Archive for November, 2008
Go out and buy something awesome!
Think your woman would rather be with someone else? You’re almost definitely right. Does your woman look sort of like a dude? Then she’s almost definitely cheating on you. Is her index finger shorter than her ring finger? Oh, brother… you should just get out while you can.
I will live on pure bile and spite for as long as it takes… but I will live to see Cop Rock released on Blu-Ray. So freaking good.
As someone who probably should have joined the Army right out of high school, if only to have the opportunity to become as terrifying death unto mine enemies, I’m always looking for ways to support our grunts. And ways to piss people off.
It seems you can’t donate cigarettes to soldiers through any of the conventional/governmental channels, despite the fact that cigarettes are what they want. I finally found a way around that. AnySoldier.com. Maybe you don’t want to give them cigarettes. Fine. Give them Easy-Mac. Or peanut butter. Whatever. That’s the beauty of it. Just cruise the website and you’ll find lists of all sorts of stuff that real guys want. And because of the network they’ve got, you can be sure the actual soldiers will get it.
Are you disgusting? Maybe you can win the Carl Casting Call at Adult Swim.
Watch some guys break into a house in my hood and steal the plasma. Feel free to run them down.
I mean, seriously, if you can’t have nice things, what’s the point of living?
Oh, right. Whores.
I cannot wait to vote for her in 2012. President Eschalon has got to have the best PR instincts evar. Actually, she just truly doesn’t give a shit what you think. And as we all know, I am crazy weak for that sauce. Can a slaughterhouse sluice video be far behind?
Last week I had another adventure in penal justice. Iâ€™d like to say it was surprising, but I havenâ€™t been surprised by much of anything in years. Going to court to watch your burglars getting sentenced is a real joy. Sort of.
So I got burgled last summer. And in an unusual turn of events, they actually caught the guys who did it. I didnâ€™t get any of my stuff back, of course; it had all long been converted into rocks and guns and toothless blowjobs, so all the home movies and pictures of my grandparents that I had on my computer are still gone, along with the first ten years worth of work-related garbage thatâ€™s probably best forgotten anyway.
In something straight out of The Wire, the two douchebags had confessed to robbing a bunch of houses in exchange for testimony on some other douchebag, and for leniency on the crime they had been caught doing. Itâ€™s a marvelous system.
I sat there listening to the erudite grunts and clicks from the two defendants, as they described casing various blocks, and the ways they would typically gain entrance by simply battering at a door until it gave way. The prosecutor would ask a question like, â€œDid you beat up your mother when you were 13?â€ or â€œWhen youâ€™re looking for a house to rob, are you typically high on crack?â€ and theyâ€™d say, â€œyes,â€ and the public defender would say, â€œI object.â€ Eventually, she asked about the knives. The reply was, â€œJust in case.â€
The night I got robbed, I came home late after a typically draining evening of trying not to say anything that might set off my girlfriend. I was actually on the phone with her when I unlocked my front door and saw it. As cluttered as my house usually is, I was pretty sure I hadnâ€™t left my large carving knife on the coffee table. Eventually, Iâ€™d find my chefâ€™s knife next to the shelf where my camcorder used to be, and another under my futon where my old Playstation games used to be, and someone elseâ€™s pry bar next to the hole where my back door used to be.
When I was 11, my step-grandmother lived in a tidy row house in a blue-collar area of Philadelphia. Sheâ€™d lived alone for 20 years, as my stepfatherâ€™s dad had succumbed to a heart attack in his 40â€™s and she was of the generation that tended not to remarry after something like that. She liked to cook, and tend to the neighbors and her various children and grandchildren. Her Polish roots had introduced my Italian palate to pierogies, which blew my mind for having the insight to stuff a carb inside another carb, and then fry it.
One night, after coming home from visiting a sick friend, no doubt having delivered some covered dish, she discovered a man in her house. He had broken in and was hoping to steal some things to sell for drugs. He was also hopped up on a healthy cocktail of cocaine, meth, marijuana, and probably a few gallons of Mad Dog. After a struggle, the intruder used her own kitchen knives to stab her 17 times. Her reward for a life of hard work and sacrifice was bleeding to death on her own floor while a crackhead pocketed her good silver. Not really what we want for the sweet old ladies in our lives. It is, however, a pretty good way to throw a decent sized spectre of violent death over a household, and give me a pretty healthy irrational fear of getting gutted.
When I walked in and saw that big blade out of place, it was unnerving to say the least. I told my girlfriend I had to get off the phone, and she was happy to oblige. I slowly poked my head around the few corners in my house to discover the tossing they had given it as I dialed the popo. Good times.
They caught the guy who killed my stepfatherâ€™s mom. He went to jail, and got less than what he deserved, but karma took care of him. The boys who broke into my house got all the law would allow, despite admitting they would do whatever it took to get my DVD player. What the law allows for â€œfirst time offendersâ€ is a mandatory sentence of 5 years. Of which theyâ€™ll serve 2. During which the system figures theyâ€™ll no doubt learn the error of their ways.
In actuality, what will happen is they will be repeatedly raped in prison, or they will die, or they will survive by learning to hurt others more than they can themselves be hurt. If they get out, they will return to a life of crime, hardened and more determined to â€œdo whatever it takesâ€ to not get caught again. They will almost definitely be killed by another criminal, or by the police, or by a lucky citizen defending himself. And those will be more good times.
Though the addition of Frank Sinatra Jr. is a nice touch.
I think I just had a stroke.
p.s. Picard’s a douche
A pair of students from my last class appear to be easily the best entrants in the Chicken of the Sea Jingle Jam contest. Vote hard and often, and may God have mercy on their souls.
Ever get the feeling you’re just a supporting player in the movie of someone else’s life? So does BURN-E.
Dennis Miller can’t be funny anymore. So he settles on being right, though I get the sense it’s not a popular opinion. You know, for frigid hippies.
Sarah Silverman and Jimmy Kimmel’s post-break-up interview makes for some fun squirmyness, even though it is probably completely staged. Jimmy shows embarassing video of his ex doing something she finds repulsive. Looks like fun.
Well, enjoy your pillow.
Want to ruin a perfectly good piece of bacon? Or do you live in a trailer? Either way, this is for you.
My friends’ kids are getting a little long in the tooth to really get your pedo on, but for you cost concious parents, it’s never too late to get a jump on next year.