Saturday, January 31, 2009

Teens and Their Bracelets Don't Have SHIT on Oldschool Queers



My brother is student teaching at a local high school. He said there was an announcement this week that the moratorium on scarves being worn in the school had been lifted. Students staged a protest of the scarf ban. They were banned because gangmembers were wearing them in their back pockets to show affiliation. Homo say what? What kind of faggoty gangs were these? The Sharks and Jets? (There's a Westside Story reference for those not in the know.) Do they have dance battles in which people "get served." Is this New York City circa 1970? You know who else uses hankies to identify "interests?" Homosexuals.

Let me try to decipher the guy in the above photo:
  • sucks dick
  • into getting peed on
  • likes it in the ass
  • likes fisting dudes
  • dominates guys SM style
  • likes to jerk off
  • depending on the color interpretation, either likes boning men with dildoes or is into drag queens

Brace Yourself, Whore, You're About to Get a Stunning

Set Phazers To Bukkake



My G-Ma is quite a character. Here's a tidbit: to this day she laments that the FDA pulled the strong diet pills (read: SPEED) of her day off the market. "I could take half a pill and clean the entire house in an hour." Last night she was telling me how she and a friend used to watch Star Trek when she was in her 20s. She told me her friend used to always say, "that William Shatner, he can put his shoes under my bed any day." If you think about it, that's pretty scandalous. It's inflation. Gas used to cost five cents per gallon, and ribaldry has also had to step up its game. That's like a modern, innocent girl saying, "that Zac Effron, I'd let him stick it anywhere and post it on X Tube." But look at young Shatner! He was kind of a hot piece. Now he has kind of a hair piece. And a girdle. I wonder what will be considered the new dirty in 50 years.

Please Crumble, Cookie


Amber M. from the Bad Girls Club was on Tyra Banks' talk show some time recently. She explained what made her a bad girl, and apparently it's abusing people with disabilities. She claimed that she was at a bar and out of nowhere, a "wheelchair guy" rolled into her and spilled an entire drink on her intentionally. This unforgivable infraction warranted her stomping on his balls. "I don't discriminate. If a real guy just did that, I would kick him in the balls too." Exsqueeze me? Baking powder? Somebody needs to drop a house on this cunt.

Friday, January 30, 2009

I Know Who You Fucked Last Summer



I hung out last night with a guy I went to school with. We had a great time making fun of everything. Our friend Jessica, or J. Phlip as she's now known, was spinning at a local bar so we checked it out. I remember having a calculus class with her, and she was very smart. I was like, "you're beautiful, talented, AND smart. This is bullshit! You're supposed to get knocked up junior year and become a 'nail technician.'" Luckily she proved that wrong, and now she's in SF and DJs at places like EndUp, so check her out!

We didn't really have any awkward interactions with people from high school whom we haven't seen in years. I did see a few people that I recognized but pretended not to. It's fun to see people who looks drastically different. What do you say to them? "Heeeey! You look. . . fat," or "Wow, I think I know the person you ate." The bartender was a girl with black hair that was intentionally tousled, asymmetrical hair and thick, nerd-chic glasses that are all the rage but are really so yesterday. She looked decidedly emo (cringe) and probably only smokes hand-rolled cigarettes.

[sidenote: Don't you hate those people who make a big deal of smoking only hand-rolled cigs? They always make a big fucking show of pulling out a bag of tobacco and paper. You know they practice at home for hours at a time so they can expertly roll the shit in front of people. Even if they roll them ahead of time, not in your presence, they make sure you know they did it themselves. Here's a thought: why don't you go hand roll a fucking anthrax cigarette and smoke it while jumping off a tall building with a stick of dynamite up your ass? kthxbye.]

Back to the bartender. She had a rather contrived look, and after staring at her for a while, I recognized her as a girl, Lizzie, I went to school with. I didn't let her know I recognized her, but instead I had an imaginary interaction:

"Hey, Lizzie, right?"
"No. . . my name is 'L.'"
"What? You were a fucking cheerleader! And you begged me not to tell your boyfriend that you smoked when I saw you with a cigarette."

That is all.

A Wank Down Memory Lane


I remember the first time I found out there was pornography on the internet. This was a novel experience because the internet as we know it hadn't been around for a terribly long time. It was right around the time Mortal Kombat 3 was released. I was trying to find information about the game, and I ended up on some page having to do with the people who modeled the characters. Apparently the girl who modeled for Sonya Blade, Kerri Hoskins, was also a Playboy model. I saw her boobs and was scandalized that such images were on the internet. The first gay porn site I found was the Manhole or something like that. It was 100% an accident! I seriously wasn't looking for gay porn, it just happened. It was a happy accident, and we've been together ever since.

