Grow up you alcoholic whore.
Archive for category Satire
Everyone has something they spend their money on, and one thing that never ceases to amaze me is our American super-human ability to spend money on shit we don’t need.
Now before you cry “pot calling the kettle black” I will be the first to admit that I am guilty as charged. I have a penchant for cigars and scotch. My $120 Humidor full of $200 worth of cigars and the $80 bottle of scotch adorning my liquor cabinet are testaments to that. Everyone has something they spend money on, and like it or not it’s part of our American way of life. My brothers ride dirt bikes; my dad has a motor home; my father-in-law is into ham radios; my thing is cigars and scotch. “One man’s trash is another’s treasure,” as the old saying goes.
My wife’s thing? Coach purses.
We took a trip to our local Coach Outlet store recently. As we walked in, there was a greeter conveniently giving out “20% off” coupons.
Anytime that happens, I ain’t getting out of there without her buying something. My wife’s a sucker for a sale.
Anyway, I’m looking around the store. The “trash vs. treasure” theme was apparent early on, when I spotted a $120 men’s wallet.
HELL NO!
I’d never spend $120 on a wallet. That’s fucking ridiculous. It had better be made of gold, or spontaneously spit out money on its own, or give me the occasional hand job while it’s in my pocket, or fucking something for $120. But people buy them all the time. There was a guy who just happened to purchase one while we were there.
My wallet? $12. Had it for 3 years and counting. Pisses me off that I actually have to go through the pain of buying one every so often.
But, remember we all have something we spend our money on. If you don’t, well then consider yourself lucky.
But the Coach saga gets worse.
I spotted a bin full of pink, heart-shaped plastic bags a bit larger than the palm of your hand. They were heavy and full of sand.
I held it up to my wife and asked her “What the fuck is this?”
My wife shook her head. She had no idea.
One of the Coach attendants overheard me and politely responded with, “It’s a paperweight.”
“What?” I asked.
“It’s a paperweight.”
I looked down at the price of this paperweight.
$19.
It’s a plastic bag full of sand.
And then the attendant says “We have a sale on that and the matching heart-shaped Coach mouse pad.”
I look down at the price of this mouse pad.
$29.
I smiled and responded with my usual smart-ass sarcasm, “Well, you know, I can get paperweights for free. I got connections. A good rock will do. Those are free.”
She smiled and said “Well, it’s for the girl who already has everything.”
Indeed.
I guess what I’m saying is that everyone in America has something, a “vice” as it were on which they spend their disposable income. “Disposable” is a very appropriate word, because that is exactly what we’re doing.
So the next time you want to criticize someone for throwing their money away on something that makes them happy, take a look at your own expenditures and be sure you’re not the pot calling the kettle black.
Let the (Sort of Related) Rant Begin:
And, on a more serious note, you should feel fortunate you live in a place that gives you the opportunity to spend your money on shit you don’t need. There are a lot of people in this world who don’t have that luxury. I mean, we live in a country where we have TV shows about other people buying a house, called House Hunters and call it entertainment. That show makes me sick.
I’ve seen third world conditions first hand, and to hear those people complain about their kitchen “not being as quaint as we’d like it” makes me want to stop them from procreating.
That’s why the rest of the world hates us. Oh. That, and because we’re idiots.
See you next time.
I love scotch. Scotchy, scotch, scotch. Here it goes down, down into my belly. . .
– Anchorman Ron Burgundy
This one goes out to all the ladies. If you have a man who loves Scotch, my hope is that maybe what follows will help you to understand him a little better.
At the ripe old age of 36, I have become a Scotch Man.
I was previously a Whiskey Man, but I feel like I am part of a new club, as it were, you know, “running with the big dogs” now. I keep asking myself why it took me so long. I could have been enjoying it all this time. I guess it’s better to have found it late, then never to have found it at all.
My analogy for what Scotch means to me at this point in my life, goes like this:
Imagine that you have never had cake before in your entire life. Ever. No cake. None. Never in your entire life. Now, imagine going without it for 36 years, and all of a sudden you try it for the first time. Think about it. I mean, it doesn’t even have to be good cake. Imagine taking a bite out of that beautiful cake triangle. You close your eyes as you savor the taste. You find the most delicious combination of frosting and cake, and savor it over and over again. Isn’t that one of life’s little treats?
Cake.
It’s one of the most beautiful words in the English language.
That’s what Scotch is to me right now in my life. It too, is a new, delectable treat to be savored. The rosy fumes coming up from the glass, the taste as it goes down, the finish. The smell alone relaxes me. It’s a beautiful thing.
That’s the good news. . . . There’s one little problem, though. Let’s go back to our little cake analogy.
What would you want to do after you have tasted cake for the first time? . . . .
That’s right, you’d want to try every possible flavor of cake on the planet. Chocolate with Chocolate frosting, Carrot Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting, Raspberry Marble with Vanilla Frosting, and the ever-popular “Death by Chocolate” Cake.
