Alright here's some stuff that REALLY pisses me off... or at least it's been pissing me off recently.
1. Cal Ripken
What the fuck is there to like about this guy??? Because he played alot of baseball games in a row??? Wow what a TEAM player. This guy is the quintessential bad sportsman. Everyone likes to talk about his streak, but no one talks about the games where he was nothing more than a balding, hulking, old, doughy faced drip out there sucking it up for the O's... and hindering the team. "Hmm.. Cal can you play today, you don't look very good, I mean you're bleeding pretty profusely from the eyes, nose, ears, ass and mouth." SURE I CAN!!! Nice record asshole. There is no I in team, unless you played for the O's in the 80's, then there was ... it was called Cal Ripken
2. Soccer
Heres and Idea for a sport... We get a bunch of guys and a ball, follow me so far? Ok so we all run around a HUGE field, I mean big, like almost TOO big.. you still with me? Ok so here's the best part, we try to kick said ball into a net! I'M SERIOUS!! We totally kick the fuck out of it and try to get it in the net... oh and we can't use our hands. "Well... we'll anybody guard the net?" OH FUCK YEAH!!! A guy will def be there and get this... HE can use his hands. Dude your mind is so blown right now! "Alright well... what happens if no one scores, or it's tied?" I knew you'd ask that... if that happens we get to totally kick it at the net! "So the game is alot of running and then at the end if its tied we make the game ridiculously easy to end it?" Exactly dude, exactly. "Ok well what if we still cant score, and the other team can't score either?" You ready for this man?? We go home... I swear dude we just end the game. TIE GAME MAN!! EVERYONE WINS!!! "I'm gonna go home and smash my head open with a balpeen hammer." HOLY SHIT BRO!! I WAS DOING THAT ALL MORNING AND THEN I CAME UP WITH SOCCER!!
3. Hippies
Take a shower, cut your hair, stop listening to music which was created years ago to rebel against people like yourselves and get a fucking job. If anything, the music of the 60's and 70's was all about expression, and not following the crowd... so how better to celebrate that music than dressing like that guy at the cafe who's always grinning, growing dreadlocks, and saying "man" after everything. Get over yourself douchebag you drive an SUV.
4. Sandals
Nothing like the look, or smell of feet. Especially in the summer... when you naturally sweat more. Feet are hideous. Sorry girls, you can paint them, wash them, scrub them, whatever you do to them and their still going to be gross. No one wants to look at them. Guys... what the fuckin hell are you thinking? "Well Johnnyboy, its comfortable." Go fuck yourself that's a load of horseshit. Have you ever seen a guy keeled over of wincing in pain and anguish? I'm sure most of us have at one time or another... Now imagine that guy... you walk over, and ask him if he's alright. Now imagine you hear him reply with, "AHHH MY FEET ARE HOT!!" I know that personally I would probably pee on the guy, or at least break a thumb or two.
5. Frisbee
I'd like to think that we've come pretty far as a group... yet we're still bewildered by a fuckin lime green plastic plate. You know what I do when someone tosses me a Frisbee? I take it and purposely launch it in the wrong direction. After a couple of tosses like that, whoever is throwing me the stupid thing gets the point and we can move on to wiffle ball. "But dude its fun!" So is jerking off but I don't do it at picnics. Get a new hobby Mongo.
More soon but I'm tired... there's another thing that pisses me off, being tired. I'll talk about that some other time.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
You've done it now, Johnnyboy!
Stay tuned for me to post every awesome thing I find on Hulu. Every Arrested Development, every Andy Barker PI, every The Office, 24, Lost, and any other shows that at least one of my friends likes. Oh, and this:
"You're out of your element, Donny."
"You're out of your element, Donny."
I Think That’s The Tops…List!
The last list I created was a truly a pain. It was a Top Ten that provoked a lot of thought and effort on my part. That’s not what this blog is all about. This time, I’ve decided to branch out with multiple categories and just create the top “what-have-you” in said category. Without any further dissertation on this, let’s get right into the scary…
Top Woman I Be Intimidated To Have Sex With
Jamie Lee Curtis – Now, I know what you Macho Men are thinking, “He just can’t fit his winky in her pinky, uhuh.” No, I’m cool on that front, hell a very early me had a very early boner from watching Ms. Lee Curtis show her tits in Trading Places (still do). While she seemed like a happy hooker in that flick, it’s the real woman that has scared me. My old man gets AARP magazine (not a bad read for bad shits) and JLC “bares all” from the shoulder up and one thing’s for sure: I’m still frightened. Congrats, she still has a great body and all, but looking at those menacing, wincing eyes, that now pepper grey short hair cut, and that stiff upper lip still makes my dick cringe in fear. What would it be like to have sex with Jamie Lee Curtis? I assume there is NO foreplay whatsoever and I’d probably have to be fully clothed (assuming she is disgusted by all men) with only my fly open for penis access. It is a rather militant operation that lasts as long as Ms. Curtis sees fit. During the whole thing she is probably watching the WE Channel or Monster Truck races very loudly and since Gravedigger doesn’t turn me on that much, I’m in big trouble. For the life of me, I better keep this thing up before she clenches together and rips my junk right off. After I receive a few black eyes and JLC angrily gets off, a report card of what I did right and mostly wrong is received, as I lay in the fetal position and I feel like less of a man because of the whole experience. The other reason I Jamie Lee Curtis scares me? I don’t go for dudes (sorry Sigourney Weaver).
