Hey guys... ok look I'll be honest, rather than create something new for you fuckers, I'm just gonna go ahead and post some more greatest hits from the old myspace blog. I mean, look, if you've never read those, these are new to you; and if you have read them, ah just shut the fuck up and read them again. It won't kill you.
This gem was originally published July 3, 2008:
I have a giant problem. This is something that absolutely must be affecting us all; the rich, the poor, the old, the young, black, red, yellow, white and everyone in between. Yet this is something you never hear talked about on the news, written about in newspapers or blogs, or anywhere really, and the fact that nobody is bothering to even mention it is really starting to annoy and quite honestly frighten me. I mean, I can't possibly be the only who's noticed this phenomenon. It's completely impossible, and I'm beginning to suspect that this might just be "one of those things" that everyone acknowledges but no one will discuss. Well fuck that, I'm discussing it."What the fuck is Joey talking about?" You may ask. Well, ok, I want to know why since at least the year 1979, and possibly longer (I don't know because I wasn't here) time has been speeding up? Think about it, when we were kids, a year was a long fuckin time. Shit, an hour was a long fuckin time. Now it all goes by in the blink of an eye. I'd even go so far as to say that as little as ten years ago, a week was still a week, more or less. Now its got to be like four days, tops. C'mon, I mean one minute its Monday, and before you know it Friday's here, then the weekend lasts all of thirty seconds and we're back to Monday. Think I'm crazy? How many of you feel as old as the calendar year says you are? I certainly don't feel twenty-something, and I know a lot of you don't either. Know why? Because we're all really seventeen! The time between our birthdays has just gotten shorter!
I know right now some of you are going "it just FEELS that way because we're older" or some other such nonsense. I say Bullshit! Stop being a sheep and open your eyes. That's obviously what "they" want you to think. It's all propaganda maaaaaaaaaaaan! They're distracting you with crap like global warming and oil prices and the war in Iraq, when none of that garbage even matters because sooner or later, a minute is going to be a second long, a second is going to be a nanosecond long and well, I don't know any shorter increments of time, but you get my point. You know how they always say like the sun is gonna burn out in like 52 Billion years or something? Well it's more like eight years now. Why aren't our scientists doing something about this? Fuck the whales, fuck the rainforests; we need to save our minutes! The only thing I can't figure out is if this is a natural phenomenon that the people in charge are trying to keep a secret, or if some evil organization is actually accelerating time. Either way, I'm gonna get to the bottom of this. If I disappear mysteriously soon, you'll all know why! Tell my story!
This one was originally published May 5, 2008:
So, has anyone seen that horrible Optimum Online commercial? You know the one I mean. It's the one that's obviously the result of some board room marketing douche saying, "Reggaeton is very popular, let's target the Hispanic audience with a Reggaeton themed commercial". Then they shit out this fucking abomination. This is the type of commercial that's so reprehensible that it makes you want to boycott the product its advertising. Way to go shitdicks, I know your dumb phone number by heart, but I wouldn't dial it at gun point. I don't know what "mi gente" means, but I hope it has something to do with the star of this commercial getting 3rd degree burns and needing massive skin grafts. My fondest wish right now is that the cast of this commercial suffers the same fate as the cast of Poltergeist. Especially that bag of shit dressed like the sea monster. I'd love to remove his dumb dragon-fish helmet with a shotgun.
Not that Time-Warner is any better. It's not their commercials that bother me though, it's their actual service. This, to me, defies comprehension. Their business model is basically such that we, as the consumers, are required to pay them all kinds of idiotic fees and charges, SO THEY CAN CHARGE US FOR CABLE EVERY MONTH. Are you shitting me? They charge you per box. They charge you per REMOTE CONTROL. Here you go asshole, give us fifty bucks so we can charge you 300 bucks a month for cable. Shitty cable, that doesn't even always work. Why the fuck do I have to reset my box every single goddam time I wanna watch an HD channel? I'm sorry, but if I'm good for three bills every month, maybe the fucking boxes that allow me to get the programming that costs me those three bills should be on the arm, no? Fucking thieves. Oh and thanks to our lovely government for allowing these vultures to have virtual monopolies over their products so they can continue assfucking their customers. You're all wonderful!
This one's from way back on December 31, 2007:
I swear it's a good thing I don't smoke pot, because if I did I could easily see myself falling into all-consuming weed-fueled contemplations of nonsense. As it is, I do a pretty good job without the assistance of marijuana. For example, the other day I found myself wondering for several hours about "societal norms" and why people do some of the things we do. Take manners for example. When you think about it, what we call manners really are just a bunch of made up rules that a bunch of jerks decided they would follow and then make other people feel bad about not following. Like, who the fuck decided that it's rude to wear a hat at the dinner table? Or to put your elbows on the dinner table for that matter? Who are these people setting so many rules about how food is consumed? And why are other people agreeing to this crap? Others, like not burping or farting I could almost understand because these things tend to produce unpleasant odors, but even that isn't universal because you're always hearing that in some places an after meal belch is considered complimentary to the chef (what a wonderfully savage place that must be!). I'm just forced to ask why. Why is it rude to shake someone's hand using your left? Why is it rude to not shake hands at all? It's just idiotic. The way I figure it, some uppity douches at some point decided they'd make up a bunch of rules of conduct, and then severely look down upon anyone who didn't try to live up to their made up standards. Insecure fucks. I bet they all had small dicks too. I guess there are some that are good. Like saying "thank you". The thing is I never say thank you because I'm supposed to, I say it because I'm grateful. So is it more mannerly to say thank you and not mean it, or to be grateful but not express it? And why do I care? By the way, religion is pretty much the same thing, just a bunch of rules that some people decided to self-enforce and now here we are thousands of years later indoctrinated to this ridiculous crap when we're kids.
