God is coming to kill me again

With my last breath, I curse Rex Grossman.

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

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.

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.

Tub Cat

Is in the tub.

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.

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.

I have neglected this stuff lately

So here is a precious gift:

~HAPPY CHAIR~

LANCE BRIGGS

YAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

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...)

Where Strides the Behemoth

R.I.P. Old, Shitty Chair

You were a good shitty old chair.

So, tax refunds

Computer's paid off, excess Christmas-type credit card bills are gone, and I just bought the only Matt Toeaina rookie card off Ebay for three dollars. Life is good.

POSTSEASONPOSTMORTEM #3 - NEW COACHES AND DRAFTEES

COACHING CHANGES
This is the part where it's hardest to remember and/or look up what happened with who. So you better appreciate this part, goddammit. And I can't find a definitive list, so I'm just going down the list of guys that the Bears website says joined the team in 2007.

DEFENSIVE COORDINATOR - Bob Babich - The biggest news was Ron Rivera heading off to do whatever in San Diego, with this guy, one of Lovie's old homeys from way back, taking his place. And the biggest complaint with Rivera was that his "bend, but don't break" philosophy gave up a lot of yards and put the Bears in a lot of bad situations. In the first week or so of the season, Babich had a much different philosophy, which was more along the lines of "BLITZ THEM! BREAK THEM! CRUSH THEM ALL! THEIR WOMEN SHALL BE OURS! THEIR CITIES SHALL BE AS DUST! FLESH! MORE FLESH FOR THE FIRE!" Which was then followed by an assistant coach frantically running up and telling him that Mike Brown and Dusty Dvoracek were injured, followed by him going "oh snap, maybe we should try bending, but not breaking," which was later followed another assistant notifying him that all the Bears' defensive players capable of only bending were on injured reserve, and with just easily-broken dudes out there, all hope was gone. At least I think that's how it went.
QUARTERBACKS COACH - Pep Hamilton - Apparently, his main task was going to be to help "bring consistency to the quarterback position." And hey, mission accomplished. Instead of the Sex Cannon having a few superlative games and a few godawful ones, he was just consistently bad all year. So he did his job well. Aside from that, all he managed to do was to bring shame and dishonor to the traditional African name "Pep."
OFFENSIVE LINE ASSISTANT - Luke Butkus - Hey, that's Dick Butkus's kid. Or grandkid. Or something. Who knows. But she sure did assist in a whole lot of the coaching of unblocking, that's for sure.
OFFENSIVE QUALITY CONTROL - Charles London - I think the thought of the Bears having an "offensive quality control" guy is something that could only happen as like a joke or a snide comment or something. But yeah, controlling something that doesn't exist had to have been an easy job.
DEFENSIVE LINE COACH - Brick Haley - Holy shit, I think they only hired this guy to overcompensate for having a dude named Pep on the team. That's the best name ever. I think I'm going to register to vote, just so I can write in "Brick Haley" for every governmental position. That's like the name of a guy who would parachute in with nothing more than a knife and a canteen and then slaughter the entire Viet Cong army. The name of a man who wouldn't wait until you were finished talking to slap the shit out of you. Wow.
LINEBACKERS COACH - Hardy Nickerson - THIS IS HARDY NICKERSON'S SHOE, MAN! BAAAAD THINGS, MAN!

THE DRAFT
Aw, hell.

Round 1, Pick 31 - Greg Olsen, TE, Miami - The Bears did Jerry Angelo's "we draft to our strengths" thing, and picked a guy they pretty much didn't need with Desmond Clark still around. Still, I suppose it worked out okay, because he seemed fully capable of turning into Jeremy Shockey, except a lot faster and without being as bad a blocker or as big an asshole as Jeremy Shockey.
Round 2, Pick 62 - Dan Bazuin, DE, Central Michigan - Another one of Angelo's annoying little things is his "look how smart I am for picking someone no one would have drafted at all in the second round!" strategy. Sure, Danieal Manning hasn't been completely embarrassing, but that crapshoot seems to have failed this time around, taking a bad player at a position the team was already three deep at. In fact, I'm pretty sure the fact that being on injured reserve freed up his roster spot is the only reason this dude didn't get cut in the preseason. Unless he's put on twenty pounds and learned how to play football against dudes who didn't get turned down by real colleges during his down time, he might be screwed in 2008.
Round 3, Pick 93 - Garrett Wolfe, RB, Northern Illinois - Another possible reach from a school that has to have a direction in its name, so people will know where it is. But despite the dude being five-foot-nothing and about 68 pounds, I honestly don't think this one was too bad. A little speedy quick dude with wide receiver hands is always useful, especially when you need a change of pace from your starting running back, who's supposed to be a big, bruising dude. But until a lot of coaches get fired, I don't see him doing much. Why? Because this is what we see when we look at Garrett Wolfe:

