Stupid People

While the title of this post is a very broad umbrella that includes the vast majority of the population, something very specific triggered this post. I was actually reading an article about how terrible Jeff Dunham is (although said article also pointed out that he is the third richest comedian behind Jerry Seinfeld and Chris Rock, after earning $30 million last year! What the fuck?!), and part of the article was talking about how politically incorrect Dunham's puppet characters are. Yeah, because that's the most offensive thing about his act. Not the part where he's completely and utterly the opposite of funny.

Anyway, I decided that this would be the perfect opportunity to mine some of the comments on the bottom of the page for comedic gold. I got just three comments in and unearthed this gem: "Freedom of speach is all I can say." And I so hope that you're a man of your word and say nothing else for the rest of your life. If you can't spell "speech," then your freedom of speech should absolutely be revoked (unless you're a foreigner; then I forgive you. Te absolvo.). In fact, let's extend that revocation to people who can't spell "definitely," as well as to those who are unable to distinguish between "their," "there," and "they're," and "two," "too," and "to." Not surprisingly, I have a much longer list of offenses for which I'd like to strip people of their powers of speech, but I don't feel like getting any more riled up than I already am. It's almost bedtime.

(Special thanks to Nads for reigniting my passionate abhorrence for ventriloquist acts.)

Yet More Ways of Making Adolescent Girls Insecure

This video is an actual, real-life commercial that I had the fortune? of catching the other night:



Seriously, how many things are wrong with this ad? It's just awful on so many levels. First let's talk about the lack of realism. What the hell is she wearing to a fucking dirty rock concert venue?! It's not prom. Calm the fuck down. Also, how much room does she have to navigate that crowd. Have you ever been to a concert where your crotch wasn't mashed into the ass in front of you? If there's that much breathing room, then that must be one shitty band. Oh, wait. It is.

Second, let's delve into the deeper message of this calamity. That girl had one pimple. ONE! And some "benevolent," ethnically ambiguous being is sent from the future to hand off some Clearasil and say, "You don't need to miss the show." Gee, thanks. I didn't realize I was going to have to miss it until you said so . . . you fucking vain bitch. How passive-aggressive is that comment?! The marketing people at Zeno (whatever the fuck that is) are basically saying, if you have so much as one blemish on your face, you should not leave the house. "You don't need to miss the show . . . now that you have a way of removing that repulsive pustule from your face, because otherwise, you should not have gone out." What kind of message is that?!

Warmest Regards,

When you think about it, isn't it kind of funny when you have a long, back-and-forth email chain with someone, especially a friend, and both parties still put their names at the end of every message? It's like, you definitely know who's sending the email. In fact, if no one had signed even the first email, everyone would still know who's involved because your inbox tells you exactly who the sender is. Just a thought.

Bitterly Yours,
The Curmudgeon

Thanks, But No Thanks

Girls are always trying to set me up with guys. "Oh my god, you'd love my friend, Jeremy. You guys totally have the same sense of humor and you're both so funny." Is Jeremy pretty with a good body and a vagina? No? Then I'm not interested. I have enough guy friends.

If we're being honest, he's probably not as funny as I am, but he's going to try to be, and I'll just end up being really annoyed and complaining about him here. And, on the off chance he is as funny as me, we're just gonna spend the entire night trying to one-up each other, which will inevitably result in our interaction devolving into a conversation about gay bestiality and infanticide, or something equally or more perverse, and we'll both end up exhausted, with no girls. Doesn't sound very promising.

My Next Boycott?

The more I think about it, the more I think I'm going to have to boycott Sherlock Holmes. How many fucking previews are they going to show for this thing?! Enough already! We get it! Robert Downey Jr. is going to be cutesy, charming, and clever with a fake British accent. Jesus Christ.

I actually had a mild interest in seeing this thing before they launched this maniacal marketing assault. Now I just feel like they're being insecure and trying to compensate for something. It makes me wonder if the conversation in the room went something like this:

Hollywood Producer #1: This thing is a piece of shit. What are we gonna do?

Hollywood Douche #2: I got it! We'll drum up as much hype as we can prior to its release so we can make our money back right away, and by the time people figure out how terrible it is, it'll be too late!

But for me, it's like, if there were a cute girl you were interested in, but she just kept talking about how great she was, you wouldn't believe her because you'd assume she's masking massive insecurities, you'd avoid seeing her . . . if you were smart.

White Power!

Tell me the guy in this InventHelp commercial isn't the goofiest-, whitest-sounding black dude you've ever heard? He sounds whiter than Tony Gwynn. He sounds like Dave Chappelle when Chappelle did that sketch about the blind black guy who thought he was white and was the leader of his KKK chapter (that's where the title of this post comes from; I'm not a total asshole). And his last name's McGhee! Doesn't get any more white bread than that. Anyway, thought it was amusing...

The Homeless

My friend reluctantly admitted something to me recently. She told me she saw some guy she thought was cute, and then moments thereafter, noticed that he was barefoot and homeless. This reminded me of another one of my theories: you never see a hot homeless chick.

I see plenty of homeless guys who I'm sure would be presentable if you showered them off, shaved them down, and dressed them up... And in my friend's case, you wouldn't even need to do that.

My theory is, a hot girl never has to be homeless because, for a girl, being hot is such a valuable commodity; it's its own currency. I think Seinfeld said something like, while girls care about what a guy drives, what job he has, what kind of family he's from...a guy doesn't care about any of that stuff, as long as she's hot. A hot girl can always just blow some rich guy in a pinch, even an attractive rich guy. Much harder for a broke dude to broker that deal with an attractive rich chick, you know what I mean. We all saw who Hugh Grant cheated on Elizabeth Hurley with, but she would've never done the equivalent.

Power Bottom?

My buddy was telling me about his gay friend who claims to be a "power bottom." I'm familiar with the term, but what does it mean? Does it mean you don't cry when you take it in the ass? That reflects a good deal of power, I would say. Does it mean that you aggressively back up onto the dick instead of just taking it? Because that kind of aggressiveness would be an indication of power, too, I suppose. I'm confused. Someone enlighten me.

Where Do They Get Off?

My buddy: "You ever hook up with a fat chick who wasn't self-conscious? It's weird, right? It's like, 'Shouldn't you be apologizing, or something?'"

I love my friends, but don't take that quote to heart. Confidence is good. If you're fat, be okay with that. They'll be someone out there who worships everything about your fat ass... Not me. But someone. If you're not okay with being fat, do something about it. Hit the gym, run around the block, stick your finger down your throat. Whatever. But no one wants to hear you complain about it constantly. As soon as I hear a girl say something like, "I feel so fat right now." I immediately think, "Oh, low self-esteem; this'll be easy." Then I think, "No way would I want to date this girl." Don't be a pussy. Be confident.

I'm So Manly

My car has a lot of problems. Actually, just one problem. It frequently does not start. Which is a pretty major problem. It's actually a pretty nice car, way nicer than I deserve, but these are the complications you have to deal with when you put your Israeli, used-car-dealer father in charge of procuring your automobile.

Anyway, the point is, it didn't start the other day, so I popped the hood and played around with the fuse box for a minute. Then I got back into the car and tried to start it again, and it worked! I gotta admit, I was kinda attracted to myself afterwards. If I had been a girl I totally would've banged me.

I Like A Challenge

Sometimes, when I meet girls, I like to challenge myself by doing a little self-sabotage, and then seeing if I can recover from the "flat spin" without having to EJECT and break my neck, like Goose...metaphorically speaking. For example:

1. One time, I picked a girl up for a first date, and I'm driving, and we're laughing and talking. Then, after a brief moment of silence, I said, "It's pretty crazy how trusting girls are on first dates when you think about it, right?" She giggled, but you could see the wheels starting to turn. I let that moment breathe for a second. Then I go, "Seriously, like, if I were some homicidal psycho I could just drive you out to the desert and chop you up into a million pieces and no one would ever know." She laughed, sort of, but I made sure to keep a straight face for a few seconds. Then I finally broke character and said, "Don't worry. I left my mask and axe in the trunk. By the time I ran out to get them you'd probably be long gone anyway..."

2. Another time, I met a girl while I was out one night, and we're talking about some inane bullshit. She was probably telling me about her maltipoo and vanity plates, or something. Anyway, I go, "Oh, so where do you live?" And she's like, "Miracle Mile." And I was like, "Yeah, but where? I know the area." And she was like, "Like, by Curson and 6th." And I go, "No, what's your exact address?" But with a completely straight face. Try that one some time. And be patient before blurting out "just kidding." Also, don't blink. That contributes to the effect. The reaction is priceless (Curmudgeon's note: for my feelings about the word "priceless," please see earlier post about anticlimactic punchlines).

3. Another time at a bar, I was drinking water, and some poor girl comes up to me and goes, "C'mon. You can't just drink water. You have to get a drink." So I go, "Actually, my dad's an alcoholic, so..." (Curmudgeon's note: my father is not an alcoholic. But he does enjoy watching movies on Lifetime, which is arguably worse.) Her face dropped and she got super serious, "Oh my god. I am so sorry." And then I go, "Just kidding. He's not an alcoholic. This is straight vodka." And she started cracking up, and playfully hit my arm, "You jerk. Hee hee hee." And then I go, "No, seriously, though, he's an alcoholic. This is water." And she got serious again. And I go, "Nah. Just kidding." And she got really confused. She walked away. Smart move. I deserved it.