Thursday, January 29, 2009

Gay Pride Fail


Dear JD Ordonez of Real World "fame,"

On behalf of homos everywhere, thanks, but no thanks. We don't want what you're selling. You're kind of a disgrace to our people. You outed your tranny roommate, and you keep acting a damn fool. Granted she didn't really need to come out to anyone--that would be like Richard Simmons saying, "brace yourself for my shocking secret. . . I'm gay!" It was still rude! And don't you EVER tell a black girl she can't sang! What the fuck is wrong with you? Were you raised by racist wolves? Oh, and the whole dolphin training thing. . . not helping the cause. Straight people of the world: please disregard this faggot. We're not all judgmental pricks who bleach our assholes and always say inappropriate--oh shit. Never mind. Carry on. JD, what are you doing later?

Real Chance of a Lay

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Holy Racism, Batman!


My hair gets curly when it grows out. A guy once said to me, "it looks like your grandma slept with a slave." Wow. I was really offended. How fucking old did he think I was?? Add a couple greats in front of grandma and we're set, fuckass.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

How To Be Shady, Perez Hilton Style


A random memory came to me today. It has to do with my friend Sharetha, with whom I grew up. One day in high school, she told me about a wedding she attended over the weekend. She said that everyone was laughing at the bride behind her back because she was such a ho. She had earned the nickname "Stitches" because she "let a bunch of dudes run a train up on her;" and apparently it was such a ferocious train that she had to go to the hospital and get her snatch stitched up. Maybe they call them snitches? I'll never think of Harry Potter the same again.

Superhomofagilisticexpiqueeridocious


Shawnda is wearing Chanel perfume today. I love most Chanel perfumes. For a long time I've been wanting to just wear it myself. I enjoy the smell, so why not? I don't care what anyone says, the Chanel colognes are just not similar enough. Maybe I could get away with spritzing just a tiny bit and telling people it's some obscure scent for men by Chanel they've never heard of before. Too gay? Like I give a fuck.

Way To Go


Congratulations, Miley Cyrus, you've got (what I think is) you're first official nipple slip. Luckily you're only 16, so the uncensored picture might not be making the rounds. Don't worry, if you have Tara Reid lumpy, scarred nips, it stays in the vault. You're well on your way to upskirts, bukakke shots, a sextape, and your very first overdose. Here's to hoping!

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Bad Girls Cunty Club -_-

Oy. Graverobber Ailea cheated on her popop boyfriend with a guy she nicknamed Fadoodle. Apparently he said to her, "I've never looked at an Asian as much as I've looked at you." Ailea was flattered. She was too stupid to realize she should be offended, and he was too stupid to recognize his backhanded compliment for what it was.

There was a new bad girl--Ashley. She's pretty--if your type is strippers who will probably give you gonorrhea. She gets Joey from the Real World: Who Cares to go out with them one night, and she was all over him. Roommate Sarah condemns her for it even though she herself was straddling and grinding some random jackoff with a mohawk and admitted she really wanted to fuck him. Well well, isn't this just the pot calling the kettle a slut? Joey was the castmember who went to rehab during his season of RW, and he had a douchetooth earpiece in the whole night. I would LOVE to see these people's kids.

Just Because

Noooooooooooooo!



Here's a little something that happened over the weekend. I left the television on a certain channel, and I went to take care of something elsewhere for a while. When I returned I was horrified to find that The Oprah Winfrey Show was on! I tried to hit the power button, but I was so upset I had difficulty achieving the desired effect. I finally just ripped the power cord from it's source, half-expecting it to turn back on anyway, Poltergeist-style. I do not want to contribute to that heifer's ratings, and the last thing that bitch needs is more money or influence.
please don't eat me, oh great Oprah

Truth Bombs Drop On The City




Wow, it seems like something real actually happened on Monday's episode of The City. Whitney invited her coworker and self-proclaimed "social"(ite) Olivia to an art gallery opening. You know what, bitch? I can abbreviate words à la Buffy Summers as well--now you're a sosh. How do you like that? The CONVO leads to this:


Whitney: "Um, I have to warn you though, it's a little bit tense right now with everyone. There's all this drama going on about Adam supposedly cheating on Alli when the guys were out the other night, so everyone's gathering in the same place tonight--"

Soshface: "That's way too much information for me to be hearing. (Laughs) I don't want to hear any of this, but my best advice is to stay out of it. Whitney, you're an adult. You know this is very--"

"Yeah, well, I mean--"

"You're what? You're twenty-three years old? We're not, like, in high school."

