Some people question me. I get messages every week from people asking me where I am, if I'm still in Iraq. Hey, it's posted on my page people! Go ahead and check, right next to the picture of my ugly mug staring off into the distance like I've got some kind of deep thoughts going on. Yep, there it is "Baghdad, Iraq."
If that's not enough for you, feel free to read the "about me" section on my page. After all, that's what it's there for. I'm pretty sure there's something in there about being shanghied by the army and forced to come back to Iraq for the third time.
I'm also fairly certain that I've written about it in older Eighty-Four Glydes. But then, I can't blame people for not reading that mess.
"But Josh," you might be saying to yourself (which is dumb, because I'm on the other side of the planet and can't hear a word!) "If you're in Iraq as a soldier, how come you rarely, if at all, write about your trials and tribulations in a time of war? Surely you must be living the difficult soldier's life and it needs to be documented for all to read!"
Nuts to that, (deez nutz in fact.) There are hundreds, if not thousands of other servicemembers out here, (and in Afghanistan) doing the deployed-American-soldier-in-a-time-of-war-and-strife thing. It's been done. And most of it is pretty lame. That's how we end up with movies like Jarhead. Cause everybody thinks they've got a story to tell. And most of us don't. It's all so redundant. How many times can you read about somebody missing their friends and family members before you pass out from sheer boredom? (The answer is not very.)
But, I am not alone in this world. I do happen to have friends and family, (and people I'm trying to network with). And they all would like regular updates as to what I am doing here in Baghdad this time around. I don't blame them. I'm ridiculously entertaining.
So, to keep everybody informed, (I am a journalist, after all) I've been doing a bi-weekly newsletter for those in my life, called Iraqi Conversations. That's right, besides doing twice weekly Eighty-Four Glyde entries, (plus another blog that I do from time to time under an assumed identity) I also write a newsletter that I email to a rack of people whenever it suits me.
But it doesn't end there. Thanks to the efforts of my father, the Iraqi Conversations have all been gathered in one place, it's own site. That's right, the newsletters that were reserved for a few are now available to everybody! For free! You're welcome you ungrateful bastards!
Seriously though, if you want to know what I've been doing out here in Iraq, and for a little taste of something slightly different than the Eighty-Four Glyde you're used to, go ahead and check out:
http://darkblueworld.info/iraqiconversations/
The same wacky humor that you're used to, same great taste, but with a little more personal touch.
So, just to let people know, yes, I am in Iraq and here's proof. If you're jonesing for military reads go check out some other blog. Eighty-Four Glyde is for fun. No politics, no religion, no relationship advice and as few serious topics as possible. This is a place to come to when you want to relax and have a laugh. Not when you want to have deep conversations about the issues of the day. I leave that to the other bloggers.
Enjoy!
-Joshua
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Hot sheets: The life-saving diaper and it was the ride of her life
On the advice of a certain Eighty-Four Glyde reader who thinks I rely on the Associated Press too much for news stories, I’ve decided to find a couple of fresh-off-the-presses news stories from other sources. I also went international! I hope you’re happy you bunch of whiney complainers!
The first story was discovered on My Way News and occurred in the land of Badonkadonks itself, Brazil.
Eighteen-month-old Caua Felipe Massaneiro, possibly in an attempt to escape his awkward name, fell out of a third floor window. Don’t worry though! He lived. If you call being in Sao Paulo living, that is.
Here’s what happened: cute little pudgy baby Caua (and that’s pronounced how exactly?) was on his way to a messy, splattered death on the concrete 30 feet below the apartment he lived in when, like some kind of Loony Tunes cartoon, a spike protruding from the wall (where does this kid live, a medieval castle?) snagged his diaper, momentarily stopping his fatal plunge. And in case you were wondering, I’m sure that even if the diaper wasn’t full when he started the fall, it was by the time the spike caught him.
According to the story: the boy dangled from the spike for a moment, then "the diaper opened and the baby fell to the ground, but at a much slower speed," a police officer said. "The diaper obviously lessened the impact of the fall and saved the baby's life."
"It was a miracle," said the officer who declined to be identified because she was not authorized to speak to the press. "He could also have been killed by one of the spikes."
No shit Sherlock.
I don’t care how much slower the kid’s speed was, the fall had to hurt and it probably hurt a lot more cause he was naked and without the benefit of the extra padding of the diaper.
Of course, if there were any ironic justice in the world, the diaper would have then fallen off the spike and landed on little Caua’s head. That’d have been priceless!
You’re probably wondering where the parents were during all this, and how the kid managed to be on the wrong side of the window. Well, I’ll tell you.
The Folha de S. Paulo newspaper (also known as the Onion Booty Times) quoted Caua's father, 23-year-old Alexandre Cesar Massaneiro as saying that his son climbed onto a sofa underneath the window he fell from - "something he had never done before."
The kid had never done what before, fallen out of the apartment window? And how does climbing onto a couch under a window equate to falling out of said window? I’m not understanding the physics there. Was Alexandre the Genius just watching, in stupefied amazement, as his son climbed onto the couch?
This is why I advocate that all new parents be forced to attend a class on common sense, where they’ll learn: to never bring their loud, annoying brats to the movies, to hit their kids in public before a complete stranger does it for them (and much harder) and to keep their infants from falling out of windows.
***
The second story comes to us from Stockholm by way of Agence France Presse. And it makes me wonder about the future of humanity.
On Tuesday, a 78-year-old woman decided to hop a flight from Stockholm to Germany (to replenish her scheisser porn collection no doubt). Yet the intricacies of technology short-circuited her elderly, feeble mind and almost made her miss her flight.
Get this. “Misunderstanding instructions” the lady, (who’s never identified by name, probably to keep from getting emails from people congratulating her with FAIL pictures) got onto a luggage belt, instead of putting her bags on there like a normal person. That bitch has been watching too many Jetsons reruns. Perhaps, to her, the world has become a futuristic wonderland since her childhood in rural Sweden, and riding on luggage belts makes perfect sense. I honestly have no idea what she was thinking.
According to the story, Grandma Dumbass was “whisked down a baggage chute,” which means that she saw that the belt went down into the very bowels of the airport and decided to jump on anyway. Really, did she not see all the other luggage that was riding the belt with her? Did she wonder why everybody else was walking along well-lit hallways like they’re supposed to, while she was taking the express route to nowhere? I wonder how soon into her journey she realized her mistake. If at all.
You probably think I’m being unfair to this lady, but I disagree. After all, the story doesn’t mention anything about mental retardation or some other ailment old people suffer that would account for her actions. Nope, she’s just a regular person, only more intensely stupid. It’s not like you see 82-year-old comedian Jerry Lewis trying to go through airport security with a gun in his bag…..oh wait.
Those are the stories this week. Embrace them. Bring them into your life and into your home. Share a hot meal with them. Give them a back massage; they’ve had a hard week. Then, when next Sunday comes, get ready for more hilarity and examples of the depth of human stupidity.
The first story was discovered on My Way News and occurred in the land of Badonkadonks itself, Brazil.
Eighteen-month-old Caua Felipe Massaneiro, possibly in an attempt to escape his awkward name, fell out of a third floor window. Don’t worry though! He lived. If you call being in Sao Paulo living, that is.
Here’s what happened: cute little pudgy baby Caua (and that’s pronounced how exactly?) was on his way to a messy, splattered death on the concrete 30 feet below the apartment he lived in when, like some kind of Loony Tunes cartoon, a spike protruding from the wall (where does this kid live, a medieval castle?) snagged his diaper, momentarily stopping his fatal plunge. And in case you were wondering, I’m sure that even if the diaper wasn’t full when he started the fall, it was by the time the spike caught him.
According to the story: the boy dangled from the spike for a moment, then "the diaper opened and the baby fell to the ground, but at a much slower speed," a police officer said. "The diaper obviously lessened the impact of the fall and saved the baby's life."
"It was a miracle," said the officer who declined to be identified because she was not authorized to speak to the press. "He could also have been killed by one of the spikes."
No shit Sherlock.