4. Finally, I was in Cabo a few years ago, and I was walking this girl back to the hotel at like three in the morning, or something, and we're walking along the edge of the marina. There's a short wall, on the other side of which is, like, a 15-foot drop into the water. For some reason, I decided that it would be a good time to off-handedly comment, "I could totally just pick you up and throw you over the side, and you'd probably drown, and no one would ever know because I just met you tonight."

Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me? I don't know why I always think about how crazy it is that girls are so trusting of guys they've never met before, but I do. I think it's a couple of things. First, I think if I were a woman, I'd be hyper-paranoid all the time. I'd be scared to walk alone at night, I'd be scared to let a guy pick me up, I'd be scared to let someone in my apartment. As a guy, I know I could at least put up a decent fight if it ever came down to it, but women are significantly weaker, physically, and I feel like that seriously affects the dynamic, no?

Second, I feel like I'm a good guy, despite what some of you readers might think. I'm very considerate. I take feelings, and all that crap, into account. I don't use women. I don't cheat. But I think that's the problem. I consider myself a good guy, and I know that I think up some depraved shit sometimes. So imagine what the bad guys are thinking?! And imagine what the really bad guys are actually doing!

Third, I always think about the situation from the perspective of a father. Not in a sick way, assholes. In the sense that, I would kill myself if I had a daughter because I'd never want my daughter to ever trust anyone as much as girls trust me, even though I KNOW I'm fucking trustworthy! Like, if I have daughters, I want to instill a completely unhealthy fear of everything in them. Is that wrong? This is the same reason I can't enjoy strip clubs. I always think, "That girl has parents. This can't be what they wanted for her." . . . And then the girl's mom gets up on stage next to her. Lovely.

Cinnamon Toast Shush!

I hate the sound of crunching when people eat. It's so grating. When people crunch on potato chips, apples, carrots, whatever. I especially hate when they exaggerate that sound in commercials. Ugh.

I think that's probably a good indicator of when it's time to get out of a relationship, actually. If you look over at the person you sleep next to most nights, and the sight/sound of them crunching on some edible makes you wish death upon them, even though they're doing absolutely nothing wrong, just sittin' there tryin' to enjoy a late-night snack in their PJ's, can't really control the volume of the crunch that much...it's probably time to move on.

LYSNZ PL8S

Okay, so here's a new batch of personalized license plates I spied recently. I've seen way more than this but I don't always remember to write them down. Man, people are dumb and unfunny:

1. "YUR DUN" - More like, YUR DED 2 MI. This guy was driving a Camaro, too. Douche.

2. "KPTV8ME" - I'm sorry, what was that? I lost interest.

3. "HOLLYBU" - As in Hollywood + Malibu. You can imagine what type of person would do something like this. She was also driving an orange Hummer.

4. "MRPRVCY" - Hmmm. That's ironic, because that's a pretty public display of your stupidity.

5. "MMS PNY" - Oh, I get it. Mom's Pony. Because a pony is a mode of transportation. Like your car. And you're a mom. Also, a pony is a member of the equine family, just like a mustang, which is the type of car you're driving. Clever. Now die.

6. "SMTCGO" - I couldn't, for the life of me, decipher this one. Then, I decided to read it with a Boston accent (watch, try it)...because I do stupid shit like that, and I got it (I think): Smart Cargo. Wicked retahded, right?

Mr. October

In fifth grade I did a book report on Reggie Jackson. In addition to the written report, we were required to do an oral presentation. I came into class in black face, a big gold chain, and a Yankees uniform. No shit. How fucked up is that? Now that I think about it, I think it was my mom's idea. Either she has a better sense of humor than I give her credit for, or she's a racist...

What the Fuck?!

What does it mean if you decide to take a shortcut down a side street you've never driven down before, to circumnavigate excessive traffic, and LITERALLY 18 cross streets in a row have the same exact street name, which is your ex-girlfriend's name?

Molestation?

Can you sue for malpractice if a reflexologist massages the part of your foot that corresponds to your genitals?

Best New Pick-up Line

I was out with a couple of friends tonight and this is what my friend asked a couple girls (he wasn't being funny; he was actually sincerely curious, which probably makes it even better): "So, have you girls ever been roofied before?"

I'm not kidding. How awesome is that?

Woods You Shut the Fuck Up Already?!

Can we calm down about Tiger Woods already? Jesus Christ. Every time I turn on the TV, everyone's talking about his "incredible fall." Incredible? Fall? Really? Last I checked he's exactly the same as before except we found out he was a dick to his wife. So let me get this straight, a guy with practically limitless resources and endless power was able to resist 99.9% of the women who constantly throw themselves at him, but still caved a couple times? Oh my god! How could this have happened?!

Or, you could take a step back and look at every other superstar athlete or mega-powerful man throughout ALL OF HISTORY, and let me know what percentage of those guys was 100% faithful. And then, take the guys who passed that test, assuming there were any, and stick them in today's 24-hour-media-crazed, sycophantic-paparazzi-filled, up-every-celebrity's-ass society, and tell me if they still check out. . . . Ah, fuck it. Just poll every regular guy on the street and let me know what you come up with.

Look, I'm not saying Tiger's wife deserved this by any means. (She probably didn't, although maybe she'd recently admitted to him that she had lied, and did, in fact, lick the entire IKEA staff's Swedish meatballs during a summer internship in Stockholm. I don't know. That's my point.) She'll punish him, rest assured. But what's that cliche? The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result? Well, marry one of the most skilled athletes/powerful men ever at your own risk, okay? Chances are, the reason you liked him in the first place is because every other girl wanted to fuck him. Congrats. You won.

Ass Burger

I'm currently reading A Confederacy of Dunces, a book I'd been meaning to get around to for a while, and it's fucking hilarious. The main character, Ignatius J. Reilly, is basically me . . . if I were morbidly obese and had Asperger syndrome.

Don't Sit on My Bed

I saw a homeless guy urinating on a bus-stop bench the other day, in broad daylight, and it reaffirmed my no-outdoor-clothing-in-my-bed policy. People sit down on public benches, on street curbs, on the ground (i.e. all places that are the bathrooms of hobos, stray dogs, and feral cats the world over), and then get into their beds in these same clothes!!! (Incidentally, the no-outdoor-clothing-in-bed policy is great for getting girls to remove excess clothing before getting into my bed; but it only works because I'm sincere...or, conceivably, if you were a good liar. Just sayin'.)

The next thing I want to do is to start removing my shoes at the door, but so far laziness has won that battle. The whole process of bending over and untying my shoelaces (which I always double-knot, obviously, because if my shoelaces were to ever touch the ground outside, that would be the end of those laces) is just too much...

Societal Rules of Thumb

I know this is going to make me sound like an asshole, but if you're fat and/or ugly, shouldn't you be extra nice? Like, if you're hard to look at, you have to give people extra incentive to be nice to you, no? (I'm sure some people will read this and feign incredulity, but I live in this realm called "reality," where people make many quick judgements, often subconsciously, based on physical appearance. There's a reason Heidi Klum doesn't have to be smart.)

On the other hand, I think if you're deformed or disabled, or even just really old, you can be a huge asshole. I'd be willing to take some abuse from someone in a wheelchair or a dude with a cleft palate, for sure. Now, having said that, don't be surprised if people don't like you as a result. Just 'cause you can be a prick, doesn't mean you should...

Mommie Dearest

Here's a haiku I wrote:

She is a quagmire
Like Afghanistan or 'Nam
She is my mother

Bully or Bullied?

The fuzz, the heat, the po-po, pigs, five-oh, coppers, power-tripping cocksuckers... Whatever you want to call them, most cops are usually the same: assholes.

It takes a certain type of person to want to be a cop. I feel like it's either the bully from high school, because he wants to retain his semblance of power and control, or the one who was bullied in high school, because he wants revenge for all the beatings he took. Either way, those aren't the type of people you want wielding power. But they are.

I actually spent a night in jail once, in Key West, Florida, over Spring Break of my senior year of college. I was pretty much hauled in for being stubborn and sarcastic. Shocking, yet again. I'm not gonna get into all the details because it would get me way more worked up than I want to be at this hour, but basically, I approached the arresting officer, who was at the same time approaching me because I had just given the finger to a colossally pricky bouncer, and I figured I'd explain what a dick the bouncer was, we'd laugh about it, and then the officer would tell me to just walk away and enjoy the rest of my vacation, and that would be the end of it. I'd never had a problem with police before. I was an honors student, and I was white. The way I grew up, you can talk to cops and ask them for directions because they're on your side. Anyway, I'd misjudged this Napoleonic, fuckface, ball-licking cop (Officer Biskup; I still remember your name, you piece of shit). He immediately got in my face like a Marine Corps drill sergeant on the first day of boot camp. I told him to calm down (never a smart move) and proceeded to attempt to explain what happened. (Ahhh! I'm getting irritated!) Okay, long story short, he grabbed me, accused me of resisting, kicked me in the leg, cuffed me, and threw me in jail for the night. I filed a report against him the next morning, and tried to follow up on it, but their police department ended up having all these false witness reports. Terrible experience. I still get really agitated when I think about it. And the most profound lesson of that whole ordeal was that I cannot even begin to imagine how bad black people had, and still have, it when it comes to police brutality and abuse of power.