Speaking of ridiculous, at dinner on Christmas day, the subject of that freak girl in India who was born with four arms came up. To me, the most interesting part of that whole story was the fact that the people in her village were worshipping her as some sort of goddess before her parents had her sent off to have the parasitic limbs removed, so I mentioned it. The idea that people in this day and age could be so dumb got a huge laugh. I laughed too, because to me, the idea that people in this day and age believe a child was born to woman who was a virgin, grew up healing sick people, walking on water and turning bread into fish or whatever the fuck, then died to save everyone else and was alive again three days later is just as silly, if not moreso. But who am I to criticize? I mean I participate in this stuff for cultural reasons (and to get presents), so I guess it's a little hypocritical of me to poke fun at the people who buy into all the crap that surrounds this otherwise fun holiday. But come on, at least those dummies in India had something right in front of them to point to and go "look its ganesh!" or whatever monster it is that they worship. All we have is 2000 year old story that isn't backed up by any historical sources whatsoever.
And one of my favorites, from October 1st, 2007:
It occurred to me last week that this blog has gotten way too nice. For a column that's supposed to be about my constant state of discontent, I've been dishing out an awful lot of praise, cheer and benevolence lately. Fine, things have been going well. I get it. At least I've been honest and not invented things to complain about.
Just to keep up the expected level of disgruntlement, I considered writing up a whole column complaining about smokers. You know; the usual stuff about how it's a vile, disgusting habit. How even the hottest woman may as well be covered in shit as far as I'm concerned if she has a cigarette in her hand. How, with everything we know about cancer and nicotine and black, rotted, growth-festered organs, and commercials featuring a Spanish man talking through a hole in his throat, or a gangrenous foot, or my personal favorite, the one where that doctor guy squeezes that thick, white, viscous shit out of a smoker's artery, you'd have to be a complete and utter asshole, devoid of anything resembling baseline human intelligence to continue indulging in this sickening behavior. I was going to make fun of you jerks, possibly by typing something like "Ooh, look at me, I'm inhaling poisons into my lungs! I'm so cool! Feel bad for me because I'm addicted and can't stop, I have a disease... even though all I actually have to DO to stop is to not buy cigarettes. Then I was going to close by pointing out how utterly inconsiderate you people are. I would have gone on about how it should be legal for me to stomp the shit out of one of you every time I'm stuck walking in the smoke trail of one of you inconsiderate shit-clogs solely because I had the supreme misfortune of being on the same sidewalk as you. I'd have written about how the crowds of you assholes clustered just outside the doorways us more health-conscious citizens have to walk through should be considered prime targets for drive-by shootings. I'd have concluded by advocating that the most inconsiderate of you (the ones who will go outside to smoke, but not exhale your last breath of shit-air until you get back inside the door) should be violently sodomized in the mouth by a large Guatemalan convict before being thrown down a long flight of metal steps. Then I would have challenged even one of you to come forward with any compelling argument telling me about your "rights" or whatever. SHUT THE FUCK UP! That's what I was going to write about, but I've changed my mind. Choke!
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
PERPETUAL DISSATISFACTION: Volume 2; Number 3: Miscreant Horror-Children
PERPETUAL DISSATISFACTION: Volume 2; Number 3: Miscreant Horror-Children
Ok, so I realized that it’s been quite some time since I graced you all with a venom-laced, anger-instilled rant blog. What can I say, things have been fairly good. And I’ve also been way too busy to write lately – which I suppose could be the subject of its own venom-laced, anger-instilled rant blog. But it’s not the subject of THIS one, so if you really wanna hear about how I’m sick of working and kinda want to run away and start a gang of pre-teen thieves like Nutsy Fagin in Oliver Twist, well just call me in the office during a week day, and you’ll get that rant then. This one’s about something different.
Let me start off by saying that in an effort to find something to inspire enough rage in me to write about, I asked Liz to get me a bootleg copy of Transformers 2. As of yet she has not, because LIZ IS A SLACKER. However when you seek, the universe provides and I found my vitriolic muse tonight as I drove around the corner on my block; in the form of the rodent-children that seem to infest the street I live on. Now some of you may remember my Facebook status from last week where I told you all about how I already ran afoul of a couple of these vermin when one of them decided to kick his skateboard under my car as I pulled into my driveway. Well, one crushed skateboard and an obscenity-laced scolding later and you’d think the lesson would have been learned. I mean, I always assumed that rats could communicate with one another. Well I guess these other shaggy haired bags of shit didn’t get the neighborhood memo, because about six of them were skateboarding all over the street in and around the area in front of my house.
Now look, before anyone accuses me of just being a dick, I actually have no problem with that - in theory. What I absolutely DID have a problem with is they’re skateboarding in the street AND THEY DON’T FUCKING MOVE WHEN THEY SEE A CAR DRIVING TOWARD THEM. Honestly, I really don’t feel like having my life ruined because I killed some asshole kid who doesn’t have enough survival instinct to not do a bad Tony Hawk impression in front of my car. The mind boggling thing is that there’s a public fucking playground three blocks away, and these aren’t young kids that can’t leave the block I’m talking about, they’re like twelve or thirteen. It’s just fucking mind boggling to me though. When I was a kid, I was taught to have a healthy respect of the street, and by healthy respect I mean nightmare-inducing fear. My parents and older relatives had me so wary of the street that you’d have thought the blacktop had the power to independently reach up and crush the life from me somehow. If I ever did what these kids do on a daily basis, I’d have been screamed at, physically restrained and probably got a spanking too. So automatically, when I see one of these little fucktards running around in the street without a care in the world its a little jarring. And I know it’s because their parents came from some shithole third-world country where they don’t have heavy traffic (or roads, or television, or houses not made of dried mud). Which is exactly whose fault it’s going to be when one of these kids gets himself crushed to death by an oncoming motorist.
Now I’m not necessarily saying that I’m hoping an out of control cement mixer comes barreling down the block and takes out six or eight of these little motherfuckers in one clip, but I’m honest enough to say that part of me thinks it would serve them and their mystery-race parents right. And another thing, what the fuck are these kids even doing on skateboards anyway? They’re not white kids, this isn’t San Francisco and this isn’t The Lords of Dogtown. Fuck, it’s not even Gleaming the Cube. Shouldn’t these mongrels be selling trinkets for dollars and trying to pick people’s pockets or something? These little fucks haven’t even had the common decency to wipe out spectacularly while I’m watching so I can at least get a good laugh out of the whole situation.