I don’t care how much slower the kid’s speed was, the fall had to hurt and it probably hurt a lot more cause he was naked and without the benefit of the extra padding of the diaper.
Of course, if there were any ironic justice in the world, the diaper would have then fallen off the spike and landed on little Caua’s head. That’d have been priceless!
You’re probably wondering where the parents were during all this, and how the kid managed to be on the wrong side of the window. Well, I’ll tell you.
The Folha de S. Paulo newspaper (also known as the Onion Booty Times) quoted Caua's father, 23-year-old Alexandre Cesar Massaneiro as saying that his son climbed onto a sofa underneath the window he fell from - "something he had never done before."
The kid had never done what before, fallen out of the apartment window? And how does climbing onto a couch under a window equate to falling out of said window? I’m not understanding the physics there. Was Alexandre the Genius just watching, in stupefied amazement, as his son climbed onto the couch?
This is why I advocate that all new parents be forced to attend a class on common sense, where they’ll learn: to never bring their loud, annoying brats to the movies, to hit their kids in public before a complete stranger does it for them (and much harder) and to keep their infants from falling out of windows.
***
The second story comes to us from Stockholm by way of Agence France Presse. And it makes me wonder about the future of humanity.
On Tuesday, a 78-year-old woman decided to hop a flight from Stockholm to Germany (to replenish her scheisser porn collection no doubt). Yet the intricacies of technology short-circuited her elderly, feeble mind and almost made her miss her flight.
Get this. “Misunderstanding instructions” the lady, (who’s never identified by name, probably to keep from getting emails from people congratulating her with FAIL pictures) got onto a luggage belt, instead of putting her bags on there like a normal person. That bitch has been watching too many Jetsons reruns. Perhaps, to her, the world has become a futuristic wonderland since her childhood in rural Sweden, and riding on luggage belts makes perfect sense. I honestly have no idea what she was thinking.
According to the story, Grandma Dumbass was “whisked down a baggage chute,” which means that she saw that the belt went down into the very bowels of the airport and decided to jump on anyway. Really, did she not see all the other luggage that was riding the belt with her? Did she wonder why everybody else was walking along well-lit hallways like they’re supposed to, while she was taking the express route to nowhere? I wonder how soon into her journey she realized her mistake. If at all.
You probably think I’m being unfair to this lady, but I disagree. After all, the story doesn’t mention anything about mental retardation or some other ailment old people suffer that would account for her actions. Nope, she’s just a regular person, only more intensely stupid. It’s not like you see 82-year-old comedian Jerry Lewis trying to go through airport security with a gun in his bag…..oh wait.
Those are the stories this week. Embrace them. Bring them into your life and into your home. Share a hot meal with them. Give them a back massage; they’ve had a hard week. Then, when next Sunday comes, get ready for more hilarity and examples of the depth of human stupidity.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Requiem to My Forced Shared Living Space Counterpart
Oh, forced shared living space counterpart.
Why do you live the way you do?
Have you no understanding,
Of personal space?
Do you not comprehend,
That you do not live alone?
I’m here too, my forced shared living space friend.
Our room is quite small.
Big enough for one person alone, surely.
It’s called a Containerized Housing Unit,
But we both know that it’s really nothing more,
Than a shoebox.
A shoebox without enough space for two grown men.
I’m tired of stepping on your shit.
Oh, forced shared living space counterpart,
You might want to consider respecting work and sleep hours.
I work during the day.
Therefore I like to sleep at night.
I’m funny that way.
Choosing 2 a.m. to do your laundry,
And whatever other tasks you feel like doing,
Is a very, very bad idea.
Why don’t you sleep at night?
Why don’t you take care of your crap during the day,
Like a normal person?
Do you like being an inconsiderate jerk?
Do you want to be suffocated in the middle of the night,
By my Spongebob Squarepants pillow?
I’d be happy to oblige.
Ever consider putting some water bottles in the fridge?
Or do you just enjoy drinking boiling water?
Scorching and searing the lining of your throat,
Just because you’re too lazy to move some bottles
A scant foot and a half.
I can’t blame you for not doing that.
Oh wait, I totally can.
And don’t get me started,
On your bathroom etiquette.
I’ve never encountered anything so atrocious.
You’re allowed to throw away empty Axe body wash bottles.
I won’t complain.
Same goes for your bottles of lotion.
It’s amazing to see a grown man
Go through a full-sized bottle
Of cocoa butter a week.
Not even Ashy Larry is that ashy!
You’re leaving for America in less than a month
But I might be forced to burn our trailer down first.
Setting alight your acoustic bass,
The most ill-considered deployment purchase,
Since your stupid skateboards,
Would bring me so much pleasure.
You are indeed an annoying human being,
Forced shared living space counterpart.
Why do you live the way you do?
Have you no understanding,
Of personal space?
Do you not comprehend,
That you do not live alone?
I’m here too, my forced shared living space friend.
Our room is quite small.
Big enough for one person alone, surely.
It’s called a Containerized Housing Unit,
But we both know that it’s really nothing more,
Than a shoebox.
A shoebox without enough space for two grown men.
I’m tired of stepping on your shit.
Oh, forced shared living space counterpart,
You might want to consider respecting work and sleep hours.
I work during the day.
Therefore I like to sleep at night.
I’m funny that way.
Choosing 2 a.m. to do your laundry,
And whatever other tasks you feel like doing,
Is a very, very bad idea.
Why don’t you sleep at night?
Why don’t you take care of your crap during the day,
Like a normal person?
Do you like being an inconsiderate jerk?
Do you want to be suffocated in the middle of the night,
By my Spongebob Squarepants pillow?
I’d be happy to oblige.
Ever consider putting some water bottles in the fridge?
Or do you just enjoy drinking boiling water?
Scorching and searing the lining of your throat,
Just because you’re too lazy to move some bottles
A scant foot and a half.
I can’t blame you for not doing that.
Oh wait, I totally can.
And don’t get me started,
On your bathroom etiquette.
I’ve never encountered anything so atrocious.
You’re allowed to throw away empty Axe body wash bottles.
I won’t complain.
Same goes for your bottles of lotion.
It’s amazing to see a grown man
Go through a full-sized bottle
Of cocoa butter a week.
Not even Ashy Larry is that ashy!
You’re leaving for America in less than a month
But I might be forced to burn our trailer down first.
Setting alight your acoustic bass,
The most ill-considered deployment purchase,
Since your stupid skateboards,
Would bring me so much pleasure.
You are indeed an annoying human being,
Forced shared living space counterpart.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Hot sheets: The key is to avoid the police and I’m glad I’m allergic to fish
Another Sunday is upon us and that means another edition of the Eighty-Four Glyde Hot Sheets is upon us as well. It’s time to expand your mind with some of the most ridiculous news stories out there this week.
I should be paying the Associated Press some kind of royalty. It’s just shocking how many retarded stories they come out with every day. My mind is blown.
This first story makes you wonder if the jails in Indiana are just the most kick ass places ever. How else could you explain the actions of Darren E. (the E is short for Erratic Behavior) Roberts?
The AP reports Darren was released from the Sullivan County Jail Tuesday afternoon after finishing his stretch (I like using that Big House lingo) for auto theft.
Not content with being a free man, able to take a shower without getting corn-holed, Darren decided to steal a 2004 Ford Mustang, (that’s a car for people not in the know) and made his way to a gas station in Cloverdale where he stole some beer, (probably Natural Light, or some crap like that) and fled.
Darren then led the police on a high-speed chase, (reaching such high speeds as 105 MPH!) on some backwoods interstate, before spinning out and surrendering.
The police then had a hearty laugh at Darren’s stupid ass and hauled him off to the Putnam County Jail, where he’s being held on a bunch of random charges.
I am very curious as to what was going through Darren’s mind when he decided to steal a car and lead the cops on a car chase, less than 24 hours after being released from jail. I bet it went a little something like this:
“Gee, I sure do miss the warm embrace of my cellmate Nasty Nate. I need to see him again and share in some delicious toilet wine!”
I dunno, maybe Wednesday was meatloaf night and he didn’t want to miss it.