"Yeah, I just needed someone to talk to about it, you know, but if you don't wanna hear it. . ."

"Well thank you for inviting me, yeah I would love to stop by for a drink if I can." (<-sounding super sweet)

"Yeah."

"Awesome."


I think that interaction meets the reality limit for the entire series, so that bitch Olivia better keep her mouth shut from now on if she knows what's good for her. Producers will cut that snatch out of the show faster than she can say "pretentch." Fifteen year-old girls want to think you're living a real Gossip Girl, so stick with the fantasy, honey. It's like when you're having a great time slapping around a prostitute, and she has to go and remind you that it's extra if you leave marks. Way to ruin the illusion! What, as if that's never happened to you? You're a filthy fucking liar.

Apropos Burka



Out of nowhere last night, a lyric from a Lil' Kim song came to mind. It's a line from her song "Drugs": "Freak it arabic style, sha-muck-daha-steesy." I never really wondered what she was saying, but my friend Sayeed who speaks Arabic enlightened me in college. What she really says is (sounds like, no clue how to spell it out) "sharmut, el has dizi" which means "bastard, lick my ass." She is so smart. Good for her, she knows how to be a nasty skeezer while breaking language barriers.

Phew



I grew up swimming with a guy called. . . Damian. He was kind of an ugly duckling and closet case for a lot of our childhood. Then when he turned 17 he all of the sudden got super hot. I got jealous because I did NOT want any competition. Luckily he had the handicap of hating himself, so he was emotionally unavailable. Around college he got over his self-loathing, and I was pleased to see his pictures on Facebook this morning. He's gotten over his emotional obstacles, but he's back to ugly duckling mode. I feel relieved. I feel like an asshole. I feel like my name says it all.

Monday, January 26, 2009

The Ho Stroll



I wanted to go to bed last night, but I had a somewhat scandalous program saved to my DVR that I didn't really want other people to see. It was Downtown: Hookers of Honolulu. This is apparently part of the series that did Pimps Up, Hos (sp?) Down. The narrator speaks in rhyme: "we were looking for femals, but only found shemales." Yes it was all about tranny hookers! Score. I love me some tranny hookers. They're just entertaining! I finally got too tired and just stopped the program halfway through. Eh whatever. But I did catch this gem before I quit the shit:


(Narrator)"Do you have a clit?"


(Barbie-Q)"Yes--pink. My clit is pink. (Laughs) Pinky."





The picture at the top of the post is of one of the hookers. I just thought she looked like such a classy broad that I had to snap a quick picture. Forgive the poor quality, but her stunning beauty is nonetheless apparent.

Saturday, January 24, 2009

Aaaaand There It Is



Lo and behold, next episode of GG had a pregnancy scare, but there was no actual pregnancy. Damn. I caught a few minutes of Millionaire Matchmaker with that fugly Patti chick. She was going through pictures of prospective clients, a.k.a. gold diggers, who want to be in the club: "Attractive, attractive, no. (Holds up a particular photo) What's with the hair up? You gotta tell the girls stop putting their hair up. And, like, if I were a guy and I saw this, even on a internet site, would I date this person? Uh, like, NOT." I just happened to recognize the unfortunate gold digger wannabe as Sarah (Agor) from VH1's Scream Queens. You know, the ugly Jewess who couldn't act for shit.



Oh, while I was submitting a definition of "Angelmaker" to Urban Dictionary, I found a few good euphemisms for abortion:


  • embryo relocation
  • life avoidance
  • plan A (okay, that one is mine)
  • problem solving


Fetus Interruptus



I'm watching the first season of Gossip Girl. I'm not very far into the episodes, so maybe this will happen later, but one thought keeps coming back to me. What does this show really need? A good old-fashioned pregnancy scare. Even better--one complete with an angelmaker. That always spices things up. But these days Plan B is available without a prescription, so the issue isn't quite as fun. Plan B does however require one to at least be responsible enough to remember to obtain it within so many days of intercourse. If it's too late for that, you can always just party like crazy for a week or two and nip that in the bud.
XOXO

Singing In The Rain



My cell phone is fucked. When I call voicemail or dial my own number out it calls my friend Paine. I didn't know it was this particular Paine because I get the voicemail message "Hey this is Paine. . ." etc. when I call, and they sound alike, so I wasn't sure it was the cool one until he called me back wondering who the hell has been calling him at all hours. I kept thinking, "maybe it will work this time." No, I have to take my phone to Verizon because they've never heard of a phone doing this. That's a good sign.