But this is what offensive coordinator Ron Turner sees when he looks at Garrett Wolfe:


I think what I'm trying to say here is AAARRGGGH WHYWOULDYOURUNA175POUNDRUNNINGBACKUPTHEMIDDLEON3RDAND7 AAAAARRRGGGGHHHHHHHH. Or something.
Round 3, Pick 94 - Michael Okwo, LB, Stanford - Well, with Lance Briggs's future as a Bear uncertain, of course you would draft a linebacker to replace him. Well, unless you had already drafted Jamar Williams to do that a year before. Oops.
Round 4, Pick 130 - Josh Beekman, OG, Boston College - Here's another real winner. This guy couldn't get a single snap of playing time as a backup behind what was one of the worst offensive lines in the league even before everyone started getting injured. In fact, by the end of the year, he was no longer a backup guard and was called a backup center instead. And in case you didn't know, no one has backup centers in the NFL. They just hope nothing happens to the starter and throw a guard in there when something does. Josh Beekman had an imaginary position this year. And I'm guessing he won't be back next year.
Round 5, Pick 167 - Kevin Payne, S, UL-Monroe - Hey, he was actually pretty good. Until he remembered he was a Chicago safety and got injured. Dammit.
Round 5, Pick 168 - Corey Graham, CB, New Hampshire - I honestly don't remember a thing about Corey Graham. He's a nice enough fellow, I'm sure.
Round 7, Pick 221 - Trumaine McBride, CB, Mississippi - Hey, he wasn't bad, either. Hell, he even jumped ahead of Ricky Manning Jr. and started most of the year after Nathan Vasher went down. I mean, he didn't exactly set the world on fire with his amazing pass coverage, but he's got a future.
Round 7, Pick 241 - Aaron Brant, OT, Iowa State - Hell, I dunno, practice squad?

NEXT TIME: QUARTERBACKS! Oh... Oh god...

HEEEEEEE-HEHEHEHEHEHE

FUKK U, PATRIOTS

Dear Pro Football Hall of Fame

You are dead to me, Pro Football Hall of Fame. Dead. Deader than Patriots quarterbacks were after Richard Dent sacked them one and a half times in Super Bowl XX.

You dead, dog.

You want a war?

You got it, motherfuckers.

PATRIOTS LOL

How did any of those other stupid teams ever lose to these dorks?

RANDOM SHIT: Let's talk about dinosaurs.

"There's no way to shorten Deinonychus into something as sleek, sexy, and marketable as "raptor." Seriously, could you see anyone going to a basketball game played by the Toronto Nychuses?"

READ MORE HERE

BEARS POST-SEASON POST-MORTEM - PT. 2 - OFFSEASON MOVES

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

BEARS POST-SEASON POST-MORTEM - INTRO

Well, the football season is over now. What? There's still the playoffs left? Are you kidding me? Playoffs!? Child's play for fools is what that is. That's nothing but some middle-aged pill-freak and Peyton Manning's retarded brother competing to be the one that will fight against all odds to maybe come within ten points of respectability against a team coached by a homeless guy and quarterbacked by a man who carries a purse. That's not what football is about. Football is about pain, suffering, hopelessness, and wondering why the hell you spent seventy bucks on a shirt with tiny little holes in it. Football is about expressing impotent rage against millionaires who will never know your name. Football is about completely over analyzing things, but to such an extent that you can't feel superior to those stupid goddamn nerd baseball fans, who keep up with who has the most left-handed home runs on a cloudy day in September off a certain pitcher when his hat is crooked. Football is about despairing over what went wrong and holding on to hope that it can be fixed, even though you know deep down in your soul that they'll just resign Rex Grossman. That's what football is about.

Especially Bears football.