Sigourney Sidenote: I have to admit feeling weird for thinking Sigourney Weaver was hot in Ghostbusters considering she turned into what we all thought she was in the first place: a monster.
Top Douchebag I Should Hate, But Secretly Admire
Bret Michaels – Glam Rock to me is the metal equivalent for disco, but I kind of respect the guy. He was the first rocker to bang Pamela Anderson (Tommy Lee and Kid Rock are still fighting over his sloppies). He’s stayed true to his shit form of rock and it’s worked. Bret is an idiot, a douche, a womanizer and doesn’t stray away from that stigma. He’s parlayed it into a reality show and now new generations that were in diapers when Poison was on the charts want to jump his bones. As I look in my closet at my played-out obnoxious Ed Hardy polo, I see a little Bret Michaels in me. Straight men of America can all see Bret in them figuratively. Women of Rock of Love have seen Bret in them literally.
Jordan Bratman (the guy who knocked up Christina Aguilera) – He impregnated one of the hottest, actually talented pop stars and he as neck flab! He’s worse-looking and in worse shape than me. Good for him. Thanks for the hope, Brat Man.
Top Casting for a Crazy Homeless Guy
Top Woman I Be Intimidated To Have Sex With
Jamie Lee Curtis – Now, I know what you Macho Men are thinking, “He just can’t fit his winky in her pinky, uhuh.” No, I’m cool on that front, hell a very early me had a very early boner from watching Ms. Lee Curtis show her tits in Trading Places (still do). While she seemed like a happy hooker in that flick, it’s the real woman that has scared me. My old man gets AARP magazine (not a bad read for bad shits) and JLC “bares all” from the shoulder up and one thing’s for sure: I’m still frightened. Congrats, she still has a great body and all, but looking at those menacing, wincing eyes, that now pepper grey short hair cut, and that stiff upper lip still makes my dick cringe in fear. What would it be like to have sex with Jamie Lee Curtis? I assume there is NO foreplay whatsoever and I’d probably have to be fully clothed (assuming she is disgusted by all men) with only my fly open for penis access. It is a rather militant operation that lasts as long as Ms. Curtis sees fit. During the whole thing she is probably watching the WE Channel or Monster Truck races very loudly and since Gravedigger doesn’t turn me on that much, I’m in big trouble. For the life of me, I better keep this thing up before she clenches together and rips my junk right off. After I receive a few black eyes and JLC angrily gets off, a report card of what I did right and mostly wrong is received, as I lay in the fetal position and I feel like less of a man because of the whole experience. The other reason I Jamie Lee Curtis scares me? I don’t go for dudes (sorry Sigourney Weaver).Sigourney Sidenote: I have to admit feeling weird for thinking Sigourney Weaver was hot in Ghostbusters considering she turned into what we all thought she was in the first place: a monster.
Top Douchebag I Should Hate, But Secretly Admire
Bret Michaels – Glam Rock to me is the metal equivalent for disco, but I kind of respect the guy. He was the first rocker to bang Pamela Anderson (Tommy Lee and Kid Rock are still fighting over his sloppies). He’s stayed true to his shit form of rock and it’s worked. Bret is an idiot, a douche, a womanizer and doesn’t stray away from that stigma. He’s parlayed it into a reality show and now new generations that were in diapers when Poison was on the charts want to jump his bones. As I look in my closet at my played-out obnoxious Ed Hardy polo, I see a little Bret Michaels in me. Straight men of America can all see Bret in them figuratively. Women of Rock of Love have seen Bret in them literally.
Top 80's Trainwreck Clip That's Fun To Watch
Corey Haim - The clip says it all and yes Lost Boys 2 is in fact coming out straight-to-DVD with both Coreys (although I question Haim's speaking lines after watching this).
Top Person I Enjoy Seeing Get Fat
Al Gore – I’m 25, I’m in relatively good shape, it just comforts me knowing that he’s getting bigger and I’m getting thinner. Moving on…
Top 2 Guys I’d Like See An Enemy Stuck In An Elevator With
David Lee Roth and Flava Flav – Sure, you might be thinking, “I can party with these guys. I like hip-hop and rock, I can have a great time with these guys.” Ugh, that’s what I first thought. Imagine being totally sober in an elevator. In comes David Lee Roth. Awesome, right! Wrong. I love DLR as much as any fan of Van Halen, but think about how obnoxious he’d be. Highsteping and kicking like a Rockette, all the while making incomprehensible scat noises (bippy-bop!) and such. He’s wasted with a bottle of something really expensive, doesn’t want to share that bottle, and tells you he is the reason Van Halen is successful again (foreshadowing yet another break-up). Then when things couldn’t get any worse on this excruciating elevator of death, in walks Flava Flav. Yelling and screaming and not making any sense, his gigantic clock (and maybe glock as well) make the ride more claustrophobic than Diamond Dave’s highstepping ever was. So Flav’s yelling and Dave making mocking kissy lips with a victim sandwiched in between...I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy (who am I kidding, I would wish much worse). Bippy-boop, indeed.