Anyway, I was relieved when I realized it was my good friend Paine whom I'd been calling. The other Paine in my phone, whom I going to delete right now, is not someone I'm interested in talking to anymore. He was. . . strange. We hung out a few times several years ago. A typical night would be something like this:
We'd have dinner together then watch some television or a movie. I think anyone over the age of 12 understands that "let's watch a movie" means there's a 90% chance of hooking up. It started normal. Then after he got more comfortable with me after a couple times, he decided to let his freak flag fly. It turns out he had a foot fetish, and he LOVED mine. I have big feet with really long, skinny "fingertoes" that I can use to chimp-style grab things.

I don't know what issues he was working with, but he was all about being degraded. I went along with it once. Okay, well twice, but it's just not my thing. He wanted me to rub my feet on his face, spit on him, call him names, laugh at him, and be generally demeaning. I had to try really hard, because I'm just not a verbal person when it comes to sexy times. And I kind of liked him, so I went along with it. But when it become obvious it would always be like that, I was like, "shut it down."

If that's what gets you off, then cool. Far be it from me to judge people based on their sexual practices. As long as the involved parties are consenting adults, go for it. I've tried some odd things in my young life so far. For one thing, what if it turns out I really enjoy an unusual sexual activity? Then I'd be grateful I'd given it a chance. Secondly, I like to be able to say things like, "yeah, I got peed on once." It just sort of came up in conversation with my guy at the time. He asked if I'd ever done it, I said no, and he asked if I wanted to. I didn't even really think about it. I just said yes. We went to the bathroom and did it. I didn't find it disgusting since we were in the bathtub and about to shower anyway, but I also didn't find it very erotic. I was fine with it happening, but I'm not exactly looking for a repeat. If in the future I'm dating someone, and he really wants to do it, I'll probably do it. However I'll protest somewhat beforehand, and let him think he's talking me into it. What? I don't want to come off as a slutbucket pissqueen.

Friday, January 23, 2009

Sorry Sack of Tangerine Bitch



I might have to come back to this one. I have a lot to say about this bitch's "hair." I've been an avid hater of her hair hat since it premiered way back when. You can actually see that her the pieces in the front are probably hers, then there's that busted Barbie piece on top of it. *sigh*

It's better in the picture below, but her face is looking dead wrong. She kind of has a minor case of Kimora Lee Simmons caterpillar neck.




Textual Intercourse: Afternoon Delight Edition





I have a new coworker. I was discussing this with Lila. . .


Me: do you have any coworkers you can't stand? oh yeah, maybe not something you want to write about while at work. oops
Lila: haha yes, i have coworkers I can't stand
not too many though, but especially my boss' husband, who comes in early and watches porn on his computer
we saw him doing it once
creep
Me: hahahahaha
that is fantastic. i did that at my old job! i'd have to be there until 8 or 9 pm sometimes to get subjects ready for sleep studies....so i'd watch youtube and porn to kill time
but i was there alone
me: i don't really like the new girl who started a couple weeks ago
Lila: tell me more...
me: she's 6 ft tall and fat
but that's not why i dislike her
Lila: HUGE!
haha
you just don't like her cause she could probably sit on you and kill you...
me: and our other coworker insists she smells narsty
i mean that's definitely a factor
i haven't smelled it much, but we think it might be her hair
fuckin white people
so she's all super sweet about everything & trying to make a good impression
and i'm trying to get through to her.
by "get through" i mean break her spirit
i'm being overly mean to get her to snap
me: i want to see her do something other than be nice
Lila: hahahaaaa
me: i want to know she'll stand up for herself
Lila: like, talk some shit
break something
me: and blame her!
Lila: manipulate the other employees...haha, yeah, blame her for something
then be like, "JUST KIDDING! but seriously, go wash your hair."
me: it'll be like I'm Kathleen Turner in Serial Mom and she's Mink Stole.
"She just said 'motherfucker' to me!"
Lila: haaa
me: don't just roll over and take it bitch!
Lila: put her stapler in some jell-o
me: i want to instruct her to do something blatantly wrong and see if she has the sheballs to tell
me what's up or just bitch to the other girl
me: or maybe i'll just hide some fish in her office to rot
Lila: haha
wow, i hope my fellow employees like me!
me: i've been dropping hair hints though
Lila: does everyone like YOU?
i would think so
me: yeah, everyone's nice to my face at least. if there's gossip, it doesn't get back to me
and gossip ALWAYS gets back to people in a small business
it helps that my aunt owns the shit and LOVES firing people
me: today i was like "don't you just love getting your hair cut? the shampoo they use is just fantastic!"
Lila: haha
Then we started talking about getting dogs:
me: my stylist was "Sharinethenia" or something crazy
. . .
Lila: when I get a dog, I should name it something like that
. . .
Lila: haha
what kind of dog?
I'm going to get a wolf
me: i don't know.
i take care of my aunt's dog when she goes out of town and he's awesome.
he's a japanese chin.
then i could add racial slurs too
a wolf? nice
Lila: tots
me: or shin i think
anyway they're crazy and cute. maybe a little brain damaged, but whatevs
i could make jokes about how terrible his teeth are
and fashion a little kimono
me: and threaten to nuke him if he poos in the house
his play pen will look like an internment camp, rubber barbed wire & errythang