“Why is that a bad thing,” you ask? Well, let’s apply this idea to trying out every Scotch on the planet:
Have you ever looked at the price tag on a good bottle of Scotch? If you have been reading my posts, you know that I’m the type who enjoys the finer things in life. A cheap $10 bottle of Scotch simply won’t do. . . . No. . . . I’ve got to try all the good stuff. The 18+ year Scotches. You know, the Scotch that at one point flows over the thighs of virgins as part of the distillation process.
I mean, I’m fucking loaded, but I’m not that loaded. I’m not the type that can afford to bathe in the stuff.
Mmmmmmmmmmm. . . . Scotch bath. . . . . . . . . .
Anyway, my plan is three-fold:
- Buy the good Scotch as I can afford it, and drink it only on the weekends. In other words, put myself on a Scotch ration/budget, which is either fucking awesome or horribly pathetic, depending on your attitude about booze.
- Order Scotch at bars to try out different brands, which is still expensive on a per-glass basis, but at least I’m not blowing ~$100 per bottle on it.
- Get advice from you people. Suggestions are, of course, welcome.
So that’s my plan anyway.
It’s very exciting for me, and it really enhances my life. I can’t wait to try out new Scotches. It’s an adventure for me.
Well, it’s getting late and I have a Scotch bath waiting for me. See you next time.
Meh.
Why I Don’t Have Kids
Mar 4
I’ve compiled a list of reasons why we don’t have kids. Here they are:
- Kids are money-leeching, whiny little germ factories. Ask any parent.
- So I can keep having sex, smoking cigars, drinking, and swearing. I am sure my life will be shorter, but alas, I will fortunately miss out on those miserable last 10 or so years of life where every bathroom visit starts with, “Ohhh, it hurts to pee”.
- We love sleeping in on the weekends, or sleeping in, in general. Enough said.
- Money. Cruise last year? Paid for in cash. Trip to Europe this year? Cash. Monthly supply of booze and cigars? Cash.
- For the Environment. Lifetime energy use per American over is 20,000 kJ. I have no fucking idea how much that is, but I’m sure it’s a lot. The average American will use 32 gallons of water a day, 5 pounds of food per day, and 1,025 gallons of oil per year (sources available on request). This means I can still do good for the environment all while buying an SUV and selling baby seal pelts out of the back seat.
- So I can keep gaming. Still looking for a good MMO that isn’t just like every other damn MMO ever made.
- So I am not tempted to put my kid on the phone. Parents, please don’t have your kids answer the god damn phone. Although you understand them just fine, and I’m sure they’re making progress with their language acquisition, no one else understands what the fuck they are saying at age 4, nor does anyone else care. Even worse is when you tell them what to say because you think it’s cute. Besides, I called to talk to you, not to that drunken midget of yours you call a child.
- We don’t have to be the people who bring the crying kid on the plane. I am a firm supporter of child sedation for travel, by the way.
- Because we like to have nice things. Cigar Humidor? Spotless. And, have you ever taken a look at the inside of a parent’s car? I cringe at the thought.
- So I don’t have to teach them “responsibility”, or whatever.
- Not needing to have a gun collection to show off to my daughter’s potential dates. You think I’m kidding? I’m not.
I’d like to hear if anyone else has good reasons why they don’t have kids. Put them in the comments below.
My Take on Curling
Feb 26
How can anyone not be fascinated with Curling?
Whenever it’s on the Olympics I watch it, and I sometimes find myself cheering. If you still can, you might want to watch the Russian women, especially Liudmila Privivkova. I’m not usually into blondes, but holy crap I’d watch her throw rocks all day long, if you know what I mean.
Anyway, how the fuck does one train for Curling? Do you have to lift weights and shit? What do you have to do to get geared up for Curling? I mean, I’m sure you have to practice, but is it like a day of practicing your craft, then off to the gym? Do you study videos of the other teams? Get used to the cold by standing in a fridge? What?
If you’re a sweeper, do you volunteer to sweep people’s kitchens during your “off-season”? Is there an off-season?
Do you think during the Olympics, at some of the surrounding Vancouver bars, the men’s teams would taunt each other?
Great Britain starts off with, “Hey, USA team, you throw like fags, assholes.” We chime back with, “Oh yeah, you’re lucky I need to save my energy for tomorrow Nigel, or I’d literally sweep the floor with your gay British face. Why don’t you brush your teeth every once in a while.” Then Nigel’s teammates have to hold him back. “Save it for the match, old chap.” Or whatever British people say to each other.
That’s how it goes down in my head anyway.
More Than Just Twitter
Oct 17
A female CEO of a company twittered that she was having a miscarriage during a board meeting. I am a man who thinks nothing is sacred but many thought that this went too far and… well… that nothing is sacred. So be it. What do we do about it? Simple. We create offshoots of Twitter to accommodate all occurrences. Yes, even miscarriages. Think of Twitter as the country and the following as states (of being?) within said country. Don’t expect 50.