Incidentally, I just decided to do a little google search on this Officer "Dingleberry" Biskup, and it turned up several interesting articles on him. One where he allegedly beat up some local restaurateur ("Biskup took him to the ground and smashed his head on the ground several times, causing his mouth and nose to bleed"), one where he was in charge of crowd control and tasered a guy for "hindering" him (the taser didn't work well enough so he then had to take the guy to the ground and use a stun gun, too), a third that reports that he was charged with misconduct and brutality for which he could face a year in jail and a $1,000 fine, and finally, one where he's accused of beating the shit out of someone's pet pig. No joke.

Ughs

Oh, also today, I saw some other douche wearing a deep v-neck and Uggs. A guy. Do I really need to say anything else?

An Exercise in Futility

I saw some guy violently cough today, and to cover his mouth, he closed one fist and held it about 4-5 inches away from his mouth. He's not the first I've seen do this. If you cough and hold your fist five inches from your pie-hole, that doesn't count as covering your mouth! If this is what you do, try this: take a removable shower head, point it at your computer, hold your fist five inches from the nozzle, and turn on the water for one quick blast. Let me know how that works out for your computer, you Swine Flu propagating degenerate.

Is It Possible to Remix Perfection?

Apparently. Have any of you caught this new ShamWow commercial where the original version is horribly horribly remixed?! It's incredible! My favorite parts are the completely nonsensical cutaways to lone dancers. It's so awkward and weird. Did they actually hold auditions for that? I'll never understand people. Here it is. Enjoy:

Anticlimactic Punchlines

I hate when people say something is "classic." Especially when they bestow that title upon an event that's just occurred. "Classic" implies that something has stood the test of time. If your friend spills a drink, you can't immediately say, "that's classic!" Well, you can, but you'd be a jackass.

Same goes for "priceless." Stop saying this. If your punchline comes from MasterCard commercials, stay far away from me...unless you like being loathed...to your face. (Can you loathe to a face? Does that even work? Well, if it's possible, that's what I would do to you if you used the word "priceless." I would loathe you. Overtly.) Whatever you're deeming priceless can probably have a price put on it, and my guess is, the free market wouldn't be demanding all that much.

Finally, I hate when people say, "famous last words." Ha. Ha. Ha. Hilarious. Something tells me nothing you ever say in your entire life will be famous. "I bet I can eat that whole pizza!" "Famous last words." "I have to go to the bathroom." "Famous last words." "I don't have a gag reflex." "Famous last words." Jesus Christ...

NASCAR: Do We Need It?

No.

Can someone please explain to me this country's avid interest in NASCAR? I'm sitting there watching a perfectly good edition of SportsCenter and "highlights" from this shit come on? (As if you can call excerpts from this "sport" [as if you can call NASCAR a sport] highlights; that's the equivalent of calling the kernels of corn embedded in a huge pile of turd, highlights.) It's bad enough I have to endure ice hockey highlights, golf highlights, and Rachel Nichols (the sports journalist, not the actress), but cars driving in circles is just too much...

Sir, I Need To See Your Boarding Pass and ID

Just once I want to see one of these romantic comedies end realistically. I want the build-up to that stale, overdone, last-minute, airport rescue, where the guy rushes to the airport, leaves his still-fucking-running car at the Departures curbside, and runs onto the plane itself to stop the love of his life from leaving forever. I want to see the version where the guy rushes to catch the girl before her flight leaves, leaves his car running at the curb, then gets to the pre-gate security, where they look at him like he's insane for trying to get through without a ticket, and he's forced to turn around. The girl's flight leaves, and he slinks off, back to his car, only to find that it's been towed or stolen.

Then again, maybe that has been done. I wouldn't know. I don't watch that shit.

Meet the Natives!

A new show premiered on the Travel Channel tonight: Meet the Natives. It's amazing. You should watch it. It's about five guys from the island of Tanna, an island of Vanuatu, where they live in a primitive, self-sufficient, supremely peaceful society, who come to the United States for something like five weeks, to travel, learn about our culture, introduce us to theirs, and, most importantly to them, spread the message of peace and harmony.

They're super upbeat, completely without pretense or affectation, and they offer us a rare and cool opportunity to view ourselves and our existence through fresh eyes, which proves to be surprisingly insightful. At times, you feel guilty for the amount of excess we as Americans enjoy. Other times, you almost feel embarrassed for them, like when their chief prays earnestly to a massive boulder in Yellowstone (it's reminiscent of how Hugh Grant feels in About A Boy, the only good movie he's ever made, I think, when the little kid and his mom sing with their eyes closed), or when they ask a table of people in Montana if they know "Tom Navy," the Jesus-like figure to whom the Tanna people attribute their peaceful philosophy. But the thing is, they're not embarrassed because they're totally sincere. And that's refreshing.

Here's the website if you want to check it out: http://www.travelchannel.com/TV_Shows/Meet_the_Natives

Sing Like Celine

When I drive, I wear a bluetooth. Yes, I hate myself for this, but not enough to risk having to pay the ticket I would get if I got caught talking on my phone while driving.

When I drive, I also always sing along to the amazing mix CD's that I expertly craft for myself.

When I park, I always turn my bluetooth off (because I refuse to reinject myself into general population while still wearing that thing), which requires me to hold down the button on my earpiece for about 3-5 seconds.

The other day, I was pulling into a busy shopping center, full of people, and I was turning off my bluetooth while belting out whatever emo anthem was pumping through my speakers at that moment, and I realized that I looked like one of those assholes who holds his ear when he sings so he can better hear himself. That's all. Just wanted to share that embarrassment.

What Is This Salty Discharge?

Happy Thanksgiving! Or, as a friend of a friend proffers, Happy Tricked-The-Indians Day! Don't worry; I'm not gonna rant about that whole thing. BOOORRRIIINNNGGG... It's been overdone. Yes, we killed off practically an entire indigenous people for our personal, greedy gain. Welcome to being White. We're assholes of, literally, historic proportions.

This year, I decided to take Thanksgiving off. That's right. Not in the boycott sense, because I don't have any major moral qualms about this holiday (save for the aforementioned genocide). I turned down all the very gracious offers of free food and festive company, a few of which were even from people I like, in favor of a day of complete solitude. I value my alone time.

And today, I woke up, and it was 85 and sunny in LA, so I left my house to go for a long walk, a sort of recon mission, to find out what was open for food. As I chipperly sauntered down the relatively barren (even by LA standards) streets of LA, I noticed that there was still a decent amount of pedestrian traffic, and that these pedestrians looked pretty sad and lonely, particular the homeless and elderly ones.

And that's when irony struck: these people weren't alone by choice, like I was. They were just plain, old-fashioned alone. And that really bummed me out. And so, on the day that I specifically isolated myself from the people who care about me, I actually felt the most grateful for all my friends and family who drive me to the brink of insanity. Thanks, guys. As much as I complain, I'd be sad and lonely without you...

(Oh, and here's why I chose this post's title, in case you didn't already know...)

I Like You... Oh, Wait, Never Mind.

I can't make a totally honest, accurate assessment about a girl until she's made me ejaculate. I think this is the same for most men. Our brains are just too clouded before we get to that point to really focus on the emotional connection. We try, but it's just too difficult. And that's a compliment, really. We're so attracted to women, we can't think straight. Don't turn this into a negative thing. I can think I like a girl, but if I would rather be alone immediately after I ejaculate, then I realize I don't like her all that much. If I want her to stick around (no pun intended) afterwards, then that's a very good sign.

So, my initial instinct would be to advise women not to wait so long, and put out sooner, because then we, men, could more clearly assess the situation in a timely fashion, before you get too attached. But then I also recognize that if a girl puts out too quickly, I'll think she's a whore. Sooo . . . I really don't know what to tell you. That's why there are no rules in this crazy game of love.

And on that note, Happy Thanksgiving!

Revenge of the Nerds

Like everyone else, I loved this staple of 80's cinema, and for the most part, I agreed with the overall message. But am I alone here in thinking the nerds took their revenge a little too far?

Anyone remember that moon bounce scene? You know, during the charity, fundraiser portion of the competition, when Louis, the king nerd, pretends to be Stan, the king jock, by dressing up in the same Darth Vader costume, and therefore tricks Stan's girlfriend, Betty, into sleeping with him because she thinks he's her boyfriend? Isn't that called rape? Betcha didn't consider that when you first saw this movie at age 10.

But then she's okay with it because the nerd is so much better at sex than her boyfriend?! What message are they trying to convey here?! Trick a girl into letting you rape her, but only if you're really good at sex, because then she'll be your girlfriend? And the nerd explains why he's so skilled in the art of love by saying, "All jocks ever think about is sports. All we ever think about is sex." And this is supposed to be profound. So let me get this straight: all I have to do is constantly think about sex and I'll be amazing at it?!... Done. I'm amazing at sex. Call me.

Revenge Is Sweet

Something just occurred to me. Can you imagine how motivated the first black athletes who were allowed to play integrated sports against white people must have been?! You've been treated like a worthless animal for centuries and then suddenly you get to play a contact sport against the very people who have been abusing and oppressing you?!

As a Jew, this made me think of how amazing it would feel to play tackle football against an entire team of Nazis...although if that happened it would mean that the Nazis won, and that wouldn't feel very good at all. Damnit.

Scent Technology?

I saw a bottle of one of the 10,000 different types of Old Spice body washes recently, and on it was written, "8 Hr. Scent Technology." Seriously? "Scent Technology?" And only eight hours? That's actually not that long. So I have to shower three times a day or I'll smell? If you're going to fabricate a hygiene "technology," at least make it last 24 hours.