In all seriousness, I’m at my wits end with this situation. I'm waiting for the day when I'm backing out of my driveway at less then 5 miles an hour and I hit one of these fuckers because (despite the fact that I looked a hundred times and made sure I knew where they all were before I started moving the car) it never occured to one of them not to dive lemming-like into the cars' path. The only thing resembling a solution I've been able to come up with is that I'm considering sending out an anonymous mailing to everyone on the block… something along the lines of “attention neighbors of questionable ethnic origin, your lack of parenting skills is putting your children’s lives in danger. Tell them to get the fuck out of the street when they see cars coming down the block. If I have to stop short again, or be delayed while I watch one of them continue to throw a ball or stumble his way through just one more casper or kick flip before he lets me pass, I am going to find you and feed you your child’s skateboard. Hopefully you can read English”. Yup, that sounds perfect.
Ok, so I realized that it’s been quite some time since I graced you all with a venom-laced, anger-instilled rant blog. What can I say, things have been fairly good. And I’ve also been way too busy to write lately – which I suppose could be the subject of its own venom-laced, anger-instilled rant blog. But it’s not the subject of THIS one, so if you really wanna hear about how I’m sick of working and kinda want to run away and start a gang of pre-teen thieves like Nutsy Fagin in Oliver Twist, well just call me in the office during a week day, and you’ll get that rant then. This one’s about something different.
Let me start off by saying that in an effort to find something to inspire enough rage in me to write about, I asked Liz to get me a bootleg copy of Transformers 2. As of yet she has not, because LIZ IS A SLACKER. However when you seek, the universe provides and I found my vitriolic muse tonight as I drove around the corner on my block; in the form of the rodent-children that seem to infest the street I live on. Now some of you may remember my Facebook status from last week where I told you all about how I already ran afoul of a couple of these vermin when one of them decided to kick his skateboard under my car as I pulled into my driveway. Well, one crushed skateboard and an obscenity-laced scolding later and you’d think the lesson would have been learned. I mean, I always assumed that rats could communicate with one another. Well I guess these other shaggy haired bags of shit didn’t get the neighborhood memo, because about six of them were skateboarding all over the street in and around the area in front of my house.
Now look, before anyone accuses me of just being a dick, I actually have no problem with that - in theory. What I absolutely DID have a problem with is they’re skateboarding in the street AND THEY DON’T FUCKING MOVE WHEN THEY SEE A CAR DRIVING TOWARD THEM. Honestly, I really don’t feel like having my life ruined because I killed some asshole kid who doesn’t have enough survival instinct to not do a bad Tony Hawk impression in front of my car. The mind boggling thing is that there’s a public fucking playground three blocks away, and these aren’t young kids that can’t leave the block I’m talking about, they’re like twelve or thirteen. It’s just fucking mind boggling to me though. When I was a kid, I was taught to have a healthy respect of the street, and by healthy respect I mean nightmare-inducing fear. My parents and older relatives had me so wary of the street that you’d have thought the blacktop had the power to independently reach up and crush the life from me somehow. If I ever did what these kids do on a daily basis, I’d have been screamed at, physically restrained and probably got a spanking too. So automatically, when I see one of these little fucktards running around in the street without a care in the world its a little jarring. And I know it’s because their parents came from some shithole third-world country where they don’t have heavy traffic (or roads, or television, or houses not made of dried mud). Which is exactly whose fault it’s going to be when one of these kids gets himself crushed to death by an oncoming motorist.
Now I’m not necessarily saying that I’m hoping an out of control cement mixer comes barreling down the block and takes out six or eight of these little motherfuckers in one clip, but I’m honest enough to say that part of me thinks it would serve them and their mystery-race parents right. And another thing, what the fuck are these kids even doing on skateboards anyway? They’re not white kids, this isn’t San Francisco and this isn’t The Lords of Dogtown. Fuck, it’s not even Gleaming the Cube. Shouldn’t these mongrels be selling trinkets for dollars and trying to pick people’s pockets or something? These little fucks haven’t even had the common decency to wipe out spectacularly while I’m watching so I can at least get a good laugh out of the whole situation.
In all seriousness, I’m at my wits end with this situation. I'm waiting for the day when I'm backing out of my driveway at less then 5 miles an hour and I hit one of these fuckers because (despite the fact that I looked a hundred times and made sure I knew where they all were before I started moving the car) it never occured to one of them not to dive lemming-like into the cars' path. The only thing resembling a solution I've been able to come up with is that I'm considering sending out an anonymous mailing to everyone on the block… something along the lines of “attention neighbors of questionable ethnic origin, your lack of parenting skills is putting your children’s lives in danger. Tell them to get the fuck out of the street when they see cars coming down the block. If I have to stop short again, or be delayed while I watch one of them continue to throw a ball or stumble his way through just one more casper or kick flip before he lets me pass, I am going to find you and feed you your child’s skateboard. Hopefully you can read English”. Yup, that sounds perfect.
Club Night, One of the Reasons I Love Life
Alright so picture it, the room is absolutely packed - wall to wall people; and it’s taken fifteen minutes just to get a spot at the bar. Not that it’s done any good anyway, because the bartender seems to have you on the “pay no mind” list. The asshole next to you is way too far into your personal space, and some inconsiderate bag of shit nearby has just lit up a cigarette, despite the fact that it’s illegal and the club has an outdoor smoking area. The music’s way too loud for such a small place, and the DJ keeps talking over the songs to shout himself out. Overall, it’s just a sweaty, uncomfortable, annoying situation, but you know what? Even if that perfect storm of a horrible club experience really happened, I’d probably love every minute of it. Club night really is one of the reasons I love life.
