Monday, December 29, 2008

TEN THINGS THAT WILL BE ILLEGAL WHEN AM I KING: PART TWO

SECOND: MOHAWKS ON SMALL CHILDREN

This may come as a shock to some of you, as I'm sure you've all assumed I make a living doing something like being a fabulous rock star or fighting crime with nothing but my cunning and my fists, but the reality is much more plain and embarassing: I work at Wal Mart. And with that job comes the harsh task of dealing with Wal Mart customers - Who just happen to be the absolute worst people in the world. A legion of slothful, half-crippled mental defectives; the worst sort of dog-kicking waterheads who in a just world would be pistol-whipped to death, because to use bullets would be a shameful waste of natural resources. And this is to say nothing of their unspeakable children.
But as much as I'd like to, I can't truly hate their children, or even wish for their horrible and violent deaths, because you see, I believe the children are our future. And if we can teach them well and show them all the beauty they possess inside, they just might lead the way. But I've noticed a dangerous new trend that has arisen among terrible white people in the last few years that threatens not only their futures, but the futures of all of us old folks, as well. It's a bizarre sort of development, in that it crosses all lines of social class, personal politics, and even race, just so long as you're only including terrible white people in your demographics. You see, no matter whether they're terrible white people who listen to Fall Out Boy or terrible white people who are into Toby Keith, whether their choice of terrible white people t-shirt slogan involves veganism, Jesus, the Insane Clown Posse, Barack Obama, Eli Manning, or even the blood-curdling phrase "who's your Baghdaddy?" they're all united by one thing:

They loves to give them kids some dang Mohawks.

And when I am king, I am stamping that shit right out.

WHY IT SHOULD BE ILLEGAL:

Kids will always rebel. It's just what they do. And that sort of thing has snowballed over time, to the point where yesterday's rebellion is today's lame crap. I mean, if you came into the mall today, totally rocking greased-back hair to go with your black leather jacket and cigarette pack rolled up in the sleeve of your white t-shirt or with a Dokken shirt, a teased mullet, and "bandanna boots" in full effect, they'd laugh you out of the place. You'd be shunned from society and forced to live in a cardboard box under a highway overpass somewhere, where people would pull over just to get out of their cars and poke you with sharp sticks for being such a lame pussy. Childhood rebellion is like the smell from a sink full of dirty dishes; it only grows stronger over time. But even through all of this, the mohawk has sort of existed outside of normal rebellion. Back in my day, the kids with the rat tails and magic marker-customized Bon Jovi jean jackets just got sort of a "those darn kids today" reaction, but mohawks were different.
The adult reaction to the mohawk over the years has been more along the lines of the way people in old movies would scramble to get off their front porches and run inside to peek through the curtains when some villain rode into town. That shit was dangerous, meant only for violent anarchists and professional wrestlers. Even on someone more or less righteous, like Mr. T, the mohawk signified that he was a serious man who would throw you through a window for any excess jibber-jabbering. But now, they've gone and made that shit mainstream. This begs the question: Once these kids get old enough to rebel against what their parents want them to be, where do they go from here? I mean, god damn, they've already got mohawks. I've thought long and hard about this, and I've come up with just two possibilities.
Possibility One: Anti-Rebellion - Faced with parental figures who want them to look like little Travis Bickles, they may figure that the only possible way to piss off their parents is to go to the extreme in the other direction. So when they get old enough, they'll style their hair conservatively, discover Jesus, get interested in golf and high finance, get a job with an oil company, and eventually get elected to Congress and start a thirteen-year war with Syria. Thanks a lot, soccer-mom.
Possibility Two: SUPER REBELLION - Rather than taking a turn in the opposite direction, they might charge forward on the Mohawk Path, becoming a super-powered, flesh-eating maniac; a man who eats broken glass like peanut brittle and shoots adorable puppies simply out of principle. These mohawked fiends will run roughshod over society, until someone like Batman or Robocop shows up to stop them. And since Batman and Robocop are fictional characters, we would be fucked.

THE PUNISHMENT:

That's an easy one. Take every one of those terrible white people and teach them a lesson. Take all those yuppies, rednecks, soccer moms, and other people whose most daring look to date has been wearing white after Labor Day, sit them down in a dang barber chair, and make them look something like this for no less than 12 months:



I'm guessing that it won't be so fucking "cute" when they have to be the one sporting the ridiculous hair, rather than living vicariously through their damn kids who have no choice in the matter.