Mrpphh Grrrrmm Brrrbph

Sorry. My lips were wrapped around the barrel of a firearm. Seriously, every time I think they can't possibly come up with shittier movie premises . . . they do. Have you seen the previews for this calamity called Did You Hear About the Morgans? (I've obviously provided it for you, if not.) It's this new piece of shit starring Sarah Jessica Veiny Parker and Hugh Romantic Comedy Grant (ugh!).

Even their attempt at a cutesy little tagline was completely uncreative and utterly unfunny (check the 1:10 mark of the below clip), "The Morgans will have to go to the middle of nowhere . . . before they get somewhere . . . with each other . . ." How fucking stupid is that?! Who got paid to come up with that line?! "Ahhh yeeeaaah. Let's say 'nowhere,' then pause dramatically before contrasting it with 'somewhere.' That'll be awesome! Everyone will wanna go see it!"

Awww, The Confederacy Loses Again :(

You know what's funny? When people want a character to sound smart, they give him a British accent. When they want a character to sound stupid, they give him a Southern accent. It probably sucks to be born with a Southern accent, huh?

Seriously, NASA?

Maybe we are over-funding NASA if this is what they're choosing to "crusade" about:

http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20091109/od_afp/entertainmentfilmusspaceoffbeat_20091109193814

God, people are stupid! NASA officials shouldn't have to answer to these morons! In fact, I think NASA is discrediting itself and undermining its own intelligence by pandering to these ignoramuses who actually think the world is going to end in 2012. Let these jackasses commit mass suicide in anticipation of the apocalypse supposedly predicted by the fucking Mayan calendar (they suddenly care what other cultures have to say?); the world will be a much better place, I assure you.

You Know Your Step-mom Watches Too Much Fox News When...

I called my step-mom to check in and say hi the other day, and we had an interesting conversation. She was telling me how she called the doctor to see about getting the H1N1 vaccination, but the doctor said they were out. And I said, yeah, I know, they haven't been able to produce enough to meet the demand yet. And then she goes, "I know. How do you like your Obama now?"

What? What?! How is Obama responsible for creating and spreading Swine Flu?! And how is he also responsible for not making enough of the vaccine to satisfy her?! I asked her if she was even aware, anymore, of the absurdity of the right-wing propaganda she blindly repeats after my father forces her to watch Sean Hannity. She just laughed.

Biz Markie

Speaking of commercials, watch this Heineken one and tell me what's wrong with it:



The cab!

Yeah, like you'd be able to hear the radio (which would be talk radio) over Regis and Kelly shouting at you from that crotch-level, touch-screen monitor. Right, and the cabbie wouldn't be on his bluetooth to Pakistan, or Armenia, or the Sudan, as he constantly stopped short and jerked the wheel back and forth as he clumsily and ineffectively weaved in and out of heavy traffic. Sure, like you wouldn't be so nauseous by that point that you'd have to stick your head out the window like a golden retriever.

Did you see how nice the radio in that thing was, too?! This magical Heineken cab doesn't even have one of those suicide-bomb-proof dividers that makes the ride even more vomit-inducing because you can't see in front of you, not to mention the fact that it crushes your knees every time he pumps the squeaky brakes. I'm just saying.

Overall, not a bad commercial, though.

What?!

Caught this gem of a commercial the other day. Seriously, Kay Jewelers needs a new fucking marketing department, or something. Their commercials are consistently and nauseatingly terrible. Now that's an establishment I will happily be boycotting. Watch this:



This guy opens up by saying that he's terrible at sign language! So what am I to believe their relationship is predicated on? How the hell are these two communicating?! What message is Kay trying to push on us? I'm supposed to believe that these two people who can't even talk to each other are at the point in their relationship where he's buying her a watch? I don't like it.

Nature Over Nurture

I was thinking about it the other night, and I think I've always been like this. This. Hyper-observant, easily irritated, borderline OCD. Here are three supporting examples from my very early youth:

1. You know how socks have that seam that runs across the tops of your toes? Well, when I was really little, before I dressed myself, I remember that my mom had to be extra careful when putting on my socks for me, because if that seam was off center by even the slightest bit, and I could feel it on the sides of my toes, or God forbid on the bottoms!, I would cry hysterically. Really.

2. Crispy cereal was very important to me. I couldn't stand soggy cereal. But, I also hated having to scoop up dry cereal in too little milk, because that made it harder to get on the spoon. So, like I still do for everything else in my life, I had a system. As a little kid, I'd fill my bowl with cereal, and fill it to the brim with milk, but then only eat like half the bowl of cereal because the second half was too soggy by the time I got to it. I refused to eat soggy cereal. It didn't feel right. I remember eating breakfast at one of my friend's houses was always very traumatic for me because his father made you finish whatever you put in the bowl. Your cereal got soggy? Tough shit. You shouldn't have poured it in there. You finished your cereal before it soggy but now you have excess milk in the bowl? Better get to slurpin', son. I got very good at balancing my milk and cereal levels at this kid's house...and at pouring the excess milk in the sink when his dad wasn't looking.

3. When I was in pre-school, I think like three years old, they had a finger painting day. So, like all the other kids, I dipped my hands in the paint, made a few masterpieces, and was ready to be on my way. But, I'm me, so it didn't happen like that. When we finished painting, I made the mistake of turning my hands over so I could check out my palms, probably to marvel at how such tiny extremities had been responsible for creating such beauty that day. As soon as I saw the palms of my hands covered in paint, I began crying hysterically, screaming about my hands being dirty, or something along those lines. I was completely inconsolable, and they actually had to call my mom to come pick me up and take me home.

Yeah, so, I think I've always been like this.

Boycotts

I know this may come as a shock, but I frequently boycott persons, places, and things. Here are two of the more recent examples I can think of off the top of my head. This is going to rile me up, but for you, I do these things...

1. Magic Nut and Candy Company: There's a pretty sizable nut shop at my local Farmers Market. They have these really good smoked almonds that I used to get there all the time. The one thing that always really annoyed about this establishment, though, was the fact that the women who worked there were inattentive bitches, but the almonds were so good I kept going back. Just to set the scene, this nut stand is almost never busy. I would go there a couple times a week. And every time I went, the women would either be talking to each other as I stood there, staring directly at them, waiting to be helped, or, if it was just one of them, she'd sit there reading, or literally staring straight ahead at nothing. I always had to say, "excuse me," to get their attention, even though no one was there and I frequented the fucking place. Annoying, I know. One time, as a little experiment, I walked up to the counter, right in front of the woman who was working, stopped, stood there, and stared at her, without asking for help, just to see how long it would take before she offered to help me. There were no other customers. She was alone. Six minutes. Six fucking minutes. Do you have any idea how long that is to leave someone standing there, staring right at you? Try standing still, in silence, for six minutes one time. Let me know how that works out for you. Anyway, I would usually order a third of a pound every time I went, because due to my lack of self-control around food, I would always end up eating them in one sitting, and I didn't want to get any fucking fatter. So after months of patronizing this nut shop, I decided to stop by one fine afternoon for my almonds. I had exactly enough cash to get my third of a pound of smoked almonds. As usual, I waited an unnecessarily long time for the woman to finish her conversation with the person she spends every single day of her life with, and then I ordered my almonds. With zero recognition on her face, she tells me that they only sell a minimum of a half pound (or some amount that was marginally larger than whatever I wanted) at a time. I said, "really? Because I'm here really often and I always order the same amount, and no one, including you, has ever told me that before." The bitch-cunt-robot repeats, "there minimum of half pound." So I took out my four bucks, or whatever it was, held it up, and said, "so you will refuse to take this cash, in my hand now, in exchange for handing a loyal customer the same amount of almonds he purchases every other fucking time he comes here?" . . . "Half pound minimum." "I hope you go out of business, I'm never coming back here again." And I stuck to my word. But, because there's no such thing as a just God, they are still in business. But you can bet I give them dirty looks every time I walk by. Not that it matters, because in all the months I shopped there, they never once made eye contact or even said, "you're welcome," when I thanked them for the almonds. I hate people.

2. Le Pain Quotidien: These French fucks (even though I think they're actually Belgian. You choose a French name for your cafe, you're French). I had been there a handful of times, and, every time, had thought the food was decent but the service sucked. I wasn't morally opposed to dining there, but they certainly left a bad taste in my mouth. Then, this happened: I went there for lunch one day, because there's one up the street from my house, and the person I was with wanted to go, I think. Whatever. Unimportant. Now I sound like a girl; providing unnecessary, boring details of a story that could be cut into one eighteenth the time. Anyway, I was perusing the menu and noticed that it said that all sandwiches were served on wheat bread. Okay. I hate wheat bread, but no big deal, right? This place is a bakery. (For those of you not in the know, "Pain" is French for "bread." Now if you didn't know that, please stop reading. Now. Walk away.) The fucking word "BREAD" is in the name of the establishment! I can obviously get my sandwich on one of the other dozens of types of bread they supposedly bake daily, right? I'm sure you know where this is going. The whore of a waitress, who was a complete bitch from the moment we sat down, finally comes over to take our order. I tell her which sandwich I want, and I then have the audacity to ask what kind of breads they have so I can get my overpriced sandwich on bread that I actually enjoy consuming. The rest of the conversation went pretty much like this:

Whore Waitress: Our sandwiches are served on wheat bread.
Curmudgeon: Yeah, I know, but is there any way I can get it on something else? I don't like wheat bread.
WW: The menu says that all the sandwiches are served on wheat bread.
C: Yes, I read the same menu to which you're referring, which was why I specifically asked what other types of bread I could get my sandwich on, seeing as you're a bakery.
WW: You can't.
(I just stared at her for a couple seconds. She's very rude about it, too. Not apologetic. Not like, "I'm so sorry, but the chef is a fascist maniac who refuses to change things from the menu, and I'll get in trouble if I ask." Nothing remotely resembling effort.)
C: So, you have an entire store of bread inside (we were on the porch), and I am going to be forced to eat bread I don't like if I want to order this sandwich?
WW: (rolling her eyes and exhaling) I can give you different bread on the side and just bring out the ingredients for the sandwich.
(You realize the absurdity of this, right? At this point, I'm wishing a painful death upon her and whoever raised her, so I've given up on being polite. Now I'm my sarcastic, asshole self.)
C: Great. Let's do that. Thanks so much. And if you could, would you mind putting the first piece of bread down first, then the ingredients, then the second piece of bread on top of the ingredients? Because that would be great.
WW: (eyes roll again) I'll bring them out separately.
C: Of course you will.

