted Caps!
And whatever you do
Stay classy
I looked at people wearing other types of headwear, however, and noticed a distinct lack of constant rearrangery - and shockingly, non-fitted caps (even of the same team as their fitted counterparts!) were not constantly rearranged and spun around the dome. Ski caps remained firmly in place (even if "in place" equated to dangerously dangling off the back of the head, in most cases), skullies weren't messed with, and the only possible exception was fedoras, which were given that little swipe across the front of the brim to accentuate the fact that the person was, indeed, wearing a sexy-ass fedora.
This leads me to postulate that there is something inherent in Fitted Caps (as they are now known to be some kind of unexplained entity, their name will become a proper noun) that almost forces someone to constantly arrange and rearrange them while wearing them, which serves no purpose practically or aesthetically.
With that said, I go further and theorize that Fitted Caps were invented and developed by the Feds, and as soon as they touch someone's head, they begin to secretly leech out information pertaining to whereabouts, illegal habits, and daily schedules. Every time information is leached and transmitted, the Fitted Cap sends a signal directly into your nervous system that makes you raise your arm up and rearrange the Fitted Cap, so it can get at a different area of your cortex and get more information. It's all a part of what I like to call the Federal Keeping the Black Man Down Act. Allow me to explain this a little further.
The Federal Keeping the Black Man Down Act was secretly enacted in 2009 after Oprah used her considerable influence to push it quietly through the House and the Senate, and since Oprah is Oprah, Barrack Obama signed that shit into law without hesitation.
IT'S NOT HIS FAULT. THIS IS OPRAH WE'RE TALKIN' ABOUT HERE.
I digress.
Don't take this the wrong way, but if there was a chart that displayed which ethnic group wore fitted caps most by percentage, African Americans would be at the top - and the government knows this (fucking Census!), and uses the Fitted Caps to implement the Federal Keeping the Black Man Down Act and exploit this knowledge.
That said, don't think that just because you're not black that the Federal Keeping the Black Man Down Act doesn't work on you. The Federal Keeping the Black Man Down Act works on EVERYBODY - all you have to do is wear a fitted. How do you think they caught Bernie Madoff? He was in the mall, saw a Lids store and thought "hmm. maybe I should go see about copping me the ill Yankees fitted, perchance?" The minute he tried that first Fitted Cap on, the FBI froze his assets and by the time he got home they were waiting to bust his ass and steal his Coldstone (cuz he got some on the way out of the mall).
So yeah. Beware the Fitted Caps!
And whatever you do
Stay classy
Monday, March 29, 2010
A Long (and Long-Overdue) Rant
Readership, I apologize. I feel that I've been very on and off with you this month. Looking at the number of Observations for this month, and the spacing of them time-wise throughout the month, it doesn't seem like I've been so spotty, but I can't shake the feeling that I have.
But fear not! In this one day I've witnessed and read about several things that pissed me right the hell off, and thus, you're in for a muchly needed, long-overdue rant. Enjoy!
These past few months in the Tri-State area, it's been raining like a bitch. There have been miniature swamps that I've had to ninja over. And it's been sneakily heavy sometimes too, like a fat ninja (aka Finja). I'd be walking and suddenly HELLO FUCKING DOWNPOUR.
With this knowledge under our belts, I put the question to you: why do people wear FLIP-FLOPS WHEN IT'S RAINING CATS AND DOGS? Do you LIKE that dirty wet feeling between your toes, borne of rain and/or dirty ass puddles with dog shit and God knows what else floating in it?
Oh you do? Cool.
Secondly, people who air out their private business in very public places, like, I dunno, Facebook. There was this couple last year that I was friends with on Facebook (I won't name names, because I'm not an asshole), that was on again, off again, on again, off again - every few fucking days they were back and forth between "go fuck yourself!" and "I luv youuuu <333" and it was the most annoying thing ever. There was one status that the guy had, which was something like "I'm losing the one thing that means the most to me, and there's no way I can stop it." I can sympathize with that, because I've been there too.
But then the chick comes through talking all this shit, and he's trying to get a word in but she's just shitting on him again and again and again, until he was just like "I'm done." But of course, she kept going. I logged on Facebook and saw this fucking EPIC POEM and I thought to myself "seriously? what the fuck."
THE PHONE WAS INVENTED FOR A REASON. You don't wanna hear his/her voice? It'll cause too much pain? TEXT THAT BITCH/ASSHOLE. Jump on AIM. If you HAVE to be on Facebook, there's this lovely thing called Facebook Chat. It's like AIM, but on Facebook. And if you don't like that (and nobody does), there are always private messages you can send on Facebook.