Not that I actually like their kids or care about their well-being or anything; it's just the right thing to do.

Tuesday, December 02, 2008

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

They tell me I have an IQ over 150.



At least that's what they tell me.

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Goddammit, I knew I shouldn't have said anything

Back in the day, I was all about making posts about my fish tank, and all it ever ended up being was a horrifying chronicle of guppy-death. So I shut up about it, and things went well for a year or so. But I just had to open my damn mouth, and things went goddamn haywire in there. For starters, I had to learn that my old heater was broken and stuck in the "on" position, meaning that if I used it, it would fry the fish, so it had to be unplugged. It had to be unplugged on the first cold night of the year. So overnight, the temperature drops from my normal 80 degrees to around 72, which is a really, really bad thing to happen to tropical fish. The resulting stress caused a shitty outbreak of columnaris in there that covered the tiger barbs in white fuzzy crap and just absolutely destroyed the rubber-lipped plecostomus in about 24 hours. I'm not gonna go into gory details, but after I scooped him out to give him a seaman's funeral, I considered just throwing the damn net away and buying a new one. Anyway, two 25% water changes, thirty-five dollars for a new heater and about twenty-five dollars for medicine later, the three barbs are pretty much white stuff free, and both Darrells are acting more or less like normal, but Larry's acting really stressed out and sick. It's weird, because you'd think the biggest one of the three would get better fastest, but this is something that tok out an algae-eater almost insantly, which is usually something that takes a blowtorch to do, so this illness doesn't have to make sense. Anyway, four more days of dosing with Maracyn and six more of Melafix and Pimafix to go. Hopefully everything works out. In the meantime, R.I.P. Algae Crumpler.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Current Status

Haven't done this in like eight hundred years, so I figured I'd detail what's been going on in fish tank world. First, here's the ten-gallon I got in 2006, still going strong:


It's kind of a shameful thing right now, as I had a mysterious plant die-off a while back that spooked the shit out of the fish, so I had to put the plastic plants back in until things grow back to a decent size. The lily is still enormous and shooting up new leaves faster than the algae-eater can destroy them, and after he chewed the bulb off, it's starting to sprout out the beginnings of a whole damn new plant. But aside from the one in the front-left corner, all my various kinds of aponegetons that used to fill up the tank died back hard, with a few offshoots from the originals trying to make a comeback, and a couple tiny ones that have been there a while and probably won't ever hit any significant size. If all else fails, I'll just start gradually replacing the plastic plants with store-bought fully-grown ones. It's not as cool as growing your own from a bulb, but the plastic plants make me feel so dirty.

As for the actual fish, since the last mention of the tank, I think around the time ice storms forced me from my home, the betta I had in there died, possibly due to shitty tank maintenace and an overfeeding of those little freeze-dried worms that were all he'd eat. The rubber-lipped plecostomus (since christened Algae Crumpler) remains, which is crazy, seeing as how he's lasted two years after being thrown in an uncycled tank by a complete amateur who ended up sending countless guppies and mollies to their doom in unlivable water. Tap water, even. Now, completely cycled and free from ammonia and nitrites, I've got three tiger barbs in there, which in another case of me breaking my "oh man, I can't name a fish, because all they ever do is die" rule, have been named Larry, Darrell, and Darrell. There was a fourth, Darrell, but after a couple months, he got this really messed-up swim-bladder problem. If I had a forty, I'd pour it out for him. Anyway, tiger barbs are nippy little bastards, all into establishing a pecking order, where Larry, identifiable by bigger fins and a spot in addition to the usual stripes, is the clear leader of the pack. Every now and then, he gets in these little fishy roid-rages that leave Darrell running for his/her life while Darrell hides up in a lily pad. Of the other two, Darrell 1 is the other big one, who's fairly peaceful and may or may not be a lady, and Darrell 2 is the little one whose small-man complex makes him chase the other Darrell around occasionally and makes him usually be the first one to swim out in the open after the gravel-vacuum freaks them out and sends them to huddle in one corner. So these things have relatively well-developed personalities for animals with brains the size of a pin head.