Over the past five years or so, I’ve watched as most of my friends my age have settled down, gotten married and in some cases had kids. And to be honest, I couldn’t be happier for them. That’s the next step. The logical step. The step you’re supposed to take. But it’s not the right step for me, not yet anyway, because over that same period of time, my love of the nightlife has not only stayed at the same level as it was very first time I ever went out, it’s grown exponentially. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, and I have to conclude that going out at, umm… my age, is way more fun than it was at Twenty-one, or even Twenty-Five. Obviously having more money now than I did then helps, but that’s not really it. Or not all of it anyway, I’m not gonna lie, being able to pop a bottle in the VIP is a lot of fun every once in awhile. But truth be told, I’m in love with every aspect of a night out at the club. Looking forward to getting dressed up, meeting new people, talking to girls, dancing, drinking and chilling with friends are the things that keep me from wanting to cut my wrists every Monday morning. These things are the reason that, especially in the summer, I go into party robot mode and try my best to get out and mingle at least three or four nights a week. In fact the only thing keeping me from starting every weekend on Wednesday night are the limits of my own human endurance. Unfortunately, going out at night and getting up at 5:30 every morning to hit the gym aren’t exactly compatible. But, a physically and mentally exhausted next day at the office is somehow worth it if I get to spend a few extra hours chillin at the club the night before. Big shout to my man Lou by the way – whether Louie Vegas is behind the bar or with me in front of it, it doesn’t seem to matter. Somehow Lou either brings the party with him, or it seeks him out, and the end result is almost always a night to remember. Thanks for that, brother!
Sometimes I worry that I’m addicted to this whole nightlife thing. I mean, I literally could spend hours at the club, sometimes even by myself, just watching people (and also usually making fun of them) – whether it be (to steal a line from Jagged Edge) “the girls in the club in their best outfits, just showin’ that skin, tryin’ to make a nigga wanna spend”; or the guys tryin their best lines out on those girls. Watching them succeed or get shot down. Good dancers, bad dancers, everyone in between, all there to celebrate life and have a good time, these are among my favorite things in the world. Maybe that’s a bad thing, maybe I should have other priorities, but right now I don’t care. I’m having way too much fun - and while I do acknowledge that I’ve been doing the nightlife thing for a lot longer than I have left to do it, to me that just makes it all the more important to make every one of those nights out count, especially because I don’t have that much time left. I may love this whole thing, but I am NOT gonna be that guy at Glo with the 70’s moustache. You know who I mean, he used to always be at Posh and Mirage, gotta be in his 50’s... Yeah, that guy’s still goin out. But I definitely still got a good year or two left in me before I gotta worry about being him, so I’m gonna take advantage. And so should you! Come party with US!
Over the past five years or so, I’ve watched as most of my friends my age have settled down, gotten married and in some cases had kids. And to be honest, I couldn’t be happier for them. That’s the next step. The logical step. The step you’re supposed to take. But it’s not the right step for me, not yet anyway, because over that same period of time, my love of the nightlife has not only stayed at the same level as it was very first time I ever went out, it’s grown exponentially. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, and I have to conclude that going out at, umm… my age, is way more fun than it was at Twenty-one, or even Twenty-Five. Obviously having more money now than I did then helps, but that’s not really it. Or not all of it anyway, I’m not gonna lie, being able to pop a bottle in the VIP is a lot of fun every once in awhile. But truth be told, I’m in love with every aspect of a night out at the club. Looking forward to getting dressed up, meeting new people, talking to girls, dancing, drinking and chilling with friends are the things that keep me from wanting to cut my wrists every Monday morning. These things are the reason that, especially in the summer, I go into party robot mode and try my best to get out and mingle at least three or four nights a week. In fact the only thing keeping me from starting every weekend on Wednesday night are the limits of my own human endurance. Unfortunately, going out at night and getting up at 5:30 every morning to hit the gym aren’t exactly compatible. But, a physically and mentally exhausted next day at the office is somehow worth it if I get to spend a few extra hours chillin at the club the night before. Big shout to my man Lou by the way – whether Louie Vegas is behind the bar or with me in front of it, it doesn’t seem to matter. Somehow Lou either brings the party with him, or it seeks him out, and the end result is almost always a night to remember. Thanks for that, brother!
Sometimes I worry that I’m addicted to this whole nightlife thing. I mean, I literally could spend hours at the club, sometimes even by myself, just watching people (and also usually making fun of them) – whether it be (to steal a line from Jagged Edge) “the girls in the club in their best outfits, just showin’ that skin, tryin’ to make a nigga wanna spend”; or the guys tryin their best lines out on those girls. Watching them succeed or get shot down. Good dancers, bad dancers, everyone in between, all there to celebrate life and have a good time, these are among my favorite things in the world. Maybe that’s a bad thing, maybe I should have other priorities, but right now I don’t care. I’m having way too much fun - and while I do acknowledge that I’ve been doing the nightlife thing for a lot longer than I have left to do it, to me that just makes it all the more important to make every one of those nights out count, especially because I don’t have that much time left. I may love this whole thing, but I am NOT gonna be that guy at Glo with the 70’s moustache. You know who I mean, he used to always be at Posh and Mirage, gotta be in his 50’s... Yeah, that guy’s still goin out. But I definitely still got a good year or two left in me before I gotta worry about being him, so I’m gonna take advantage. And so should you! Come party with US!
Monday, January 26, 2009
Perpetual Dissatisfaction: Volume 2; Number 2: Driving, and a Few Random Thoughts
OK, here we go, (finally) a brand new blog for 2009. I've had a few things kicking around in my head but until today nothing really enraged me enough to pierce the fog of laziness that's usually responsible for my lapses in writing. But, I encountered a new phenomenon today and it made me so angry I wanted to shit nails. So rather than ruin my wonderfully pristine little colon by evacuating some piercing sharp hardware, I figured I'd just share my story with you all instead. On top of that, I guess I'll also mention those few random things I had kicking around that weren't inspiring enough to get a full article out of. Anyway, on with the blog!
