Hamden Turns More Whacktastic with Every Passing Day

Seems I keep discovering ninja-readers of my blog. Last time it was JavaGrava, who responded with a "chya" to the question of "do you read my blog?" but refused to accept a shout out (if you read the previous post, you can see how well that worked. I did it anyway). Now, before I get into this next jount, I'd like to welcome Hannah aka H-Rose (I would say "aka Baby" but it would sound weird to the vast majority of those who wouldn't get the reference), who has also been secretly reading my blog, and even found herself in a situation outlined in a recent one of my posts, and had the awesome idea to text me about it and share her experience (in all seriousness, I laughed my ass off, that totally made my day haha). AND she welcomed the idea of a shout out, so there!
But anyway, welcome Miss. Quite a few shenanigans going on here.

Just watch out for Cletus.

Anyway.

So I'm back in bitchass Hamden, CT for spring break (fucking beaches here suck!) and I've already realized that this place is so much lamer than it was when I was here in high school. I mean, there were bomb threats and shit while I was in high school (there was one a week for about three weeks near the end of senior year), but now there are threats of driveby shootings? Seriously? With cops right in the plaza maybe thirty feet from the front door of the high school? That's just stupid - as are a bunch of the kids here, threatening to do multiple drivebys upon getting their licenses. As my friend Reggie noted about one of these idiots in particular, "'Some' drivebys? As if his dumb ass could even pull off one!"

I dunno, readership. I'm trying to do something with my life that would make Hamden proud of me - not for the recognition (although that would be nice), but to try and put Hamden on the map. But I look to Hamden's history, and some pretty fucking sweet shit went down here and STILL people that live three towns over don't know where the hell Hamden is and/or have never even heard of it.

I mean, Eli Whitney (see Cotton Gin and Assembly Line) was all up in this bitch back in the day, these three judges John Dixwell, Edward Whalley and William Goffe all chilled up in this cave near my house because they were hiding from the British after sentencing King Charles I to beheading (every one of those three guys has a prominent street named after them), and Ernest Borgnine was born here (the man has an Academy Award and a Golden Globe!). Guess what Ernest Borgnine got from Hamden? A bullshit twenty-by-twenty-foot "park" (aka a couple benches, a few small trees and a cobbled walkway) on the corner behind a bank on what I'm pretty sure used to be where people threw empty soda cans and shit. If that's what I'd get for a freakin' Academy Award AND a Golden Globe, I'm pretty much fucked in the recognition department. Good thing I don't care about that . . . ha.

It's even getting flak from the next city over, New Haven. There's a sign - and this is for real, no joke - on the Hamden/New Haven line. On the Hamden side, it says "Welcome to New Haven." But on the New Haven side, it doesn't say "Welcome to Hamden."

No.

It says "Leaving New Haven."

Well fuck you too, New Haven.

Freakin' Hamden. Bitch-made ass place.

Sigh.

Just gotta do what I always tell you to do . . .

Stay classy

Cereal Ads Piss Me Off

First off, I'd like to welcome Katie aka JavaGrava as a reader. Apparently, she's been secretly reading for some time, and the fact that she was reading was only brought to my attention quite recently. So that brings me up to what, twelve? Thirteen? Whatever. Welcome anyway, Miss. It's a lot more fun than it seems, I promise.

Anyway.

Cereal ads piss me off. For example, the ads for Lucky Charms. "They're always after me Lucky Charms!" NO SHIT, Sherlock. Let's look at this logically, Lucky - you have a sugary, sweet, colorful breakfast cereal with MARSHMALLOWS, and these are KIDS. The fuck did you think was gonna happen? Of COURSE they're always gonna be after your damn Lucky Charms. Here's an idea - why don't you just GIVE them some, and get them off your back? I mean, can't you spare a few boxes - you MAKE the shit, don't you?

And then there's Trix. We have a TALKING, BIPEDAL rabbit being thwarted at every turn by a bunch of kids who keep stealing his freakin' cereal and yogurt. While I'd be mad if kids kept stealing my cereal and yogurt, and rationalizing the theft of said cereal and yogurt with the phrase "Trix are for kids!" ("so is my BELT!" - my Dad one time that he saw a Trix commercial), I'd eventually realize: I'm a freakin' TALKING, BIPEDAL rabbit. I can be doing so much with my freakin' life. I could be FAMOUS, I could have a MANSION, I could be on OPRAH - my life could be the SHIT. I know for DAMN sure I wouldn't spend untold thousands of dollars to steal back MY shit and then fly around the world for God knows how long trying to keep it from some fucking fourth graders. And that reminds me - how in the shit did those kids find him wherever the hell he was? You're KIDS, where are the PARENTS in this situation - where the Black Jesus are you getting the money for this trip? I mean, shit, why such drastic measures for freakin' cereal? You're spending thousands of dollars to fly around the world - you can get a double-pack of Trix cereal at BJ's or Sam's Club for like $3.50. What the hell are you thinking?

