For those of you not in the know, and for those of you who don't actually care, I just wanted to announce that after five long and painful years full of deserts, early-morning Physical Training, and having to wear the same outfit everyday, I'm finally out of the army. Yes, it's true. I'm out, free, excaped, liberated, just plain gone!
"But wait," you might be saying to yourself, "what kind of sick, twisted, pinko-commie pervert would be happy to leave the fine institution of the American military (motto: A tradition of heritage)? Has Joshua dropped the ball in doing his duty protecting this country from threats both domestic and abroad? What happens if Canada finally invades? What will we do? Has the whole world gone mad?! I'm so disillusioned!"
To which I say, firstly, don't talk to yourself so much. And secondly, yes to questions two and five.
For you see, some dream of joining the military. They go through life surrounded by the wonderful majesty that is only available because of the sacrifice of soldiers, (you know, stuff like drive-thru liquor stores. Who's the genius who came up with that idea and doesn't see the inherent conflict of interests in that concept!) and looking up to service members as heroes and idols. Then, when they finally graduate high school (or get their Good Enough Diploma) they rush off to join the army and serve a life filled with honor, discipline and military something-or-other.
I fall into that group of people who think the exact opposite. From the minute I joined I couldn't wait to get out and be free to do the things I like to do, like...watch t.v., ummmm, sit on my ass and do nothing and refer to people by their first name!
Oh and if you're wondering what my motivation was for joining the army in the first place, please feel free to refer to "It takes a helping hand" May 26th. It explains what little options I had other than living in a cardboard box for the rest of my life and enjoying long theological discussions with imaginary beings from other dimensions.
So, anyway, I have a wee small problem. After five years of planning and hoping and enacting secret, arcane occult rituals, I didn't actually take the time to figure out what I'm actually going to do when I get out!
Which means that I'm open to suggestions on what I should do with myself, if anybody's got 'em. At this point beggars can't be choosers, so a brainstorming session is just what I need. Oh, and if anybody in the D.C. area has any need for a sarcastic writer, hit me up. I'm more fun to be around than a smallpox infection!
Friday, October 27, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
This blog entry guaranteed to make you feel better (or your bad mood back)
I’ve been doing a little looking around on myspace (motto: a place to waste large tracts of time for little to no gain) and I realized something.
People are idiots.
No, that’s not true, well yes it is, but that’s not the point. The point is thus: During my staggeringly large swaths of wasted time I read several blogs and a pattern emerged, (actually several patterns emerged, but I’m not going to mention them here because this isn’t the right forum and I’m trying not to alienate people.)
This pattern was very simple. People were using their blogs to complain more than anything else. Everybody on myspace seems to be pissed off about everything, (I don’t blame them.) From imagined “haters” who are trying to steal the writer’s man or woman, to an intense dislike for our fellow myspacians, everybody has something bad to say about other people.
I found this to be shocking. After all, everybody I ever run into (or over) is always trying to be nice and do the nice thing and think nice thoughts etcetera, etcetera until I want to stab them in their ocular cavities with blunt objects. Yet it seems to be a mask. When given the opportunity, people will write such angry and mean things. To get their feelings of their chest? Possibly. To be funny and get away with saying shit you wouldn’t if people knew you weren’t kidding? That’s why I do it. The motives are varied and monotonous.
But the point is that people spend most of their time being pissed off and telling other people what to do, (see “This title couldn’t have anything less to do with the subject of this entry” Friday, July 28th) and not enough time proclaiming the good things going on. So here goes:
1. Thankfully, because of surfing on myspace I now know which songs are loved to an insane degree by random teens and 20 somethings (i.e. Sexyback, that one Evanessance song, and that Gnarles Barkley song that came out about seven months ago but people still aren’t tired of for some reason.)
2. Without Myspace I wouldn’t know that Tila Tequila is an extremely famous and popular musician, despite never actually having heard any song she’s performed!
3. Myspace allows me to check up on those crazy exes at various times so I can predict if they’re ever going to suddenly develop a need to get back in touch with me.