***
Speaking of eating, this week’s second story is a culinary treat for you to enjoy, straight from the kitchens of the Associated Press.
Anthony Franz filed a lawsuit Monday against Shaw’s Crab House, in Chicago. In his lawsuit, he stated that he ordered a salmon salad for lunch in 2006, which was undercooked and made him violently ill. He later passed a giant parasite. How giant you ask? Nine feet long!!
Franz and his lawyer Hanz (not really, but wouldn’t that be a neat coincidence?) are suing Shaw’s and its parent company, Lettuce Entertain You Enterprises, for $100,000, for selling him that undercooked fish. Personally, I’d sue them for having such a stupid cutesy name. Same goes for the place Super Salad (get it? Soup or Salad).
But the vice president of Lettuce Entertain You, Carrol Symank, said that the tape worm wasn’t theirs.
"We have done a thorough investigation and we're confident the restaurant is not the source," he said.
That’s right, he’s a dude named Carrol. I would never trust a thing this guy said.
I’ve never had a parasite, (except, maybe for a couple of girlfriends. Ha!) but I’m strangely curious, in a hesitant way, as to how this gentleman “passed” this worm. Was he walking down the street and saw the worm sitting in a doorway begging for change?
Seriously though, I’m completely unfamiliar as to how tape worms work. How do they come out of the body? Is it the way I think it is? Is it… anus related? Or is it through the nose or mouth? Any orifice it comes out of though, has got to hurt. Say it’s exiting through your poop chute. Do you just sit there, cheeks a flexin’, and try to push it out? Do you wait until you’ve got enough to grab, then pull it out? What if it breaks? God this is all so gross. I could probably look this stuff up online, and find some pictures as well, but I’m not motivated enough and I’m not so sure I really want any answers.
Going to court should be interesting for Franz though. I bet I know what exhibit A will be!
The news, the news. It never fails to entertain. I always feel more informed after writing one of these Hot Sheets. And I just bet you feel more informed after reading them, don’t you?
I should be paying the Associated Press some kind of royalty. It’s just shocking how many retarded stories they come out with every day. My mind is blown.
This first story makes you wonder if the jails in Indiana are just the most kick ass places ever. How else could you explain the actions of Darren E. (the E is short for Erratic Behavior) Roberts?
The AP reports Darren was released from the Sullivan County Jail Tuesday afternoon after finishing his stretch (I like using that Big House lingo) for auto theft.
Not content with being a free man, able to take a shower without getting corn-holed, Darren decided to steal a 2004 Ford Mustang, (that’s a car for people not in the know) and made his way to a gas station in Cloverdale where he stole some beer, (probably Natural Light, or some crap like that) and fled.
Darren then led the police on a high-speed chase, (reaching such high speeds as 105 MPH!) on some backwoods interstate, before spinning out and surrendering.
The police then had a hearty laugh at Darren’s stupid ass and hauled him off to the Putnam County Jail, where he’s being held on a bunch of random charges.
I am very curious as to what was going through Darren’s mind when he decided to steal a car and lead the cops on a car chase, less than 24 hours after being released from jail. I bet it went a little something like this:
“Gee, I sure do miss the warm embrace of my cellmate Nasty Nate. I need to see him again and share in some delicious toilet wine!”
I dunno, maybe Wednesday was meatloaf night and he didn’t want to miss it.
***
Speaking of eating, this week’s second story is a culinary treat for you to enjoy, straight from the kitchens of the Associated Press.
Anthony Franz filed a lawsuit Monday against Shaw’s Crab House, in Chicago. In his lawsuit, he stated that he ordered a salmon salad for lunch in 2006, which was undercooked and made him violently ill. He later passed a giant parasite. How giant you ask? Nine feet long!!
Franz and his lawyer Hanz (not really, but wouldn’t that be a neat coincidence?) are suing Shaw’s and its parent company, Lettuce Entertain You Enterprises, for $100,000, for selling him that undercooked fish. Personally, I’d sue them for having such a stupid cutesy name. Same goes for the place Super Salad (get it? Soup or Salad).
But the vice president of Lettuce Entertain You, Carrol Symank, said that the tape worm wasn’t theirs.
"We have done a thorough investigation and we're confident the restaurant is not the source," he said.
That’s right, he’s a dude named Carrol. I would never trust a thing this guy said.
I’ve never had a parasite, (except, maybe for a couple of girlfriends. Ha!) but I’m strangely curious, in a hesitant way, as to how this gentleman “passed” this worm. Was he walking down the street and saw the worm sitting in a doorway begging for change?
Seriously though, I’m completely unfamiliar as to how tape worms work. How do they come out of the body? Is it the way I think it is? Is it… anus related? Or is it through the nose or mouth? Any orifice it comes out of though, has got to hurt. Say it’s exiting through your poop chute. Do you just sit there, cheeks a flexin’, and try to push it out? Do you wait until you’ve got enough to grab, then pull it out? What if it breaks? God this is all so gross. I could probably look this stuff up online, and find some pictures as well, but I’m not motivated enough and I’m not so sure I really want any answers.
Going to court should be interesting for Franz though. I bet I know what exhibit A will be!
The news, the news. It never fails to entertain. I always feel more informed after writing one of these Hot Sheets. And I just bet you feel more informed after reading them, don’t you?
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
The Top Ten Worst Jobs Ever
I hate having to work. I’m not one of those people who feel satisfaction from a long day of hard work. I’m one of those people who want to retire as soon as possible. It’s the American Dream to get a bunch of money and live comfortably while doing as little as possible. That’s why this country has so many nebulous-sounding jobs like consultant and advisor.
If I have to work, (which I do, until I marry a rich, sassy old broad) then I’d like to do a job that I enjoy. Such as ninja, supervillain, or king. But there are so many jobs all over the world that seem so shitty that I wonder how they hell they find people to do this stuff. I have picked these as the ten worst jobs in the world, (in no particular order.)
10. Third World Podiatrist: If there’s something third world countries are not known for, it’s proper footwear. Any pictures you see of backwards, indigenous people, they’re always shuffling along rock-strewn dirt ruts, stepping in yak shit or whatever, with nary a thought to where they place their foot. Imagine having to check out those feet! Bunions, pustules and three-inch-long toenails everywhere! Now imagine licking them! Gross. A close follow up to third world podiatrist is third world pedicurist.
9. Dentist: Being a dentist doesn’t seem so bad, but think about it. How many people do you know with stank-ass breath and crooked teeth? And those are people you can smell from a couple of feet away. Now picture your face a quarter inch away from the wide open mouth of somebody with death breath. And you’ve got to stay there for long periods of time, digging and poking around inside that fetid mouth. Then, by accident, you poke some blackened, dead tooth and it falls out, releasing a disgusting odor that reminds you of a decomposing body and will haunt you for the rest of your days.
8. Calcutta sewer worker: When I think of India, I think of the Ganges River, where people go to bathe and drink next to the corpses of their rotting loved ones. I also think of the Plague. Combine the best part of both those things and you’ve got yourself the Calcutta sewer system, (no I’ve never been to India, but Carmen Sandiego has and she got dysentery, tuberculosis and pregnant from wandering around the sewers.) Cleaning up all the shit in there is a death sentence.
7. Septic tank cleaner: Sometimes the shit hits the fan. And sometimes the shit just gets stuck in your septic tanks and creates a back up in your pipes that causes your whole house to reek. That’s when you call the guy to come to your house and dive into your septic tank and swim around to unclog it. He totally deserves to be paid a trillion times more than whatever he’s paid now. In fact, in each job he does, he should be paid with a princess’s hand in marriage and half a kingdom.
6. Porno theater cleaner: I think this one speaks for itself. Having to clean up some random hobo’s baby batter is never a pleasant experience. Scraping dried substances off of the back of theater seats sucks. Especially if the only tool you’ve got to use is your fingernails.
5. Proctologist: I don’t care how much of an ass fetish you’ve got. Having to get out of bed every morning, knowing that your whole day is going to be filled with nothing but smelly butt cheeks and a waste basket filled with used latex gloves, is just not cool. Not to mention all those people who “accidentally” impale themselves on the weirdest household objects. “Honest doc, I have no idea how that lamp got stuck in there!”
