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Monday, March 8, 2010

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An open letter to Oscar I
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Note to Oscar or whoever runs the show:

Dear Oscar,

You and I have a less-than-storied history – usually every year I skip your pomp and ceremony, electing instead to catch up on activities such as sharpening the kitchen knives, pulling hair out of the bathtub drain, and sorting black and white porno classics in to wankategories since there’s absolutely nothing else on TV that evening.

This year was different, Sir Oscar, I sat through your entire show (interrupted only by forays to the the apartment building’s laundry room to steal old ladies’ lingerie wash my clothes for the week).  I learned many things this year during the Oscars – for example, I had no idea Jeff Bridges really is The Dude.

If anyone now asked of me, “Who in Hollywood would you most like to sit around, smoke a bong, and discuss the changing tide of East Asian economics with?” I would now wholeheartedly conclude ‘Sandra Bullock’.  Hah, I bet you thought I’d say Jeff Bridges, hey?  I could go either way, it depends on the pot, I suppose – if it was the make-you-talky kind I’d go with Bridges because I’d imagine he would work really well with some feedback that I would provide, but if it was the make-you-shutty-uppy kind I’d probably sit quietly and let Bullock talk endlessly about bowhunting or football or Keanu Reeves or dragon-themed motorcycles or whatever she does when she’s not making bad movies.

(Just kidding, I haven’t smoked pot in like 70 years.  I’m hardcore Christian or Muslim or conservative or something now.)

Yes dearest Oscar, I hung in there through your 16 hour marathon show last night.  What’s that?  It was only three hours?  Oh, well then, it sure seemed like 16 hours, no doubt due in part to the endless montage to dead movie-type-people halfway through the show.  Did you know Ron Silver died this year?  I know, neither did I!  I thought that he was actually Andy Garcia until just now, and last night when I realized Andy Garcia died (same guy, right?), I cried a little on the inside thinking “Who on earth is going to bang Julia Roberts now?”, not knowing at that moment that Andy Garcia only PRETEND-boned Julia Roberts and that was only once in Ocean’s Eleven like a decade ago.  So I was wrong on a whole trainload of items there, and probably no one at all is banging Julia Roberts these days, I guess.

I digress, dear Oscar ____ .  (What the hell is your last name anyways?  De La Rental?  De La Hoyota?)  The whole thing that was most important for me to bring up this morning is that for the sake of the last people on stage in the evening -the best picture winners, unquestionably the most important award of the evening unless you are James Cameron and today is not the day after yesterday – you need to cut it out with the interpretive dance shit in the show.  The time wasted on watching a bunch of twats do a floor-sweeping interpretive dance about Avatar is another five whole minutes Katherine Bigelow coulda stood on the stage at the end, looking as fantastic as she did, and rubbing James Cameron’s face in the whole ex-on-top-of-the-world thing.  Man that made my night.

Can you imagine James Cameron going home early this morning and smashing shit in anger?  Maybe expending the hatred in the wee hours this morning by writing an angry screenplay about dolphins fucking with robotic dildos or submerged alien vibrator artifacts or something stupid like that?

I can.  I revel in it.

Because I’m evil.

Regards,

Me

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Monday, March 1, 2010

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Just a reminder… I
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The winter Olympics may be over, but they’re not really over.  You see, we tend to forget the other Olympics – the Paranormal Winter Olympics – that are just about to start on the heels of the last 17 days.

To be honest, I’m never really sure what happens during the Paranormal Olympics.  In the regular winter Olympics there are ski jumping, hockey, and ice skating events.  But what of the Paranormal Olympics?  500 meter EVP sessions?  Downhill orb-chasing?  I really don’t know, if anyone could fill me in, I’d appreciate it, there’s nothing about them on the internet.

I’m sure that no matter what happens, there will be plenty of solemn Visa commercials narrated by Morgan Freeman during the Paranormal Olmpics though:

-”This year, the spirit of the Olympics fills every athlete with hope, wisdom, passion … and Visa will be there for every exorcism to remove these spirits.”

-”When Nodar Kumaritashvili died that fateful day on the luge track, Visa was there.  Visa is still there at that very spot, funding athletes’ infrared FLIR equipment and handing out hot chocolates while teams from around the world try to make contact.”