Top Story We Need To Get Over Forever
Yo Roids! 
Watching Barry Bonds cheat his way past Hank Aaron’s record and see his massive head (dome, not just ego) inflate grotestly is disgusting. Did Roger Clemens do it? His stats reached an all-time peak after the Red Sox stint, coincidentally when he is being accused are being of enhancing performance. While I thought he was a bad-ass throwing a broken bat at fumanchu wearing Mike Piazza (the Pizza-Man was always a little light on his feet anyway), there was some roid-raging going on there. The debate remains…should they be in the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown? I say without a doubt, absolutely 100%. I think half of Roger Clemens should be there for real reasons, while Barry Bonds should get his own wing, possibly in a bathroom, utility closet, or how about just a hole (think Silence of the Lambs-ish). Throw Cancesco (whose name Spellcheck wanted to correct to “cancers”, how fitting) in there, Sosa, hell even Palmeiro. Why, you ask? I graduated the eighth grade and high school along with five and a half years of college…barely. One of my teachers senior year of high school wrote: “Close Call” (asshole Mr. Wright). In grammar school, I made first and later second honors six years in a row. Alright, so I hit puberty and did nothing for the next six years academic wise. Did my father praise me? No, I got the “you barely made it so we don’t care about your previous accomplishments.” That’s how it should be in baseball. While the halls of academia have honored me with a piece of paper, my family did not let me forget how I screwed up in the past. That’s what life is: a series of trials and errors. Create the Bonds Wing in Cooperstown so we all have a place to piss freely and throw our garbage. Hatredy Sidenote: Fuck Barry Bonds.
Top Guy To Really Overachieve With Women (aka the Lyle Lovitt 2008 Award)
Jordan Bratman (the guy who knocked up Christina Aguilera) – He impregnated one of the hottest, actually talented pop stars and he as neck flab! He’s worse-looking and in worse shape than me. Good for him. Thanks for the hope, Brat Man.
Top Casting for a Crazy Homeless Guy
Jerry Lewis (Law and Order) - From Jerry’s Kids to Jerry’s, uh, Shit. “Got any spare change, glaven.” And he was a murder suspect too! Ah, the hilarity. A small part of me would find it hilarious if it were real too. Somewhere in heaven Dean Martin is laughing. Ain’t that a kick in the head.
Top (Former) Fat Guy That I Gave Up Hating
Jared from Subway – It was one of the first “healthy” aimed commercials for fast food and he was (still is) all over their marketing. I grew tired of him. Then South Park parodied him. That was six years ago. His real ads have been running for nearly 10 YEARS. I got my license, lost my virginity, graduated high school, graduated college, saw a few deaths, saw a few births, moved, and had a few jobs all the while this guy has stayed true to his diet and hocked these fucking subs on us. I give up, keep pimping out those hoagies Jared.
Top Disturbing Thing I’d Like To Do
Punch a really, really hot girl in the face – Think of the scenario, guys. You’re drunk. You’re frisky. You’re courageous. You decide to spit game at a girl that’s way out of your league. Then she rejects you, cold. Not even the old “I have to catch up with my friends” bit. Just plain rude to you. Your friends saw the whole thing. Your confidence is shattered. It ruins your night (until the next drink). Picture the same scenario: rejected. Let’s make it worse, her mini-van shaped friend laughs in your face too. That’s okay guy, you’ve got the power of the punch! She laughs at you, so you deck her square in her face. Your buddy then throws his drink in the fat friend’s face. Then security escorts them out in a huff. You win. Perfect. Actually, I am firmly against violence against women, so let’s just have a dog pounce them instead. Oh and let’s stop making those slutty kissy faces!!!
Sorry Phil...
So I just read the bowl of gizz that my colleague Phil has posted about his love for Hulu. If you haven't read it yet, please do now, or this post wont make much sense. Let me explain why I'm flaming his post. Couple weeks back, Phil and I were on our way back from NYC and he was telling me about this great new site where they had EVERY MOVIE AND TV SHOW YOU COULD THINK OF!!!!! Every show I named, every movie I named... Phil assured me I could find it on Hulu. He told me how it was a relatively new site and he had just discovered it... now this SHOULD have sent up red flags in my mind but at the time I didn't think about what he had just said. We'll get back to that shortly...
So I get myself an account and begin to use the site. There's not much to say about it ... other than the fact that I had been completely lied to. Chock full O Simpsons episodes? Try 3, and they all sucked. Every movie I could think of?? More like 50 and the best one that I could find on the list was "Very Bad Things", which isn't a very good movie. "Dude they have like everything on there, its fuckin awesome, they have alot of shit that you can't find anywhere else." <--- Complete Bullshit. Every show I searched came up with nada. If you're a fan of obscure, hard to find and truly hilarious or for that matter, awesome drama/suspense, Hulu... is not where you want to try to find it. I've found a ton of stuff on Youtube, and three lousy episodes of the Simpsons and a thousand clips from SNL, heres the kicker folks; I don't watch SNL. Great.