4. There are quite a lot of good looking women on myspace. And trolling around that site allows me to see the millions of gorgeous women I’ll never have a chance with!
5. Ummm, damn, this is getting hard. Okay, I got one. All the time I spend on myspace keeps me from going out and committing heinous and perverted acts against society, (my army of Werejoshuas is coming along nicely!)
See? It’s totally possible for somebody to write a blog entry without saying anything bad, (mostly.)
Now it’s your turn faithful readers. I want everybody to say one nice thing about myspace. You’re allowed to repeat what somebody else said, (I know there isn’t that much good shit to say about myspace.) Now go forth and say great things!
(And everybody don’t forget my banner contest. Remember, a kick ass banner linking to my blog, will win that creator a very special and super-duper prize, that isn’t at all a cheap t-shirt made by some two-year-old in a Chinese sweatshop located in the bowels of some tenement in the Bronx! God Bless American Capitalism. Anyway, the contest ends November 15th, at which point I will declare the winner and put his or her name out in the public for praise or ridicule, depending on what you think of this blog in the first place. Thanks for your participation and thanks for reading my blog. I write to be funny and I’m glad that you all seem to appreciate it and get the joke.)
People are idiots.
No, that’s not true, well yes it is, but that’s not the point. The point is thus: During my staggeringly large swaths of wasted time I read several blogs and a pattern emerged, (actually several patterns emerged, but I’m not going to mention them here because this isn’t the right forum and I’m trying not to alienate people.)
This pattern was very simple. People were using their blogs to complain more than anything else. Everybody on myspace seems to be pissed off about everything, (I don’t blame them.) From imagined “haters” who are trying to steal the writer’s man or woman, to an intense dislike for our fellow myspacians, everybody has something bad to say about other people.
I found this to be shocking. After all, everybody I ever run into (or over) is always trying to be nice and do the nice thing and think nice thoughts etcetera, etcetera until I want to stab them in their ocular cavities with blunt objects. Yet it seems to be a mask. When given the opportunity, people will write such angry and mean things. To get their feelings of their chest? Possibly. To be funny and get away with saying shit you wouldn’t if people knew you weren’t kidding? That’s why I do it. The motives are varied and monotonous.
But the point is that people spend most of their time being pissed off and telling other people what to do, (see “This title couldn’t have anything less to do with the subject of this entry” Friday, July 28th) and not enough time proclaiming the good things going on. So here goes:
1. Thankfully, because of surfing on myspace I now know which songs are loved to an insane degree by random teens and 20 somethings (i.e. Sexyback, that one Evanessance song, and that Gnarles Barkley song that came out about seven months ago but people still aren’t tired of for some reason.)
2. Without Myspace I wouldn’t know that Tila Tequila is an extremely famous and popular musician, despite never actually having heard any song she’s performed!
3. Myspace allows me to check up on those crazy exes at various times so I can predict if they’re ever going to suddenly develop a need to get back in touch with me.
4. There are quite a lot of good looking women on myspace. And trolling around that site allows me to see the millions of gorgeous women I’ll never have a chance with!
5. Ummm, damn, this is getting hard. Okay, I got one. All the time I spend on myspace keeps me from going out and committing heinous and perverted acts against society, (my army of Werejoshuas is coming along nicely!)
See? It’s totally possible for somebody to write a blog entry without saying anything bad, (mostly.)
Now it’s your turn faithful readers. I want everybody to say one nice thing about myspace. You’re allowed to repeat what somebody else said, (I know there isn’t that much good shit to say about myspace.) Now go forth and say great things!
(And everybody don’t forget my banner contest. Remember, a kick ass banner linking to my blog, will win that creator a very special and super-duper prize, that isn’t at all a cheap t-shirt made by some two-year-old in a Chinese sweatshop located in the bowels of some tenement in the Bronx! God Bless American Capitalism. Anyway, the contest ends November 15th, at which point I will declare the winner and put his or her name out in the public for praise or ridicule, depending on what you think of this blog in the first place. Thanks for your participation and thanks for reading my blog. I write to be funny and I’m glad that you all seem to appreciate it and get the joke.)