For this is a team that's gone twenty-two years without a championship and roughly fifty-eight years without a real franchise quarterback, and a team that's looking damn near ready for a complete blow-up and rebuild just one year separated from a Super Bowl appearance. And with all this bitterness and bile built up, it's time to take a long look at just what went wrong in 2007. And Unlike the Preseasonseasonpreview thing, I'll probably actually finish this one, because there's a looooong way to go before actual football happens again.
Stupid Bears. Stupid life.

Coming up first: THE OFFSEASON MOVES~

I am not satisfied until I have the world's strongest title again!

And this shall be my plane

Don't think of it as losing a pair of pants

Think of it as gaining a pair of shorts~



Also, here is a cat.

Sarting the new year off right

I just had a dream where someone told me that Thomas Jones had decided to retire, causing me to actually go, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO," like Darth Vader.

Satan laughing spreads his wings

I'm dreaming of a white day after Christmas

Stupid nature.

This will be my cat someday.

ICE STORM OF THE CENTURY OF THE DAY, PART NINE

Well, I'm still without power, so I'm still having to stay across town, where it's all warm and electrical. I saw OG&E trucks about a block away from my place, so that's a good sign for tomorrow, but apparently, a whole new round of stormy crap is moving in pretty soon, so I could easily fall into that "7-10 days" area. Also, the dude on the radio, some places won't have power until after Christmas, and with my luck, that'll be me. Fun.
In other fun news, I decided to buy a half gallon of milk today, only to discover that they already had an identical one over here. D'oh. Also, decided to go against common sense and buy a pack of football cards while I was there, and I lucked out and got an "event-used football" card that's numbered out of 62, (as in only 62 of that card exist on Earth) which is really nice. On the other hand, it's a card of Robert Meachem, so it's probably effectively worthless. D'oh again.
But oh yeah, I found wires while I was at home, so here's that ICY DEVASTATION~! I mentioned yesterday:


This was the view right outside my front door yesterday. I have a strange feeling that this isn't safe.


Here's the neighbor's backyard, demonstrating probably the only good thing about not having a backyard.


Here's a tree that tried to fall on my car.


If I had a real camera, you'd see the park across the street covered in downed tree limbs.


Oooh.


Here's a tree that's currently trying to fall on where my car's usually parked.


And here's my lucky-to-be-alive car. Not only because of trees, but because of the retarded drivers around here, too. When a traffic light is out, you're supposed to treat it like a four-way stop sign. Around here, it's viewed as "wheeeee, green light!" And when the cops have the foresight to stick one of those temporary four-way stop signs in the intersection, they treat those as "wheeee, green light!"


More icy devastation from right outside my door.


Here's the view down Main Street, taken from a moving car, because I am DANGER MAN.


If I wasn't damn near dropping my camera while scrambling to take a picture at a stop sign while the "low battery" warning was blinking, you'd see that this street is entirely blocked off.


School's out, bitches.

Also, since I have the camera hooked up, here is a completely unrelated picture from like a year ago of Scooter taking a bath:


And here's my cat under a blanket, possibly to shield her from where my camera's flash has turned the fish tank behind her into DEADLY MAGMA:

Mitch Hedberg Boredom Haiku

Frozen banana?
No thank you, I don't want one
Regular later

Tight rope walking friend
Falls down and hits the sidewalk
Unacceptable

Not a cheese grater
That is its positive name
Tiny bits of sponge

Fed Ex truck driver
Drug dealer, does not know it
And always on time

Entrance of Target
People splattered all around
I am practicing

Cute infestation
Koala bears in my home
I'll feed you a leaf

Look at limes floating
Saved by citrus buoyancy
This shit's tropical

Can't eat juggler's fruit
That he only has three of
For practice routine

Injured, death metal
Becomes a capella band
Exiting pawn shop

Bush, party of three
Can eat when Dufrenes are found
Search party of three

Chicago Bears Haiku Sadness

Oh god, Rex Grossman
A human fumble machine
When does the pain stop?

Remember Ditka?
Maybe Lovie needs a 'stache.
That is the answer

On the other hand
There was also Dave Wannstedt
Mustache of evil

Ayanbadejo
Israel Idonije
Unpronounceable

Chicago Bears fans
Love slow, white wide receivers
But Kozlowski sucked.

Fuck Archuleta
Seriously, fuck that guy
The Redskins were right.