Left-Eye




Sometimes I wish a horrible accident would befall me, resulting in the loss of an eye. Preferably my left one, but hey, beggars can't be choosers. Nothing says badass like an eye patch. Xander Harris, Saul Tigh, Nick Fury--all wear eye patches, and all are badasses. I'd like it to be a cool accident, not like a deadly spooge facial gone horribly wrong. Unless I was blowing the devil and got spicy acid jizz in the eye, that might be neat. I'm thinking a knife fight with a terrorist.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

No Surprise There

Photobucket

I had a My Little Pony when I was a little boy. I remember buying it. My dad suggested a GI Joe, but I insisted on the pony. It was yellow with pink hair, and I used to play with it in the bath. It didn't have wings, which disappointed me a little, but hey, I got one. Bless him that he let me get it. But that little mutherfucker sure did disappear under mysterious circumstances. I didn't realize for many years that my parents must have thrown it away. Yeah, because that would keep me from being a homo. Several other childhood artifacts vanished similarly. I had a Mousercising vinyl album. I used to wake up at 5:00 a.m. to Mousercise along with Mickey Mouse and those other twats on the Disney Channel. When it wasn't on, I had my album as backup. Is it so wrong to be into fitness?!? They might as well have shot me up with the beetus right then and there.



There were some things I really desired but kept them secret. Of course I wanted an EZ Bake oven, but I guess that was too much even for me--the kid who jumped rope with the black girls at recess. A bedazzler would have made my gay little life complete! I would have bedazzled the shit out of everything I owned. I'd have been the only kid at swim practice with sequined and rhinestoned speedos!

And for good measure:

YOU get racism! And YOU get racism!

Just because:




The best part is when the kid says, "I ain't gon sit here and argue with yo flat-ass face, homegirl."

You Ain't About Shit, Your Hair Ain't Neither


(The above image is the #1 result for a Google search of "ghetto hairstyles")

I got my first cosmetic facial today. Emphasis on cosmetic, because otherwise it wouldn't be news. The business I work for has a cosmetic branch in town, and they're training a new girl, so they needed guinea pigs. Whatever, if it's free, it's me. It was a "hydrofacial" and this tool sucked all the nasty stuff out of my pores. I can definitely see a difference even after the one treatment. It wasn't terribly uncomfortable either. However the whole time the ladies kept saying how pink and red I was getting. I was convinced I would walk out of there looking like Samantha after her chemical peel in that episode of Sex and the City. I kept imagining myself in a fierce church hat complete with a veil, but I knew I couldn't quite pull it off. I was relieved to see that it wasn't that bad at all, and it disappeared completely rather quickly.



I got a haircut afterward. My hair stylist was a lovely black woman. I've found that black women don't give mediocre haircuts. One of two things happens:


1) They don't give a fuck about you or your hurr neither, and you walk out looking like a cold mess.


2) They turn your shit OUT and make sure you leave lookin FUINE (<--not a typo). I got lucky and received number 2. Check out the video. Though it's all fantastic, focus on the first few minutes before the music, specifically around the 3:00 mark. . .

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Textual Intercourse

Part A)


Charlie: John Cleese is in Spamalot! & it's opening nite
Me: sweet, sounds awesome. maybe later you're gonna go eat a bowl of dicks? toss some mansalad?
Charlie: u rancorous manstrumpet. shut up when u r talkin to me
Me: let me know how the show is if you can get cock and balls out of your face long enough to watch


Part B)

My coworker had to argue this morning with her son's math teacher for him to let her son watch the inauguration live. Some of the teachers weren't allowing the students to watch instead of doing classwork, and Shawnda was NOT having it. They raised voices, and the teacher felt she was trying to make him out as racist. He said, "now you've got me in a white sheet and a pointy hat." This exchange just transpired:


Shawnda: The teacher changed his grade to a B!!!!!!!
Me: you need to go break some heads
Shawnda: No he had a C
Me: oooooh i was thinking it got bumped down. well good! this it the pointy hat one?
Shawnda: Yes
Me: awesome! way to scare whitey

Yikes



Beyonce sang for Obama's pre-inauguration ceremonies yesterday. I have no idea what she sang because her jacket and eyebrows were too loud.