Friday, October 20, 2006
Night of the Robin Williams wannabes
You know what I hate? Werewolves. I mean, where do they get off? Who invented werewolves anyway? Guess it was somebody with a wolf phobia. But the whole concept just doesn’t make much sense to me. I’ve been bitten by plenty of animals and even kicked by a horse (it was my fault I had forgotten to bring the lube) yet I remain (as far as I know) a human.
By all rights I should be a were-mosquito-turtle-spider-moose, but I’m not. On the other hand I have been bitten by people too, and maybe human enzymes are the strongest. Is it possible that I’ve been a wereperson all along and didn’t know it? Could it be that every full moon I undergo a horrible transformation and become a perverted creature of the night? Wandering around and doing “human things”? That would explain………very little now that I think about it.
I’m going to conduct an experiment. I’m going to go bite some animal and see what happens. Maybe I have the power to create legions of Werejoshuas ready to do my evil bidding at a moment’s notice. That’d be pretty damn neat. I’ll let you all know how the experiment works out, though if it’s a success I won’t need to say anything because you’ll all read in the news about the great hordes of Werejoshuas sweeping across the country leaving devastation and cheesesteak stains as they go.
As far as you know there could be Werejoshuas out there already, infiltrating society and getting ready to wreak havoc, (which I feel is always the best thing to wreak.)
But, being the nice guy that I am, I’ll give you all signs to look out for that your family pet, or the guy next to you could be one of my many minions.
That person has:
1. A deep love of cartoons in almost all forms, (with a natural wariness of anime.)
2. The need to own obscene quantities of Japanese porn.
3. The ability to quote, at will, anything Dave Chappelle has ever said. Ever.
4. Plaid shorts.
5. A biting and witty sense of sarcastic humor, misunderstood by mainstream society.
6. A love of greasy foods.
7. An intense mistrust of salads and a belief that all salads are nothing more than hamburger toppings without the good part.
8. A problem with authority.
9. An ego so large that it has its own satellites and gravity well.
10. Genitalia the size of a mature Golden Retriever.
If you encounter any of these signs, be not afraid. Just pledge your loyalty and rest assured that you will have either a quick death at the beginning of the uprising, or that you will have a place as a slave, (which is pretty decent work considering how lazy Werejoshuas are. I mean we don’t need much to make us happy.) Either way, you’ll have it better then everybody else.
Now all I have to do is go wander the streets biting random animals. I think I’m going to go floss first.
Sometimes, late at night, I wonder if the government and many Americans are actually WereGeorge W. Bushes. That would explain some of the wacky goings-on from the last six years, including the two elections. But unlike my stupid ass, the Bushes probably have their techniques refined. Back in the days of Bush senior he used needles with his son’s DNA to get to the American public, under the guise of flu shots and the like. True I have no evidence of any of this, but I’m the soon-to-be leader of an army of Werejoshuas, I don’t need evidence of anything!
(And everybody don’t forget my banner contest. Remember, a kick ass banner linking to my blog, will win that creator a very special and super-duper prize, that isn’t at all a cheap t-shirt made by some two-year-old in a Chinese sweatshop located in the bowels of some tenement in the Bronx! God Bless American Capitalism. Anyway, the contest ends November 15th, at which point I will declare the winner and put his or her name out in the public for praise or ridicule, depending on what you think of this blog in the first place. Thanks for your participation and thanks for reading my blog. I write to be funny and I’m glad that you all seem to appreciate it and get the joke.)
By all rights I should be a were-mosquito-turtle-spider-moose, but I’m not. On the other hand I have been bitten by people too, and maybe human enzymes are the strongest. Is it possible that I’ve been a wereperson all along and didn’t know it? Could it be that every full moon I undergo a horrible transformation and become a perverted creature of the night? Wandering around and doing “human things”? That would explain………very little now that I think about it.