4. A maid at an American college: I’ve been to college. Perhaps you’ve been to college. If there’s one thing I know about colleges, it’s that college kids don’t care how badly they treat the bathrooms, because the maid crews come through on Monday morning to clean up behind them. Explosive diarrhea painted all over the toilet, projectile vomit splattered on the walls and ceiling, period juice trails along the floor; they’ve seen it all and come back the next day for more. That’s why I always shared a couple of bong hits with the maids at my university.
3. Animal stall mucker: Animals stink and they don’t clean up after themselves. They remind me of some roommates I’ve had. To be honest, I’m a little jealous. I’d love to be fed at regular intervals, petted by hot chicks and be able to take a dump where I stand and have people think it’s cute. What I’m not jealous of is the guy who has to go in the living areas with a shovel and muck out all of the yummy, yummy feces. It’s back-breaking work for clients who couldn’t care less if you do it or not.
2. Crime scene photographer: In movies you always see rookie cops puking when they see their first dead body. But what you rarely see how the crime scene photographer reacts. People are gross and imaginative and have proven both in the very inventive ways that they kill each other and themselves. The photographers (and crime scene cleaners and the chalk outline drawing guy) have it the worst because they have to get really close to the wet, splattered messes we make out of other people’s corpses. If you can imagine it, the photographers have seen it. And if you can’t imagine it, they’ve seen it too.
1. Slaughterhouse worker: You’ve got to have an iron stomach to go into work everyday and be a part of the slaughter, in bulk, of a bunch of stupid, four-legged grass eaters. There’s blood, intestines, hooves, ruptured eye balls, tongues and the bleats of terror-stricken animals who can smell their own death, everywhere. It might get to you after awhile. Don’t get me wrong, I love a fat, juicy steak as much as the next man, I just don’t want to be there when its life is brutally ended.
If I have to work, (which I do, until I marry a rich, sassy old broad) then I’d like to do a job that I enjoy. Such as ninja, supervillain, or king. But there are so many jobs all over the world that seem so shitty that I wonder how they hell they find people to do this stuff. I have picked these as the ten worst jobs in the world, (in no particular order.)
10. Third World Podiatrist: If there’s something third world countries are not known for, it’s proper footwear. Any pictures you see of backwards, indigenous people, they’re always shuffling along rock-strewn dirt ruts, stepping in yak shit or whatever, with nary a thought to where they place their foot. Imagine having to check out those feet! Bunions, pustules and three-inch-long toenails everywhere! Now imagine licking them! Gross. A close follow up to third world podiatrist is third world pedicurist.
9. Dentist: Being a dentist doesn’t seem so bad, but think about it. How many people do you know with stank-ass breath and crooked teeth? And those are people you can smell from a couple of feet away. Now picture your face a quarter inch away from the wide open mouth of somebody with death breath. And you’ve got to stay there for long periods of time, digging and poking around inside that fetid mouth. Then, by accident, you poke some blackened, dead tooth and it falls out, releasing a disgusting odor that reminds you of a decomposing body and will haunt you for the rest of your days.
8. Calcutta sewer worker: When I think of India, I think of the Ganges River, where people go to bathe and drink next to the corpses of their rotting loved ones. I also think of the Plague. Combine the best part of both those things and you’ve got yourself the Calcutta sewer system, (no I’ve never been to India, but Carmen Sandiego has and she got dysentery, tuberculosis and pregnant from wandering around the sewers.) Cleaning up all the shit in there is a death sentence.
7. Septic tank cleaner: Sometimes the shit hits the fan. And sometimes the shit just gets stuck in your septic tanks and creates a back up in your pipes that causes your whole house to reek. That’s when you call the guy to come to your house and dive into your septic tank and swim around to unclog it. He totally deserves to be paid a trillion times more than whatever he’s paid now. In fact, in each job he does, he should be paid with a princess’s hand in marriage and half a kingdom.
6. Porno theater cleaner: I think this one speaks for itself. Having to clean up some random hobo’s baby batter is never a pleasant experience. Scraping dried substances off of the back of theater seats sucks. Especially if the only tool you’ve got to use is your fingernails.
5. Proctologist: I don’t care how much of an ass fetish you’ve got. Having to get out of bed every morning, knowing that your whole day is going to be filled with nothing but smelly butt cheeks and a waste basket filled with used latex gloves, is just not cool. Not to mention all those people who “accidentally” impale themselves on the weirdest household objects. “Honest doc, I have no idea how that lamp got stuck in there!”
4. A maid at an American college: I’ve been to college. Perhaps you’ve been to college. If there’s one thing I know about colleges, it’s that college kids don’t care how badly they treat the bathrooms, because the maid crews come through on Monday morning to clean up behind them. Explosive diarrhea painted all over the toilet, projectile vomit splattered on the walls and ceiling, period juice trails along the floor; they’ve seen it all and come back the next day for more. That’s why I always shared a couple of bong hits with the maids at my university.
3. Animal stall mucker: Animals stink and they don’t clean up after themselves. They remind me of some roommates I’ve had. To be honest, I’m a little jealous. I’d love to be fed at regular intervals, petted by hot chicks and be able to take a dump where I stand and have people think it’s cute. What I’m not jealous of is the guy who has to go in the living areas with a shovel and muck out all of the yummy, yummy feces. It’s back-breaking work for clients who couldn’t care less if you do it or not.
2. Crime scene photographer: In movies you always see rookie cops puking when they see their first dead body. But what you rarely see how the crime scene photographer reacts. People are gross and imaginative and have proven both in the very inventive ways that they kill each other and themselves. The photographers (and crime scene cleaners and the chalk outline drawing guy) have it the worst because they have to get really close to the wet, splattered messes we make out of other people’s corpses. If you can imagine it, the photographers have seen it. And if you can’t imagine it, they’ve seen it too.
1. Slaughterhouse worker: You’ve got to have an iron stomach to go into work everyday and be a part of the slaughter, in bulk, of a bunch of stupid, four-legged grass eaters. There’s blood, intestines, hooves, ruptured eye balls, tongues and the bleats of terror-stricken animals who can smell their own death, everywhere. It might get to you after awhile. Don’t get me wrong, I love a fat, juicy steak as much as the next man, I just don’t want to be there when its life is brutally ended.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Hot sheets: Always have a DD and be sure to gag your lover during sex
News you can use! That’s what I’m all about. I scour the internet to find the news stories that fall through the butt cracks of mainstream media. Let’s do it!
Down in Longview, Texas on Wednesday of this week, it seems that Jennifer Lynn Rosenberg had a little trouble understanding the concept of a designated driver. Inexplicably, she had her 12-year-old daughter driver her, in a minibar, to a bar.
Now, having my preteen daughter pick me up from the bar makes sense. I mean, I’ll probably be three sheets to the wind and too lazy to walk myself back to my doublewide, (which is what I assume the Rosenbergs live in). But getting driven to the bar? I don’t get it. And the article doesn’t mention anything about Jennifer Lynn being a paraplegic, which is the only decent excuse I could think of for having somebody else drive her.
The cops in town could tell something was a bit hinky when they noticed a van turning into a driveway without signaling (which in itself isn’t that suspicious, since most drivers in D.C. are the same way) and bump into a home at a low speed, whatever that means.
The daughter admitted to dropping her mother off at the bar (which, were I to hazard a guess, is probably called Big Chuck’s Booze ‘n Meat Saloon, or something similar) and the cops, led by Walker, Texas Ranger, moseyed on over to the saloon and arrested Jennifer, who is currently held on a $2,500 bond.
Child Protective Services is investigating, but I don’t think it’s warranted. After all, Jennifer taught her daughter two valuable lessons: 1. Always make sure you have responsible transportation when you’re going to get liquored up. 2. When you’re committed to a goal, don’t let any obstacles stand in your way.
She’s mother of the year material to me.
***
The second story comes to us from across the big pond. That’s right, merry old England has its share of crazy people as well.