I’ll bet this Olympic subset will have its own anthem too – to be played every time a channel goes to commercial or returns from a commercial, someone wins a medal,  something heartbreaking happens, something heartwarming happens, or even when nothing at all happens.  And we won’t be able to avoid the song for two weeks, and maybe after that it will manifest itself in the following months as some sort of Rickrolling phenomenon on Youtube and we’ll never fucking avoid the song ever again.

But in case you’re not Canadian (therefore maintaining your full genetic compliment) and have no idea what I’m talking about, imagine hearing this song or a variation of this song twice every five minutes for the last month:

Yeah, holy crap, I can’t wait to hear that song again.

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Thursday, February 18, 2010

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Update I
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Today marks the third week in a life without blogs (y’know, aside from my own).  Ever since my feed reader broke and I declined out of sheer laziness to remedy the issue, I haven’t read another blog, posted a comment, or masturbated to any photos of someone who may be either a young Gene Simmons or else a husky, well-fed younger version of the oldest lady from The Golden Girls.  (What was her name again?  Rubella Getty or something like that?  It’s getting hard to tell who I’m strangling the meat-saber to these days with all that violent shaking going on.)

Hot on the heels of my departure from blogland – as if it were introduced intentionally in order to grab my attention like it were some sort of sympathy garnering desperate insecure ex-girlfriend who incessantly called me at 3am to cry about her skinny friends and then ask for shit like to borrow my car to go to a Nickelback concert four hours away with her gay friend who probably wasn’t gay enough to not-bone her in the back of my car in a casino parking lot should the music overwhelm both their emotions – Google rolled out Buzz, a web service apparently designed only to cater to stalkers and weird people who have nothing better to do than collect internet contacts and talk about their own Tweets on their blog or Tweet about their blog.  Oh shit, I just described Dr. Zibbs there.

Fortunately I’ve never succumbed to the social networking craze so Buzz hasn’t affected me, in fact if there were an anti-social networking thing, I would be the king of that shizz.  Maybe my brand of web-hermitishness would be called nocialworking.  Yes, I just made that word up and it’s all mine if it becomes famous.  Anyways, I’ve never kept any bookmarks or email contacts or followed anything or tweeted or Facebooked or anything, so it’s disturbing to hear how Google fuck-youed everyone with Buzz.  I’m glad I’m schizoid, it saves me from trying to undo stuff.  Like really, who has the free time to try to de-announce to their co-workers that they’re following blogs that discuss foot fetish porn?  Not me, that’s who.

Anyways, it was nice to poke my head of from my turtle shell and announce that (sadly, for many of you) I’m not dead.  Speak to you again soon!  Or not!  Who cares!!  Happy Olympics!  Go team Tajikistan!

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Friday, February 5, 2010

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Toyota and the Jacksons I
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Lately there’s been a big buzz over Toyota cars exploding or transforming into Gobot overlords and then eating people or something like that. Oh right, their brake pedals stick down, or the accelerators stick down. What happens if they BOTH stick down? You’ve got nothing to complain about in that case then, have you.

No no, that’s not true either, you still have plenty to complain about. Namely, you’re driving a Toyota. I’d be grumbling and complaining all over the place regardless of the state of my brake pedal or accelerator if I had to squish into a stinky little plastic car whose company logo is clearly a symbol of Nazism.  Can you see the hidden swastika?  I used a different color brush to highlight the swastika they’ve incorporated into it.

If you can’t see it, then you’re an asshole sympathizer.  Or an anti-Obama Republican right wing nut.

Speaking of Toyotas, La Toyota Jackson is making her own news these days by claiming something about something about something about something Michael something Michael something Michael something something and somebody was wronged.

Holy fuck, the Jackson clan MUST have used up its quota for invoking the Michael Jackson name already, haven’t they?  I expect someone to come out with a Magic: The Gathering or Pokemon trading card version of the Jackson family so that they can just play a Jackson card instead of going through a whole contrived motion of  trying to get more money via injustice.  Granted, I’ve never played either game so I have no idea of how either would go, but I’d imagine the Jackson version would go something like this:

“Lessee, I have a Tito and Jermaine on the table…that means +2 to my defense plus I’m invulnerable to stone golems, but not fire golems.  What’s this?  Holy shit dude, you serious?  You’re bringing out the Joe Jackson?  Oh man…there goes my deck, Joe slaps for 20 points of damage each round and has the ability to absorb all the money on the table and pretty much ruins the game.  OH NO, he also has powers that turns any of his offspring into mutants!”