I’m going to conduct an experiment. I’m going to go bite some animal and see what happens. Maybe I have the power to create legions of Werejoshuas ready to do my evil bidding at a moment’s notice. That’d be pretty damn neat. I’ll let you all know how the experiment works out, though if it’s a success I won’t need to say anything because you’ll all read in the news about the great hordes of Werejoshuas sweeping across the country leaving devastation and cheesesteak stains as they go.
As far as you know there could be Werejoshuas out there already, infiltrating society and getting ready to wreak havoc, (which I feel is always the best thing to wreak.)
But, being the nice guy that I am, I’ll give you all signs to look out for that your family pet, or the guy next to you could be one of my many minions.
That person has:
1. A deep love of cartoons in almost all forms, (with a natural wariness of anime.)
2. The need to own obscene quantities of Japanese porn.
3. The ability to quote, at will, anything Dave Chappelle has ever said. Ever.
4. Plaid shorts.
5. A biting and witty sense of sarcastic humor, misunderstood by mainstream society.
6. A love of greasy foods.
7. An intense mistrust of salads and a belief that all salads are nothing more than hamburger toppings without the good part.
8. A problem with authority.
9. An ego so large that it has its own satellites and gravity well.
10. Genitalia the size of a mature Golden Retriever.
If you encounter any of these signs, be not afraid. Just pledge your loyalty and rest assured that you will have either a quick death at the beginning of the uprising, or that you will have a place as a slave, (which is pretty decent work considering how lazy Werejoshuas are. I mean we don’t need much to make us happy.) Either way, you’ll have it better then everybody else.
Now all I have to do is go wander the streets biting random animals. I think I’m going to go floss first.
Sometimes, late at night, I wonder if the government and many Americans are actually WereGeorge W. Bushes. That would explain some of the wacky goings-on from the last six years, including the two elections. But unlike my stupid ass, the Bushes probably have their techniques refined. Back in the days of Bush senior he used needles with his son’s DNA to get to the American public, under the guise of flu shots and the like. True I have no evidence of any of this, but I’m the soon-to-be leader of an army of Werejoshuas, I don’t need evidence of anything!
(And everybody don’t forget my banner contest. Remember, a kick ass banner linking to my blog, will win that creator a very special and super-duper prize, that isn’t at all a cheap t-shirt made by some two-year-old in a Chinese sweatshop located in the bowels of some tenement in the Bronx! God Bless American Capitalism. Anyway, the contest ends November 15th, at which point I will declare the winner and put his or her name out in the public for praise or ridicule, depending on what you think of this blog in the first place. Thanks for your participation and thanks for reading my blog. I write to be funny and I’m glad that you all seem to appreciate it and get the joke.)
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
They’re happy to serve you (or, Why you are a piece of diseased scum, unworthy of being spoken to directly)
It wasn’t until I was in the military that I realized how far-spread this problem is. Prior to my experience here, the problem was encountered very little, just at the MVA (which my non-Maryland readers will know better as the DMV.)
Then I joined the army and learned of the joy that is impersonal public service. From the beginning all the way to the end, I’ve experienced five years of apathetic, vaguely hostile people. You know the kind of people I’m talking about. The ones whose jobs force them to come into contact with dozens, if not hundreds of people a day yet they treat each one of the patrons as if they’ve personally offended them by killing and raping, (in that order no less) the family pet.
You go to the DMV, you stand in line for so long that you don’t even remember why you went, and when you finally reach the person behind the counter, all you want is some caring and politeness. But what do you get? You get a clerk who gives you such an evil look that you start to hate yourself and you don’t know why.
“I just wanted to come here and renew my license,” you think to yourself. “But now I’m starting to question if I’ll get into heaven when I die! Why does this person hate me so much? What did I do?!”