I realized shortly afterwards why Phil loved(s) this site so much; because HE found out about it before his group of friends did. That reason alone will fuel his love for it until eventually a brightly colored ball rolls by his window and he decides to chase it. The Hulu brass could fuck his dog with a plunger, break Phil's leg and then force him to fellate a corpse and he'd still think it was "the shit" because HE found out about it before I did, and the site was in its infancy when he did. Now I realize that the site is new, and that its going to take time before more people upload their shit onto it (or however it works) and make it decent, but honestly folks I'm not willing to wait. I have Youtube, I have Limewire, hell I even have netflix... so I don't have to be a Huluboy. Aside from those reasons now I have another reason to hate it.... Phil loves it. That's all I needed.
So I get myself an account and begin to use the site. There's not much to say about it ... other than the fact that I had been completely lied to. Chock full O Simpsons episodes? Try 3, and they all sucked. Every movie I could think of?? More like 50 and the best one that I could find on the list was "Very Bad Things", which isn't a very good movie. "Dude they have like everything on there, its fuckin awesome, they have alot of shit that you can't find anywhere else." <--- Complete Bullshit. Every show I searched came up with nada. If you're a fan of obscure, hard to find and truly hilarious or for that matter, awesome drama/suspense, Hulu... is not where you want to try to find it. I've found a ton of stuff on Youtube, and three lousy episodes of the Simpsons and a thousand clips from SNL, heres the kicker folks; I don't watch SNL. Great.
I realized shortly afterwards why Phil loved(s) this site so much; because HE found out about it before his group of friends did. That reason alone will fuel his love for it until eventually a brightly colored ball rolls by his window and he decides to chase it. The Hulu brass could fuck his dog with a plunger, break Phil's leg and then force him to fellate a corpse and he'd still think it was "the shit" because HE found out about it before I did, and the site was in its infancy when he did. Now I realize that the site is new, and that its going to take time before more people upload their shit onto it (or however it works) and make it decent, but honestly folks I'm not willing to wait. I have Youtube, I have Limewire, hell I even have netflix... so I don't have to be a Huluboy. Aside from those reasons now I have another reason to hate it.... Phil loves it. That's all I needed.
"You're a fucking dog"
I know this is hateblog, but I needed to share some love. I'm obsessed with Hulu. Hulu is the network television response to Youtube, and contains more awesome TV and Movies than I know what to do with. I usually watch full episodes, although lately I've been browsing through all the SNL clips (because they dont have full SNL episodes) and it's still awesome. I won't go on about the site layout, or the feature that saves your place, or the clarity of the fullscreen, because that's all the techno-geeks are concerned with. I'm more about content. Durng my most recent SNL clip marathon, I scrolled down to check out which clips were available, and discovered they had now seperated the clips by content. As I scrolled further, I noticed, like the geniuses the are, they had organized all the SNL commercial spoofs in one place. Basically, this means any Hulu user has their own SNL's Greatest Commercials DVD. And then I found this:
Probably my second favorite SNL commerical ever (right behind Crystal Clear Gravy). Well Done, Hulu.
Probably my second favorite SNL commerical ever (right behind Crystal Clear Gravy). Well Done, Hulu.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Going Out On A Friday Night In America
I drink more than an IRA hitman living in London... above Scotland Yard. I also smoke cigarettes, and I am in my early, soon to be mid, twenties. Put those three facts together along with a serious escapist mentality, you have someone who like alot of other people, likes to go out on the weekends. When I was in my teens going out was a release. We would go out looking for girls, parties, we'd skateboard in parking lots, try desperately to score beer, some of us smoked weed, some people did other things but all in all it was good ol' fashioned American fun. I live in close proximity to New York City, (about 45 minutes by highway) so that was always an option too. All in all kids in this area, although just as bored as kids in any other area, had a good amount of options. Now I am in my mid twenties and skateboarding would end up with me breaking something, weed puts me to sleep and parties give me the heebie jeebies. I still like chicks though, so hell... I go out. If I didn't have a healthy sex drive I would probably never leave the house. Lets face it, its a hell of a lot cheaper to have your friends come over to drink a case of beer and a handle of whiskey... but you cant fuck your friends.... Well I suppose you could but my friends are ass-ugly and I haven't reached that level of horniness yet. (sorry bro's you're not ugly ... but in my eyes you're all hideous swamp monsters)
So lets go out. Alright first off, my friends and I are not the kind of drinkers where we can have a couple to feel loose and laugh the night away. We have a set way of doing things. Pretty much boils down to this... shower, put on nice clothes, do the hair, brush the teeth, throw on cologne and head out to find something with a vagina that sees this neatly wrapped package and decides she wants to unwrap it and ruin all the hard work. So we hit the bar, inevitably its too loud to speak at a normal tone so there is alot of yelling. Throw a fiver on the bar and suck down a beer. Alright the hunt is on. Now I'm not going to go through the whole play by play of a night out on the town, but maybe some of you guys reading this will agree with this next break down of the night... in three parts.. 1. Drink and try to meet girls... 2.(A) Get lucky and meet a girl, drink with her and either strike out or hit a homerun, (B) Don't meet anyone, and decide to get shithoused drunk to the point of blacking out... 3. Crashing.