The first state is Shitter and is for the announcement of bodily functions (even miscarriages). Here you can boast of notable bowel movements (of unusual weight, shape, or size), urination lasting for more than one minute and five seconds and anything else that has been known to leak or propel itself out of the body. I know what you’re thinking and the answer is, yes. Vomiting is included. As well as menstruation. But let’s not get mesmerized by volume, weight, and duration. Don’t forget color. If something is normally a certain color or hue and comes out totally off color, you’ll need an outlet for sharing this news. Say your urine is normally a boring pale yellow but one day welcomes you with a day-brightening lime green Gatorade color, you’ll need to share this with the world and post it on Shitter. Mind you, when it clears up, no one cares about that. This is only for if you continue to piss a plutonium based discharge.
Shitter also encompasses other aspects of humanity. Other things more than suitable to be listed on Shitter are: any information regarding a reality TV show, any information concerning Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, news of a United States financial institution, anything Barrack Obama says (or does). Speaking of Barry we might as well include anything that hyena Oprah Winfrey says, and last but not least something like hot tips about Jennifer Aniston, and the co star she’s doing from her latest film. Unless of course it’s a female co star, then it should be listed on Twatter and not Shitter. IF she doesn’t “go all the way” with a woman, then it’s listed on just Titter and not Twatter.
The other states and examples of the information they should contain are as follows (in no particular order):
Bitter: An outlet for the gay community, women’s movements (but not bowel), Democrats, any of my ex-girlfriends, fans of the hit show The View and cast members of said hit show.
Bit ‘er: If you have a woman into rough sex or you are a woman into rough sex.
Critter: Pest control, small penises, scary looking children.
Clitter: for women who have an unusually large erogenous zone at the top of the vagina. Now don’t get me wrong here. I’m not saying that you think it’s bigger than more or a little plump. I’m saying that if it looks like she has a pink baby carrot between her legs, we’ll need to know and on Clitter is where we’ll look.
Did ‘er: a place to list the names of all the girls you’ve banged and for West Virginian males to chat about their sisters, daughters, and mothers. Also, for Bill Clinton to list information on his current roomy Jewish intern.
Fitter: Anyone who weighs less than Kirstie Alley. 93% percent of NFL players qualify to use this service.
Flitter: a site for gay men.
Git ‘er: for West Virginian males with stubborn sisters, daughters, and mothers.
Hitter: The Violent Sports Talk Network. Messages posted about soccer are punishable by death.
Itter: Here is a place for the linguistically challenged who cannot properly pronounce a B through Z plus the –itter.
Jitter: for guys who think they cum an exorbitant amount.
Kid ‘er: a place to list diplomatic responses to questions she asks like: Do I look fat in this dress? Is my sister hotter than me? If you weren’t dating me would you do my friends?
Litter: Information on people we should throw away. Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears, Kanye West, Chris Brown, Jon and Kate from “Jon and Kate Plus Eight”… in fact we could probably get rid of three of those kids and no one would care. Then they’ll probably launch the new hit show “And Then There Were Five” so the dipshits who watched the original show would have something to look forward to. With that in mind, let’s throw the eight out as well.
Mit ‘er: a place for guys in the South to state where they hooked up with their current significant other: “I mit ‘er at the Chuck and Puke on Route 11.”
Nitter: for those whose balls are made of yarn.
Pitter: birth announcements, as in pitter patter (of little feet).
Quitter: for the pussies who stopped drinking and/or smoking because their doctors told them it was no good for them and/or their wives or husbands wanted them to stop.
Sitter: a place for guys to share fantasies about the college girl who watches their kids. If a woman has such fantasies, please use Twatter.
Spitter: Now, one might think that those who choose NOT to finish a certain job (hint: the wind does this) would be listed in Quitter. But I don’t think so. The job IS complete but the doer of the action (aka the subject of the sentence) chooses to hock out the creamy prize like it’s a loogie during flu season.
Don’t confuse this with those women who complain: “I’m not putting that in my mouth. You PEE from it!” Yes, sue me. I pee from it. But you pee from your lovely little pink Venus Fly Trap too but yet I still find the courage to lick it like the wallpaper at Willy Wonka’s Chocolate factory. Don’t I? Yes. I’m asking you to sing karaoke with a flesh microphone and you’re asking me to stick my face into a large piping hot pepperoni pizza. But don’t get me started on this.
Vitter: the Arnold Schwarzenegger “Fitter” board
Yidder: Jews only. Which is to say everyone who works in the entertainment and or publishing industry… you’re free to post here.
Zitter: self explanatory, for those with a bad complexion and also the Arnold Schwarzenegger “Sitter” board.
Racist: for all white people. No buts and no excuses. If you are white, you’re guilty as charged. You’re a racist. Get used to it.
Classless? Possibly. Too soon? Debatable. Funny? Definitely.
CollegeHumor puts together something that has not been discussed in the geek world: the idea that the Death Star destruction by a small Jedi squad was maybe a little, too easy. Well maybe in back alleys, private homes and sci-fi conventions, but not many other places. The truth is out there somewhere, and if you pay attention, maybe you too can decide what is truth, and what is fabricated by those completely out of touch with reality and should do something meaningful with their lives. Clear you mind, just as the “truthers” have done.