Oh yeah, and I've also got this one now, a two-gallon:

Since she's awesome, my special lady-friend Sarah provided much of what you see here, like the two big plants, (and a third gigantic, awesome one that I accidentally snapped while moving stuff around, and it's finally fragment is that little tiny one on the bottom-right) the Buddha statue, and Picasso, the Betta you see swimming around in there. When we got him, he was this tiny little baby-sized thing with bleached-out, almost transparent fins, but now, he's fully crown, hella-colorful, and fucking pissed. He feels no pain and fears no man, and while the barbs run for the hills when I do stuff in their tank, he swims right up to my hand, and flares his gills like one of those desert lizards. He is the Charles Bronson of fish. He spends his time blowing those little bubble nests, challenging my finger to fights, and swimming around, which is something bullshit-artists will tell you that Bettas don't do.

Seriously, most of the crap they'll tell you about these things when they're trying to sell one to you is absolute, cruel, fish-murdering shit. They don't live in puddles in the wild; they live in damn rice paddies. They aren't stationary fish that love living in a goddamn pint of water, they swim the hell around, and in nature, they're in thousands of gallons. They need all the same shit a regular tropical fish needs, with a few differences. They don't need a huge tank or anything, (and depending on who you ask, putting them in a big tank can actually stress them) but I'd say they need at least a gallon, preferably between two and five. definitely not the little bowls and cups people always have them in. If the container is too small for a filter, it's too small for a Betta. And yes, unless you're good enough to remember to change out some water every day, they need to be kept at tropical-type temperatures, and they need a filter. Not a big ass powerful one, because it knocks them around, but one of those little air pump-driven Whisper ones works just fine, and if you know how to make a decent sponge filter, (I tried and failed, for the most part) that's even better. So if somebody tries to sell you a little fish bowl for a Betta, you should call them a son of a bitch, and if they try to sell you a "Betta vase," you should mercilessly beat the shit out of them. Fuck Betta vases. The plant's roots don't do shit to clean the water, and a Betta is a damn carnivore, so it can't live off the plant. The only reason a Betta lasts as long as it does in those is because it takes them a month to starve to death. So instead of buying a Betta vase, you might as well just buy the fish separately, get a couple little pieces of wood and a stapler, and just crucify the little sucker. It's basically the same thing as getting a fucking Betta vase. Fucking people.

But yeah, anyway, I sure hope the heater in there works.

Friday, October 17, 2008

Hard Times in the First World


So I was out and about a while ago, buying expensive heaters to keep the frigid Oklahoma winter from killing my Betta and getting more groceries than I intended to buy, when I decided to stop by Ross. If you didn't know what that is, it's one of those clothing stores where most of the stuff is somehow damaged or irregular, and costs like a fifth of what it's supposed to as a result. I didn't find anything I wanted there, as their male clothing seems to consist entirely of knockoff Affliction t-shirts, and it's bad enough looking like a walking advertisement, but even worse when you appear to be advertising winged skulls that birds have been crapping on.

So I made my way toward the exit, and that's when I saw a guy I totally didn't notice on the way in through the same door. First of all, it was strange, because it was the only time I've seen a bargain-type clothing store have a security guard posted a the exit. But it gets even stranger when the security guard in question has on combat boots, fatigues, and I swear to god, a damn beret. And standing there as he was, sternly looking forward with his arms clasped behind his back, I was hit by the revelation that this guy looked exactly like one of Public Enemy's security guards.

It then hit me just how difficult things have gotten economically, when someone at least somewhat tangentially responsible for "Fight the Power" and "Don't Believe the Hype" could fall so low as having to pull guard duty at a place that specializes in slightly-irregular Perry Ellis socks. I wanted to say something, but I just kept on my way to the exit door, fighting the urge to throw up a Black Power fist or ask about how James Bomb was doing.

Saturday, October 04, 2008

HEY SCORPION

NOT SO TOUGH NOW, ARE YA? NICE TRY, BITCH. NOW, YOU'RE DEAD. HA HA HA HA HA HA. EAT DUSTPAN, YOU FOOL.

Monday, September 22, 2008

The Beginning of Fall

It is truly a new season when I notice that my popsicles are thawing out, and I have to punch the back wall of the fridge a few times to break up the thawed/refrozen ice, and then knee the door real hard to get the compressor to kick back on.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Tub Cat

be stealin' my bucket.

Saturday, September 13, 2008

Stupid iTunes 8.0

Look at this thing. LOOK AT THIS THING.

First, the boring, "List View" - that I never had to use before - with Windows Task Manager open for resource-viewing purposes:

Here's a closeup of the memory usage (click to enlarge, for best results - Stupid narrow blog layout):

A little over 72 megabytes of RAM being used. Kinda large, but nothing out of the ordinary, in today's world of giant-ass computers.