Monday, January 19, 2009

Textual Intercourse

My brother is out of town for school stuff and staying with a friend.

Charlie: Tell me what's Spamalot? give details
Me: all i know is it's a musical based on some monty python shit. supposed to be good
Charlie: Awesome. what movie is it based on? thx
Me: holy grail
Me: why? are you going to see it? faggot.
Charlie: maybe i prefer maricon or jota
Me: yeah whatever, donut puncher
Charlie: Gay hosts are the best
Me: u got a mint on your pillow or something?
Charlie: no everything is neat & pretty. even the lassie dog
Me: be on the lookout for roofies. you know those gays are sneaky
Charlie: Pssh i have a high tolerance from taking "forgetmenows"
Me: oh yeah i forgot about that summer you interned for boy george

Textual Intercourse

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Not Safe For Existence

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Oops


I'm not crazy about the woman who delivers our newspaper. She always slams it into our sliding glass door. I ran into her walking a dog once, and I couldn't get away from her for ten minutes. When she threw the paper against the door today, my brother and I happened to be right next to it. I looked through the door to see her strolling away, so I scowled, made my hands into guns and pretended to shoot her repeatedly "pew pew pew!" Of course she had to turn around exactly when I did that. I spun away and proceeded to laugh.

My Girl

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Palm, Meet Forehead

Becaues I don't have enough reasons to be unhappy, I started watching Gossip Girl. I was flabbergasted when I saw the below video in an episode.



Do real choirs do this shit? Fergie's "Glamorous" a capella is. . . interesting? I would personally love to see a choir give the same treatment to Akinyele's "Put It In Your Mouth." I'm actually really digging this guy's version:



This is the kind of music I liked as a kid. I bought and memorized Lil' Kim's Hard Core when I was 13. Somehow I don't think there were too many 13-year-olds who know every word to songs like "Fuck You" and "Big Momma Thang." I loved how the first track led right into "Big Momma Thang." It's a skit of a guy at a porn theater who gets a small popcorn and an extra large butter. He then proceeds to jerk it to Kim's movie using the butter, and right after he yells "Work it, bitch!" the track starts. Priceless.

Parenting



Yesterday I was at a meeting I like to go to on Sundays and there are several people who regularly bring their kids. It's not technically against any rules to bring children, and they usually don't bother me. Yesterday was the exception. They sat right in front of me playing gameboy. Loudly. The kid playing had headphones in. This prevented annoying game noises, but it made the kid talk all the louder because he couldn't hear himself. His mom started off nicely asking him to keep it down when he would say something out loud. But this was happening every 45 seconds, so she got pissed quickly. She threatened to take away the gameboy if he didn't keep quiet, but he called her bluff. If you're going to threaten your kids, mean what you say and follow through. Don't tell them you'll beat them like mixed-race stepchildren unless you actually will. She just smacked his leg when he got loud, apparently not wanting him to cause even more of a scene if she took away the game. Then you have to be prepared to snatch that shit right out of his hands, pick his crying ass up when he starts wailing, and take the little fucker outside. If you're considering having children, ask yourself this: '"Am I prepared to carry out whatever threats I make, regardless of the public shame and embarrassment?"

There was one thing that could have saved the situation: whispering. I've found that some people just don't fucking know how to do it. I don't get it. Are they incapable of it? Were they not taught by their parents? My brother doesn't know how to whisper. I like to talk through movies, but when I see one with Charlie, I try not to whisper anything, because I know the response will be in full volume attracting ire from all around us.

Today's lesson: whup a kid's ass if he steps out of line and teach the bastard how to whisper.

Sunday, January 18, 2009

Cock Of Love Bus




Yes, it's that time again. The slutty ladies on the Rock of Love Bus have inspired me to share their antics. They all head to my hometown of Champaign, Illinois, but none of the episode really takes place their. Bret takes his buxom brood to an ice arena to square off against the University of Illinois women's hockey club. Emphasis on the S in Illinois, because that's how Bret ignorantly rolls. The arena is in Danville, Illinois, about 40 miles away. And the strip club he takes them to is also not in Champaign.