So, yeah, that didn't end well. I left zero tip for the first and only time in my life, I believe, and I haven't been back there since. And I beg everyone who reads this to boycott with me, and tell other people not to eat there. I really hate that place.

This Song Goes Out To...

I hate talking at the beginning or end of a perfectly good song. Shut the fuck up. I don't mean at concerts, though that's often annoying too; I mean on the studio-recorded tracks off the album. I don't wanna hear your stupid little intro, I don't give a shit who the song's dedicated to, and I certainly don't care to hear your god-awful spoken-word poetry you think belongs at the end of a song for some reason. I'm paying for your music. If I wanted to hear someone talk without listening I'd call my mom or my ex-girlfriend.

You want to dedicate a song or write a poem? Do it in the liner notes. What was that? No one reads the liner notes anymore? That's because you've been filling them with meaningless dedications and shitty poetry, and, as stated earlier, people don't give a shit about your dedications or poetry. So keep them out of your goddamn songs!

Fuckface

Pictures of the most annoying douchebags in the world. Great site: http://antiduckface.com/

(Special thanks to Stephanie Lemelin...)

Trailer Trash

I know I've lived in LA for a long time because when I hear someone say "trailer," I actually think of a movie preview and not the kind found in trailer parks. I hate myself for this.

Vanity Plates Gone Good

I was recently blessed with one of those rare opportunities where you get to see a personalized license plate that's actually awesome. Here's what it was: "FISTER." Seriously. Unfortunately, the car was parked, so I couldn't see what the courageous driver looked like. Wouldn't it have been cool if it had been a hot chick?!

So Easy A Mentally Handicapped Simian Can Do It

Seriously, how fucking hard is it to use a blinker?!

Uh Oh

Now we've really pissed them off:

Old Timer's

When I was little, I thought "Alzheimer's" was actually called "Old Timer's." It sounds the same (you just said it out loud to yourself, didn't you?), and actually makes way more sense; I don't know any young timers who have it, do you?

In fact, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and propose that we should officially switch it to Old Timer's disease. Here's a sample exchange:

Someone: "Ugh, my grandpa tells the same story over and over again."

Someone Else: "Oh, does he have Old Timer's?"

The Original Someone: "No. He's just an asshole."

See?! How much better is that? I'm stickin' to my guns here.

FYI...

I received a handful of less-than-thrilled comments regarding my previous post because some girls are insecure and defensive (though some simply disagreed), so I wanted to say something. An apology? . . . Haha. No! Don't be a ginger 'tard.

I wanted to add that the friend with whom I had the conversation about me hiring a man over a woman was, herself, a female, and she obviously disagreed with me. But because we both believe in equality, we actually put our heads together to come up with a solution to the very problem I posed, which was, if presented with two equally qualified job candidates, and one's a male, and the other's a female of reproductive age, why would I not hire the one who doesn't carry the risk of taking time off for maternity leave? And we decided that the government should impose mandatory maternity AND paternity leave, so that all candidates will pose the same flight risk, thus leveling the playing field, and, creating an overall better quality of life for employees. Eh?!

Well, guess I'll be moving my company off-shore, to a barge, where I can hire all the men I want! Victory! . . . Oh shit, wait. That sounds like some gay, sex, party cruise. That sucks. . . . But that would make a great movie idea! Straight guys stuck on a gay cruise liner! What was that? Cuba Gooding Jr. and Horatio Sanz beat me to it? Foiled again.

Separate But Equal

Right off, I'm going to concede that that is a misleading and insensitive title. But, if you're looking for sensitivity, please stop reading now...

Okay, good. Now that it's just us, let's continue. A little while back, I had a conversation with a good friend of mine about how I've had enough with this bullshit where we define equality as completely ignoring our differences. I'm all for equality, but no way in hell are we all the same! This applies to all differences, racial, national, but specifically, I was talking about gender differences when this came up.

I said, that if I were running a small business, and I had two candidates applying for the same job, and one was male, and the other female, that, all things being equal (as in, I think skill-wise, they would perform at equally mediocre levels), I would choose the male over the female if the female were of reproductive age because there would be the risk of her taking maternity leave. That's a fact. I provided a caveat where, if the woman were willing to sign a contract that said she would not get pregnant while under my employment, then that would work for me. Is that sexist? Maybe. But it seems to pretty clearly be the smarter move for my company, does it not? Let me again state, that this is in a case where both candidates are equally qualified. If the woman were better qualified to make money for my company, then fuck that guy she's going against, because I will hire her. People, women in particular, react rather negatively to that overall sentiment, but I don't understand why I should be willing to risk my financial independence because I have to pretend that these biological differences don't exist and won't affect me.

You want to call me sexist? Fine. You can go ahead and call me intelligence-ist, too, because I also refuse to hire stupid people. Why is that any different? Half the population can't help being born female (not that I even think that's a detriment; I'm just making a relevant point), but far more than half the population can't help being born stupid. And guess what? If I have a sales position that would generate greater income if it were filled by a more attractive person, then I will discriminate based on physical appearance, not because I hate ugly people (but c'mon, seriously, right?), but because that's what's best for my company! In fact, in that instance, that position would be more likely to be filled by a female...of reproductive age (because we all know women are no longer attractive after that window, am I right?).

Awww... Am I hurting your feelings? Well, you'll have plenty of time to cry about it at home because my imaginary company will not be hiring you, because Curmudgeon, Inc. doesn't have time for overly sensitive pussies.

I mean, listen, I want to be a professional athlete. But guess what? In some crazy scheme to turn a profit, it turns out all these professional sports leagues discriminate based on physical prowess because THAT'S WHAT'S BEST FOR THEIR FUCKING COMPANIES! I'm not gonna go whine about it and sue them for discrimination just because I wasn't born 6'7" and don't possess the skill set they need to make money. Nobody's going to line up to pay money to watch me play basketball. In fact, every Monday night, I have to pay my money for court time.

Look, I know this all sounds a little harsh, and that sort of thinking is, in a way, what contributed to our current economic mess, because corporations can justify a lot of terrible things under the umbrella of "doing what's best for the company" (which maybe throws into question the viability of an economy based entirely on the free market/capitalism--not that I have any better suggestions at the moment), but my point is just that we're all different. And we discriminate against each other all the time based on these differences. I mean, Jesus Christ. Have one conversation with a friend about dating and you'll quickly be reminded of how discriminatory we are. Too short. Too fat. Not the right religion. She eats her peas one at a time. Unfair discrimination is clearly wrong, but not all discrimination is unfair. Our differences are real and we can stop pretending they're not for the sake of faux equality. Different people have different advantages for a whole host of reasons. And what's an advantage in one situation can be a disadvantage in another.

And for the record, I do support affirmative action, because minorities, specifically black people, were very clearly systematically and institutionally discriminated against in this country, in an attempt to keep them from ever being able to socially and economically establish themselves enough to be upwardly mobile and compete with white people. I don't think an underqualified applicant should be chosen over a qualified white applicant, for example, but I do think if both a white and black applicant were overall, equally qualified, the black applicant should be accepted, because statistically speaking, he/she probably had a much tougher road to reach that same level of achievement as the white person he/she would be competing against.

Furthermore, people often shy away from stereotypes, and generally for good reason, but I don't know... Lots of Jews do have big noses and are good with money, though not all of them. Take my mom for example: she doesn't have a big nose and she's terrible with money. Lots of black guys love big asses and can jump high...but not all of 'em. Many Asians are hard workers and bad drivers, but not--well...maybe with the driving thing...uhhh... A lot of Russians love vodka. A lot of Australians surf. A lot of Middle Easterners eat hummus. You should take everyone you meet on a case-by-case basis, but it's kind of nice to have cultural differences, no? Life would be painfully boring without all these differences. I wouldn't want to travel around the world and have everyone and everything be exactly as they are in my home town. How much would that suck?! It's bad enough that every corner of the globe has a Starbucks and McDonald's. Do we have to homogenize the people now, too?! We're different. Stop being pussies and trying to be the same as everyone else. Figure out where you fit in given your physical and mental capabilities, and deal with it. I will never be a Major League Baseball pitcher. It's okay. Accept yourself and embrace our diversity because life would be way more dull without it...unless you're a goddamn queer! (Joke.)