It goes to say that not everyone in the group agrees on the spot so there is always someone at least peeved to be there in the first place. (that's usually me) At one point in the night everyone does a shot together, oh what fun! Then whoever the cheap one is, asks who has the round covered. Normal people buy rounds, we don't. So the bartender has to wait there as we all scuttle through our wallets to try to find the right amount, sort of like a hobo trying to score a free burger at McD's... hoping that eventually the person behind the counter will say, "ahh just take it." Gotta love this little nugget of the male mind during a night on the town. We will buy any girl we have JUST met with tits and pretty eyes anything she wants, but buying a drink for guys you've laughed, cried and grown up with... fuck that shit. Sometimes you do it, and figure that covers you until the end of the year, but most of the time its every man for themselves. Its a fucking jungle out there, and its a jungle full of groups of guys doing the SAME FUCKING THING YOU'RE DOING!!!! I'm amazed anyone gets laid these days. Ever notice that theres ALWAYS more dudes than chicks at a bar? Don't get it twisted lads... girls maybe insane but they ain't stupid. So lets move on... the drinking is in full swing and people are making moves. The less successful hunters hang by the bar, the "winners" are chatting up their catches and the environment hasn't gotten any more inviting... in fact its getting old.
Now someone wants to leave... and if everything is aligned perfectly in the cosmos, the rest of the group concurs. So you leave, and head to another bar. A fresh scene and guess what this brand new canvas is full of? Groups of guys getting drunk and trying to get laid. Sometimes you recognize them from the bar you just came from. Bars in the United States, and all over the world really are around for two reasons... to get drunk and to try to find someone to fuck. If you have a girlfriend, wife ... whatever you don't take her to the bar to get hammered to fuck her, you can do that sober. People take their significant others to bars to have fun but these people make me sick. You're just taking up space... buy a bottle of wine, throw on a movie and get the hell away from the bar, I'm on the job here, you're just visiting. Lets say its getting late in the night and now some of the boyos are getting hungry, tired or far too drunk. What the hell is "too drunk"?? Drunk is drunk. It would be like if you said in conversation... "boy I really miss my old dog but he is wayyyy too dead." From now on if you're feeling nauseated or like you're at the point of passing out just say, "I'm drunk"... we'll all get the point. The guys who say they're "really drunk" are the guys who can tell you every fucking drink they had the next day.
If you got lucky, well then congratulations but more likely than not, you didn't. Its like baseball... if you hit the ball three out of ten times you're a three hundred hitter and you can get your ass into the hall of fame. If you get laid once every couple of months hitting the bars, well shit you deserve to have your number retired. So at the end of the night when you're home, alone, ears still ringing from all the shitty music you had to listen to that you don't like in the first place, head spinning from mixing liquor and throat sore from endless cigarettes, and well... in the same place you started, but a little broker and just as horny... welcome to being a young male adult in the U.S. The game is just as difficult now as it ever was and it's never going to get any easier. So why do we do this to ourselves over and over again? Because my friends... well... I don't know. Is it fun? Sure. Is meeting girls a thrill? Sure. Do you think it was everything you thought it was going to be a few hours earlier when you were making plans for the big night? No. Don't get discouraged though, there's always next weekend.
So lets go out. Alright first off, my friends and I are not the kind of drinkers where we can have a couple to feel loose and laugh the night away. We have a set way of doing things. Pretty much boils down to this... shower, put on nice clothes, do the hair, brush the teeth, throw on cologne and head out to find something with a vagina that sees this neatly wrapped package and decides she wants to unwrap it and ruin all the hard work. So we hit the bar, inevitably its too loud to speak at a normal tone so there is alot of yelling. Throw a fiver on the bar and suck down a beer. Alright the hunt is on. Now I'm not going to go through the whole play by play of a night out on the town, but maybe some of you guys reading this will agree with this next break down of the night... in three parts.. 1. Drink and try to meet girls... 2.(A) Get lucky and meet a girl, drink with her and either strike out or hit a homerun, (B) Don't meet anyone, and decide to get shithoused drunk to the point of blacking out... 3. Crashing.
It goes to say that not everyone in the group agrees on the spot so there is always someone at least peeved to be there in the first place. (that's usually me) At one point in the night everyone does a shot together, oh what fun! Then whoever the cheap one is, asks who has the round covered. Normal people buy rounds, we don't. So the bartender has to wait there as we all scuttle through our wallets to try to find the right amount, sort of like a hobo trying to score a free burger at McD's... hoping that eventually the person behind the counter will say, "ahh just take it." Gotta love this little nugget of the male mind during a night on the town. We will buy any girl we have JUST met with tits and pretty eyes anything she wants, but buying a drink for guys you've laughed, cried and grown up with... fuck that shit. Sometimes you do it, and figure that covers you until the end of the year, but most of the time its every man for themselves. Its a fucking jungle out there, and its a jungle full of groups of guys doing the SAME FUCKING THING YOU'RE DOING!!!! I'm amazed anyone gets laid these days. Ever notice that theres ALWAYS more dudes than chicks at a bar? Don't get it twisted lads... girls maybe insane but they ain't stupid. So lets move on... the drinking is in full swing and people are making moves. The less successful hunters hang by the bar, the "winners" are chatting up their catches and the environment hasn't gotten any more inviting... in fact its getting old.