Bleh.

Whatever.

Stay classy

Cletus Corner: vol 1

My name is CLETUS!

And dis right here is the Cletus Corner

Today as i was wallowing in my self pity, pain slowly starting to take over, as the light started to darken, and the fire in my heart started to freeze , I received my first EMAIL Mailing device message!

Its from Kendra from Nagasaki, California

Kendra asks:

"Dear Cletus,

I know you've been in plenty of wars in your time, but how exactly did you lose your arm?"

Great question Cassandra, but how did you know I even lost my arm in '83 while i was in Vietnam!?

ARE YOU STALKING ME!?

Im so lonely...

Quite a Character, that Cletus . . .

Hey all (and "all" is Coinstar, A-Ham, Maria, Waffles, Spanky, Jeff, R n' R, Juice, Chris O., Black, Marteen, and Welch). Let me tell you a story.

I was walking down Utopia Parkway a few days ago, when I happened on a strange little old man, with a full gray beard and (pretty nice) aviator shades, wearing a brown St. John's University hoody with the hood up. I thought it kinda weird that he was so freakin' old and wearing such minty-fresh shades and had a nicer hoody than the bullshit one I was rockin' at the time, so I approached him carefully.

It was then I noticed that he was talking to himself, about a lot of different things, but he was muttering so all I could really catch was ". . . muh name's Cletus . . ." and ". . . back in Vietnam . . ."

He was definitely crazy, no doubt - but I've been feeling like I've been running low on material lately, so I decided to offer him a position on the "staff" of Legally Blind Observations, to which he replied ". . . muh name's Cletus." I took that as him accepting my offer, so if all goes well (and he can operate a computer), Cletus will have a weekly post up here about . . . whatever the hell he's talking about. It'll be called "The Cletus Corner", and it'll be good, I promise. I just don't know what day of the week it will be . . . and I don't think he does either.

I dunno, readership. I think this guy's going places.

Anyway, a warm welcome to Cletus. It's a party, sir. I promise.

As for the rest of you hooligans.

Stay classy

Just in Case You Thought its Status had, for Some Reason, Changed . . .

. . . rest assured.

Insomnia still sucks.

And yes.

I fully grasp the irony inherent in the fact that this post is about insomnia and I opened it with the phrase "rest assured." I'm tired. Not ignorant.

For the most part.

Stay classy

I Would Just Like to Point Out . . .

. . . that tomorrow, February the 28th, 2009, is in fact, Maria's birthday. She will be turning the big 1-9 (not sure if that's actually a milestone but yeah. Sounded good anyway).

So. An hour-premature happy birthday wish to a very special person.

Have an amazing and Happy Birthday Maria, tomorrow and for a long-ass while afterward (hopefully on the same day).

And as always . . .

Stay classy

What the Hell is the Deal With . . .

. . . Red Bull commercials? Now, I don't watch NEARLY as much TV as I did pre-college (surprisingly?) - the only two shows I watch with any kind of regularity are Fringe and Family Guy - but even still, I've noticed that Red Bull commercials have undergone a drastic change in the past few years. Before I outline the change, let me just say - I don't think it's necessarily a BAD change, it's just . . . interesting. Yeah. Interesting is a good word.

Anyway.

For those who have been living under a rock since the advent of Red Bull, allow me to outline a typical Red Bull commercial for you: something happens which involves the need for wings, the "main character" drinks a Red Bull, which gives said character wings, allowing him or her to fulfill his or her goal, the end.

Back in the day, there were two main commercials (two that I can remember, anyway).

In the first one, we're at the will-reading (is there a word for that?) of an old guy, whose elderly widow and children are present. However, he ends up leaving all of his money and worldly possessions to a leggy blonde mistress, which prompts his widow to pop open a can of Red Bull (you thought I was gonna say "whupass" dincha?), and fly up to heaven to chase down this fool of a dead husband.

In the second one, a rather fat yellow cat sits at his leisure in an armchair, doing all manner of personal hygienic shit - fixing his whiskers, flossing, etc. - and then the camera pans back to reveal an empty can of Red Bull, as well as a suspended bird cage, also empty, with a single yellow feather floating airy-fairy down to earth. The idea is that the cat drank some Red Bull, flew up to the birdcage, and ate the bird.

Both of those commercials are funny, clever, and - dare I say it - kinda cute. But then we have the more recent Red Bull commercials, which just shoot those compliments down to shit.