So today, something new happened to me while driving on two completely separate occasions, and as I said, it made so angry I just had to write about it. While on my way to work on the Belt Parkway this morning, and on my way home later tonight on the Grand Central, I came upon a pair of these human bags of whale excrement who see nothing wrong with going thirty-eight miles an hour with a stretch of highway like the runway at Andrews Air Force base in front of them. First of all, you dickcheeses, and this goes for anyone reading this as well, if everyone on the highway is passing you, whether you're doing twenty or sixty, whether you're in the right lane or the left, you're going TOO FUCKING SLOW. Now for me its not usually a problem because I just zip around these assholes like the Millenium Falcon making the Kessel run and don't give them more than a fleeting thought. But this morning, while doing my usual dip and dirty look while passing move, as the baby beemer was leaving this mini-van driving chunk of coagulating vaginal discharge in the dust, I glanced in my rear-view and saw that HE was flashing his brights at ME! Sure he was probably a quarter mile back, but still, this inconsiderate cocksucker, who apparently drives with no concern that other motorists actually have somewhere to be and don't want to go at his lobotomy-patient pace, was acting as if I did something wrong. This fuck was lucky I absolutely need my morning coffee or he'd have been in need of a trip to the car wash today, that much I can promise you.
It was the same on the way home; except this time I was behind some other jerk off as we were coming to the light right before the entrance to the parkway, and he was going just slow enough that he would have beat the red and I wouldn't. So I did what anyone who wants be home immediately after leaving work would do; I sped up, changed lanes, went around him, and dipped back in front of him after the light. We both got on the parkway, this time with me in front of him, and again as I sped away from him like a fat chick who was offered some celery, there he was flashing away with his brights. Ooh, you showed me, didn't you you fucking platypus' cunt? I don't know, I just find it enraging that these fucks are out there, all over the place, getting in the way of people who actually know how to drive correctly, forcing us to go at their pace. At the very least, stop being a goddam obstacle and get the fuck out of the way when you see someone coming up quick behind you. I don't care if I'm going ninety in the left lane (as I'm known to do occasionally) if I see some dude rocketing up behind me, I'm out of his way in a heartbeat. I'm sick to death of you goody two-shoes nerds who think it's up to you to decide how fast everyone else should go. I have no problem if you want to drive like you've suffered some kind of debilitating head trauma, but at least do your best to get out of the way of the people who actually want to get where they're going.
And while I'm on the subject of complaining about driving, let me just state for the record that if you're driving in the west bound right lane on the Grand Central right before the exit for the Cross Island, and you're not actually getting on the Cross Island, the government should execute your family, you traffic-causing barrel of dick snot. Now that I'm actually giving it all this thought, there's so much more I could complain about when it comes to driving. Simple shit, like people who can't be bothered to use their turn signals, drives me absolutely insane. Except when people use them in a turn-only lane, or on a road that follows a curve. Thanks for the warning fuckwit; for a minute there I was scared you were gonna plow your car into that upcoming Dairy Queen.
Now look, I acknowledge that I drive somewhat aggressively, and yeah, sometimes its just me being massively impatient. But the vast majority of the time its because it's the only way to get ANYWHERE in this fucking ridiculous city. Some days I even wish I was still commuting on the A train so I wouldn't have these problems anymore. Then I remember the caliber of miscreant your forced to associate with when you use mass transit... and I don't think anyone expects a man of my ilk to lower himself to that.
And now its time for random thoughts.
First lets start with Nancy Pelosi. Now for those of you who know me, its probably hard to believe that I couldn't write blogs worth of complaints about Ms. Pelosi and liberals in general for that matter (ok let's face it, those are coming). I mean, its no secret that I think you're all a bunch of unrealistic, guilt-ridden, language-obsessed pansies who prefer to silence opposing viewpoints rather than intelligently argue points (because you usually get your teeth kicked in during real debates); but I digress. So yes, while I do think Ms. Pelosi is a dangerous ultra-left fanatic, what I really want to point out today is that the woman is terrifying to look at. I mean, just frightening. Seriously, you ever really look at her? The bitch looks like Skeletor, and I occasionally fantasize about smashing her orbital bones to powder with a sand wedge. But that's just me.
Conservatives, by the way, can eat a shopping bag full of dicks too. Enough with your religion and your false morality. EVERYONE is tired of it. I respect your right to believe whatever fairy tale you want to, respect mine to think you're silly for it... and as far as abortion goes, ladies, I don't care if you want to take a variable speed pneumatic jackhammer to whatevers growing in your womb, have a ball. It's none of my business and never will be (just please don't ask me to pay for it).
Getting back to driving for a second, why is it that whenever I'm driving in Jersey either on the Turnpike or the Garden State, drivers in the left lane will courteously move out of the way and let you pass when you're comin up behind them, yet these same people drive like they have Downs Syndrome when they're here in New York?
Anyone else suspect that Dunkin Donuts is a front for milling illegals into this country? I only ask this because if you go into a Dunkin Donuts on a semi-regular basis, you know that aside from the three or four usual employees whose skill at their jobs ranges from barely competent to piss poor to actually detrimental to the serving of coffee and baked goods, there's usually two or three new recruits milling around behind the counter somewhat aimlessly. Even if you don't frequent the same Dunkin Donuts all the time, you can tell who they are because they speak not a word of english and do nothing but stare blankly at you when you try to order from them until one of the others comes to the rescue. This all may seem innocent, especially since most of these specimens barely seem capable of tying their shoes, much less anything nefarious. But mark my words, a legion of men of questionable ethnicity is slowly invading this country. The Army of the Twelve Munchkins is coming!
Thats all for now. I'll be back with more soon.