Now someone wants to leave... and if everything is aligned perfectly in the cosmos, the rest of the group concurs. So you leave, and head to another bar. A fresh scene and guess what this brand new canvas is full of? Groups of guys getting drunk and trying to get laid. Sometimes you recognize them from the bar you just came from. Bars in the United States, and all over the world really are around for two reasons... to get drunk and to try to find someone to fuck. If you have a girlfriend, wife ... whatever you don't take her to the bar to get hammered to fuck her, you can do that sober. People take their significant others to bars to have fun but these people make me sick. You're just taking up space... buy a bottle of wine, throw on a movie and get the hell away from the bar, I'm on the job here, you're just visiting. Lets say its getting late in the night and now some of the boyos are getting hungry, tired or far too drunk. What the hell is "too drunk"?? Drunk is drunk. It would be like if you said in conversation... "boy I really miss my old dog but he is wayyyy too dead." From now on if you're feeling nauseated or like you're at the point of passing out just say, "I'm drunk"... we'll all get the point. The guys who say they're "really drunk" are the guys who can tell you every fucking drink they had the next day.
If you got lucky, well then congratulations but more likely than not, you didn't. Its like baseball... if you hit the ball three out of ten times you're a three hundred hitter and you can get your ass into the hall of fame. If you get laid once every couple of months hitting the bars, well shit you deserve to have your number retired. So at the end of the night when you're home, alone, ears still ringing from all the shitty music you had to listen to that you don't like in the first place, head spinning from mixing liquor and throat sore from endless cigarettes, and well... in the same place you started, but a little broker and just as horny... welcome to being a young male adult in the U.S. The game is just as difficult now as it ever was and it's never going to get any easier. So why do we do this to ourselves over and over again? Because my friends... well... I don't know. Is it fun? Sure. Is meeting girls a thrill? Sure. Do you think it was everything you thought it was going to be a few hours earlier when you were making plans for the big night? No. Don't get discouraged though, there's always next weekend.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Hatredy Sports: The Boys of Shitty Summers
In the not too distant past, there was a ruthless billionaire who ruled the most widely recognized sports franchise in history with an iron fist. Like all Greatmen, he has slowed down with age. The team spends millions to win, yet doesn’t win the championship (eight years in New York is feeling like 20). Every spring, “it’s going to be different.” This year, the son of a ruthless billionaire takes over the reigns as vocal asshole. Yet, it’s coming off in hilarious fashion, like Tommy Boy taking over for Big Tom Callahan. The ending was happy, so I’ll remain optimistic for this road trip we are on of a season called 2008 New York Yankees baseball. With Mr. April A-Rod back, Yankee Stadium being torn down, and the Mets looking good, I do have one question, what the hell has happened?
I grew up being a fan of the New York Yankees. I love that team. From the House That Ruth Built, the logo, the colors, from the Curse of the Bambino, to Legends Field, to Don Mattingly, from the fence, the late 90s dynasty, and look, the smell (of the grass anyway), and the presence of Yankee Stadium…its’ hard not to respect the traditions growing up where I have. I’ve been a proud man about this for a long time, but the tables have changed and we all have to except it. As a child, the Reggie Jackson-era Yanks won those World Series about five years before I was born. Then came the 80s. The Summer of Sam was over, the World Series titles were over, and the only murders involved season ticket holders. Irrational decisions from an irrational billionare (George Steinbrenner) and the many firings and rehirings of Billy Martin, all the while Donnie Baseball is struggling to keep his sanity on mediocre teams and putting up MVP numbers comprised my Yankees from 1983-1995. In 1996, Mattinngly retired, Joe Torre (a National League guy who recently was fired from the Cardinals) was hired, and the Yankees were a mix of seasoned veterans, unknown young players (Rivera, Jeter). I didn’t have much hope. Then it happened, they won the World Series. I treated this as I did the NY Giants Superbowl this year, an impromptu miracle season that likely wouldn’t be duplicated. Not only was it duplicated, but starting in 1998 the Yanks won three more. It was a great time to be a Yankees fan. Johnnyboy on this very column proudly sported an offical Yankee jacket; the very same one Joe Torre would smugly slump on the bench on for the next seven years. That jacket was a sign of things to come. Johnnyboy almost got into a pretty big bruhaha over that piece of cloth and nylon and it was one of the earliest instances of people disliking not just the Yankees, but anyone that had anything to do with them (it’s not like we live in Boston) in the dominant era of the franchise. The Yankees struck fear in the heart of their victims and as much as I loved the ruthless aggression the Yanks showed, I knew they became the evil empire along the way.
Slowly, yet surely I sensed the danger looming ahead. September 11, 2001 was the biggest tragedy I have witnessed in my lifetime. The Yanks were in the Series that year. “Let do it for New York! Let’s do it for America! Let’s do it for Jonny (me, not that Melnikov asshole in the photo)!!!” They didn’t. They lost to a team in Arizona. Arizona?!?!? They were only an expansion team three years before and Arizona is where old people go to die. All I know is that I am still rather enthusiastic about this year’s team. Maybe Torre’s way was running old, maybe the Curse of the Don is erased (sorry, Mr. Mattingly, sir), maybe Hank will rule with a successful fist. Maybe Redsox fans have done the same thing (that being faked optimism) year after year until 2004. God, this bizzaro world has got to stop. Go Yanks!!!