First off, there's the biochemistry major commercial. A college biochem major is trying to study, it's late, he has his final in the morning, he's nowhere near done studying, and his girlfriend is horny as shit and wants to bone.
Yeah.
Let that sink in for a moment.
Red Bull commercial.
Chick wants to bone.
Anyway.
When he resists on the grounds that he's studying and has his final in the morning and he's working on the THEORY of biochem and not the practice of it, she offers him a Red Bull, tells him that they can study the practice of biochemistry first and then work BACK to theory, giggles, and turns off the light. We all know what happens next.

Then there's the first of the two most recent ones that I've seen, the kid at the gentlemen's club. That's right.
Kid.
At a gentlemen's club.
Anyway.
A farmer boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen at the most, fills the water trough that the pigs drink from with Red Bull, chuckling and smiling smugly. He watches the pig drink the stuff up, and then runs to his mother in the kitchen of the farmhouse. He asks her if he can go to the gentlemen's club, to which she replies "When pigs fly." Of course, "Red Bull gives you wiiiiings", so mom looks out the kitchen window and sees her pigs flying around. Cut-to, the boy at a gentlemen's club, alone, with the stripper throwing her sash all up on his face.

Lastly, and perhaps most disturbingly, is the nudist beach commercial.
Yeah.
NUDIST BEACH.
Red Bull went there.
Anyway.
We start off at a nudist beach, and this guy rolls up next to this leggy blonde (who of course is naked), who's tanning or whatever. The guy is naked (with a black rectangle covering his junk), and sets up his blanket and whatnot next to hers. She gives him a Red Bull, which he promptly drinks (as a little kid - maybe seven or eight, and NAKED - rolls up to retrieve his ball that rolled over into view), and the guy COPS A FUCKING BONER (like the rectangle extends and everything).
YEAH.
HE COPS A BONER.
And the blonde laughs because she thinks she's gonna have a nice stiff one in her in a few minutes, but then the guy sprouts wings and flies off.

What. The. Fuck.

I mean, Red Bull is good shit in moderation, but seeing these commercials DEFINITELY doesn't make me wanna drink Red Bull. Like. How the hell do you get from cute and clever to semi-pornographic with the same product? That shit just don't make no sense (a trait that the grammar of that statement shares).

What the hell're you thinkin', Red Bull?

You know what you gotta do, Red Bull? The same thing as everybody else . . .

Stay classy

Supervillains - Superdumb?

First off, I wanna welcome Rebecca aka R 'n R as a reader of this bullshit. It's a party, I promise.

Anyway.

I was just talking to Waffles about supervillains because we were watching Batman on Cartoon Network, and I realized that supervillains are freakin' retarded. Supervillains are all about destroying the world and shit. But like . . . if they succeed, where the fuck are THEY gonna live?

Like I'm all for supervillains having a goal in life and whatnot - life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness and all that jive - but destroying the planet on which you live is a pretty fuckin' stupid goal to have. I mean, when you think about it, the superheroes are not only saving the innocent people, but the supervillains as well, because if they allow the supervillains to succeed, EVERYBODY'S fucked.

So yeah. If you were thinking of being a supervillain and trying to destroy the world . . . just remember. That'll be YOUR ass too. And in the afterlife we'd all kick the shit out of you.

Yep.

Stay classy

Life is Good . . .

. . . for the most part. Shit's been pretty fucked up these past couple of weeks, but I'm glad to say that (again, for the most part) life's lookin' up again.

I just wish that I understood people better than I do, which is kinda funny coming from me. I'd like to think that I understand people better than the average person - at least for someone who hasn't had any formal training in behavioral analysis (which is gonna be what I go to grad school for . . . if I can afford it). Not to be a creeper or anything, but I've done my share of people-watching (for my writing!), so I would say I have a pretty good grasp on people, and I can read them pretty well.

These last two weeks have shattered that perception. People I thought I knew - people I thought knew ME - proved me wrong on both counts, and to put it mildly, shit went down. Shit that could've been avoided with some better communication. I dunno.

Everything is fine now (again, for the most part). And as for what's not fine, I've done all I can do at this point to make it fine, and to be honest it's out of my hands now. Just gotta wait.

Yup.

Oh!

And I'd like to welcome Chris aka Chris O to the readership. That brings me up to eleven! Woo! Keep spreading the word!

And of course . . .

Stay classy

The Point of Headphones is so I DON'T Hear Your Crappy Music

Hey everybody (that's Maria, Welch, Waffles, Jeff, Juice, Marteen, Coinstar, Black, Spanky and A-Ham. I list my readers to make myself feel important). I'm back with something ELSE that pisses me off (watch out Lewis Black).

What the hell is with people who crank their freakin' iPods up to mega maximum, so even though they're rockin' the earbuds, I can still hear their shitty music across the freakin' room? Seriously? Does it seriously need to be that fucking loud?

First off, you're an idiot. That shit's gonna fuck your ears up permanently, and then I'm gonna laugh because you won't be able to hear your shitty music anymore, no matter how loud you put that shit. So I get the last laugh, dumbass. A laugh which you won't be able to hear.