Now, here's the thing. "Cover Flow" view, which is the easiest way to get around, and the way I always did things before, is basically broken in the new version. Here's what I've been able to use my powers of deductive reasoning to figure out: The way it works now, every album cover you scroll past goes into your computer's memory and stays there as long as iTunes is open. Even if it's long since scrolled off the screen. And these are big files, too. Sure, they only show up as little pictures at the top of the screen, but clicking on the "Now Playing" thumbnail that comes up usually reveals them to be massive, taking up a good chunk of the screen. And if you've downloaded legally purchased as much music as I have and put it all on your computer, that's a ton of album cover images. A "fucking shit-ton," as some scholars would say. And there are a lot of people out there whose stuff absolutely dwarfs my own. I know this because they're the people I ended up downloading stuff from comparing online music collections with. Anyway, a shit-ton of giant images uses up a shit-ton of memory. How much? Take a look:


Wait, what?


You are not reading that wrong. One billion, three-hundred forty-two million, eight hundred and forty thousand bytes of memory being used by one program. OVER ONE POINT THREE GIGS OF RAM IS BEING USED, PEOPLE. JESUS. Hell, the last computer I had before this one couldn't even be upgraded to hold that much, and it's not like iTunes is some intense, professionals-only program, so it's not out of the question for computers of that scope to be trying to run this monstrosity. And note that I had only scrolled up to the letter S by this point, meaning that it might even hit 2 gigs if I went all the way to the letter Z. So it's no more visible album covers in the navigation for me until they fix that crap.

It's just too bad that Windows Media Player and WinAmp both blow dicks, or I'd switch back to one of those.

Thursday, September 04, 2008

So the new Metallica album leaked

...And it's like St. Anger with Reload's production. It's like taking a huge dump and then peeing in the pile. But the songs are all eight minutes and have fast parts, so I'm sure everyone will be saying those turds are "back" now.

They should have just quit years ago.

Wednesday, September 03, 2008

Updates regarding websitery

  • As you may have noticed, stuff looks different around here. I'm still working on changing things around, which means that this place is more than likely going to look exactly the same for like eight more years.
  • Scheduling being the way it is, I'm now back up to one day a week with nothing to do but lay around being idle and worthless. So updates might happen more than one a year eventually. I'm actually thinking of doing some sort of once-a-week update schedule, which isn't likely to actually happen, because I'm lazy.
  • When I do update things, it's going to be a lot less of a Chicago Bears only blog. Mainly because I got recruited to go clog up someone else's blog with that sort of thing. I'm "LB" on there, and it's a pretty major coincidence that those are my initials. Huh.
  • I was going to do one of those "check out my fish tank" posts, but I'm pretty sure I killed the one really cool plant in the 2-gallon betta tank today, so I'm all pissed and not in the mood to take pictures of my failures. Here's an old picture of Picasso, though:

    I'll get pictures of Larry, Darrell, Darrell #2, and Algae Crumpler in the ten-gallon up here someday.
  • I'm seriously going to finish that "Ten Things I'm Going to Make Illegal" thing someday. Actually typed about half of a second entry. Someday.
  • After recently viewing the entire Maniac Cop trilogy, I'm in the mood to bring back the Discount Rack Video Review. Or maybe just erase the entire site and replace it with a video clip of the scene from Maniac Cop 3 where Maniac Cop manages to take part in an entire car chase while completely on fire.
  • I just noticed that my text and link colors are too close for anyone to be able to tell the difference. Since I'm not in the mood to fix that right now, I'm just making links larger.

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Dear ESPN...

Hey guys. Look, I know you guys all love Brett Favre. You looked the other way when he kept waffling over retirement for the last decade or so, you shrugged off all his 288 interceptions as being the result of a bad route by the receiver, you mentioned him at any opportunity during games that didn't even peripherally involve the Green Bay Packers, and I'm willing to guess that if he requested such a thing, you would all slaughter your own mothers in Brett Favre's name and follow it up by picking the dingleberries from his ass hair with your teeth, just to praise the glory of Favre. That's cool, though. You're sports media people, and that sort of thing is in your blood.

But now, there's this whole damn "Titletown USA" thing.