So maybe not "separate but equal," so much as "together despite different?"

Yet Again, I Am Right

This here article says that grumpiness promotes clarity. So hows abouts that?! The professor who organized the study is quoted as saying, "Negative moods trigger more attentive, careful thinking, paying greater attention the external world." Now, personally, I think paying greater attention to the external world is what triggers negative moods, because it's the stupid, unaware people who walk around blissfully oblivious to their surroundings . . . but, hey, who am I to say? I'm just the rational, lucid-thinking curmudgeon:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/8339647.stm

(Special thanks to Helena for sending me the article...)

Which Came First, The Slob or the Failure?

Your car isn't your bathroom. In the last five days, I've had the pleasure of witnessing drivers doing the following:

1. A woman putting on deodorant.

2. A woman doing her makeup.

3. A man shaving.

4. And, my favorite/most utterly repugnant, a woman popping multiple pimples in her rear-view mirror.

Aside from the obvious dangers inherent in performing these acts while operating a motor vehicle, they're just plain disgusting.

I also noticed that all four of these people had really beat-up, piece-of-shit cars. Coincidence? No, obviously not. These people are fuck-ups. Do your grooming at home. There's a reason everyone else does. Because it's repulsive to look at, and because they want to succeed in life.

Halitosis

Q: Is there anything worse than being stuck in a conversation with someone who has bad breath?

A: Yes, plenty of things (read my blog).

But seriously, if you have bad breath, become more self-aware. Chew gum. Brush your teeth. Something.

Lemme Guess, You're Going As A Whore

Ahhh, Halloween. The holiday that makes it socially acceptable for women to dress like the pieces of meat they claim to not want to be categorized as. You call it a "sexy" nurse, we call it a "slutty" nurse. (Curmudgeon's note - A lot of women get mad or upset when you make these comments. They say something like, "a male-dominated society has dictated these things, etc." Guess what? If all women got together tomorrow and unilaterally agreed to only wear baggy sweatpants and sweatshirts whenever they leave the house, guys would still be lining up to fuck them. There's something innate there. In the free market of flesh, men's supposed dominance isn't the sole force responsible for women walking the streets in spandex, mini-skirts, and low-cut tops. I'm just sayin'...)

Seriously, is this holiday not the clearest reflection of the fact that humans are just another species of animal? I was watching the Birds of Paradise episode of Planet Earth (possibly the best program ever made), and witnessed the male birds, with their ornately elaborate plumage, dance to attract the females, who, themselves, looked rather drab. And that's what we do on Halloween. People say that everyone dresses up, but women don't really dress up so much as they dress down, just being their naked selves. Men are the ones who don elaborate costumes and dance around like drunken morons trying to attract the attention of their skin-flaunting counterparts . . . so they can bang them.

Hmmm . . . now that I think about it, I guess that's pretty much the same as any other weekend. Oh well. So much for that.

Happy Halloween, you scantily-clad, beautiful beautiful whores . . .

Midgets

So that last entry about the obsolescence of phone books reminded me of something that's been bothering me for a while: When did "midget" get replaced by "little person?" I'm all for eliminating offensive terms . . . but only when they're actually offensive. I feel like in this case, the change was actually made for the worse. At least "midget" denotes some sort of condition; it seems diagnosable. But "little person" seems way more demeaning, doesn't it? It's like saying, "yeah, you're like a person, only littler." Isn't that worse? Can someone please explain to me why that was determined to be the preferred nomenclature?

Phone Books

Why are phone books still being delivered to residences? I still get multiple phone-book deliveries every year. This practice can't be environmentally sound. Besides, when's the last time anyone actually even used one of these things?! Honestly. Well, other than as a booster seat for a small child or midget (I know, little person. Blah.), or to beat a confession out of a murder suspect in some crappy cop drama on TV. It just becomes a nuisance to have to carry it to the recycling bin. This seems like something that could be very easily remedied, no? If we just start eliminating all of these little inanities the world could be a much better place.

Can You Do Me A Favor?

Does it make me a huge asshole that I hate when people ask for favors? My stomach just turns when I hear someone say the word, "favor." I hate when they leave that message on your voicemail, "Hey, I have a favor to ask. Call me back," but they don't say what the favor is! So when you call back, you don't know if they're just going to ask you to check online for what time the movie starts, or if you're walking into an ambush, and they're going to ask you to drive them to the airport at 5:45 in the morning!

I especially hate when people spring surprise favors on you when you go to their houses! "Oh, now that I have you here, maybe you can help me hang this 150-pound painting, or move this colossal oak dresser into the basement..." What the fuck?! They totally blindside you with this shit. I only came over to pick up your daughter, or you invited me over to watch the game, or whatever. Any way you slice it, I wasn't mentally prepared for heavy lifting! I need to be in the proper mindset. I didn't stretch, I didn't wear heavy-lifting clothes . . . I wouldn't have fucking come!

The ultimate favor people ask is to help them move. And my answer to that is, NO! I specifically pay way more money than I should to hire movers when I move, because I don't want to break shit, or injure myself, or socially pressure other people to move my stuff. So if I won't do it for myself, I'm not doin' it for you. If I really really like you, I might offer to pay for the portion of the movers' fee that would cover the amount of help that I would have contributed. That's my final offer.

Don't Bring Me Down

If I'm on vacation, do me a favor, don't bring me down. I don't want to hear about your negative shit while I'm trying to escape my reality. And if I call home while I'm away, keep your office drama to yourself. Someone died? Don't tell me 'til I get back. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that information when I'm 6,000 miles away anyway?

My little brother just got back from a vacation in Sweden, and when he was there, he was out one night with some friends of a friend, one of whom decided to get really drunk and open up to him. She got all serious, telling him about how her mom died, and blah blah blah... Shhhhhh. Easy, Debbie Downer. I'm on vacation. Save it for people who have to deal with you regularly as a part of their realities.

T'd Off

If you pronounce the hard "T" when you say "mature" and/or "often," please don't ever talk to me.

Is The Death Penalty Too Harsh?

Ugh. This fucking Balloon Boy thing. The dad, Richard Douche, or whatever his name is, actually preemptively wrote theme songs for two reality show ideas he had (by the way, doesn't he look exactly like the bad guy, Crisp, from Kindergarten Cop?! http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0879186/ ). Can we please have him killed? Throw Jon and Kate in there while we're at it.

Anyway, I've been kind enough to provide a link to those theme songs. You should listen to them. At first, you'll want to kill yourself. Then, you'll come to the same realization that I did: that you're not the one who should have to die, he is!

http://www.tmz.com/2009/10/20/richard-heene-balloon-boy-reality-show-theme-music/

More Like Michael PUBE-le

What's the deal with this Michael Buble douche? Why am I seeing his CD everywhere now? (Ooh, Crazy Love, what a thoughtful, original album title: http://www.michaelbuble.com/store/product/crazy-love-standard-cd .) I heard someone say he's the new Frank Sinatra. Oh. I didn't realize we were looking for another Sinatra. I must've missed that memo. Does anyone actually miss the real Frank Sinatra?

New Grammar Issues

Is it Bluetooths or Blueteeth? Well, I guess if you have more than one of these things, proper grammar probably shouldn't be your biggest concern...

Peeing in a Black Toilet

Anyone else think it's gross when people put things on the floor right next to or just behind their toilets? Like books, magazines, extra toilet paper, etc. Have you ever had the misfortune of peeing in a black toilet? You can see every last drop of splash-back, and that's when you don't miss (which, for the record, I never do . . . never do don't miss . . . as in, I have good aim. Whatever!). I will never read a magazine, even if it is in a little rack or basket, that's resting below the level of the rim of the toilet. And you shouldn't either.

Rationalization

The mind is an amazing thing.

I like staying up late. Love it. In fact, I honestly can't remember the last time I fell asleep before 2:00 AM, and that includes international travels. Wherever I am, it's like my body won't let me fall asleep before two in the morning...at the earliest. I love the quiet, and the privacy, and the freedom. When I'm up really late, I feel like I hit the PAUSE button on the rest of the world, and while everyone else is frozen in time, I'm doing shit. I'm writing, I'm watching movies, I'm jerking off... Whatever. I never claimed to be curing cancer during this time. I just like that it's my time, and no one else exists. Sometimes I even feel like I'm being super-productive and, like, gaining on everyone, or even getting an upper hand, because they're all asleep! Take that, sleeping morons! Just laying there, all useless-like.

Now, as a result of staying up late, I also sleep in pretty late. While I wake up before 11:00 AM more frequently than I go to sleep before 2:00 AM (which we've established as never)...it's not by all that much. So, the counter argument, often championed by my father, is that while I'm sleeping like a "lazy bum," his preferred term of endearment (closely followed by "stranger," used when, God forbid, I don't call for more than 24 hours), everyone else is being really productive and passing me...in terms of net productivity, or something, I guess? Anyway, that's when I say, yeah, while every other schmuck is out there from the break of dawn, running around working his/her ass off, I'm enjoying some pretty sweet R.E.M. sleep! Who wins in that scenario, huh? So, overall, looks like a win-win for me. The Curmudgeon: 2-0.

Like I said, the mind is an amazing thing.

Madventures

Madventures is this awesome new show I relatively recently discovered on The Travel Channel. It features two Finnish dudes, one of whom I'm convinced is a genius, and the second of whom pretty much stays behind the camera, who travel the world sampling the generally weirder aspects of foreign cultures.