Devin Hester rules
Too bad he's our entire offense
Four touches per game.

Give me a B! E!
An N! An S! An O! N!
What's that spell? Failure.

Oh, Brian Griese
He'll never be like his dad
But he tries real hard

Orton's the man now
Weak arm? 70 rating?
Yup, he'll fit right in.

I Was Hoping They'd Do This in 2006, for the Record

But could our long national nightmare finally be over again?

The weather outside is frightful

Or at least it was a day or so ago. But I'm still without power, and the OG&E guy on the radio said it could be 7-10 days before everybody has theirs back, (apparently, the OKC and Tulsa areas have over 300,00 people down right now, which is some sort of state record) but as far as I can tell, I live in the only place in town without power, so maybe they'll hit my area soon, for the PR points of saying that all of Norman is back on. Eh, who knows. But for the time being, me, my cat, and my two fish are holed up at my brother's house, where we have to suffer such indignities as being forced to live with working heat, over a zillion TV channels on a TV as big as my car, and actually having enough room to turn 90 degrees without killing my shin on a retardedly-placed cinder block or dead computer from 2001.

But we'll make it somehow.

I actually managed to snap a few pictures of ICY DEVASTATION~! on my crappy little camera, but I didn't get very many, as three AAA batteries last approximately 45 seconds in that godforsaken thing. The sad part is that I wasn't really exaggerating much there. But as soon as I'm back in my fully-powered hovel again, I'll find the wire that connects the camera to the PC and throw some of those up, hopefully, in sooner than 7-10 days.

RANDOM SHIT: The Stages of Coping With a Scorpion Attack

BARGAINING:

"Please God, let this dead-ass scorpion not be yellowish, and I'll stop all that blasphemy I've been doing."

Read it all here.

MY ASS

IT HURTS~

Song of the Day, brought to you by Benadryl.

Scorpions - "Rock You Like a Hurricane"

Things are tough all over.

So yeah, about an hour or so ago, I was about to go to the store to get various food-type items, and it's in the upper 60s here, so I was kind of pumped that I'd get to wear shorts, instead of long pants. But you see, God didn't want me wearing shorts today. Because you see, God saw fit to put one of his many wondrous creatures in the shorts I had chosen to wear. And yeah.

I got stung in the ass by a fucking scorpion.

A quick consultation of the internet and an examination of the beast, who had been felled by a blow from the bottom of a plastic wastebasket, revealed that it wasn't the yellowish kind that'll kill you, (and I think you can actually find those in Oklahoma, so there was a decent amount of tension in the air when I went to compare the dead scorpion with the pictures I found) but even the reddish kind still hurts like hell. So here I am, with what's basically the bee sting to end all bee stings on my left cheek, concealed by an ice pack, because that's supposed to help break down the venom or whatever. In a little while, I shall go put on some different shorts (which will be shaken thoroughly beforehand) to go see if there's a non-drowsy form of Benadryl, not so much because I really need it as because I just found out that the bottle I already had expired in 2003.

Today's lesson is "fuck scorpions."

NOOOOOOOOO

R.I.P. Evel Knievel



He's breaking shit in heaven now.

DAILY STUPID

This is my knee:


Would you like to know how I did this?

SO WOULD I.

SONG OF THE DAY

Nine Pound Hammer - "Carl's Theme"

Yeah!

The pants that I wear wick the sweat from my balls,
I’m a South Jersey Mook, I’m the cock of the walk,
I don’t need no instructions to know how to rock!

"More Than a Feeling" is the worlds greatest song,
I crank it all day long, all over my block,
I don’t need no instructions to know how to rock!

Get the fuck out of my pool!

Exit 109, baby, that's where the skanks hang out,
They love my shiny dome and my nasty flip flops
I don’t need no instructions to know how to rock!

I don’t need no instructions to know how to rock!

Look here, I’ve been working since I was 8 years old,
And I won’t eat no more shag you hear that!
Yeah!

Yeah!

An open letter to the spider that decided to build a web directly across my front door while I was away

Fuck you.

Interesting development

I have noticed that in recent months, I have gained ten pounds, yet my waist is the same size, and my gut has actually gotten smaller.
Final diagnosis: I AM FUCKING HUGE, YEEEEAAAAHHHHHHHH

I have decided

That "Big Gun" by AC/DC, the Live Shit: Binge and Purge version of "Breadfan" by Metallica, and "Flash" by Queen are history's three greatest songs.