Look, I hate to say this, being a Chicago Bears fan and all, but just because the Packers are having such a nasty breakup with your boy, (editor's note: Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha) it doesn't mean you get to reassign the goddamn name "Titletown USA." Green Bay, Wisconsin is, was, has been, and always will be Titletown USA. They came up with the fucking term. It's even on the official city seal:What's next? Are you going to reassign "The Windy City" to New Orleans because of the damn hurricane? Is Chelan, Washington going to be the new "Big Apple," on account of their delicious apples? And seriously, Valdosta? What? What do they have? A Wal-Mart? You're seriously giving it to them based on high school football? Where you can be guaranteed at least seven wins by scheduling all the local division negative-five-A schools where the offensive tackles weigh 127 pounds and the home field is mostly dead grass and dirt? And a Division II college team? Shit. All wining titles against seminaries and dental schools. Hell, I could beat Valdosta State. Just get me a baseball bat and a reason. It's like they picked the lowliest goddamn place in the competition, just to fully express how butthurt they were at the Packers or something. Seriously, ESPN, this whole thing was a farce.




The Packers still suck, though.

Sunday, July 27, 2008

The air in my apartment...

It is in such a condition right now.

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

The joys of vehicle maintenance

You know what this is? It's my old fuel filter, from my car.

You know what that little red spot on it is?

Why, it's the same thing that's on this screw driver...

Just behind my driver's side headlight...

And here, on my bumper.

It's my old HUMAN BLOOD, from my BODY.

Meanwhile, here's the real bummer:

Ouch. Oh well.

Represent.

Sunday, July 13, 2008

Oh man, I'm on Ebay

I decided I'd like to buy some stupid shit sometime soon, and to eliminate the practical impact such purchases would have, I'll sell some of my previous stupid shit. Most of it is going to consist of football cards that will sell at heart-breakingly low prices, but I decided to start things off with the big daddy of them all, which probably won't sell at all.

But here you go. And yes, I do feel like such a hack for that "A must-have for any true fan!" crap.

It's that crazy-rare Metallica CD I retardedly found for $8 at Hastings a while back, and if it goes for my outrageous asking price, (which is actually about the same as what I've seen it go for at auction in the past) I'll be really close to my $110 goal, which is what I'm assuming autographed cards of Devin Hester and Brian Urlacher will cost. But hey, if I'm gonna chase the dragon, I might as well not dip into my paycheck to do it. The Urlacher/Hester Autograph Ebay Telethon has begun~

UPDATE: Oh snap. SOLD. Now, hopefully the payment/shipping types things will go smoothly. Stupid forgetting about international folks.

Tuesday, July 08, 2008

Tub Cat

Is fooling no one.

Crate Cat.

Is in a crate.

Saturday, July 05, 2008

Sunday, June 29, 2008

Five movies I've watched lately

Well, gotta update this thing somehow...

1. There Will Be Blood (2007)
You've probably heard of this one, seeing as it was like one of the hugest movies lately. Anyway, Daniel Day Lewis turns in the greatest performance of his or anyone else's career as an old-school oil baron, with the movie chronicling his story from rags to riches and from eccentirc, ruthless ambition to batshit, slap-fucking-craziness. I can see why this one won a bunch of awards, but seriously, it could have used some editing here and there. Scenes that could have wrapped up in one minute take five, and I swear, I think the first twenty minutes of the movie didn't have a single spoken word. But there are enough high points to make this a good movie that drags in places, as opposed to a three-hour shitfest, and it probably has the greatest ending scene of any movie ever. I won't spoil it for you, but if you've watched television, been around people who sometimes watch movies, or have the internet (safe assumption there), chances are pretty good that it's already been spoiled. Seriously, I think the only reason I sat through The Thin Red Line a long time ago was in the faint hope that it would have an ending like that. Overall, this was worth the time, I suppose.

2. Still Crazy (1998)
This is one my special ladyfriend picked out, based mainly on Billy Connelly being prominently featured on the cover, and the fact that Billy Connelly is awesome. Anyway, it's a movie about a British rock band from the 70s trying to wage a comeback, and everything seemed to indicate that it was going to be some crazy-ass Spinal Tap sorta thing, with good times had by all. In reality, it was like a half-assed drama with Tap-esque moments here and there, but not enough to keep it from just sort of plodding along, being generally uninteresting most of the time. And it had some problems, like the ending not exactly being everything it should have been, (Like instead of the happy ending where everyone gets redeemed, one particular character just sort of goes out like a little bullshit man) and the big romantic subplot of the movie just gets suddenly dropped with no resolution or even further mention, like a World Championship Wrestling storyline from 2001. Also, Billy Connelly is a background character at best. The movie should have just been 90 minutes of him doing zany shit. All movies should be that. But yeah, could have lived without seeing this one.