Point is: DON'T AIR YOUR PRIVATE SHIT OUT IN PUBLIC, YOU'RE PISSIN' PEOPLE OFF.
Thirdly, courtesy of Carlos aka Pimp-C. There are a couple ways to see what's for dinner when you walk into a dining hall. One, depending on how the place is laid out, you might be able to see what's good for food from the door. Also, you could see what people have on their plates. Third, if you're possessed of a sensitive nose, you can sniff out what's cookin'.
There's one way, however, that you don't want to find out what's for dinner: by seeing it BEING CHEWED INSIDE SOMEONE'S MOUTH.
HEY! LLAMA-LOOKIN', MOUTH-BREATHIN' DOUCHEBAGS! CLOSE YOUR MOUTH WHEN YOU CHEW! Ain't your momma taught you any better than that? Shit.
Lastly, this is probably one of the most annoying things that's happened to me this month. Tonight, I was in Monty's (the main dining hall on campus), making a sammich. The way they have the sammich-making area laid out is as follows: first, there's the bread. There's white, wheat, and some other weird brown shit, and then rolls (kaiser, hoagie, etc.). Then there's the meat (ha), which is usually ham, turkey and roast beef/corned beef. Then there's the cheese (American and Swiss, sometimes provolone too), and then the salad-ish shit (egg salad, lettuce, tomatoes, onions, etc.).
So. I had my bread, and I had grabbed my meat (ha), and I was going to grab some cheese, waiting in line behind this (kinda cute) girl. She smiled at me before she left with her sammich. I noticed this kid standing sort of awkwardly behind the two of us, not in line, and I was thinking "what the hell is this kid doing?" But I didn't give a fuck (per usual), so I went ahead and started grabbing my cheese. He slides in front of me grabbing some lettuce to put on his burger (like a bitch). I got a slice of provolone and two slices of Swiss (which were all in the same little receptacle), and then went to go grab some American cheese.
Then this motherfucker reached across me, underneath my arms and plate, to try and grab some shit behind me. I stopped dead and looked him dead in the eye. AND HE HAD THE NERVE TO LOOK AT ME AND CONTINUE. I was like "what the fuck dude." And he just sorta looked at me like I was a retard. AS IF THE RETARD WERE ME, NOT HIM!
THAT'S WHY THERE'S A LINE, DICK!
Whew.
Readership, again, I apologize for the spottiness of my shenanigans. I'll try to keep it more regular in the future. It'll be as if the blog started taking Benefiber.
Ha.
Stay classy
But fear not! In this one day I've witnessed and read about several things that pissed me right the hell off, and thus, you're in for a muchly needed, long-overdue rant. Enjoy!
These past few months in the Tri-State area, it's been raining like a bitch. There have been miniature swamps that I've had to ninja over. And it's been sneakily heavy sometimes too, like a fat ninja (aka Finja). I'd be walking and suddenly HELLO FUCKING DOWNPOUR.
With this knowledge under our belts, I put the question to you: why do people wear FLIP-FLOPS WHEN IT'S RAINING CATS AND DOGS? Do you LIKE that dirty wet feeling between your toes, borne of rain and/or dirty ass puddles with dog shit and God knows what else floating in it?
Oh you do? Cool.
Secondly, people who air out their private business in very public places, like, I dunno, Facebook. There was this couple last year that I was friends with on Facebook (I won't name names, because I'm not an asshole), that was on again, off again, on again, off again - every few fucking days they were back and forth between "go fuck yourself!" and "I luv youuuu <333" and it was the most annoying thing ever. There was one status that the guy had, which was something like "I'm losing the one thing that means the most to me, and there's no way I can stop it." I can sympathize with that, because I've been there too.
But then the chick comes through talking all this shit, and he's trying to get a word in but she's just shitting on him again and again and again, until he was just like "I'm done." But of course, she kept going. I logged on Facebook and saw this fucking EPIC POEM and I thought to myself "seriously? what the fuck."
THE PHONE WAS INVENTED FOR A REASON. You don't wanna hear his/her voice? It'll cause too much pain? TEXT THAT BITCH/ASSHOLE. Jump on AIM. If you HAVE to be on Facebook, there's this lovely thing called Facebook Chat. It's like AIM, but on Facebook. And if you don't like that (and nobody does), there are always private messages you can send on Facebook.
Point is: DON'T AIR YOUR PRIVATE SHIT OUT IN PUBLIC, YOU'RE PISSIN' PEOPLE OFF.
Thirdly, courtesy of Carlos aka Pimp-C. There are a couple ways to see what's for dinner when you walk into a dining hall. One, depending on how the place is laid out, you might be able to see what's good for food from the door. Also, you could see what people have on their plates. Third, if you're possessed of a sensitive nose, you can sniff out what's cookin'.
