Hey, Kid!

Five things the kid-version of yourself would be surprised to hear:

1. You will not be famous...or a professional athlete.

2. You like to read.

3. You will stop counting the number of lips you kiss, titties you grope, and vaginas you penetrate...in that order.

4. Your parents are just as retarded as you...maybe even more so.

5. Being a grown-up actually means the opposite of being able to do whatever you want.

Now go forth and . . . exist . . .

Fashion, Bitches!

My friend emailed me this the other day: "In keeping with your general rantings about women, you should do a post on the trend of carrying their bags on their forearm. For some reason I find this really annoying. But don't just say that, make it funny. Thanks."

Well, here goes: What's the deal with women carrying their bags on their forearms?!  Am I right, people?  What look are we goin' for here?  A fashionably limp-wristed T. rex?  Shoulder bag or clutch, ladies.  Get your shit together.  (Enjoy my sophisticated artwork...)

Valet Parking

You know what's a kind of fascinating mystery to me?  Valet parking systems!  How do they keep track of where the cars are in an efficient, accurate manner when there's no parking lot?  Is there just a known system, or does everyone do it differently?  This is a world I have no clue about.

Shit.  Now someone's going to read this and make a crap reality show called Valet Wars, or something, and make more money off of it than I'll ever see in my entire life.  Ugh...  Oh, wait.  No one reads this.  Phew.

Shhh...Don't Ruin It

I was just thinking about how absurd it is that email is free.  You have to pay for snail mail, gotta pay to ship packages, used to have to pony up for Pony Express and the telegraph, and you have to pay for phone calls.  All forms of distance communication cost money...except email.  We got off scot-free on that one, huh?

Truck Nuts

I think I'm gonna open up a retail store that sells "Tapout," "No Fear," Calvin pissing, and family member decals for retarded people who were somehow able to scrape together enough money to possess a motor vehicle.  Maybe I'll sell those rubber testicles for the backs of pick-up trucks, too.  These people need to be stripped of some of their liquidity...

Peace to the Brothers on Rikers Isle!

I recently read a staggering statistic: "Taxpayers pay about $72,000 per inmate per year at Rikers Island."  What????  I don't have some fancy solution to offer here, but I know this situation has to be highly amendable...

We Don't Need No Stinkin' Porn

A couple months ago, I read an article in New York Magazine about how porn affects middle-school kids.  The author interviewed a handful of 12- to15-year-old girls to get their opinions on how it's changed the boys they know.  The consensus seemed to be that it made the boys want to pressure them to do more sexually, and made the boys prefer bigger boobies...

I'm not a sociologist, or anything, but here's a little secret, retards: that's not the influence of porn.  That's 12- to 15-year-old boys going through what scientists commonly refer to as "puberty," and getting excited about the prospect of finally being able to touch girls.  When I was in eighth grade, I didn't have a single male friend who didn't want to do more with his girlfriend, and who didn't like tig ol' bitties.  And the closest thing we had to Internet porn was the Victoria's Secret catalog or a Cosmo! 

Look, I'll be one of the first people to argue that technological advances are threatening to tear apart the fabric of society as we've known it.  Hell, I might even specifically target Internet porn as one of the culprits.  But when it comes to middle-school boys...there is nothing on Earth that could possibly make them any hornier than they already are.  Trust.

Here's the article: http://nymag.com/news/features/70977/

Baby Clothes

I was talking to my friend, Cowboy Dan (self-named for no ostensible reason), about the concept of baby clothes.  He was telling me how he went with his brother to buy his baby nephew a Wu-Tang onesie and a Dwyane (yes, that's how it's spelled) Wade jersey, but ultimately aborted the mission, deciding that the $30 they were going to spend on the Wade jersey would be much better served in a savings account for the kid to spend at his own discretion later in life. 

Because when you think about it, buying expensive, stylish, designer baby clothes is really completely selfish on the parents' part (which reinforces my point about how having kids in the first place is selfish: http://iamthecurmudgeon.blogspot.com/2009/05/being-born.html).  The baby doesn't care what it wears; Honey Badger don't give a shit!  If you really cared about your kid, you'd put the money you were going to spend on his miniature Izod polo in a bank account for him... Although, I will say, if I end up having a baby with a black woman, I'm definitely getting that kid a pair of tiny Timberlands, because them shits is cute!

SlutWalk!

This was too good to pass up.  If you haven't heard, there's been some serious backlash against a cop who said something along the lines of, "Women should avoid dressing like sluts to avoid being raped." 

So, first off, I want to be clear in saying, even if a girl is walking around completely naked . . . and is really really hot, she does not deserve to be raped, nor would it be her fault if she were.  Now, having said that, the cop is right to this extent: girls should stop dressing like sluts.  It's unimaginative, and it makes you look like . . . a slut.  But just to play devil's advocate here, can we do some kind of study on this before we jump down this guy's throat?  As a female, it can't help your cause to walk around at night, in quiet, unpopulated streets/parks in very little clothing, right?  I wouldn't walk around with flashy jewelry in certain contexts because it would probably increase my odds of being mugged.  Would that make it my fault if someone stole my beautiful, diamond-studded, heart-shaped, Tiffany nipple rings?  No.  It would be the fault of the asshole who took them . . . but next time I walked through that neighborhood I'd be sure not to wear a mesh tank top.  Or, if someone could've told me not to do that before I got robbed the first time, that would've been awesomer!

So really the intent is about minimizing risk.  Why not use the opportunity to say, while the police officer chose his words poorly, he makes a good point about being aware of your environment, and then hold marches or walks to educate people in steps they can take to prevent and avoid rape, no?  But, nah.  Our vindictive society has to have a retaliatory march.  (To be fair, I don't know the tone in which the cop said what he said.  He's a cop, so he's probably an asshole anyway.)

Anyway, in response to this officer's comment, events called "SlutWalks" have cropped up all over the country to "protest 'culture that we think is too permissive when it comes to rape and sexual assault.'"  I'm gonna argue that I don't think our culture is really that permissive when it comes to rape.  Sexual harassment, for sure, but I feel like rape is pretty unanimously frowned upon.  But, apparently, lots of the girls who attend these walks dress like sluts, so I'm totally in!

Here's the article: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/42927752/ns/us_news-life/t/cops-rape-comment-sparks-wave-slutwalks/

Unknown Is Fine with Me

Here's the deal: if your phone number is private, blocked, or not already programmed in my phone? . . . Then I will not be answering your call.  No matter how many times you call back.  I am stubborn.  I will win that war of attrition.  Guaranteed.  I will hit the "Ignore" button until my phone breaks before you get me to pick up that call.  If you think it's important, leave a voicemail.  I will then listen to that voicemail, and decide if it actually is important enough to return your call.

Ink

Is it just me, or are people getting out of control with this whole tattoo thing?  Just calm down.

(Note: the above picture is a terrible illustration of what I mean, but I liked it too much to not include it.)

I'm Not Saying He's A Sellout, But...

How many more times does Snoop Doggy Dogg have to spell his fucking name in his songs before he gets that we all know who he is?  Snoop, you were in the new 90210 for Christ's sake!  It's not like you're toiling away in obscurity, Mr. Dee-Oh-Double-Gee.  Congrats.  You're famous.  Now show a little lexical dexterity and find something besides your name to rhyme with (video):

30 Seconds to Suicide

I just accidentally caught part of a 30 Seconds to Mars video... Remember when Jared Leto possessed a modicum of integrity, circa My So-Called Life?  . . . Yeah, me neither.  Nice nail polish, retard.