3. Reefer Madness (1936)
Oh man. Here's what I learned from this movie:
  • If you smoke weed, you will be popular, and chicks will want to bone you.
  • Everyone in the 1930s could not only play the piano, but they could all also play it at a virtuoso level.
  • Weed is a narcotic more powerful, deadly, and addictive than cocaine or heroin.
  • Weed will make you drive at breakneck speeds as high as 45 miles an hour, run over old dudes in cold blood, and not give a fuck.
  • If you smoke "marihuana," you will go immediately and permanently insane enough to club a dude to death with cast-iron fireplace implements.
  • It's really fun to say the word "education" like "ed-JOO-KAY-shun," all proper-like.
  • Weed will make you carve up entire families and jump out of windows.
  • Prim, proper people of the 1930s shunned marijauna, drank tea, played tennis, and SMOKED LIKE CHIMNEYS.
Best movie ever.

4. RAMBO (2008)
Rambo. Maaaaaaaan. Rambo. Holy crap, Rambo. Raaaaambooooooo. This is the kind of movie that never gets made anymore, because Hollywood no longer understands us. Somewhere along the line, someone saw how good Full Metal Jacket and Platoon were, and figured that from now on, every movie about a war needed to be like that. You know, the whole "hey guys, sometimes we need to stop and think that the 'good guys' sometimes might really be the bad guys, and that what we think are the 'bad guys' are really the good guys after all, and how we need to rethink our whole philosophy, and blah blah blah think blah, really makes you think" line of bullshit. If we wanted to think and be reminded of how horrible we are by association to war-related things, we'd stay home and watch the news. Sometimes, when you see a movie with someone getting their war on, you don't want to be lectured to or preached at. You want your good guys to be badasses and your bad guys to unspeakably evil and not worthy of any real sympathy, and just there as someone to be slaughtered by the good guys in the name of righteousness. The result of a movie like this is something called "fun," and an actual escape from all the things people go to movies to actually, you know... escape from. This is why Lions for Lambs bombed and Rambo destroyed a whole city block with its awesomeness. But anyway, enough half-retarded OPINIONZ 4 U, and on to the actual movie.
Some dudes are evil, and Rambo and his crack team of mercenaries destroy their entire being. That's all you need to know. That's all anyone ever needs to know. Rambo shoots people in the face with arrows, rips their throats out, slices their guts out, and basically machineguns one dude into liquid. Motion pictures were invented in the hope that a movie like this could one day be made.

5. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (2008)
Without getting into things too much, because I'm sick of typing, don't listen to all the stunted man-children who tell you this movie is not rad. Indiana Jones gets in crazy situations and wisecracks his way out of them. Snakes become involved. Adventures beyond your wildest imagination are had. There are ancient tombs with traps in them. Indy fights a big ol' dude who dies horribly. And the kid from Transformers somehow doesn't screw the movie up. This movie is, in fact, rad. Hella-rad, I might even go so far as to say. So there.

2008 Chicago Bears Season Preview

Thursday, June 05, 2008

NORMAN BUBBLE~

I still curse Rex Grossman, though.

God is coming to kill me again

With my last breath, I curse Rex Grossman.

Monday, June 02, 2008

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, PEOPLE

You scan the item.
Then, a screen comes up telling you to put it in the bag.
Then, you put it in the bag.
Then, you scan another item, and the process repeats itself.

YOU DO NOT SCAN THE ITEM, HOLD IT LOOKING DUMBFOUNDED WHILE THE SCREEN TELLING YOU TO PUT IT IN THE BAG SHOWS UP, WAIT FOR IT TO GO AWAY, GIVE UP AND PRESS "SKIP BAGGING," THEN PUT IT IN THE BAG, WHICH LOCKS THE MACHINE UP AND MAKES A CASHIER HAVE TO COME AND BAIL YOU OUT. YOU ALSO DO NOT DO THIS WITH EVERY SINGLE THING YOU SCAN.