In what was an egregious misuse of power, the Brighton and Hove City Council, on Thursday, banned Adam Hinton from coming within 100 meters of the apartment of his girlfriend Kerry Norris, (the daughter of John Kerry and Chuck Norris perhaps?) The reason? Because when he sexed her up, it was too loud.
According to city council spokesman Mike “Superprude” Taggart: residents of Norris's publicly-owned home had been complaining since 2006 about thumping music, banging headboards, and screamed obscenities, Taggart said. He added that a young child had been traumatized.
That’s right; a kid was supposedly traumatized.
"There was a 6-year-old child who was subjected to the sort of obscenities you wouldn't want a 6-year-old to hear," Taggart said, adding that Norris also sunbathed naked in her yard in full view of passers-by.
For the life of me, I can’t see the downside to being a six-year-old listening to people engaging in some serious shagging in the flat on the other side of the wall. It’s certainly less annoying than lorries passing by your window at night, (see how I Britished that up?)
I bet that kid went to school every morning with bags under his eyes and a great story to tell. We should be jealous of him, not pity him. If anything, he’s learning, by proxy, valuable skills that will help him greatly later in life.
And what’s wrong with sunbathing naked? I thought all the puritans left England back in the 1600s on the Mayflower!
Stories like this frustrate and scare me. As a very prolific and vigorous lover myself, I’m worried that one day the cops are gonna come knocking on my door and fine me just for being a premium, grade A stud. In the words of the Ladies’ Man, it’s not my fault, “it’s the fault of the wang.”
Taggart continues: "She is a classic nightmare neighbor," he said. "There's a salacious, smutty side to this case. But it's not about sex, it's about allowing your neighbors to have a normal decent life without being disturbed."
I guess she lives in a nunnery or something. Speaking of which, instead of banning one dude from going over to her apartment, shouldn’t they ban all guys from her apartment? It sounds like the foundation of the problem may be her. And what are they going to do on those nights when she’s screaming loudly, but the only other sound coming from her apartment is the low, steady hum of a personal device? Are they going to ban vibrators from coming within 100 meters of her place too? Ridiculous!
I know who I’m visiting on my next vacation and I’m bringing a ball gag.
That’s all for this week. I’ve got more stories to find. The media never sleeps!
Down in Longview, Texas on Wednesday of this week, it seems that Jennifer Lynn Rosenberg had a little trouble understanding the concept of a designated driver. Inexplicably, she had her 12-year-old daughter driver her, in a minibar, to a bar.
Now, having my preteen daughter pick me up from the bar makes sense. I mean, I’ll probably be three sheets to the wind and too lazy to walk myself back to my doublewide, (which is what I assume the Rosenbergs live in). But getting driven to the bar? I don’t get it. And the article doesn’t mention anything about Jennifer Lynn being a paraplegic, which is the only decent excuse I could think of for having somebody else drive her.
The cops in town could tell something was a bit hinky when they noticed a van turning into a driveway without signaling (which in itself isn’t that suspicious, since most drivers in D.C. are the same way) and bump into a home at a low speed, whatever that means.
The daughter admitted to dropping her mother off at the bar (which, were I to hazard a guess, is probably called Big Chuck’s Booze ‘n Meat Saloon, or something similar) and the cops, led by Walker, Texas Ranger, moseyed on over to the saloon and arrested Jennifer, who is currently held on a $2,500 bond.
Child Protective Services is investigating, but I don’t think it’s warranted. After all, Jennifer taught her daughter two valuable lessons: 1. Always make sure you have responsible transportation when you’re going to get liquored up. 2. When you’re committed to a goal, don’t let any obstacles stand in your way.
She’s mother of the year material to me.
***
The second story comes to us from across the big pond. That’s right, merry old England has its share of crazy people as well.
In what was an egregious misuse of power, the Brighton and Hove City Council, on Thursday, banned Adam Hinton from coming within 100 meters of the apartment of his girlfriend Kerry Norris, (the daughter of John Kerry and Chuck Norris perhaps?) The reason? Because when he sexed her up, it was too loud.
According to city council spokesman Mike “Superprude” Taggart: residents of Norris's publicly-owned home had been complaining since 2006 about thumping music, banging headboards, and screamed obscenities, Taggart said. He added that a young child had been traumatized.
That’s right; a kid was supposedly traumatized.
"There was a 6-year-old child who was subjected to the sort of obscenities you wouldn't want a 6-year-old to hear," Taggart said, adding that Norris also sunbathed naked in her yard in full view of passers-by.
For the life of me, I can’t see the downside to being a six-year-old listening to people engaging in some serious shagging in the flat on the other side of the wall. It’s certainly less annoying than lorries passing by your window at night, (see how I Britished that up?)
I bet that kid went to school every morning with bags under his eyes and a great story to tell. We should be jealous of him, not pity him. If anything, he’s learning, by proxy, valuable skills that will help him greatly later in life.
And what’s wrong with sunbathing naked? I thought all the puritans left England back in the 1600s on the Mayflower!
Stories like this frustrate and scare me. As a very prolific and vigorous lover myself, I’m worried that one day the cops are gonna come knocking on my door and fine me just for being a premium, grade A stud. In the words of the Ladies’ Man, it’s not my fault, “it’s the fault of the wang.”
Taggart continues: "She is a classic nightmare neighbor," he said. "There's a salacious, smutty side to this case. But it's not about sex, it's about allowing your neighbors to have a normal decent life without being disturbed."
I guess she lives in a nunnery or something. Speaking of which, instead of banning one dude from going over to her apartment, shouldn’t they ban all guys from her apartment? It sounds like the foundation of the problem may be her. And what are they going to do on those nights when she’s screaming loudly, but the only other sound coming from her apartment is the low, steady hum of a personal device? Are they going to ban vibrators from coming within 100 meters of her place too? Ridiculous!
I know who I’m visiting on my next vacation and I’m bringing a ball gag.
That’s all for this week. I’ve got more stories to find. The media never sleeps!
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Death by hickey!
Mankind loves to scare itself. Since the dawn of human existence, people have been telling stories to frighten each other, partially as a way of dealing with our fear of the darkness and the unknown. Even cavemen used to sit around the fire and tell each other stories about scary things that go bump in the night.
Monsters have always been great at scaring us. And we’ve invented some doozies. Ghosts, mummies, werewolves, the creature from the Black Lagoon, Frankenstein’s monster, Golems, demons, orcs, zombies (my personal favorite), harpies, your mom, the boogieman, little girls with bad hairstyles who spend most of their time at the bottom of wells, Freddy Kruger, Jason Voorhees, the chupacabra, the Candyman (my other favorite), Cenobites, Big Tobacco and clowns. But what I don’t understand is our fascination with vampires. They are the lamest monsters around (except for Count Chocula, he kicks ass.) And ye,t not only are craptastic vampire movies made by the ass-load every year, but people actually model their lives around them. Some people claim to be real vampires, perhaps even going the extra step of having their teeth sharpened.
Why vampires? They aren’t scary, they’re just annoying. You could be walking around any random Hungarian (or Transylvanian) village at night, beer stein in one hand, Bavarian sausage in the other, and all of a sudden you feel two sharp, needle-like stabs in your neck. “Hey! Quit it Lestat. I’m just trying to get home before the real monsters come out. There’s a lawyer convention in town!” Is something you might say if you’re on a first name basis with your local neighborhood vampire.
I’m tired of all the vampire movies. Vampires have gone from being the stuff of our nightmares to being the antiheroes of our action movies. When did this happen? I miss the good old days when The Monster Squad had to kick Dracula’s ass and his harem of wispy blonde nosferatu bimbos. Now we’ve got vampires doing kung fu (which in itself isn’t a bad idea, but why would they need to? They’ve got super strength) and having sword fights in trendy LA goth clubs. Doesn’t make sense to me.
Vampires are really nothing more than thin, pale rejects who love capes and dark clothes and hate the sun. Maybe that’s their appeal. People who are sickly and deathly pale must find the thought of living forever in that state attractive. Plus it gives them the excuse to dress like it’s Halloween every day of the year, (and don’t we all wish we could do that? I’d be a ninja half the year and a super hero the other half. Perhaps a fairy princess every now and then.)