Anyway, tonight's episode, set in China, included a vignette on a small town that is pretty much dedicated to producing people who can perform circus tricks/acts, like juggling and acrobatics. Kooky Chinese and their crazy numbers games. I couldn't find a shorter link, so just go to the 9-minute mark and watch from there. It's just the last two minutes:

Fuck Allah!

(Disclaimer: this is directed at the fanatical Muslims, not the moderate, normal ones. If this doesn't apply to you as a Muslim, then I'm not talking about you. It's that simple.)

Fuck Allah. In the ass. Without lube. That's right. I said it. What are they gonna do now? Put a fatwa on me? Go for it, you pussy cowards. Shit, Salman Rushdie had a fatwa put on him, and he ended up banging Padma Lakshmi! I'd roll those dice. (Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with women? They wouldn't even give these pictures to a first grader as one of those "what's wrong with this picture?" assignments because it would be too easy: http://www.evilbeetgossip.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/07/padma_salman.jpg and http://neoneocon.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/07/padma_lakshmi102.jpg .)

But for real, Islam has got to be the most insecure of all the religions, by a mile, right? They freak out about every little thing. If you were so confident that you possessed the Universe's ultimate truth, wouldn't you be a little more relaxed about things? Remember the Danish cartoons that included caricatures of the prophet Muhammad? Oh no! Political cartoons that lampoon a religious figure! How dare those Danish?! They're always such instigators. It's not like Muslim countries have been publishing propaganda cartoons of money-hungry, hooked-nose Jews with impunity for centuries or anything.

I mean, the Danish? C'mon. Denmark is consistently ranked among the happiest countries, as having among the highest income equality, as being among the least corrupt . . . it was the first country to legalize same-sex marriage, and in 2009, was ranked as the second most peaceful country in the world, behind New Zealand. They're not a real angry bunch looking to offend, you know. Yet, as a result of the printing of those cartoons, people were KILLED! The Muslim community was so enraged by this freedom of expression, that actually facilitates the acceptance and propagation of their very religion, ironically, that all over the world, they took to the streets in protest, many times violently.

If I had those Danish cartoons, I'd re-post them right here. I don't give a shit. Actually, if I weren't so lazy and I had the technological savvy, I'd find them, print them out, blow them up, videotape a dog taking a huge shit on them, and then post it on YouTube. (Ooh! Just found these on Wikipedia. I'm kind of shocked that they'd be on there. Wonder if the link will even work: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/7/75/Jyllands-Posten-pg3-article-in-Sept-30-2005-edition-of-KulturWeekend-entitled-Muhammeds-ansigt.png )

Why do we tiptoe around this crap, too?! People died over these cartoons, and still, somehow, the Western World ended up apologizing. How the hell did that happen?! For what?! I'm all for acceptance and tolerance, but not when such a large group of people trample on other people's most basic rights and liberties and defend such deplorable actions as being part of their belief system.

And I know not all Muslims feel the same way about this. At all. In fact, I'm sure there are Muslims who are the most pissed off because this just brings more undue hatred and judgement upon them. And I feel terrible for them. Like all Jews felt extra shitty when Madoff got caught, and when those Rabbis got their organ-thieving ring busted up in New Jersey. I get it. It's like, c'mon, fellow Jews, we don't get enough crap as a people that you have to go and pull this garbage? But still, I watched a lot of news in the wake of that Danish cartoon incident, and every Muslim reporter I saw prefaced everything he/she said with some version of the following caveat: "Well, you have to understand, in Islam . . ." Uh uh. Sorry. I don't have to understand shit. If you can't just say that people are wrong for killing other people over a cartoon, fuck you.

And you, over there in the corner. Yes, you, Evangelical Christian. Stop nodding along. You're just as fucked up. I feel like when the fundamentalist Evangelical Christians call out fanatical Muslims, it's like in prison when the murderers and rapists single out the child molesters for attack because they're the real bad guys. Really, murderers and rapists? You're going to serve as the moral compass? Thanks, but no thanks.

You Fucking Ungrateful Bitch!

Has anyone seen this Chase credit card commercial they play all the time?

This guy is all sweet and he asks his wife if she wants to go on a romantic vacation together using the points they've accumulated on their credit card, and she's like, no, we can't. And he's like, no, the points don't expire and blah blah blah. And again, she goes, nope, no can do. And he persists, explaining, seriously, we can use these points for pretty much anything. And then she goes, "I know," and looks down, with a raised eyebrow and sinister grin, at the new dress she's wearing, that she obviously purchased using the points he wanted to use for a vacation for the two of them, without even consulting with him.

But here's the kicker: then the guy smiles at her lovingly! Yeah fucking right!

Ooh! I found a link for it! See what I'm saying?!

J35U5 CHR15T

Saw a couple license plates recently that I felt needed to be mentioned: "JEZUS <3 S," (that <3 is supposed to be a heart, because they actually paid extra to have a heart on their license plate) and "J35U5." So not only was I stuck behind these terrible drivers, but they combined two of my least favorite favorite things: personalized license plates (which are especially irritating when the owners go to such great lengths to get their messages across, even when it requires creative misspellings and numbers in lieu of letters) and Jesus.

Here's another one that pissed me off the other day: KARRPDM. I think they were in a Wrangler. This is supposed to say, "Carpe Diem," I presume, the famous Latin phrase, made even more annoyingly famous by Dead Poets Society, that roughly translates to "seize the day." Ugh. Shave your armpits, lady, and get out of my face. Seize my balls! . . . In your mouth. Hippie.

That's Soooo Pedestrian

...Now, speaking of people being awful drivers, I have to admit, when you think about it, it's really not a surprise given how terribly they walk. I mean, how spatially unawares are most human beings? Seriously?

Think about how aggravating it is to navigate your average pedestrian thoroughfare. You have the zig-zaggers, who mindlessly cut diagonals, succumbing to their every fleeting whim with no regard for those around them. "Oh, there's a dress I like." Zig. "But wait, there's a poster for a Lindsay Lohan movie I want to see." Zag. "And there's a bird!" Zig. "OMG! Beyonce has a new album out!" Zag. You get the idea. You can't pass these menaces because you never know where they're going next. Every time you go to step around them to the right, they go right. You think you're clear to pass on the left? Nope. That's where they're going too. Fuck you, zig-zaggers.

Then there are the stop-short-ers. "Oh, shit. I just remembered that I forgot to tie my shoes. Let me stop immediately and remedy that." You know what else this jackass forgot? That he's in the midst of a semi-functional society that includes individuals other than him. There are people behind you, asshole! Gradually pull your fat ass over to the side, and lace up somewhere where I can continue to pretend you don't exist. This guy probably ties his laces using the two-loop method. Better yet, he probably wears Velcro . . . or Tevas with socks. Asshole.

Related to the stop-short-ers are the people who were never moving in the first place. People who think it's okay to just park themselves in the middle of a busy sidewalk and talk, or look at a map, or figure out why their IQs are so low. The best part is, these people see you. They make eye contact with you as they recount their stupid fucking insignificant daily dramas to their idiot friends who don't even care, and loudly, at that, since they want everyone to hear them because they feel like they have something important to offer society (which, largely, they don't), but they still won't get out of your way even though they're clearly blocking your path. And what's worse, you can say "excuse me" six times, at full volume, but they can't wrap their brains around the fact that they're the ones being rude!, so they don't react. At this point in my life, I give two "excuse me"s, the second one being significantly louder and more obnoxious than the first, before I resort to just pushing my way in between them . . . which, ironically, they always find to be rude. In a related note: another fun thing I do is, if I hold the door for someone and they don't say "thank you" (don't worry, I give them a full two-second count. I'm not a total asshole), I give them a nice, sarcastic "you're welcome!" Try it. It's fun. People need to feel bad about being self-absorbed. It should sting enough to keep them from repeating their actions.

And how about slow-moving groups? No, yeah, it's totally cool if you and your fanny-pack-donning family gaze up and marvel at the tall, shiny buildings as you walk five people across at no more than one mile per hour. Enjoy the view. It's not like you're part of a civilization in which other people are actually trying to get somewhere, or anything. No, but seriously, go the fuck back to Kansas and get out of my way. I'm trying to get an iced green tea at Starbucks so I have something to drink while I listen to music at the book store, where I only have an hour before I have to rush home to watch the Real World/Road Rules Challenge because my DVR is broken.

Learn How to Drive (insert stereotypically bad driver)!

How many near accidents do I have to have with Asian drivers, Mexican gardeners in beat-up pickup trucks with dangerously protruding rakes, ladders, and garbage cans, and Orthodox Jews driving minivans stuffed to the brim with kids, before I can make mercilessly obnoxious generalizations about these people's terrible driving with impunity? At what point does their consistent and reckless endangerment of my life afford me that right? Just a question.

Sir, No, Sir!

I was recently wearing this old ARMY T-shirt I bought at a thrift store years ago at a party, and this girl asked me if I was actually in the Army. So I said, "you know how in the movies, when they have those big, fancy galas, with rich people, and important political figures, and there's always the erudite Englishman who says something like, 'Well, if Churchill had the right mind to reposition our young troops on the Western Front, then perhaps we could have avoided such a long-winded--' at which point he always gets cut off by the token, high-ranking, heavily decorated, cynical soldier, who gruffly barks something like, 'Have you ever killed a man, son? Have you ever held your dying best friend in your arms, with his entrails spilled in your lap, as he chokes on his own blood while he tries to relay his last words to you, but you can't understand him because of the gurgling sounds?' And then the British guy turns pale and it's an awkward moment for everyone? . . . Well I'm the English pussy who has an opinion but isn't willing to fight."