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, PEOPLE

Monday, May 26, 2008

In lieu of an update, here's the SONG OF THE DAY

Dethklok - "Duncan Hills Coffee Jingle"



Do You Folks Like Coffee?
Real Coffee,
From the Hills Of Colombia?

The Duncan Hills awake you
From A Thousand Deaths.
A Cup Of blackened Blood.
(Die, Die)
You're Dying For A Cup.

Guatemala Blend,
Ethiopian,
French Vanilla Roast.
(Die, Die)
You're Dying For A Cup.

Prepare For Ultimate Flavor!
You're Gonna Get Some... now
And Scream... For Your Cream

Duncan Hills,
Duncan Hills,
Duncan Hills Coffee.

Friday, May 02, 2008

Tub Cat

Is possessed by the devil.

What the hail?

Just thought I'd share the latest retarded Oklahoma weather. Basically, this is what just happened:


So now, this stuff is everywhere:

Fun times. My car made it out okay, though, and that's what really matters. Screw everyone else and their cars and lives and stuff.

Monday, April 28, 2008

Tub Cat

Is in the tub.

Wednesday, April 09, 2008

TEN THINGS THAT WILL BE ILLEGAL WHEN AM I KING: PART ONE

Introduction: This is a thing I was really planning on doing a Random Shit about, but never could bring myself to type out a whole long thing, so I figured I'd do it in installments here. So what that means is that it'll eventually get abandoned when I move on to bigger and better things, so just smile, nod, and enjoy the five-to-seven of these that I actually bother to type up.

FIRST: THE FORD MUSTANG.

This showed up on Google Image Search with he word "douche" under it, so I knew it was the picture to use.

THE REASON:
In case some of you had forgotten, on the eleventh of September in the year 2001, America suffered the largest attack on American soil in over fifty years, in a tragedy where 2,974 people lost their lives. In the years that have followed, new government agencies have been formed, wars have been fought, and entire ways of thinking have been changed in the hopes of preventing something like that from ever happening again. Meanwhile, the very next year, (2002, if you didn't know that) the number of highway fatalities in the United States reached the staggering number of 17,419 deaths, which is nearly six times the number of dead in the 9/11 attacks. And after careful scientific research of my own design, which has consisted mostly of driving around from place to place when I need to get some oatmeal or ham or something, I have determined to within a margin of error of 0.015% that every single one of these tragic deaths was caused by someone driving a Ford Mustang. It's simple a proven fact: Mustang drivers speed, they pull out in front of you in the rain, they make right turns from the left lane, they try to pass you ten feet before a stop sign, and chances are pretty good that they even hate freedom. Every day my life is subject to deadly danger at the hands of kids in these 3,500 pound death-missiles, who only seem to be driving for someone else's benefit; that is, Cody or Tyler or whatever yuppie-ass name the guy has probably figures that Amber or Skyler or whoever will be a lot more likely to put out if he just makes sure to bring her within a hair's-breadth of fiery incredible death at least once over the course of the night. Makes no sense, but it's true. If you doubt my research, go driving in a moderately-sized city on the days of Friday or Saturday after 5:00 PM. If you never have to stomp on the breaks or swerve to another lane to avoid a collision with a Mustang, it means one of two things: Either you forgot to swerve or stomp the brakes and were actually involved in an accident with one, or you're just a god-damnable liar. So the point I'm trying to make here stands, and will stand under any sort of scrutiny:

The Ford Mustang automobile is a greater threat to the safety of the nation than Islamic terrorists could ever hope to be.

And that, gentle reader, is why the Ford Mustang will be made illegal when I am king. What's that, you say? Mustang-drivery is merely the symptom of a larger problem, and the car itself is not to blame? Well, the act of baby stabbing is merely the symptom of a larger problem, yet baby-knives are still illegal, last time I checked. My logic is flawless. So yeah, the Mustang was a cool car in some ways, and I guess it had a good run there for a while, but I'm sorry, it's time for it to go.

THE PUNISHMENT:
From now on, in addition to having their chests forever marked with a damning letter M, (for Mustang) all current Mustang drivers will now be forced to drive one of these:

Well, unless it's a gay Mustang driver, in which case I'll give them some naked lady mud flaps or something.
My word is law, and I have spoken, for I am The King.

NEXT TIME: Mohawks on small children.

Tuesday, April 08, 2008

THE DEVIL IS EVERYWHERE

This fell on my foot when I came in from checking the mail earlier. I think it might have already been dead when it happened, but I wasn't sure.

