I continue to fail you on a daily basis. The fucking holidays and a German trade show are killing me. So in place of my usual impeccable opinions I will simply recycle something I just saw on another site. I’m not even original. Are you starting to understand why blogs suck yet?
I loved ALF when it originally aired. It had to be one of the most fucked up shows ever green-lighted for television. Anyway, here’s seven minutes of ALF outtakes featuring a foul-mouthed puppet doing cocaine and using the N-word while pretending to have Tourette syndrome. And you thought it wasn’t a good show.
If you are one of the tragic gentlemen who choose this horrifying fashion accessory but do not know what vibe you are giving off, consider this… while searching for photos of men wearing choker necklaces I was only able to find photos of shirtless man-boys. I shouldn’t have to say anything else, but I will.
Lest ye think I am calling you and your little leather noodle gay, think again, I am calling you douchey. Even the most fabulous gay cage dancer could not pull this look off.
It is curious that every photo I found to illustrate my point ended up being so homoerotic because I normally associate these chokers with suburban IT guys who suffer from premature balding. They troubleshoot your Microsoft Office issues by day and play in Puddle of Mudd cover bands by night. They drink Miller Vortex and they have strong opinions about Battlestar Galactica.
Either that or they are super gay, I can’t tell the difference anymore.
Am I a bad person for fantasizing about punching these tiny turds (girls included) square in the face? It seems like maybe that’s wrong somehow.
The basic premise is “music sung by kids, for kids,” but why? If you want your kids to listen to shitty music why not just let them listen to the original shitty versions? I PROMISE you Train’s version of “Hey Soul Sister” is adequately filled with shit and gains nothing by being performed by shitty theater brats with shit-eating grins on their shitty faces. SHIT! Just think of the sound of all their little teeth hitting the floor.
Here’s an idea… let your kids listen to real music! This is your opportunity as a parent to cram some good taste down their throats. Kids, or kidz, can comprehend and enjoy music sung by adults. Listening to Kidz Bop is like taking your child to a 9-year-old dentist.
On a side note, while researching Kidz Bop (PAINFUL) I discovered these hair-dos. Maybe they are famous? Stereo Skyline, anyone? I am speechless.
So there’s no post today but it’s not my fault. Last night was my office Christmas party and I’m surprised I’m even alive. I’m pretty sure I got someone pregnant last night but I don’t know if it was Janet from accounting or Keith the IT guy. Let’s just sum up the night with a list of things I witnessed with my own eyes… a woman throwing up into her own lap, a tow truck, a small electrical fire, 5 breasts, 1 penis (not including my own), my boss’s daughter forcing me to watch her strip totally nude in the bathroom, shoplifting, public urination, a man eat an entire XL pizza in under 7 minutes and a dog wearing pants.
Also, none of that is true, except the boss’s daughter stripping in the bathroom, that really happened but it was 12 years ago. Honestly, I was just too tired last night to write. My office party is Friday but I work with 3 people so the chance of crazy antics is low. I am sorry.
If you have to declare a sad little space in your basement as your “man” space, are you really much of a man? Do you even deserve a cave? How about this… the whole house is my God damn cave, deal with it Carol!
I know you had high hopes when you bought the poker table and the neon Miller Lite sign but I’m willing to bet you have never used that table for anything other than folding shirts. You hung your guitars on the wall dreaming of late night jam sessions with drunken bros but sadly most of your pals are simply too tired at the end of the day to come hang out in your dank basement and play Counting Crows songs. Your Xbox and Playstation sit under a layer of dust, your bar stays un-stocked and the fulfillment of your dreams remains hollow, just like the life-sized Stormtrooper costume that stands in the corner with a Jimmy Buffett hat on its head… watching you… judging you… feeling sorry for you. WHAT DID YOU EVER DO THAT’S SO GREAT WITH YOUR LIFE, STORMTOOPER?!? Fuck you Stormtooper!
It’s bad enough that I spend half my day reading and writing stupid emails when I could be using that time to lie face down on the floor waiting for death, but I have to come up with appropriate titles for my little miniature novels too? Why is modern society so God-awful?
I mean what the fuck subject am I supposed to use when sending an email with bad news, for example? I don’t want to blow my wad and give all the juicy details away with a subject like “Accidentally killed a hobo today. Prob going to jail” but I also need to subtly warn the recipient that this is not your average hilarious email with a link to a rollerbladerfalling off a roof.
On the other hand, I can’t be too casual and write a subject that is overly optimistic, like “Hey” or “Guess what” and then whack them with the bad news of my hobo manslaughter in the body of the email.
I’m left with few options and feel obligated to go with something like “Today sucked” or “Hobo news.”
And I refuse to leave the subject blank, that’s the quitter’s way out! I don’t want to be stuck in some back and forth email exchange with my mom about hobo murder, and have “re: re: re: re: re: re: re:” staring back at me. I simply don’t think that honors the life of Flapjack Pete.
Hey building, thanks for making me look like a dick every time I try to go into you. Here’s an idea, you’ve got two doors, keep them BOTH fucking unlocked! You’re an asshole, building.
What is the point of this little game of cat and mouse? Are you trying to appeal to the gambler in all of us? Should a bolt of adrenaline rush through my body as I approach your precious doors, not knowing if I will be allowed to enter the promised land or be left tugging an immovable door like some big dumb idiot? Perhaps if you actually rewarded me with money when I am lucky enough to choose the correct door I would be more excited about your dumb little game of chance. It’s like you are the older kid sitting on my chest, beating me with my own hands while saying “Stop hitting yourself, why are you hitting yourself?”
Stop fucking with me, building, I just want to go see my dentist without looking like a jerkwad.
Sorry I have been absent for a couple days, I have been helping a friend get through something difficult and I just haven’t felt motivated to complain about assholes like the Kardashians. I will be back Monday.