So today, something new happened to me while driving on two completely separate occasions, and as I said, it made so angry I just had to write about it. While on my way to work on the Belt Parkway this morning, and on my way home later tonight on the Grand Central, I came upon a pair of these human bags of whale excrement who see nothing wrong with going thirty-eight miles an hour with a stretch of highway like the runway at Andrews Air Force base in front of them. First of all, you dickcheeses, and this goes for anyone reading this as well, if everyone on the highway is passing you, whether you're doing twenty or sixty, whether you're in the right lane or the left, you're going TOO FUCKING SLOW. Now for me its not usually a problem because I just zip around these assholes like the Millenium Falcon making the Kessel run and don't give them more than a fleeting thought. But this morning, while doing my usual dip and dirty look while passing move, as the baby beemer was leaving this mini-van driving chunk of coagulating vaginal discharge in the dust, I glanced in my rear-view and saw that HE was flashing his brights at ME! Sure he was probably a quarter mile back, but still, this inconsiderate cocksucker, who apparently drives with no concern that other motorists actually have somewhere to be and don't want to go at his lobotomy-patient pace, was acting as if I did something wrong. This fuck was lucky I absolutely need my morning coffee or he'd have been in need of a trip to the car wash today, that much I can promise you.
It was the same on the way home; except this time I was behind some other jerk off as we were coming to the light right before the entrance to the parkway, and he was going just slow enough that he would have beat the red and I wouldn't. So I did what anyone who wants be home immediately after leaving work would do; I sped up, changed lanes, went around him, and dipped back in front of him after the light. We both got on the parkway, this time with me in front of him, and again as I sped away from him like a fat chick who was offered some celery, there he was flashing away with his brights. Ooh, you showed me, didn't you you fucking platypus' cunt? I don't know, I just find it enraging that these fucks are out there, all over the place, getting in the way of people who actually know how to drive correctly, forcing us to go at their pace. At the very least, stop being a goddam obstacle and get the fuck out of the way when you see someone coming up quick behind you. I don't care if I'm going ninety in the left lane (as I'm known to do occasionally) if I see some dude rocketing up behind me, I'm out of his way in a heartbeat. I'm sick to death of you goody two-shoes nerds who think it's up to you to decide how fast everyone else should go. I have no problem if you want to drive like you've suffered some kind of debilitating head trauma, but at least do your best to get out of the way of the people who actually want to get where they're going.
And while I'm on the subject of complaining about driving, let me just state for the record that if you're driving in the west bound right lane on the Grand Central right before the exit for the Cross Island, and you're not actually getting on the Cross Island, the government should execute your family, you traffic-causing barrel of dick snot. Now that I'm actually giving it all this thought, there's so much more I could complain about when it comes to driving. Simple shit, like people who can't be bothered to use their turn signals, drives me absolutely insane. Except when people use them in a turn-only lane, or on a road that follows a curve. Thanks for the warning fuckwit; for a minute there I was scared you were gonna plow your car into that upcoming Dairy Queen.
Now look, I acknowledge that I drive somewhat aggressively, and yeah, sometimes its just me being massively impatient. But the vast majority of the time its because it's the only way to get ANYWHERE in this fucking ridiculous city. Some days I even wish I was still commuting on the A train so I wouldn't have these problems anymore. Then I remember the caliber of miscreant your forced to associate with when you use mass transit... and I don't think anyone expects a man of my ilk to lower himself to that.
And now its time for random thoughts.
First lets start with Nancy Pelosi. Now for those of you who know me, its probably hard to believe that I couldn't write blogs worth of complaints about Ms. Pelosi and liberals in general for that matter (ok let's face it, those are coming). I mean, its no secret that I think you're all a bunch of unrealistic, guilt-ridden, language-obsessed pansies who prefer to silence opposing viewpoints rather than intelligently argue points (because you usually get your teeth kicked in during real debates); but I digress. So yes, while I do think Ms. Pelosi is a dangerous ultra-left fanatic, what I really want to point out today is that the woman is terrifying to look at. I mean, just frightening. Seriously, you ever really look at her? The bitch looks like Skeletor, and I occasionally fantasize about smashing her orbital bones to powder with a sand wedge. But that's just me.
Conservatives, by the way, can eat a shopping bag full of dicks too. Enough with your religion and your false morality. EVERYONE is tired of it. I respect your right to believe whatever fairy tale you want to, respect mine to think you're silly for it... and as far as abortion goes, ladies, I don't care if you want to take a variable speed pneumatic jackhammer to whatevers growing in your womb, have a ball. It's none of my business and never will be (just please don't ask me to pay for it).
Getting back to driving for a second, why is it that whenever I'm driving in Jersey either on the Turnpike or the Garden State, drivers in the left lane will courteously move out of the way and let you pass when you're comin up behind them, yet these same people drive like they have Downs Syndrome when they're here in New York?
Anyone else suspect that Dunkin Donuts is a front for milling illegals into this country? I only ask this because if you go into a Dunkin Donuts on a semi-regular basis, you know that aside from the three or four usual employees whose skill at their jobs ranges from barely competent to piss poor to actually detrimental to the serving of coffee and baked goods, there's usually two or three new recruits milling around behind the counter somewhat aimlessly. Even if you don't frequent the same Dunkin Donuts all the time, you can tell who they are because they speak not a word of english and do nothing but stare blankly at you when you try to order from them until one of the others comes to the rescue. This all may seem innocent, especially since most of these specimens barely seem capable of tying their shoes, much less anything nefarious. But mark my words, a legion of men of questionable ethnicity is slowly invading this country. The Army of the Twelve Munchkins is coming!
Thats all for now. I'll be back with more soon.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Greatest Hits Part 1
Hey, a bunch of you have told me you're going to subscribe to the new blog, so rather than make you wait, I figured I'd hit you off with some of my "greatest hits" from the blog's previous incarnation. Re-reading these made me laugh out loud, I hope they'll do the same for you. And if they don't, well hey, go fuck yourself!
--This first one got more comments than any other blog I've ever written. "Dunkin Donuts Chimps" - Originally posted on October 25, 2007.