Maybe it’s the seductive nature of the vampire. The sensually shared moment between vampire and prey, when the hunter wraps his arms around his victim in a cold embrace and tenderly, almost lovingly finds the jugular vein hidden within her delicate and arousingly feminine neck. He places his lips against her flesh and inserts his teeth into her, feeding off her lifeblood in an erotic display of power and domination. If that’s so, then…….yawn!!!
Seriously, vampires are just freaks who kill with really strong hickeys. Is it really worth painting your lips black, wearing corsets and leather and being so pale as to be almost translucent in an attempt to model your life after one of them? Besides, the fact that cosplay is at its best awkward looking and at its worst a reason to point and laugh at people, it just seems like a drain on the bank account. “Let’s see, it’s either buy a gallon of milk for breakfast this week, or buy a pair of fishnet gloves with the fingers cut out of them. Hmmm….choices, choices.”
Guess what people who love vampires a little too much? You don’t have preternatural strength, you’re teeth don’t work like straws, there are other colors besides black, red and purple and there are other fabrics besides velvet and leather. Go take a shower to clean all that black shit off your faces, burn your copies of the Twilight series and go for a suntan session, you’ll feel better for it.
Join me next time when I unfairly attack people who are obsessed with anime and all things Japanese (except for Japanese porn, because then I’d be a hypocrite and we wouldn’t want that.) Honestly though, how many waifish girls with pink hair and ridiculously huge eyes can a person look at before going crazy?
Monsters have always been great at scaring us. And we’ve invented some doozies. Ghosts, mummies, werewolves, the creature from the Black Lagoon, Frankenstein’s monster, Golems, demons, orcs, zombies (my personal favorite), harpies, your mom, the boogieman, little girls with bad hairstyles who spend most of their time at the bottom of wells, Freddy Kruger, Jason Voorhees, the chupacabra, the Candyman (my other favorite), Cenobites, Big Tobacco and clowns. But what I don’t understand is our fascination with vampires. They are the lamest monsters around (except for Count Chocula, he kicks ass.) And ye,t not only are craptastic vampire movies made by the ass-load every year, but people actually model their lives around them. Some people claim to be real vampires, perhaps even going the extra step of having their teeth sharpened.
Why vampires? They aren’t scary, they’re just annoying. You could be walking around any random Hungarian (or Transylvanian) village at night, beer stein in one hand, Bavarian sausage in the other, and all of a sudden you feel two sharp, needle-like stabs in your neck. “Hey! Quit it Lestat. I’m just trying to get home before the real monsters come out. There’s a lawyer convention in town!” Is something you might say if you’re on a first name basis with your local neighborhood vampire.
I’m tired of all the vampire movies. Vampires have gone from being the stuff of our nightmares to being the antiheroes of our action movies. When did this happen? I miss the good old days when The Monster Squad had to kick Dracula’s ass and his harem of wispy blonde nosferatu bimbos. Now we’ve got vampires doing kung fu (which in itself isn’t a bad idea, but why would they need to? They’ve got super strength) and having sword fights in trendy LA goth clubs. Doesn’t make sense to me.
Vampires are really nothing more than thin, pale rejects who love capes and dark clothes and hate the sun. Maybe that’s their appeal. People who are sickly and deathly pale must find the thought of living forever in that state attractive. Plus it gives them the excuse to dress like it’s Halloween every day of the year, (and don’t we all wish we could do that? I’d be a ninja half the year and a super hero the other half. Perhaps a fairy princess every now and then.)
Maybe it’s the seductive nature of the vampire. The sensually shared moment between vampire and prey, when the hunter wraps his arms around his victim in a cold embrace and tenderly, almost lovingly finds the jugular vein hidden within her delicate and arousingly feminine neck. He places his lips against her flesh and inserts his teeth into her, feeding off her lifeblood in an erotic display of power and domination. If that’s so, then…….yawn!!!
Seriously, vampires are just freaks who kill with really strong hickeys. Is it really worth painting your lips black, wearing corsets and leather and being so pale as to be almost translucent in an attempt to model your life after one of them? Besides, the fact that cosplay is at its best awkward looking and at its worst a reason to point and laugh at people, it just seems like a drain on the bank account. “Let’s see, it’s either buy a gallon of milk for breakfast this week, or buy a pair of fishnet gloves with the fingers cut out of them. Hmmm….choices, choices.”
Guess what people who love vampires a little too much? You don’t have preternatural strength, you’re teeth don’t work like straws, there are other colors besides black, red and purple and there are other fabrics besides velvet and leather. Go take a shower to clean all that black shit off your faces, burn your copies of the Twilight series and go for a suntan session, you’ll feel better for it.
Join me next time when I unfairly attack people who are obsessed with anime and all things Japanese (except for Japanese porn, because then I’d be a hypocrite and we wouldn’t want that.) Honestly though, how many waifish girls with pink hair and ridiculously huge eyes can a person look at before going crazy?
Monday, August 11, 2008
Hot sheets: Bet she’ll have an IQ of 88 as well and how NOT to rob Blockbuster
It never fails. Each day weird things happen that cause the mind to boggle. I present to you two such stories that occurred this past week. You may have heard of them, you may not, but they’re both way more important than anything else going on in the world right now. I mean, it’s not like any countries are being invaded or anything! Olympics? What are those?
Here’s a cutesy little story for you. It’s all about a baby and the miracle of child birth and crap like that. Gag.
According to the Associated Press, in Fergus Falls, Minn., Hailey Jo Hauer, was born to Lindsey Hauer in the Lake Regional Hospital, at…sigh, 8:08 am on August 8, 2008 and weighs 8 pounds and 8 ounces.
Hailey Jo has 8 letters!
If her full name was converted to numbers, it’d equal 138, (which has an 8 in it!)
Then, if you divided 138 by 3 (the number of names she has) you get 46, which we all know are the two consecutive even integers before 8!
Doesn’t that just blow your mind?
The nurse actually said that she tried to shrink the baby from 19.5 inches to 18 inches. It was supposed to be a joke, but totally doesn’t work on any level. She should focus on shaving crotches and leave the humor to professionals (like me!)
And if that weren’t enough, according to the story: “Several hospital staff members pledged to buy lottery tickets.” I always knew medical professionals to be such a superstitious lot. That’s why I stick to witch doctors and shamans; they never see signs and portents in everyday occurrences.
I guess this counts as Hailey’s 8 minutes of fame.
***
Next up, another AP story; this one about a wannabe thief who tried to rob the wrong kind of store with the wrong kind of weapon. I’ve read this story 8 times (eight!) and I still have no idea what this guy was thinking.
Paul Parish II (not junior, it seems), of Charleston, West Virginia, (and his home state may be the reason behind why he tried this little experiment in FAIL) walked into a movie rental store, early last week, to rob it. His weapon: an empty cheesecake box.
Let’s break this down. First of all, this fool decided to rob a Blockbuster, or Hollywood Video. What, was the blood bank closed? The Starbucks too crowded? Is it even possible to pick a more random type of store to rob?
Secondly, I am struck mute by why Parish II: Electric Boogaloo, thought he could get away with using an empty box to rob a store. It sounds as though he doesn’t understand the concept of weapons.
Friend: So, Paul, what’re yew gettin into tonight?
Parish: Well Billy Jimmy Cletus Jo Goober, I gots me a plan to rob the Movie Gallery!
Friend: Sheeeee-it Paul! You got a gun?
Parish: Nope. Even better. I’m gonna use an empty cardboard box to get ‘er dun!!
Friend: I see. Good luck with that, my dear fellow. Be sure to ring me up from the penitentiary after your inevitable capture and subsequent incarceration.
Parrish walked into the place; put the box on the counter with a note saying there was a bomb inside, (which means he had to mime walking into the store with a heavy box, I would imagine) that would be remotely detonated if he didn’t get money.