Anyways, that’s about it for this morning.  Given my track record lately for posting, that would mean this is all for the next week too, so we’ll see ya later!

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Thursday, January 28, 2010

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iPad I
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Apple revealed their latest revolutionary product called the iPad yesterday, which has of course raised the eyebrows of the technogeek world due to the fact that it sucks.  Blah blah.

Now that I have your attention with this super-trendy subject, I really really need to bring up the point that it seems like the world has almost entirely forgotten about David Lee Roth. What happened to us, world?  Have we forgotten where our priorities lie?  Have we lost our way?

When was the last time you saw David Lee Roth on TV?  Two weeks ago?  Three months ago?  Or are you one of the lucky people on his mail route and get to see his cheerful face each afternoon when he hands you your Dominoes Pizza coupons and other junk mail like cell phone bills and legal threats?

Sometimes I think that as a society, we get caught up in the unimportant trivial things, like iPads and eKindles and oRgasms and uPencil whatever else I can think of with a vowel attached to the front of the word. (Just once, let someone bust the trend and start a word with [drum roll please], a consonant!  gToaster?)    We have lost our way, world, David Lee Roth is not getting the attention he deserves.  Remember this the next time you download an app from the Apple Store, please think of what’s important in your life and make a change.

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Tuesday, January 26, 2010

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Broken RSS reader freedom I
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I broke my RSS feed reader last week and have yet to bother fixing it.

This means I haven’t read a blog in several days now, including yours.  Have I missed anything yet?  Are you still up to your old tricks?

The thing is that with all of this new found time each morning since I’m not reading blogs, I have plenty of extra time to develop and nurture alternate crippling internet addictions or expand my horizons beyond reading people’s blog caption contests or people’s political perspectives on Avatar and/or M.A.S.H. or their childrens fledgling senses of humor or the blood clots they developed in their uteruses or whatever people blog about each day.

For example, yesterday I went to some sort of news site and learned something about some earthquake in some country called ‘Haiti’, which sounds like a great place to be a looter, necrophiliac, or quite possibly both at the same time.  Have you heard about this??  Man, it sounds like paradise to me.  Not because I’m a necrophiliac, but because I’ve always wanted to walk out of some sort of collapsed building while holding a TV set and yelling French curse words.  Life doesn’t get any better than that, unless of course you’re drunk while doing it.

Yes, with all of this new time, this could be a new era of me.  A new era of time spent learning, broadening my horizons, a new era of having the free time each morning to masturbating onto a stiff old 1983 newspaper clipping of Nancy Reagan I keep in a special tube stored behind a broken piece of drywall near my desk.  The world is my oyster.

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Thursday, January 21, 2010

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Haiti update I
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This morning I was thinking about the Haiti earthquakes and was feeling sad about all of the people that died and were left homeless.

Then I thought about the ham and Swiss sandwich I got from Tim Horton’s last night didn’t have the extra Caesar sauce I requested.  Damn you Tim Horton, I PAID FOR THAT EXTRA SAUCE!!!

Oh wait, no I didn’t pay for it.  Still, I totally asked for more sauce and after a few bites I realized that “Hey, this totally has the normal – or perhaps even less than normal amount of sauce on it!”

To make matters worse with this whole situation, when I ordered a large ham and Swiss last night, they didn’t even have large buns.  They said due to a rule, I had to order TWO smalls to make the same as a large.  With two small sandwiches, that’s like way more sandwich crust involved than in one large sandwich, which is total bullshit.  It’s like saying, “Hey, do you want a couple pieces of hardassed crust with some meat and cheese and a little tiny bit of sauce between them to make up for a large, chewy bun that isn’t totally hard to eat?”

All of this grief and disappointment and tragedy didn’t happen at an entirely fast rate either – at the drive-through it took a few minutes to place the order (waiting for them to slowly write shit down the wrong way, perhaps?) and then at the pickup window there was another long delay, even though there was no one in front of us.

Hello?  Anyone there?  I haven’t eaten in something like hoursHoly crap Tim Hortons, I drove like five blocks out of my way for this kind of treatment.

So I guess in retrospect, Haiti has nothing to really complain about.  Sure, their little nation has been destroyed, but that’s because of a deal with the devil according to Pat Robertson, so okay – that evens things out between Haiti and I, and Haiti didn’t specifically order a ham and Swiss sandwich with extra sauce and then end up getting a ham and Swiss with like less sauce and in two tiny buns with a whole bunch more hard, crusty surface area.