Something happened today that I found to be funny but also a little scary, and I thought I'd share it because it's a pretty good window into the my dementia that captivates my thoughts and keeps me from truly being a functional member of this thing we call society. I was in Dunkin Donuts early this morning, waiting in the usual long line for my morning caffeine fix. The woman in front of me was placing her order, and I couldn't help but notice how disgustingly condescending this fucking twat was being to the cashier she was speaking to. She was speaking very slowly and deliberately, as if to a child or a retard, and it so enraged me that I wanted to physically assault her. Seriously, I began to daydream about repeatedly smashing this stuck up cunts' face into the counter and then pouring her steaming hot cup of coffee on the back of her neck. I wanted to kick her and beat her to floor. I swear, I tasted blood. How dare she speak to another human being that way? It disgusted me on a level I can't really begin to describe.
The punch line here is that I will absolutely be the first to tell you that the fucking chimps behind the counter at Dunkin Donuts are probably among the worst people in an allegedly service-based industry that I've ever encountered. I've probably wished death on these human pieces of masonite on many, many occasions. Why is it so hard to understand "large ice coffee, skim milk, four Splenda"? That's not hard. That sentence should never be countered with "you want hot coffee?" or "half and half?" or anything other than "here's your coffee". It's fucking infuriating. They're stupid, they're slow and if you don't pay very strict, careful attention to them as they move around behind the counter with absolutely no sense of urgency whatsoever, they WILL get your order wrong.
Yet, it absolutely outraged me that this stuck up bag of shit was speaking to them in the manner that she did. So, if you follow my logic, wishing death or horrible pain on the Dunkin Donuts people is ok, actually hoping with every fiber of my being that after they finish serving me, they go into the bathroom, slip in a puddle of piss and chip their front teeth on a urinal is fine, but speaking to them in a disrespectful tone? Not so much. I make no sense.
--This next one is about something that continues to irk me to this day, originally published on March 30, 2007:
Well kids, I've got to say, I can't think of much to complain about right now. I chalk it up to the awesome weather we've had this week. It's hard to be dissatisfied when there's a cool breeze blowing in through your office window. Wait a minute. Office. Window. Breeze. I'm trapped in this office and not out in that cool breeze? Oh yeah, there we go, dissatisfaction level rising.
Anyway, after I bashed liberals, Al Sharpton, the Black Community and white guilt last week, this week I'm going to keep things much lighter and much less controversial. As I wrote in my first column, I consider myself a humanist. I look for ways we, as a species, can improve, and as a flip side to that, I try to target the reasons we just aren't. One of those reasons is that people, in general, are really pretty self-centered. I'm sure there's an evolutionary reason we are this way. I mean, looking out for one's own best interests is something of a survival instinct, and I'm sure that some element of man's "me first" behavior is left over from a time when not looking out for #1 could mean ending up getting your face chewed off by a lion. The problem is that man is also by nature a social animal, and when you've got a group of people congregating together who are all serving their own best interests at the expense of everyone else, it makes progress - and enjoying the situation - real difficult.
I'm not going to speak in generalities though; I'm targeting one piece of anti-social, annoying and downright rude behavior here today. Something that irritates me so much it remains one of the only things that will get me to say something to the person doing it. I'm laidback enough that I let most shit go. I've rarely gotten into a fight in my life and I tend to let the irritating things people do roll off me, but not this. What could I possibly be talking about, you ask? Well I'll tell you. Picture it, you're in a tight crowd, be it at a bar or club, or at a sporting event, or pretty much anywhere where space is limited and there's a lot of people. Now, obviously, navigating your way through this type of situation is tough, and even tougher is when you've found your spot, and people around you are trying to navigate their way around you. So there you are, waiting in place to get up to a bar that's three people deep, or whatever, and someone's trying to get past you. You do the polite thing and make enough space for them to pass through, and bang… the DOUCHE BAG proceeds to remain in the exact space you just vacated for them. You're kidding me right? I just stepped aside to allow you through, and you take that opportunity to grab MY spot, to quote Charlie Murphy "like I'm that nigga to steal on"? Absolutely not. This is one of the most frustrating, irksome things a person could do, and I refuse to put up with it.
So, to anyone who's done this, who still does it, or will do it in the future, I say, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? Are you that fucking oblivious and self-centered that you thought I was giving you my spot? That I saw your eminence coming and quickly stepped aside so your grace could have my place in line? Fuck no. This might sound trivial, but I'm dead serious, if you ever hear of me burying my fist into someone else's face, assume this is why.
Maybe it's just me, but I was raised to be considerate of other people. I don't like being in people's way, I don't like making people wait for me or inconveniencing them more than I have to, and I guess I'm just stupid because I expect the same courtesy in return. So naturally I get really heated when it's so blatantly disregarded. Am I really asking much here? All I want is people to be aware that there ARE other people around them and to treat those people with a very basic level of respect. It doesn't sound like so much to ask, does it? Think about it!
--This first one got more comments than any other blog I've ever written. "Dunkin Donuts Chimps" - Originally posted on October 25, 2007.
Something happened today that I found to be funny but also a little scary, and I thought I'd share it because it's a pretty good window into the my dementia that captivates my thoughts and keeps me from truly being a functional member of this thing we call society. I was in Dunkin Donuts early this morning, waiting in the usual long line for my morning caffeine fix. The woman in front of me was placing her order, and I couldn't help but notice how disgustingly condescending this fucking twat was being to the cashier she was speaking to. She was speaking very slowly and deliberately, as if to a child or a retard, and it so enraged me that I wanted to physically assault her. Seriously, I began to daydream about repeatedly smashing this stuck up cunts' face into the counter and then pouring her steaming hot cup of coffee on the back of her neck. I wanted to kick her and beat her to floor. I swear, I tasted blood. How dare she speak to another human being that way? It disgusted me on a level I can't really begin to describe.
The punch line here is that I will absolutely be the first to tell you that the fucking chimps behind the counter at Dunkin Donuts are probably among the worst people in an allegedly service-based industry that I've ever encountered. I've probably wished death on these human pieces of masonite on many, many occasions. Why is it so hard to understand "large ice coffee, skim milk, four Splenda"? That's not hard. That sentence should never be countered with "you want hot coffee?" or "half and half?" or anything other than "here's your coffee". It's fucking infuriating. They're stupid, they're slow and if you don't pay very strict, careful attention to them as they move around behind the counter with absolutely no sense of urgency whatsoever, they WILL get your order wrong.