The clerk, not being as inbred as the would-be robber, refused (and probably pissed his pants with laughter) and Parrish fled, most likely in a pickup truck blasting some Toby Keith song about how stupidly violent and intolerant of other cultures we Americans are. But that’s speculation; the article doesn’t make the details of his getaway clear.
With the help of the store video, the cops were able to pick up Parrish last Wednesday. I guess he blew his robbery budget on buying the box and couldn’t afford to purchase a mask or disguise. He claimed that his motivation for the robbery was that he needed money for cigarettes and gas, (I can actually understand the part about the gas, but why not just fill up his tank at a gas station and drive away without paying?)
The dumbass is charged with first-degree robbery (which seems kind of unfair, considering that he was a complete and total failure) and is locked up.
There are your Hot Sheets for this week. Enjoy a hearty laugh in between the moments of black entertainers dying over the last few days. How weird is that anyway? Anybody want to start a death pool? I’m betting on Garrett Morris. Is he still around?
Here’s a cutesy little story for you. It’s all about a baby and the miracle of child birth and crap like that. Gag.
According to the Associated Press, in Fergus Falls, Minn., Hailey Jo Hauer, was born to Lindsey Hauer in the Lake Regional Hospital, at…sigh, 8:08 am on August 8, 2008 and weighs 8 pounds and 8 ounces.
Hailey Jo has 8 letters!
If her full name was converted to numbers, it’d equal 138, (which has an 8 in it!)
Then, if you divided 138 by 3 (the number of names she has) you get 46, which we all know are the two consecutive even integers before 8!
Doesn’t that just blow your mind?
The nurse actually said that she tried to shrink the baby from 19.5 inches to 18 inches. It was supposed to be a joke, but totally doesn’t work on any level. She should focus on shaving crotches and leave the humor to professionals (like me!)
And if that weren’t enough, according to the story: “Several hospital staff members pledged to buy lottery tickets.” I always knew medical professionals to be such a superstitious lot. That’s why I stick to witch doctors and shamans; they never see signs and portents in everyday occurrences.
I guess this counts as Hailey’s 8 minutes of fame.
***
Next up, another AP story; this one about a wannabe thief who tried to rob the wrong kind of store with the wrong kind of weapon. I’ve read this story 8 times (eight!) and I still have no idea what this guy was thinking.
Paul Parish II (not junior, it seems), of Charleston, West Virginia, (and his home state may be the reason behind why he tried this little experiment in FAIL) walked into a movie rental store, early last week, to rob it. His weapon: an empty cheesecake box.
Let’s break this down. First of all, this fool decided to rob a Blockbuster, or Hollywood Video. What, was the blood bank closed? The Starbucks too crowded? Is it even possible to pick a more random type of store to rob?
Secondly, I am struck mute by why Parish II: Electric Boogaloo, thought he could get away with using an empty box to rob a store. It sounds as though he doesn’t understand the concept of weapons.
Friend: So, Paul, what’re yew gettin into tonight?
Parish: Well Billy Jimmy Cletus Jo Goober, I gots me a plan to rob the Movie Gallery!
Friend: Sheeeee-it Paul! You got a gun?
Parish: Nope. Even better. I’m gonna use an empty cardboard box to get ‘er dun!!
Friend: I see. Good luck with that, my dear fellow. Be sure to ring me up from the penitentiary after your inevitable capture and subsequent incarceration.
Parrish walked into the place; put the box on the counter with a note saying there was a bomb inside, (which means he had to mime walking into the store with a heavy box, I would imagine) that would be remotely detonated if he didn’t get money.
The clerk, not being as inbred as the would-be robber, refused (and probably pissed his pants with laughter) and Parrish fled, most likely in a pickup truck blasting some Toby Keith song about how stupidly violent and intolerant of other cultures we Americans are. But that’s speculation; the article doesn’t make the details of his getaway clear.
With the help of the store video, the cops were able to pick up Parrish last Wednesday. I guess he blew his robbery budget on buying the box and couldn’t afford to purchase a mask or disguise. He claimed that his motivation for the robbery was that he needed money for cigarettes and gas, (I can actually understand the part about the gas, but why not just fill up his tank at a gas station and drive away without paying?)
The dumbass is charged with first-degree robbery (which seems kind of unfair, considering that he was a complete and total failure) and is locked up.
There are your Hot Sheets for this week. Enjoy a hearty laugh in between the moments of black entertainers dying over the last few days. How weird is that anyway? Anybody want to start a death pool? I’m betting on Garrett Morris. Is he still around?
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
What I blame movies for
People love to blame movies for stuff. All types of violent stuff. Columbine was The Matrix’s fault. VTech was Oldboy’s fault. Just last week, if I’m not mistaken, I saw a news story about a guy who went on a weekend Natural Born Killers bender to pump himself up to kill a bunch of people.
People are very impressionable, it’s just a fact. Many people just don’t have imaginations to think on their own. But I think it’s ridiculous to only blame movies for the stupid and violent things that people do, when they cause much more damage to society in other ways. These are the things I blame movies for:
• I blame movies for making people think that “Happily Ever After” occurs most of the time.
• I blame movies for making people think that all it takes is dedication and hard work to make your dreams come true.
• I blame movies for making people think that honesty is the best policy.
• I blame movies for making people think that crime doesn’t pay.
• I blame movies for making people think that the good guy always wins in the end.
• I blame movies for saying that at the end of the day, the world is basically a fair place, and if it isn’t then people are working very hard to make it so and they’re winning.
• I blame movies for making people feel that giving up, quitting or cutting loses aren’t options. It’s either win or die trying.
• I blame movies for saying that love conquers all.
• I blame movies for dictating that all you need is perseverance when going after somebody you love and making it look like romance instead of stalking.
• I blame movies for making people think that things are only good or bad, black or white, without showing the innumerable shades of gray that we all display.
• I blame movies for making people think that their significant others can be perfect.
• I blame movies for reinforcing stereotypes and sexism.
• I blame movies for legitimizing the concept of “True Love.”
• I blame movies for giving people the impression that their very typical and average problems are extremely dramatic.
• I blame movies for hyping up single-parent families so much.
• I blame movies for making people think the improbable and the unlikely are regular occurrences.
There are plenty more thing to blame movies for. I like to blame them for making me fat and bald and for making me think I can jump out of a third story window, guns blazing, and land safely in the street below.
What do you blame movies for?
People are very impressionable, it’s just a fact. Many people just don’t have imaginations to think on their own. But I think it’s ridiculous to only blame movies for the stupid and violent things that people do, when they cause much more damage to society in other ways. These are the things I blame movies for:
• I blame movies for making people think that “Happily Ever After” occurs most of the time.
• I blame movies for making people think that all it takes is dedication and hard work to make your dreams come true.
• I blame movies for making people think that honesty is the best policy.
• I blame movies for making people think that crime doesn’t pay.
• I blame movies for making people think that the good guy always wins in the end.
• I blame movies for saying that at the end of the day, the world is basically a fair place, and if it isn’t then people are working very hard to make it so and they’re winning.
• I blame movies for making people feel that giving up, quitting or cutting loses aren’t options. It’s either win or die trying.
• I blame movies for saying that love conquers all.
• I blame movies for dictating that all you need is perseverance when going after somebody you love and making it look like romance instead of stalking.
• I blame movies for making people think that things are only good or bad, black or white, without showing the innumerable shades of gray that we all display.
• I blame movies for making people think that their significant others can be perfect.
• I blame movies for reinforcing stereotypes and sexism.
• I blame movies for legitimizing the concept of “True Love.”
• I blame movies for giving people the impression that their very typical and average problems are extremely dramatic.
• I blame movies for hyping up single-parent families so much.
• I blame movies for making people think the improbable and the unlikely are regular occurrences.
There are plenty more thing to blame movies for. I like to blame them for making me fat and bald and for making me think I can jump out of a third story window, guns blazing, and land safely in the street below.
What do you blame movies for?
Sunday, August 03, 2008
Hot Sheets: How does he smell? and better late than never
And now for your weekly Hot Sheet. Remember people, I’m here to educate and inform you, (the loyal reader and the unloyal reader alike) as to the real news that you should know and that the mainstream media is keeping from you. Got a couple of good stories here for you today. So let’s just dive right in, shall we?