Discuss.

A Reminder

Of when professional wrestling was not yet gay:

Oh yeah, happy Halloween.

Here is a thing for you.

God damn you, trick or treaters

For heading over to the nicer neighborhoods instead of mine and forcing me to eat this bag of peanut butter cups.

THE CHICKEN IS NOT BURNING

IT IS NOT EVEN FULLY COOKED YET.

SO WHY IS MY OVEN BELCHING SMOKE.

also, how did my smoke alarm detect the smoke a good ten minutes before there was any actual smoke

also, it is cold, so opening the window sucks.

What is the cutest thing?

It is when I get out of the shower, and the cat starts licking my ankle to dry it off.

Huh.

After a trip this morning that lasted roughly an hour and fifteen minutes, I have valid insurance cards, the ticket for not having those is dismissed, and State Farm is sending me a check for $37.

Nice.

I just saw

A license plate with "404 NAW" on it. I'd like to believe it's the vanity plate of a webmaster.

Halfway there.

Put new bulbs in for the tag light, and they actually worked, despite my fears that the jury-rigged wiring my car has (which causes my high-mount brake light to come on when I turn on my headlights and makes my front parking lights come on when I hit the brakes) would say otherwise.
So now, I have to do two things: Go get some of those temporary paper insurance cards, which should take them maybe five minutes to do. After that, I have to head to the court that's pretty much within walking distance to tell them I really am insured, and with the way those things go, it should take me somewhere between ten minutes and ten hours. Probably do the latter half of that next Monday, if there's not a holiday I've forgotten about on that day. Getting the cards I can pretty much do whenever, except I think they might close at five, so probably tomorrow.

Then, my LEGAL TROUBLES~! will be over.

I have a very boring life.

Upon further review

After looking at the citations again with the benefit of not being freaked out, the actual ticket is for (and I forgot to mention this) my insurance card being expired, and the tag light one was just a warning. So if my car doesn't respond to a new bulb, I just have to try and not have a cop car directly behind me at night, and the only pressing issue is taking a couple hours to go get State Farm to print me out one of those temporary cards and then take it to the courthouse down the street before the 29th. So basically, I'm cool.

I'm still angry at Adrian Peterson, though.

Welp.

Well, the Bears lost somewhat embarrassingly today. And after the events of the last hour or so, my hand is all burned, and if my suspicions about my ghetto-ass car are correct, I'm probably going to have to spend a few hundred bucks that I don't have and won't have for a long, long time - if ever - to get my goddamn car rewired, so that I won't get a ticket for a non-working tag light. And I have to get this done within two days.

WHY DO YOU NEED A TAG LIGHT? THE TAG IS REFLECTIVE. THE CARS BEHIND YOU AT NIGHT HAVE HEADLIGHTS ON. AAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH.

So yeah, screw all y'all.

Daily stupid

Something seems wrong with my arm. There's no pain, no loss of range of motion, no stiffness, and if there's swelling, there's not enough for it to be blatantly noticeable. But something just seems WRONG with it. And only now do I realize:

I have forgotten what my right arm is supposed to look like.

CAPTAIN AMERICA

FUCK YEAH

G-R-I-E-S-E, Griese, Griese, Griese

FUCK YOU BRETT FAVRE, SUCK MY DICK

Me about ten seconds ago:

"Oh man. Another roach."

*squats down to get a closer look*

"Nope. Giant spider. AAAAARRRRGGGHHHHH"

On a positive note, maybe the giant spider will eat some roaches.

Daily stupid

So yeah, my apartment has roaches. Also, I smashed the living crap out of my left pinky toe a few weeks ago, and even though it stopped hurting after about three days, the toenail is still black from dried blood under it or whatever it is that makes your toenails turn black when you smash them.
So a minute ago, I feel something kind of brush against my foot, and I look down, immediately think "AAAARRRRGGHHHROACHONMYFOOT" and let out a sound kind of like that squeak Jerry Lawler makes when someone says something that's supposed to be shocking on an episode of Monday Night Raw, and flail my foot around madly in an attempt to try and shake the roach off, re-smashing my toe on the leg of my desk in the process.

And yeah, the "roach" was actually my toenail.