So I made sure. Stupid nature.

Sunday, March 30, 2008

I have neglected this stuff lately

So here is a precious gift:

~HAPPY CHAIR~

Saturday, March 01, 2008

LANCE BRIGGS

YAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

POSTSEASONPOSTMORTEM #4 - CUE-BEES

Aw, Christ.

REX GROSSMAN - Well, like I said the last time I updated this thing in early 1997, quarterbacks coach Pep Hamilton was brought in to bring consistency to Rex's play, so rather than having a few amazing games and a bunch of spine-curdlingly horrible ones, he just had a bunch of bad ones and ended up getting benched after a few games. This led to the Brian Griese era, which I'll get to in a minute. But anyway, some stuff ended up happening involving injured guys (I'm sensing a pattern here after a few years of typing things like this) Rex came back, and really wasn't too horrible for the few games he played before he got hurt (again), and as a result, he got a fat new one-year deal to make me grow hair for the sole purpose of growing it out for one more season. Don't you people see what he's doing? He didn't suck for those few games on purpose. He's like the Chicago Bear version of Kyle Boller, where he's horrible, but does just good enough to not go to a different team, just so he can keep infuriating you. Can't you see this!? He's evil. I think the only way to finally get rid of him would involve decapitating him and burying him in the soil under the house he was born in.

BRIAN GRIESE - This guy... He's like the most nondescript player in the NFL. He's not really that good, but he's not really that bad, either. He even looks like just some dude, too. Like he'd be the guy you see in Wal Mart with a tie and some slacks on, all shaking the hand really hard of some dude he just bumped into that he knew or something. Actually, now that I think about him, that makes him the Perfect Chicago Bears Mediocre Quarterback. Think about it. Jim Harbaugh? Half-decent nondescript white dude. Jim Miller? Half-decent nondescript white dude. When they stray from that formula, bad things tend to happen. Cade McNown? Asshole, sucked. Kordell Stewart? Black guy, sucked. Craig Krenzel? Googly-eyed psycho, sucked. Grossman? Fratboy looking dude, sucked. When they stray from the nondescript white guy formula, bad things happen. Unless you consider that Mike Tomczak and Jonathan Quinn were both nondescript white guys who were horrible, and Sid Luckman was like the Century's Greatest Jewish Athlete or whatever, then it kinda shoots my theory out of the water. Huh. Well, I didn't say it was a fully-formed theory. But yeah, Brian Griese wasn't good enough to be happy about, but not shitty enough to get mad about. Which was an improvement, actually.

KYLE ORTON - This guy just couldn't catch a break over the last couple years. After winning ten games as a rookie starter, they went out and signed a new backup (Griese) in 2006. And in 2007, after both Grossman and Griese kind of screwed the pooch, and the Bears were left in "well, this year's over, let's see what we have for next year" mode, it took Rex Grossman blowing up his knee for him to get any playing time. And when he got to play, he followed one godawful game with some actual decent play in those two games the Bears won to screw up their draft position. So now, we finally get what we've wanted for years, which is an actual quarterback competition, rather than more press conferences with Lovie Smith telling us how "Rex is my quarterback" and how they "go with the players who give us the best chance to win," even though they had just used the same players all year, who had sucked all year. But yeah, Kyle Orton doesn't seem to be much more than the next great Mediocre Nondescript White Guy, but at least that would be better than what's been going on lately. Hell, if he can stabilize the quarterback position next year, I might almost forgive him for looking like he's one "corduroy jacket over faded T-shirt and ripped jeans" ensemble away from being the dude who uses the word "broseph" in a non-ironic manner and constantly tells you that you need to check out the new Flaming Lips CD, because he "heard you liked to rock out."
Huh. Maybe that's what needs to happen. They've already got the neckbearded hipster in Orton and the preppy date-rape king looking dude in Grossman. Maybe they should cut Griese and find a QB in the draft with a military haircut and a tribal tattoo somewhere, put an Affliction T-shirt on him, and then make him work the word "bro" into every sentence and the phrase "I train MMA" into every paragraph. They'd still probably suck at the quarterback position, but then, they'd complete the perfect Trifecta of Fratboy Faggotry. Worth a try, I suppose.

But yeah, given the alternatives, in 2008, more than ever:
(and for the record, I've actually figured out a way to sell the above bootlegged t-shirt, so stay tuned for that, if you're into that sort of thing...)