Yet, it absolutely outraged me that this stuck up bag of shit was speaking to them in the manner that she did. So, if you follow my logic, wishing death or horrible pain on the Dunkin Donuts people is ok, actually hoping with every fiber of my being that after they finish serving me, they go into the bathroom, slip in a puddle of piss and chip their front teeth on a urinal is fine, but speaking to them in a disrespectful tone? Not so much. I make no sense.
--This next one is about something that continues to irk me to this day, originally published on March 30, 2007:
Well kids, I've got to say, I can't think of much to complain about right now. I chalk it up to the awesome weather we've had this week. It's hard to be dissatisfied when there's a cool breeze blowing in through your office window. Wait a minute. Office. Window. Breeze. I'm trapped in this office and not out in that cool breeze? Oh yeah, there we go, dissatisfaction level rising.
Anyway, after I bashed liberals, Al Sharpton, the Black Community and white guilt last week, this week I'm going to keep things much lighter and much less controversial. As I wrote in my first column, I consider myself a humanist. I look for ways we, as a species, can improve, and as a flip side to that, I try to target the reasons we just aren't. One of those reasons is that people, in general, are really pretty self-centered. I'm sure there's an evolutionary reason we are this way. I mean, looking out for one's own best interests is something of a survival instinct, and I'm sure that some element of man's "me first" behavior is left over from a time when not looking out for #1 could mean ending up getting your face chewed off by a lion. The problem is that man is also by nature a social animal, and when you've got a group of people congregating together who are all serving their own best interests at the expense of everyone else, it makes progress - and enjoying the situation - real difficult.
I'm not going to speak in generalities though; I'm targeting one piece of anti-social, annoying and downright rude behavior here today. Something that irritates me so much it remains one of the only things that will get me to say something to the person doing it. I'm laidback enough that I let most shit go. I've rarely gotten into a fight in my life and I tend to let the irritating things people do roll off me, but not this. What could I possibly be talking about, you ask? Well I'll tell you. Picture it, you're in a tight crowd, be it at a bar or club, or at a sporting event, or pretty much anywhere where space is limited and there's a lot of people. Now, obviously, navigating your way through this type of situation is tough, and even tougher is when you've found your spot, and people around you are trying to navigate their way around you. So there you are, waiting in place to get up to a bar that's three people deep, or whatever, and someone's trying to get past you. You do the polite thing and make enough space for them to pass through, and bang… the DOUCHE BAG proceeds to remain in the exact space you just vacated for them. You're kidding me right? I just stepped aside to allow you through, and you take that opportunity to grab MY spot, to quote Charlie Murphy "like I'm that nigga to steal on"? Absolutely not. This is one of the most frustrating, irksome things a person could do, and I refuse to put up with it.
So, to anyone who's done this, who still does it, or will do it in the future, I say, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? Are you that fucking oblivious and self-centered that you thought I was giving you my spot? That I saw your eminence coming and quickly stepped aside so your grace could have my place in line? Fuck no. This might sound trivial, but I'm dead serious, if you ever hear of me burying my fist into someone else's face, assume this is why.
Maybe it's just me, but I was raised to be considerate of other people. I don't like being in people's way, I don't like making people wait for me or inconveniencing them more than I have to, and I guess I'm just stupid because I expect the same courtesy in return. So naturally I get really heated when it's so blatantly disregarded. Am I really asking much here? All I want is people to be aware that there ARE other people around them and to treat those people with a very basic level of respect. It doesn't sound like so much to ask, does it? Think about it!
Sunday, January 4, 2009
PERPETUAL DISSATISFACTION: Volume 2; Number 1: Re-introduction
Alright kids, here we are. New year, new blog location, and the same old rants about everything I think is wrong with this stupid world of ours.
I wanted to take a quick minute and just remind you all what I do. Mostly, I complain. In fact I find that I complain a lot. And even though I say that my complaints are all geared toward making this planet a much more tolerable place to live there are still some who would label me a malcontent, an agitator or a misanthrope. Those not speaking like they lived at the turn of the 18th Century would say I'm complainer, and those who wanted to be insulting jerks would say I'm a sniveling bellyacher who is constantly griping and grousing. If your one of those, don't worry, you'll get yours.
Anyway, if you're a fan of the old blog from MySpace, you already know that in between entertaining you all with stories of my own life, I'm educating you all on how much better the world would be if everyone just listened to me, and trying to do so in as humorous a way as possible. The problem is that no one does, and as a result I am, you guessed it, perpetually dissatisfied. But, the cause of my inevitable mental breakdown is your gain my loyal readers, because I must say that I am one amusing motherfucker. So kick back, enjoy my ranting and leave some comments if you're so inclined (actually leave me comments whether or not you are... my ego needs feeding, dammit). Just click the link that says "follow this blog" and you'll be alerted every time I post. Click it now, or I'll harm your children.
I wanted to take a quick minute and just remind you all what I do. Mostly, I complain. In fact I find that I complain a lot. And even though I say that my complaints are all geared toward making this planet a much more tolerable place to live there are still some who would label me a malcontent, an agitator or a misanthrope. Those not speaking like they lived at the turn of the 18th Century would say I'm complainer, and those who wanted to be insulting jerks would say I'm a sniveling bellyacher who is constantly griping and grousing. If your one of those, don't worry, you'll get yours.
Anyway, if you're a fan of the old blog from MySpace, you already know that in between entertaining you all with stories of my own life, I'm educating you all on how much better the world would be if everyone just listened to me, and trying to do so in as humorous a way as possible. The problem is that no one does, and as a result I am, you guessed it, perpetually dissatisfied. But, the cause of my inevitable mental breakdown is your gain my loyal readers, because I must say that I am one amusing motherfucker. So kick back, enjoy my ranting and leave some comments if you're so inclined (actually leave me comments whether or not you are... my ego needs feeding, dammit). Just click the link that says "follow this blog" and you'll be alerted every time I post. Click it now, or I'll harm your children.
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