P.S. Sending me Yankee cheers on Facebook won’t necessarily make the team win, so screw off.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
No matter how old I get I am doomed to shit my pants at least once a year until I die.
I've shit myself at least once a year, every year I've been alive.
When I was an infant, this was normal, in fact, this was normal until around age 7, when I began to master my bodily functions. With those under control, I learned to enjoy dominating a shit, something I still enjoy to this day.
But regardless of my gastro-intestinal mastery, I have shit my pants at least once a year, every year. Sometimes more. Now don't get me wrong, it's been a long time since I allowed a full-size shit to leave my ass while clothed. In the past decade, all of my pants-shittery has been in the form of the deceptive and dangerous "shart" (tried to fart, shit). Sometimes it's related to illness, and when that happens, I don't feel as bad about it, because we've all been too sick to control our bodily functions, and when those sharts happen, I'm ususally at home, and it's easy to deal with. The sharts that plague me so are the confidence sharts. I call them confidence sharts because they happen when you're feeling your most confident, that is, nothing can stop you and you've got things to do and we're all going to a party and let me just fart real quick and FUCK I SHIT MYSELF. These sharts are the worst because they usually occur miles away from a place where you can deal with it privately. Luckily for me, these sharts have only happened to me: a) with my friends, whom I inform immediately and we all get a good chuckle, or, b) when I'm by myself, usually still miles from home or a private bathroom, but still less horrifying than doing it in front of say, a girl and/or her parents. I've had the decent fortune of being able to deal with these sharts fairly easily for the most part, save for having to drive home with a pair of less-than clean boxers in my trunk and my zipper chafing my sack.
Allow me to share some of the more memorable pants-shittings of my adult life:
-March 2002: I was at boarding school. At boarding school, illnesses often effect entire dorm wings at once, due to the close quarters. My wing, like many others that month, had been suffering from something we called "the black tongue", a very nasty stomach bug that would make you vomit up everything, even the water you tried to drink, and after about 12 hours you would continuously vomit up your own stomach juices, which have the side effect of turning your tongue black on top. Anyway, after being restricted to my room for about 3 days, I was allowed to go back to classes, sports, etc. This news was given to me the morning after I had first been able to eat, around 8am. Upon hearing this news (about which I was quite happy) I happily went back to my room, took a leisurely shower, put on my snazziest dress-code clothing and began to stride confidently out of the dorm to class. About 5 or 6 confident, powerful strides past the nurses office, I stopped, raised up my left leg like I was Capitan Morgan, leaned forward and let out what I thought would be an amazing and satisfying fart. Smooth move, Ex-Lax. As I half-stepped back, to my room trying not to let the shit make contact with anything other than my boxers, I swore I would never again fall victim to the confidence shart. However, my asshole would fool me again...
-June 2006: I was riding high here, literally. I had been sharing a couple grams of coke with some friends at a bar. For once, the coke-fueled antics began early in the evening, so by 10pm, with a full bag of blow in my pocket and about half a gram lining my sinuses, I was in full-on rage mode. By about 10:30, we decided it was time to leave the bar for another bar, where there were girls to be had (and we wanted to get while the getting was good), so we finished our drinks, did a couple key-bumps in the bathroom and stormed out the door like the 4 horsemen of the highpocalypse. My buddy's car was parked out back of the bar, so, in my coked-out state, I decided to beat my friends there and began running out the door, around the corner, and down the driveway towards the car. About halfway down the hill, it happened. I was running, I was high as fuck, I was confident, I had to fart....and I shit my pants. Realizing what had just happened, I quickly dropped both layers of pants to the ground, and scuttled to the car with my ass ( and junk for that matter) exposed to the world. Luckily, there was no one in the parking lot. When my friends reached the car, one of them was awesome enough to run back into the bar and grab "about a million napkins" (my words, apparently). I cleaned myself off, and thanks to my quick trou-dropping, didn't have to remove my underwear. And after all that, I still got laid that night.*
-March 30th 2008: This one caught me seriously off guard. I was driving around, taking care of some errands before work, and I happened to drive by a Wendy's. I love Wendy's, and I wanted to try the new Spicy Baconator (awesome, by the way). So I ordered my food, pulled a park'n'eat, and began to pull out of the plaza. Confident in the work I had done that day, I leaned over and....shit. I wasn't sure right away if I had, in fact shit myself, or if it was a hot fart trapped in my butt cheeks. After finding a secluded corner of a Stop'n'Shop parking lot, I discovered I had, in fact, shit my pants. However, I had used my glove-box napkin stash to eat my delicious burger, so I was forced, pants choked with poo, to walk into and through the Stop'n'Shop, ask twice where the bathroom was, wait for a kid and his dad to vacate the bathroom, and then finally clean myself up and leave (without my boxers, which I deemed unsalvagable) and drive home commando style. Not the worst shart of my life, but certainly the most difficult to deal with.
The thing that sucks the most is I know it's gonna be at least 50 more years before shitting my pants is acceptable again.
"May your life be long, and May your farts be shit-less."- Benjamin Franklin
* that particular night continued in a most interesting way. after cleaning myself off, we went to another bar where there were girls waiting for us. one of them came home with me. on the drive home, she vomited in my car. we still had sex. the next morning, she paid 60 dollars for a high-end car wash (interior and exterior). what a night.