There's one way, however, that you don't want to find out what's for dinner: by seeing it BEING CHEWED INSIDE SOMEONE'S MOUTH.
HEY! LLAMA-LOOKIN', MOUTH-BREATHIN' DOUCHEBAGS! CLOSE YOUR MOUTH WHEN YOU CHEW! Ain't your momma taught you any better than that? Shit.
Lastly, this is probably one of the most annoying things that's happened to me this month. Tonight, I was in Monty's (the main dining hall on campus), making a sammich. The way they have the sammich-making area laid out is as follows: first, there's the bread. There's white, wheat, and some other weird brown shit, and then rolls (kaiser, hoagie, etc.). Then there's the meat (ha), which is usually ham, turkey and roast beef/corned beef. Then there's the cheese (American and Swiss, sometimes provolone too), and then the salad-ish shit (egg salad, lettuce, tomatoes, onions, etc.).
So. I had my bread, and I had grabbed my meat (ha), and I was going to grab some cheese, waiting in line behind this (kinda cute) girl. She smiled at me before she left with her sammich. I noticed this kid standing sort of awkwardly behind the two of us, not in line, and I was thinking "what the hell is this kid doing?" But I didn't give a fuck (per usual), so I went ahead and started grabbing my cheese. He slides in front of me grabbing some lettuce to put on his burger (like a bitch). I got a slice of provolone and two slices of Swiss (which were all in the same little receptacle), and then went to go grab some American cheese.
Then this motherfucker reached across me, underneath my arms and plate, to try and grab some shit behind me. I stopped dead and looked him dead in the eye. AND HE HAD THE NERVE TO LOOK AT ME AND CONTINUE. I was like "what the fuck dude." And he just sorta looked at me like I was a retard. AS IF THE RETARD WERE ME, NOT HIM!
THAT'S WHY THERE'S A LINE, DICK!
Whew.
Readership, again, I apologize for the spottiness of my shenanigans. I'll try to keep it more regular in the future. It'll be as if the blog started taking Benefiber.
Ha.
Stay classy
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Common Sense . . .
. . . is, clearly, not so common. As is evident by my rants, if it WERE common, I'd be out of a blog.
That is all.
Stay classy
That is all.
Stay classy
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Play-Doh Upsets Me
Readership, there are many things that upset me in this world, as you very well know. Sometime in the wee hours of this morning, another came to my attention. But I was so exhausted that I knocked out, and I couldn't remember it when I woke up later. I just remembered what it was: Play-Doh.
Now unless you're a Communist, you've played with Play-Doh at least once in your life. It was fun when we were kids. We'd make snakes and little people with faces and shit. And then the geniuses at Hasbro decided "hey... let's make play-sets that allow kids to make FOOD out of Play-Doh!"
I'm gonna pause here and drop a little bit of side knowledge for you, free of charge: kids are retarded. I knew a kid once that ate a Crayola crayon JUST because it was called "Macaroni & Cheese." So yeah. Kids are retarded.
I digress.
So here these (retarded) kids are, making food-shaped shit out of Play-Doh. And it looks real as hell at first glance. Especially the ice cream. They even have a Play-Doh ice cream server, and a little thing that makes sprinkles out of Play-Doh. But then you get THIS bullshit.
"Fun to play with, not to eat!"
The fuck!? So I'm gonna spend all this time making this ice cream out of Play-Doh and making it look all delicious and shit . . . and then take it back apart and put it away? How much fucking sense does that make?
All together now . . . "bottled water."
Some ol' bullshit.
Stay classy
Now unless you're a Communist, you've played with Play-Doh at least once in your life. It was fun when we were kids. We'd make snakes and little people with faces and shit. And then the geniuses at Hasbro decided "hey... let's make play-sets that allow kids to make FOOD out of Play-Doh!"
I'm gonna pause here and drop a little bit of side knowledge for you, free of charge: kids are retarded. I knew a kid once that ate a Crayola crayon JUST because it was called "Macaroni & Cheese." So yeah. Kids are retarded.
I digress.
So here these (retarded) kids are, making food-shaped shit out of Play-Doh. And it looks real as hell at first glance. Especially the ice cream. They even have a Play-Doh ice cream server, and a little thing that makes sprinkles out of Play-Doh. But then you get THIS bullshit.
"Fun to play with, not to eat!"
The fuck!? So I'm gonna spend all this time making this ice cream out of Play-Doh and making it look all delicious and shit . . . and then take it back apart and put it away? How much fucking sense does that make?
All together now . . . "bottled water."
Some ol' bullshit.
Stay classy
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