During the hockey challenge, one of the skanks, Melissa, falls and thinks she popped an implant. Later that night, the cameras caught her talking on a cell phone she's not supposed to have. Presumably she's speaking to her boyfriend/fiance/whatever and she's talking all sorts of shit about Bret's hair extensions and how old he looks. She says that she doesn't even like him as a person. Ha. The next morning she saw a doctor and found out her boob is leaking, and she tore tendons in her arm. Boo hoo. Then when Bret confronts her about the phone call, she straight up denies it all, saying she never even called anyone. If six bitches are telling you some other bitch did this and that, who are you going to believe? The six, right? Which is kind of scary, because it's generally true in situations like that the group is telling the truth and the individual is bullshitting. BUT a group could come together and decide whatever they want and accuse an individual. Sucky. Like the Salem witchcraft trial or those evil children against poor Michael Jackson.

That one bitch needs to stop talking. You know, that one. She takes every opportunity to say "I'm a retired model." Is that supposed to be impressive? You know what it means, honey? It means you USED to be pretty, but now you're too busted for people to want to look at you. You're not doing yourself any favors by constantly reminding people that at one point, long ago you were attractive. So was Cloris Leachman.

The alleged porn star Brittaney cause some shit this week. While she was out on the date with Bret, the other girls in her bus smelled something like piss emanating from her bunk. They investigated and found food stashed under her blankets. Not only that, but in Brittaney's stuff they found all the dirty socks the girls had just worn for the ice skating challenge. WTF, mate? I'm wondering what her deal is. Is she so hard up for money that she needs to steal socks? Does she have a foot fetish (holy shit, note to self: foot fetish post to come later)? Is she planning to sell them on Ebay? They showed her in a confessional interview defending her actions. She said she asked the people at the ice rink who provided the socks if she could have them "and they very much said yes." She seems like some day she's going to go bunnyboiler on some dude's unfortch ass.



At elimination, token black girl Natasha is wearing a pink bustier and I swear her areolae are showing without an image blurring. Yes, that is a proper pluralization of areola. Pronounced "air-ee-oh-lee," bitches. In the end, Sockstealer got the boot. Bret said he paid a lot of good money for the best European hair extensions. At least he can joke about it, because on my life his shit ain't real. It's acrylic like WHOA.

I Just Prefer To Win



I was thinking this morning about how I get super competitive for things that should be insignificant. In particular, any form of a game in which I am pitted against others. Monopoly never really counted because it was so boring that we always quit before anyone loses all his money. My in-town cousins, my brother, and I loved to play Pictionary. The teams were always me and Terese vs. Charlie and Peter. My team won 99% of the time, and we had fun doing it. Because we were so good, our enemies constantly tried to cheat, and though we mostly caught them, it still made us extremely angry. This quality transferred to years later when I would occasionally play with housemates in Chicago. Damn. Markers were thrown, chairs were kicked, blood was spilled. Those games got rough. When I win, I'm not unusually happy. It's because I retain this fucked up mentality from childhood that if I'm performing as I should, it should be perfect, and I punish myself for any fuckups. I lived with a girl who also got rather competitive over Pictionary. We were both the best players, so our friends usually kept us on separate teams. Though this was most fair, it ensured stupendous fights and days of seething silence.

Videogames seem to bring out the worst in people. My brother and I played games like Street Fighter II when we were little, and we constantly threw the controllers and yelled at each other. I always chose the agile little female characters. Then the best 2d fighting game EVER came out (Marvel Vs. Capcom 2) and I could choose three bitches with which to wail on my brother. Now we play Halo 3; and though it's a little better, and we try to laugh it off, there's some pissiness from time to time. I remember the Nintendo 64. We used to play 007: Goldeneye, Super Smash Brothers, and Mario Kart 64. They caused massive fights. At university my friends and I would play Mario Party on the Gamecube after nights of partying, and it was mostly fun, but there times when tension was palpable. Now when I catch myself getting worked up, I remind myself that I play videogames to have fun. The problem is I still think it's most fun when I obliterate another player and teabag the corpse.

Friday, January 16, 2009

Real Life Donkey Punch



I was just watching a movie the other day about the accidental death of a girl from a DP. This is like the real version! "American on trial in 'sex game' death." At least the girl who got DPed in the movie was having consentual sex and died right away. This poor girl got a painful love poke, or love slice. That skeezy Italian dude probably boned the neck wound.




http://www.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/europe/01/16/italy.student.kercher.trial/index.html



From Alessio VinciCNN Rome Bureau Chief



ROME, Italy (CNN) -- An American woman and her Italian former boyfriend went on trial in Perugia Friday in the 2007 killing of a British exchange student, with reporters crowding the courtroom as proceedings began.