Right, so I don’t hear CNN making a big deal about my situation yet this morning, but I guess it’s early still.

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Tuesday, January 19, 2010

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Presidents and technology I
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According to the news, yesterday marked the first time in history that a president ‘tweeted’.

Far from being excited about the embrace of new technology by people in positions where embracing new technology usually means ‘approving laser guided robot spy hackers,’ or ‘assfucking communism with a new type of nuclear rocket that like expands and stuff making things really uncomfortable for like, communism or whatever,’ I find it quite hilarious that the president of the United States chose to use a new technology that limits him to 140 characters when he wants to say something.  (He’s the president of the most powerful nation in the world, he should be entitled to a few more characters here and there as necessary, shouldn’t he?)

Imagine trying to be the president of the United States of Chipotlemerica and running the country on 140 character edicts every day?  Your life would be entirely about “trying to find a four letter word for ‘disenfranchised youths’,” or, “having 20 characters left to convey urgency for passing a health care reform act.”

Incidentally, I imagine that’s much like the George W. Bush reign of terror was ran.  I imagine Dubya sitting in the oval office saying things that would have quite comfortably passed under Twitter’s 140 character limit like, “Hey, them guys in Efganstan, smarten ‘em up,” or “Someone make that Saddam guy get off my TV,” or “I like pickle juice. Y’all should too.”

Yes, time they are a-changing.  Soon we will see Obama blogging in the middle of the night about the glory days of Def Leppard, maybe Digging a whole bunch of photos of ski-jumping McGyver lookalikes, anonymously Skype chatting a 19 year old receptionist in Miami – his handle would be RadSurFR1987 – or even on Partypoker trying to disassociate what appears to be the avatar of an old lady in sunglasses from her forty dollars.

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Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Apparently some dude tried to blow up a plane over Christmas with exploding underwear.  Like any sort of event involving airplanes, the world has responded by freaking the fuck out and installing super-duper scanning equipment at airports around the world for the slight cost of $18 trillion plus tax.

If you’ve seen the resolution of this scanning equipment, you’ll immediately realize that whatever you’re currently doing with your life right now, you’re in the wrong business.  You need to be in airport security where you have to check out people’s junk all day and get paid for it!

Well hello ma’am!  That ass-crack is the ass-crack of a TERRORIST!

Yes folks, I am retiring from my job as the pilot of Airwolf (been doing it for years, my handle is ‘Longfellow Perigrine McQuade’), drinking a bunch of rubbing alcohol and varnish to kill off what’s left of my brain cells, and joining the airport security team.  And yes, if you pass my checkpoint, I will be selling photos of you in your skivvies on the internet after I masturbate to them – unless of course you happen to be a man, in which case I will somehow blazackmail you by threatening to make public your Prince Albert.  Click that link, I dare you.

Of course, people are going to be crying about civil liberties and that because of the actions of one man, our dinks and beavers are going to be visible on a daily basis to the people who weren’t intelligent or motivated enough to become “personal security for Steve Miller”.  Yes, that’s true, and to reinforce your rabid beliefs, let me remind you of a famous quote from someone you might have heard of:

They who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety.  Hey Thomas, is that your maid?  She’s totally hot.  Oh, that’s your daughter?  Tarnations, these spectacles offer neither focus nor discretion.  Jesus man, stop writing down everything I …

-Benjamin Franklin

Granted, the next thing that came out of his mouth was,

…Y’know, unless something get invented that allows us to see chick’s clams without them giving us permission, or hell, even knowing.  In that case then, maybe we should consider giving up just a little bit of freedom.  Since this is transcribed in longhand, you won’t see that “giving up just a little bit of freedom” in the last sentence was italicized, which is a shame since you won’t understand the slight change in tone which gives the sentence a slightly different contextual meaning as if I were being sly but also being serious at the same time.

-Benjamin Franklin

I’m against this stupid incessant drive to make the world a safer place by throwing up new security measure every time someone shits themselves on a plane.  Dude, have you ever watched an episode of “Jersey Shore” or a movie with Vin Diesel in it or driven through Los Angeles?  We need LESS people, so let’s let liberty reign, no security ever!