A long-winded answer to a simple question? Perhaps.

Virginity?

I have a friend who claimed to have lost his virginity at a party in high school, but I disagreed because he only squeezed in like half a wiener, and for just, like, three thrusts, at that. And no one came. To be perfectly honest, I don't remember the exact details, but it still raises the questions: what constitutes losing your virginity?

Is there a minimum number of pumps required, or is it instantly snatched (pun intended) upon first penetration? After you've already lost your virginity, do the rules for what constitutes sex change? Are the first-time rules more stringent or less? Is it only if someone orgasms? That can't be because I think there are actually women who have, somehow, never managed to do so. Is it different for a guy and a girl? Is it when your Uncle David makes you sit on his lap, naked, in the coat check room at your family reunion in 1984? (Just kidding, Uncle D. Your secret's safe with me.)

Anyway, that's all. Was just wondering. Thoughts? . . .

Screw the Box of Chocolates, Life Is Like A Starbucks Straw

Whenever I go to Starbucks, after I order my drink, I always grab a straw (my drinks always require straws because they're always cold because I sweat profusely if I drink anything hot) from their little sugar/milk/condiment island while I wait, in order to maximize efficiency. Obviously. But at this one Starbucks I frequent, they always provide a straw when they serve you your drink, so I always end up returning to the aforementioned island to put the extra straw back.

Finally, after this specific Starbucks provided the straw with my drink in enough consecutive trials, I decided to not take a straw in advance of receiving my drink, in order to, once again, maximize efficiency.

So, what happened? Of course, that was the first time they didn't provide a straw with the drink. Foiled! Naturally, my trust totally betrayed, I took a straw in advance the following trip to this Starbucks, only to be provided with a straw, forcing me to once again return the extra straw. So then, I figured the one time they did not provide the straw was the anomaly, and the next time I felt comfortable not preemptively snatching a straw, only to once again have the proverbial rug pulled out from under me when they didn't provide the straw (I even thought maybe it was some inside, practical joke among the employees, because I'm always paranoid that people in service positions are constantly fucking with their customers in order to stave off boredom, but I paid extra-close attention, and if they were doing this intentionally then they should be nominated for Academy Awards, or something).

Anyway, it finally occurred to me, after taking yet another superfluous straw, that my Starbucks straw experience is a metaphor for life: in the Starbucks of life, always get your own straw, because as soon as you take it for granted and start expecting one, it won't be there. In fact, if you take a straw, and they give you one too, don't put the extra straw back. Keep it. Just in case. Because one time, they ran out of the long straws, and I so wished I had kept even just one of those many straws I'd returned to the island because I ended up having to drink a venti through a short straw. Yeah. I know.

Racists...

So two white guys are walking along, when they see an interracial couple pass by, a black dude with a white girl. One of the white guys stares at the couple and turns to his friend, a little disgusted, "Ugh, I hate it when black guys take our girls . . ."

The friend looks back at his racist buddy, a bit incredulously, and says, "Our girls? That girl was over 200 pounds. They take the ones we don't want . . . like the Mexicans, with our jobs . . ."

Sweaty Balls Be Gone!

A friend of mine came up with an awesome idea the other day: ShamWow Boxers!!! Brilliant, right? Super absorbent, and you can wring 'em out with ease. Plus, it would be made in Germany, and "you know the Germans always make good stuff" . . . Always, Vince? Really? How about those ovens and human lampshades, asshole?

"On Accident"

I hate when people say "on accident" instead of "by accident." This is done primarily by idiots, or, as we used to call them growing up, Southerners.

Fake Eyelashes

C'mon. Really, girls? Be reasonable. If they're excessive enough that a guy can tell they're fake, you're probably wearing glitter, too. Also, you're probably a whore.

n. Shit, adj. Shitty

How do you spell the adjective form of "pus?" Like, "clean your wound before it gets all ____."?

Give Credit Where Credit's Due

And today's credit goes to . . . WOMEN!

I was talking to a friend of mine today, and he was telling me about some girl with an amazing body who he's been hooking up with. Now, this friend has seen thinner days, but he's not fat. Here's what he said to me:

"I don't know why girls with such tight bodies hang out with fat-asses like me. I think I'm pretty physically repugnant by this point. . . . I don't care how funny a chick is; I ain't goin' down on her if I can't fit my head between her thighs."

Well put, my friend. Further reinforcement for why women aren't funny because it doesn't really serve them any purpose, incidentally. But, females . . . god bless you guys. You will put up with a lot more physical imperfections than we will. And we're grateful. Or at least we should be.

No, You Don't Understand...

First of all, anything that follows "no, you don't understand," is probably going to be an extremely irksome statement. But what I wanted to say was, I hate people who think you can't understand something unless you've personally experienced it . . . which, shockingly, I know, usually only happens when they've experienced something you haven't. Pretty much never happens the other way around.

They always say stuff like, "no, until you've had children, you have no idea what you're talking about," or "you've never been poor, so you don't understand," or "as soon as you've had your arm shredded and ripped from your torso by a rabid wolverine, you have no clue."

Ever hear of a little thing called "empathy?" Well, clearly, these people are so severely self-absorbed that they're totally incapable of seeing things from another person's point of view, which is why they project their own shortcomings, a lack of perspective, onto you. Yeah, your plight is so unique that no one could possibly understand what you're going through. (That would've been in Sarcastic Font.)

Listen, buddy, I don't need to commit a murder to get that it's a bad idea, okay? You're not special.

(I can't even be bothered to think of a title for this one)

Have you ever accidentally hit the UNLOCK button on your car keychain, or whatever it's called, and even though you're clearly way out of range for it to work (like, the car isn't even in sight), you hit the LOCK button immediately afterwards just to be safe?

Redundancy

Is it weird that if I'm about to get in the shower right after I take I piss, I still wash my hands in the sink first?

Michael Vick

Black people were way too blindly supportive of this guy when he first got arrested, and white people are way too anti-Vick now that he's out.

Yes, he was an asshole who tortured innocent dogs. Then he lost millions upon millions of dollars and spent almost two years, I think, in a fucking ass-rape-friendly federal prison as a result. That's a long time (especially given the short sentences other NFL players have received for crimes against ACTUAL HUMAN BEINGS! If people weren't so obsessed with plugging their emotional voids with overly affectionate animals who were inbred with the sole purpose of being adorable, then people wouldn't be so goddamn emotional about dogs, and this wouldn't even be that big an issue in the first place. And sorry, saying that is not the same thing as condoning animal cruelty). He gets to go back to his job now. That's fair. Everyone calm down.

More Stereotyping

And why do white trash people revere Mustangs? . . . And eat baked beans?

Photos for Thought

Why do Asians photograph their food?

In-Laws

Is it just me, or is the whole thing with calling parents-in-law "Mom" and "Dad" absolutely retarded? No one's fooling anyone. We all know who belongs to whom. It's just awkward and forced. I don't get it.

Bearing Gifts

At what age did it become mandatory to show up with a gift when you go to someone's house? I hate this rule.

If you ever come to my house because I fucking invited you, don't feel obligated to bring something unless I specifically ask that favor of you. Seriously, don't invite me over your house if you expect a gift. Don't do me any favors. When I ask if you need anything before I come, that's your window of opportunity to be honest with me. Don't say, "no, I think we have everything we need," if, in fact, you don't have everything you need and are really expecting me to bring something. Deal?

Now go fuck yourself.

Our Insignificance

Came across this quote today by Stephen Jay Gould, a big-time scientist (formerly; he's dead now, seemingly sadly, though I didn't know the guy), regarding the fact that there seem to have been many failed hominid evolutionary branches, and ours was the one that survived:

"One of the hardest ideas for humans to accept is that we are not the culmination of anything. There is nothing inevitable about our being here. It is part of our vanity as humans that we tend to think of evolution as a process that, in effect, was programmed to produce us."

Well put, SJG.

Hands Free

Automatic doors, and motion-sensor sinks, soap dispensers, toilets, and paper towel dispensers make me very happy...

Shuttlecock

I passed one of those airport shuttle vans today, and on the side of the van was written, "We're on time or you don't pay!" Oh, gee, thanks. So if you don't properly perform the sole purpose for which I am hiring you, and I miss my $500 flight as a result, you'll forget about the $20 I was supposed to pay you to make sure I caught that flight in the first place? Yeah, that sounds fair. And that goddamn exclamation mark is just adding insult to injury, too, because it's like it's telling me I'm supposed to be excited about this worthless guarantee.

This isn't Domino's fucking Pizza, people! How about, "We're on time or you don't pay . . . the $150 it's going to cost you to reschedule your flight."? That would feel a little more like justice.

And speaking of Domino's, has anyone seen these new Jim Breuer Pizza Hut commercials, where he screams, "jackpot!" with his retarded, crack-baby eyes? Now's when I would say something like, "my, how the mighty have fallen," but I think you have to have been mighty at some point in the past for that idiom to actually apply. Pizza Hut really loves these no-longer-famous, sketch-comedy-show dropouts. Remember, Tommy Davidson, who I recently saw in a Las Vegas strip club bathroom wearing track pants and a blue tooth, used to do their P'zone commercials? Ahhh, Tommy D...