These public servants love to act as if each person they deal with is personally responsible for giving them such a dead-end and apparently thankless job. But don’t fall for their Vulcan mind-tricks! It’s not your fault! They chose the jobs they have! They are the only people to blame for their own destiny, (wow, that sounded almost like some kind of personal philosophy or view on life, I wonder how that made it into this column.)
The only thing worse than the clerk who hates you for no visible reason is the clerk who is too apathetic to even look you in the face when they’re talking to you. It’s like they just underwent electroshock therapy or a lobotomy. They spout memorized junk at you without tone or inflection. Don’t even try to ask this person a question if you don’t understand something, because they’re too lethargic to even kick-start their brains into working. They’ll just look through you with glazed, unfocused eyes, unable to comprehend what’s just been spoken. Then they get angry because you almost made them think, so they’ll either refer you to somebody else, which will result in more life lost in one of those never-ending lines, or they’ll just screw you over on whatever you went there for in the first place.
So what can we do about these people? Not a damn thing. They don’t understand or appreciate somebody being nice to them, so it’s a wasted effort. Maybe you can give them money to grease the wheels of the system a little, but unless you’re Scrooge McDuck, you don’t carry that much cash on hand, (Ever notice how his fortune was made up mostly of change with the occasional bill thrown in? How rich can he be with all that spare change?)
The only thing that I can think of working is if you get very rich and famous before you go to the DMV. Oh, and make sure you’re extremely appealing to the opposite sex, that helps. Then you’ll not only get great, (read, decent) service, but you’ll probably get to cut your way to the front of any line. And that’s most important, because there really isn’t enough space in the DMV for everybody to use a sleeping bag.
Then I joined the army and learned of the joy that is impersonal public service. From the beginning all the way to the end, I’ve experienced five years of apathetic, vaguely hostile people. You know the kind of people I’m talking about. The ones whose jobs force them to come into contact with dozens, if not hundreds of people a day yet they treat each one of the patrons as if they’ve personally offended them by killing and raping, (in that order no less) the family pet.
You go to the DMV, you stand in line for so long that you don’t even remember why you went, and when you finally reach the person behind the counter, all you want is some caring and politeness. But what do you get? You get a clerk who gives you such an evil look that you start to hate yourself and you don’t know why.
“I just wanted to come here and renew my license,” you think to yourself. “But now I’m starting to question if I’ll get into heaven when I die! Why does this person hate me so much? What did I do?!”
These public servants love to act as if each person they deal with is personally responsible for giving them such a dead-end and apparently thankless job. But don’t fall for their Vulcan mind-tricks! It’s not your fault! They chose the jobs they have! They are the only people to blame for their own destiny, (wow, that sounded almost like some kind of personal philosophy or view on life, I wonder how that made it into this column.)
The only thing worse than the clerk who hates you for no visible reason is the clerk who is too apathetic to even look you in the face when they’re talking to you. It’s like they just underwent electroshock therapy or a lobotomy. They spout memorized junk at you without tone or inflection. Don’t even try to ask this person a question if you don’t understand something, because they’re too lethargic to even kick-start their brains into working. They’ll just look through you with glazed, unfocused eyes, unable to comprehend what’s just been spoken. Then they get angry because you almost made them think, so they’ll either refer you to somebody else, which will result in more life lost in one of those never-ending lines, or they’ll just screw you over on whatever you went there for in the first place.
So what can we do about these people? Not a damn thing. They don’t understand or appreciate somebody being nice to them, so it’s a wasted effort. Maybe you can give them money to grease the wheels of the system a little, but unless you’re Scrooge McDuck, you don’t carry that much cash on hand, (Ever notice how his fortune was made up mostly of change with the occasional bill thrown in? How rich can he be with all that spare change?)
The only thing that I can think of working is if you get very rich and famous before you go to the DMV. Oh, and make sure you’re extremely appealing to the opposite sex, that helps. Then you’ll not only get great, (read, decent) service, but you’ll probably get to cut your way to the front of any line. And that’s most important, because there really isn’t enough space in the DMV for everybody to use a sleeping bag.
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