When I was an infant, this was normal, in fact, this was normal until around age 7, when I began to master my bodily functions. With those under control, I learned to enjoy dominating a shit, something I still enjoy to this day.
But regardless of my gastro-intestinal mastery, I have shit my pants at least once a year, every year. Sometimes more. Now don't get me wrong, it's been a long time since I allowed a full-size shit to leave my ass while clothed. In the past decade, all of my pants-shittery has been in the form of the deceptive and dangerous "shart" (tried to fart, shit). Sometimes it's related to illness, and when that happens, I don't feel as bad about it, because we've all been too sick to control our bodily functions, and when those sharts happen, I'm ususally at home, and it's easy to deal with. The sharts that plague me so are the confidence sharts. I call them confidence sharts because they happen when you're feeling your most confident, that is, nothing can stop you and you've got things to do and we're all going to a party and let me just fart real quick and FUCK I SHIT MYSELF. These sharts are the worst because they usually occur miles away from a place where you can deal with it privately. Luckily for me, these sharts have only happened to me: a) with my friends, whom I inform immediately and we all get a good chuckle, or, b) when I'm by myself, usually still miles from home or a private bathroom, but still less horrifying than doing it in front of say, a girl and/or her parents. I've had the decent fortune of being able to deal with these sharts fairly easily for the most part, save for having to drive home with a pair of less-than clean boxers in my trunk and my zipper chafing my sack.
Allow me to share some of the more memorable pants-shittings of my adult life:
-March 2002: I was at boarding school. At boarding school, illnesses often effect entire dorm wings at once, due to the close quarters. My wing, like many others that month, had been suffering from something we called "the black tongue", a very nasty stomach bug that would make you vomit up everything, even the water you tried to drink, and after about 12 hours you would continuously vomit up your own stomach juices, which have the side effect of turning your tongue black on top. Anyway, after being restricted to my room for about 3 days, I was allowed to go back to classes, sports, etc. This news was given to me the morning after I had first been able to eat, around 8am. Upon hearing this news (about which I was quite happy) I happily went back to my room, took a leisurely shower, put on my snazziest dress-code clothing and began to stride confidently out of the dorm to class. About 5 or 6 confident, powerful strides past the nurses office, I stopped, raised up my left leg like I was Capitan Morgan, leaned forward and let out what I thought would be an amazing and satisfying fart. Smooth move, Ex-Lax. As I half-stepped back, to my room trying not to let the shit make contact with anything other than my boxers, I swore I would never again fall victim to the confidence shart. However, my asshole would fool me again...
-June 2006: I was riding high here, literally. I had been sharing a couple grams of coke with some friends at a bar. For once, the coke-fueled antics began early in the evening, so by 10pm, with a full bag of blow in my pocket and about half a gram lining my sinuses, I was in full-on rage mode. By about 10:30, we decided it was time to leave the bar for another bar, where there were girls to be had (and we wanted to get while the getting was good), so we finished our drinks, did a couple key-bumps in the bathroom and stormed out the door like the 4 horsemen of the highpocalypse. My buddy's car was parked out back of the bar, so, in my coked-out state, I decided to beat my friends there and began running out the door, around the corner, and down the driveway towards the car. About halfway down the hill, it happened. I was running, I was high as fuck, I was confident, I had to fart....and I shit my pants. Realizing what had just happened, I quickly dropped both layers of pants to the ground, and scuttled to the car with my ass ( and junk for that matter) exposed to the world. Luckily, there was no one in the parking lot. When my friends reached the car, one of them was awesome enough to run back into the bar and grab "about a million napkins" (my words, apparently). I cleaned myself off, and thanks to my quick trou-dropping, didn't have to remove my underwear. And after all that, I still got laid that night.*
-March 30th 2008: This one caught me seriously off guard. I was driving around, taking care of some errands before work, and I happened to drive by a Wendy's. I love Wendy's, and I wanted to try the new Spicy Baconator (awesome, by the way). So I ordered my food, pulled a park'n'eat, and began to pull out of the plaza. Confident in the work I had done that day, I leaned over and....shit. I wasn't sure right away if I had, in fact shit myself, or if it was a hot fart trapped in my butt cheeks. After finding a secluded corner of a Stop'n'Shop parking lot, I discovered I had, in fact, shit my pants. However, I had used my glove-box napkin stash to eat my delicious burger, so I was forced, pants choked with poo, to walk into and through the Stop'n'Shop, ask twice where the bathroom was, wait for a kid and his dad to vacate the bathroom, and then finally clean myself up and leave (without my boxers, which I deemed unsalvagable) and drive home commando style. Not the worst shart of my life, but certainly the most difficult to deal with.
The thing that sucks the most is I know it's gonna be at least 50 more years before shitting my pants is acceptable again.
"May your life be long, and May your farts be shit-less."- Benjamin Franklin
* that particular night continued in a most interesting way. after cleaning myself off, we went to another bar where there were girls waiting for us. one of them came home with me. on the drive home, she vomited in my car. we still had sex. the next morning, she paid 60 dollars for a high-end car wash (interior and exterior). what a night.
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