The cases of Amanda Knox, 21, and 24-year-old Raffaele Sollecito are expected to take months.
They are charged with murder and sexual assault in the November 2007 slaying of Knox's roommate, Meredith Kercher, who died in what prosecutors called a "drug-fueled sex game" with the couple and a third person, Rude Guede.
Guede was convicted of murder in October and sentenced to 30 years in prison. He is expected to be one of about 100 witnesses in the case.
Kercher was found dead in her bed, half-naked, with a knife wound to her neck. In court papers, prosecutors state that Sollecito held Kercher by her wrists while Knox poked at her with a knife and Guede sexually assaulted her.
Prosecutors say they have physical evidence placing the defendants at the scene, and that they gave investigators confusing and contradictory statements about their whereabouts the night Kercher died.
Knox first said she was at the house she shared with Kercher, then changed her story, according to court records.
Sollecito, meanwhile, said he was never at the house, but was at his apartment, watching a movie on his computer with Knox. Later, he told investigators he did not remember whether Knox was with him the entire night.
Defense lawyers are expecteed to argue that the physical evidence was tainted by sloppy police work.
The case will be heard by a panel of eight judges. The trial has drawn more than 140 journalists from 86 news outlets to the courthouse in Perugia, a university town about 185 km (115 miles) north of Rome.
The presiding judge in the case, Giancarlo Massei, barred cameras from the courtroom Friday morning after initial proceedings and said he could completely close portions of the trial dealing with the most graphic sexual assault allegations.
Kercher's family requested the trial be held entirely before closed doors, an option Italian law allows in cases dealing with sexual assault. Prosecutors argued that the case should be kept open, but not televised.
The number of reporters forced court officials to seat some of them at the defense table at the start of the case.
Massei said he would allow a closed-circuit television feed into the court's press room to let reporters who couldn't get a seat watch proceedings -- a feed that would be cut if the case is closed.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Like A Writing Desk

This used to be a friend's desktop image for her computer:



Amazingly she's still alive!

Lancelot



Out of nowhere today I started thinking about this guy I used to know. We went to college together, and we hung out a few times. He was this skinny little blond guy, and none of my really close friends knew him. If I had taken the time to ask around about him before doing anything, I would have found out how disliked and lame he was. He had longish hair, with a ridiculous almost pageboy-like cut. I didn't find out until everything was over with him that everyone called him Lancelot behind his back. He was extremely arrogant. I should have known better than to trust a gay male with a "Viva! Bush" sign in his window. We were never officially an item, but he got all pissy when I told him I kissed someone else. He demanded that we have sex right then and there, and I really don't like being bullied. So we stopped talking. Then I heard all about how all the gays on campus despised him, and I really wished I had been apprised of the situation going into it. Then I started hearing that he told people we stopped hanging out because I suggested we have a threesome with his ex. The truth was Lancelot was the one who proposed the threesome which I flatout refused. I wasn't very happy when I heard that. He showed up to a party that my house was hosting, and my friends and I didn't take it too kindly. I was so mad that he was lying to people about what happened, so I decided I needed to do something. Something mean. Something embarrassing. My best friend said he was down to back me up, so I told him to follow my lead. Lancelot was out in the courtyard sitting at a garishly painted picnic table surrounded by his minions. I sat down next to him pretending to be really drunk and sloshed a little of my nearly full beer on his jeans. He immediately stood up in alarm and after a moment, poured the rest of his beer on my pants. There was about one shot's worth of beer that hit my tacky pleather pants, so it just rolled right off. At this point I smiled because I felt he had given me the opening to overreact like an asshole. I poured my entire drink over his head making sure to get his prized hair soaked. My bff did the same with his drink about two seconds later, and Lancelot could do nothing but stare, slack jawed.

p.s. I went to the doctor today, and my doc laughed because apparently my chart says that I'm African American. Sweet!

Word




There was an incident a few weeks ago that prompted an email from our office manager to the work list having to do with the use of work email. There was a little blurb at the end about how internet usage at work should be kept to a minimum and that it can all be logged. I have to laugh when I imagine what they might find if they checked mine. It would be nothing more scandalous than Google image searches for "jockstrap" and "Joe Jonas."




Tuesday, January 13, 2009

. . . For Men





I'm convinced my hair is starting to get thinner at the "vertex" of my head. I use quotes because I did the research and ultimately ordered a three month supply of Rogaine foam. It arrived today, yipee! I figure I might as well try it. If it works I'll just use it until I can snare a man I'm confident will stay with me forever and then just let myself go. It it doesn't, then oh well, Joel McHale's got a mad bald spot growing on his head, and I still find him extremely sexy.