Second, you're an asshole. It really isn't necessary for me to be able to hear whatever homo-ass music you're listening to across a freakin' classroom when the earbuds are buried in your ears. The whole point of you having headphones/earbuds in the first place is so that YOU can hear the freakin' music, not everybody else. Nobody gives a shit about your corny ass music. If they did, they'd be listening to it too - QUIETLY, on their own fucking iPod.

Turn your damn music down, dick!

Or I'll cut you.

Stay classy

"Sexy Chat" Commercials - Yet ANOTHER WTF?

Okay, so I'm sitting on my bed watching Adult Swim and doing my Theology homework (and wouldn't Freud have a field day with THAT), and this commercial comes on. There's this lady dressed like a hooker explaining what basically amounts to softcore phone sex via a toll-free number. There are a few different service providers that advertise on Adult Swim (this one was called "Quest"), but each and every one of their commercials follows a similar pattern.

Scantily-clad, rent-a-hooker lady with a phone in her hand explains, through actual face-to-face monologue and voiceovers while she's doing sexy stuff and pretending to talk on the phone and laugh and smile and throw her hair around and whatnot, how to use the system, why it's the best, etc.

And not to be the stereotypical guy, but these chicks are hot. They're all dressed sexy (a little too much for a freakin' commercial though), their hair is nice, etc. etc. But. That leads me to the point of this.

Why in the Black Jesus would you get all dressed up and sexy TO TALK ON THE PHONE? In the words of a wise man, that makes about as much sense as wiping your ass BEFORE you take a shit (have you figured out who said that yet?). That just makes so little sense it makes me want to cry. That's like . . . I can't even think of something that stupid! The closest I can get is trick-or-treating on the phone in full Halloween costume, and that doesn't even come close.

Dammit.

Stay classy

Just Wanna Point Out . . .

I fully realize the irony inherent in the fact that the post prior to this one is entitled "You Can't Make This Shit Up" and the one before that one is entitled "Who Sat Down and Made This Shit Up?" I assure you that this was completely unintentional.

Just in case you thought the irony was lost on me.

Yeah.

Stay classy

You Can't Make This Shit Up

And I should know. I'm a fuckin' pro at making shit up. Sorta comes with the whole writing thing.

Eddie was right.

Stay classy

Who Sat Down and Made This Shit Up?

Ever hear or see something that's ridiculously and unnecessarily complicated and wonder "Who was the jackass who sat down and made this shit up?" I do it almost every day. Isn't that sad?

For example, metaphysics. What in the hell is metaphysics? I've been coming to this freakin' class since the start of the semester and I STILL don't have a firm grasp on what the Black Jesus metaphysics is. I missed class last week, but I don't think that the professor (who's a straight-up Asian guy with a Hispanic last name) explained metaphysics in a single 80-minute class.

Another example - the English language. Who the FUCK got wasted on the best crack in the world and made up this absolutely retarded language that I'm speaking right now? I mean, the grammar ALONE is enough to make me want to kick a baby. How you can't end sentences with prepositions and you can't split infinitives and the "there/their/they're" threesome going on - all that bullshit. I hate it. A:SLJSADL:KASJDLSAKJD that much

Also, colors. Here's something that'll blow your freakin' mind - without using the term "red" or any words like "bright" or "dark" or "pretty," try to explain the color red to me. Yeah. That shit's near-impossible, isn't it? Crazy right? Who the hell thought up the names of the colors, and why? That guy was probably the awesomest dude ever.

Ok. I'm gonna end it here, before the chick sitting next to me reading this thinks I'm crazier than I actually am.

Stay classy.

The White Crayon - Yet Another WTF?

First off, I wanna welcome my homeslice Dave aka Juice to the readership. That brings me up to like eight or nine . . . whatever. Keep spreading the word - there's an asshole who likes to bitch about stuff here on Blogger (and I mean me, because there has to be someone else out there trying to be me). End of commercial!


What this is really about, is something that was just brought to my attention by Waffles (like literally two minutes ago), and that is . . . what the fuck is with the White Crayon?

Like . . . seriously? Let's look at this logically. What color is the kind of paper you would (usually) draw on with crayons? White. What color is this crayon? White. What (usually) happens when you try to mark something up with something that is the same color? You can't see what you marked.

So, with that logic in mind, I put the question to you, Crayola - WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING? It makes absolutely no sense (we're talking near-bottled-water-level stupidity), and you have to wonder if they're losing money with every White Crayon they make. I mean, seriously, when the fuck are you gonna use a White Crayon? How often to you actually have black paper? That's the only time I ever remember using a White Crayon, and I was a fuckin' artistic little shmuck when I was little - I used Crayons like it was my job.

What the hell Crayola? You smokin' crack fool?

Dammit man.

Stay classy