Our first story comes from the July 30th issue of the Cedar Rapids Gazette. It’s a very vague story that gives more questions than answers.
Two guys in Iowa City (And really, how much of a city can it be if it’s in Iowa? Gotta be a population of, what, a couple thousand?) got into a fight about something (probably over which is the dumber state attraction: The Effigy Mounds National Monument or the Amana Colonies) and one of them ended up in jail.
It started off as a typical fight, one guy decided to open with the Norman Bates shovel slam to the back of the other guy’s head. In response, the second guy countered with the Mike Tyson face bite. That’s right, Iowan Donroy Merrival bit off the guy’s nose and part of his lip. The nose wasn’t recovered and the cops say the guy will be disfigured for life, (gee, ya think?)
Let’s consider how this fight went down, because I’m a little confused as to how it worked. One guy hits the other with a shovel in the head. Now, you’ve got to be a couple of feet away to be able to accomplish this maneuver. So next, how did Donroy get close enough to bite off dude’s nose?! Were they fighting…or making love? I’ve been in a few fights myself (fights, beatings, whatever) and I’ve never had my face all up in my opponent’s grill. I’m thinking Donroy tricked the guy and called a time out so he could wipe something off dude’s face. Then, when the guy had his eyes closed, Donroy leaned in and took a big bite of the guy’s Cyrano de Bergerac-like nose.
It scares me that the nose wasn’t recovered. Where’d it go? Is Donroy a cannibal or a zombie? I can understand biting off something, but then you spit it out, you don’t chew it up and swallow it. What about the boogers?! And wouldn’t the nose hairs tickle your throat?!
The weirdest thing about this story isn’t the lack of facts (why were they fighting? Where’s the nose? What’s going to happen do these guys?) but how extremely specific the writer was with addresses. Donroy lives at 863 Page St., in Iowa City. He fought the other guy at 2724 Wayne Ave., apartment B2. Feel free to visit next time you’re in town. Both are soon to be stops on the Famous Fights of Iowa City tour, (only $35 and you get a complimentary bushel of corn!)
***
Our next story is another beauty, reported by the AP. Just as proof that not everything that happens in this country is deranged, perverted or violently stupid, I present this story, about our United States Postal Service (motto: Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night shall bother any of us because we’re all inside reading your mail).
This past week in Lawrence, Kansas (Home of Joey and Martin) Xan Wedel (which sounds Ferengi to me) received a letter in her mailbox. The letter was postmarked Nov. 11 1948 and was stamped “Return to Sender,” and “Found in Supposedly Empty Mailbox,” (I never even knew the post office had such a stamp.)
The letter was sent from Gertrude Gilmore (Lorelai’s mom) to Ruth Willisten in Rockfall, Conn. (great town name by the way, I used to live in Quicksand Traps, Minn.) and lamented the fact that Truman beat Dewey in that year’s presidential election.
The postal employees had these words of enlightenment to say about the situation:
"It's impossible to really know what may or may not have happened," said Lawrence Postmaster Judy Raney. "No matter what, we always take it and go ahead and send it on."
After almost 60 years, the best excuse the “Postmaster” could come up with was that it’s impossible to know what happened. Really? Really Judy? I bet I can tell you what happened. The post office dropped the ball, as usual. Sixty years! What do you think happened? My question is why they bothered sending, or returning, the letter at all, six decades later. The damage has already been done.
Besides her sadness over Truman’s victory, Gertrude (which is one of those names that are automatically given to old ladies, like Ethel or Doris) talks about her brand new electric fridge and who the local pastor is. But wouldn’t it be more interesting if she admitted that she killed a whole troop of Girl Scouts and buried them in her backyard? Or maybe she summoned up the courage to confess her secret, undying love for Ruth and committed suicide out of melancholy, because Ruth never responded. Wouldn’t that be ironic? (I really don’t know, would that be?)
Alright, that’s all the news that’s fit to type today. Be sure to tell your friends and family about all the interesting things you learned. And join me next week for more news from the Hot Sheets
Our first story comes from the July 30th issue of the Cedar Rapids Gazette. It’s a very vague story that gives more questions than answers.
Two guys in Iowa City (And really, how much of a city can it be if it’s in Iowa? Gotta be a population of, what, a couple thousand?) got into a fight about something (probably over which is the dumber state attraction: The Effigy Mounds National Monument or the Amana Colonies) and one of them ended up in jail.
It started off as a typical fight, one guy decided to open with the Norman Bates shovel slam to the back of the other guy’s head. In response, the second guy countered with the Mike Tyson face bite. That’s right, Iowan Donroy Merrival bit off the guy’s nose and part of his lip. The nose wasn’t recovered and the cops say the guy will be disfigured for life, (gee, ya think?)
Let’s consider how this fight went down, because I’m a little confused as to how it worked. One guy hits the other with a shovel in the head. Now, you’ve got to be a couple of feet away to be able to accomplish this maneuver. So next, how did Donroy get close enough to bite off dude’s nose?! Were they fighting…or making love? I’ve been in a few fights myself (fights, beatings, whatever) and I’ve never had my face all up in my opponent’s grill. I’m thinking Donroy tricked the guy and called a time out so he could wipe something off dude’s face. Then, when the guy had his eyes closed, Donroy leaned in and took a big bite of the guy’s Cyrano de Bergerac-like nose.
It scares me that the nose wasn’t recovered. Where’d it go? Is Donroy a cannibal or a zombie? I can understand biting off something, but then you spit it out, you don’t chew it up and swallow it. What about the boogers?! And wouldn’t the nose hairs tickle your throat?!
The weirdest thing about this story isn’t the lack of facts (why were they fighting? Where’s the nose? What’s going to happen do these guys?) but how extremely specific the writer was with addresses. Donroy lives at 863 Page St., in Iowa City. He fought the other guy at 2724 Wayne Ave., apartment B2. Feel free to visit next time you’re in town. Both are soon to be stops on the Famous Fights of Iowa City tour, (only $35 and you get a complimentary bushel of corn!)
***
Our next story is another beauty, reported by the AP. Just as proof that not everything that happens in this country is deranged, perverted or violently stupid, I present this story, about our United States Postal Service (motto: Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night shall bother any of us because we’re all inside reading your mail).
This past week in Lawrence, Kansas (Home of Joey and Martin) Xan Wedel (which sounds Ferengi to me) received a letter in her mailbox. The letter was postmarked Nov. 11 1948 and was stamped “Return to Sender,” and “Found in Supposedly Empty Mailbox,” (I never even knew the post office had such a stamp.)
The letter was sent from Gertrude Gilmore (Lorelai’s mom) to Ruth Willisten in Rockfall, Conn. (great town name by the way, I used to live in Quicksand Traps, Minn.) and lamented the fact that Truman beat Dewey in that year’s presidential election.
The postal employees had these words of enlightenment to say about the situation:
"It's impossible to really know what may or may not have happened," said Lawrence Postmaster Judy Raney. "No matter what, we always take it and go ahead and send it on."
After almost 60 years, the best excuse the “Postmaster” could come up with was that it’s impossible to know what happened. Really? Really Judy? I bet I can tell you what happened. The post office dropped the ball, as usual. Sixty years! What do you think happened? My question is why they bothered sending, or returning, the letter at all, six decades later. The damage has already been done.
Besides her sadness over Truman’s victory, Gertrude (which is one of those names that are automatically given to old ladies, like Ethel or Doris) talks about her brand new electric fridge and who the local pastor is. But wouldn’t it be more interesting if she admitted that she killed a whole troop of Girl Scouts and buried them in her backyard? Or maybe she summoned up the courage to confess her secret, undying love for Ruth and committed suicide out of melancholy, because Ruth never responded. Wouldn’t that be ironic? (I really don’t know, would that be?)
Alright, that’s all the news that’s fit to type today. Be sure to tell your friends and family about all the interesting things you learned. And join me next week for more news from the Hot Sheets
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