So, let me end this blog entry by stating that you should clearly revolt every time you’re at an airport.  Put up a stink, no one should have the right to see your choice of pubic hair styling just because some jackass tried to blow up a plane with explosive fruit of the looms.  Send an email to your local political representative, this time stating your disgust with the erosion of freedoms and rights instead of sending pictures of said political representative having sex with his latina maid in a parkade downtown over a series of months.  Speak out!  Unless of course you happen to be at an airport in a line somewhere in front of me – in that case, screw you and your liberties right in your ass that we’re all about to see on www.airportsecurityvoyeurporn.com.

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Tuesday, January 5, 2010

“If I wanted to see blue people fighting with bows and arrows, I would continue smothering this little tribesman I smuggled home from the rainforest in my luggage.”
-Me

I read this morning that Avatar is on its way to grossing more money than Elvis, the Beatles, Titanic, Striptease, Jimmy’s Seafood Shack, an empty tin can, Ron Howard, Jesus and Moses, and Baywatch combined.

While I applaud the fact that the stinking pile of shit that is Titanic will likely be dethroned after about 98 years as the top grossing film of all time (that was a reality documentary wasn’t it?), I’m a little concerned that James Cameron will be the one doing his own dethroning.

First of all, now that he has all of the money in the universe after getting rich off all these movies, will he buy our souls and make us work in some sort of spirit-mine after we die? I am not into working for James Cameron, despite him being a Canadian and therefore a wonderful humanitarian by that attribute alone, as we all know to be true. I don’t know how all this spirituality stuff works, but he is not going to own the mortgage on my ethereal junk.

Second of all, will his definition of beauty – Sigourney Weaver/Linda Hamilton/actresses with a whole bunch of angles and quite possibly not women at all with their penises and muscles and everything – become the societal standard definition of ‘beauty’? Dear James, Jimmy, I do not want to buy into your manly woman pr0n. I like that women are heroes and not relegated to whining and advertising hair products for 7500+ minutes in your movies, but man, if you ever boned one of your heroines for real, you would cut your elbow or knee on their face or shoulders during the sexual relations. At least one out of every two men agree with this statement, as long as I’m one of the two. (Also, please note: I don’t condone boning Sigourney Weaver or Linda Hamilton, I’m just speaking hypothetically.)

Third, I’m concerned about Jimmy Cameron making it okay for top-grossing films to suck total balls. While technically speaking, Titanic was possibly one of the worst movies ever conceived, at the very least it bared Kate Winslette’s boobs and therefore had at least one redeemable factor. Avatar, however, appears to have absolutely zero amount of Kate Winslette’s naked breasts (by screen time, in minutes), unless all of the trailers and movie reviewers carelessly left out that detail. If they did, shame on me and my lack of research for this entry. But even IF Avatar had Kate Winslette’s naked breasts (or even one naked breast, perhaps hanging from a shirt or feeding a newborn or writing a name in the snow with nipple-milk) I don’t think it could make up for a bunch of blue forest people who are not Smurfs being able to put up serious opposition to laser cannons, jets, tanks, and all sorts of modern technology. I call bullshit.

Last but not least disturbing about Cameron’s latest victory over all of our wallets, I totally do NOT forgive him for not first making a 3D documentary involving sex with his 3D technology. What better testbed for 3D than in a real bed?

Come to think of it, maybe not – I’d rather not see sperm flying at me in a dark room unless it was part of some ploy to pay off my student loans or to finance angular plastic surgery to make me beautiful in the eyes of society.

I urge you people to not spend your money on watching Avatar. Instead, consider spending your money on skin-tag removal products this winter. Your children will appreciate not seeing a floppy piece of flesh dangling on your neck any longer when you’re at the pool.

Thanks for stopping by!

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#The Insultatron#

#Top Commenters (For Whom I Reserve The Hugest Erections)#

@Where do my bitches come from?@

@Categories@

>Disclaimer

Everything here is a work of satire and fiction. Any resemblances to people, alive or dead, real or fictional, is purely coincidence even if it looks like it's not, or even when I explicitly say it's not, because I have poor judgement.

If you find this blog offensive, please leave and never come back, ever. Returning if you're offended is about the most retarded thing you can do.

If you're here to build a court case against me, fuck off. You're not allowed to be here.

Before you jihad me, realize that I don't even believe the things I say. For real. It's all a big sham. Thanks for visiting though.
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