String Theories

Donnie Darko is a film about a teenage boy who travels through time, I think. Nobody really knows what the movie is about. Just like how nobody really knows what BUDDHAKAT!!! means. A cat that has reached Nirvana? Seth Rogan is one of the bullies in Donnie Darko which you may not have known. He has only a few lines, one of which being “Lets get the fuck out of here.” It’s a movie that you either love or hate. Unless you’re me. I can’t decide whether or not I like it. The colors are pretty, the theme is dark, and I’m impressed that they got both Gyllenhalls to play siblings. It doesn’t take much for me to like a movie. Just put on two relatives and it doesn’t matter how little I get the plot. I will still enjoy your film.

The main theme of Donnie Darko is about string theory, I think. Shit. This movie is really confusing. Almost as confusing as string theory itself. For those scientifically retarded individuals reading this, string theory is basically the idea of being able to travel on different “strings” of time. It’s almost like you have multiple paths you can go down. You follow the string to meet your destiny. Honestly, I might be completely wrong as to what string theory really is. That’s what I gathered from flipping through a few pages of a book about it and reading the Wikipedia summary of Donnie Darko. Science isn’t my best subject. Home Economics has that distinction.

One string theory I do understand is the one about the piece of string I found in my parent’s bedroom when I was around 10 years old. I was playing with my sister (not like that you pervert!) and we found a piece of string. I don’t remember the color. All I do remember was that it was a short piece of string. Yarn perhaps.

(Warning: This is as cute as this post is going to get. The rest is very gross)

Being 10 years old, my mind assumes that all adults do when they’re in a bedroom together is have sex. I wanted to believe that my parents were in a happy and healthy relationship so I believed that every time they went into the bedroom it was their honeymoon all over again. That’s where my string theory came into play.

Using my lackluster knowledge of science, I concluded that the string I found beside the bed must be some sort of sexual device. For what exactly? How can one small piece of string possibly cause extreme sexual arousal? Well, here’s a list of things that I can think of that you could use string for to get off on.

(Nazi puppet on the right?)

Puppet Master: The string is tied around the penis in a loop with another strand free to tug on. It doesn’t matter what part it is tied to. All that matters is that the penis is fastened in tightly like it‘s about to go on some extreme sporting event. The partner (or wife, because gay sex is a sin) will pull on the string and make the penis wobble to and fro. This action will resemble a marionette puppet and if the kids were to walk in you can always put on a cute show until you can think of a better excuse.

(Native Americans rioting by burning sticks and figs)

Indian Burn: Place the string below the penis and pull each side of the string upwards. Pull the string back and forth (this will be an up motion) causing the penis to receive an Indian burn. The quicker, the better. This would only be suggested for those who are into inflicting or receiving pain. I know who you are! And I want your phone number.

(This was taken in 2003. He still hasn’t figured it out)

Chinese Finger Trap: Both partners tie an end of the string around their erect nipples while facing each other. Then you take a step backwards until it stretches your nipples even further, guaranteeing arousal. The act resembles that of a Chinese finger trip. The device created by the Chinese where the stereotype of them being sneaks came from. There’s no real escape from this. Unless you count escaping a life of sexual repression.

(You don’t know how hard it is to find an Indiana Jones photo)

Indiana Jones: The female partner lies down on her back, legs up in the air. The male partner (or female partner, lesbian sex isn’t a sin) takes the string and in a whipping fashion, whips the vagina of his female partner as hard as he can. Be sure to hit the clitoris. That’s where girls like to be touched. I’ve read that in Cosmopolitan and my sister’s diary.

(Did we really defeat Communism when this was in style?)

Rat Tail: The female in the relationship places the string into her vagina with only one little piece hanging out. This will look like the tail of a rat if done properly. The male’s job is to slowly pull the string it. This is a very rare yet satisfying sexual activity that has been handed down from incestuous family to incestuous family. Also, do not pull too quickly. It could be hazardous.

That’s where my 10-year-old mind was at. I really believed that my parents could do such horrible activities to each other while I tried sleeping on the other side of the wall.

To this day string still freaks me out a little bit. I wonder where it has been and why it smells like balls. I can’t wear hoodies with the strings in them and always have to cut the strings on the blinds off whenever I enter a room. I can’t eat string cheese. Stringer Bell from The Wire made me feel uncomfortable. It doesn’t matter what form the string is in. Thin. Thick. Long. Short. All string reminds me of is my parents being passionate. It makes me almost want to hang myself, but a noose reminds me too much of string.

Seeing Eye Dogs

I’m not blind. My eyesight stinks, but I’m not blind. Being blind has a lot of negatives that come with the lifestyle, which is a choice by the way. Blind people can’t catch a ball. They can only stop it by being in the way. They also can never cook because they’ll end up microwaving their ties. Television and movies are incredibly boring for a blind person. Especially when there are a lot of sight gags. You will never find a blind person who enjoys The Naked Gun.

(“I don’t get it.” – Stevie Wonder’s review of The Naked Gun)

I see a lot of disabled people. At least one a day it seems. They’re usually the disabled people who have lost mobility below the waste. Often, they are rude. I don’t know why. I’m always nice to them. I hold doors, offer to get things off high shelves, tease them by threatening to push them down the stairs. I treat them like I would treat any other human being. People in wheelchairs always are snarling. I guess they’re allowed to. I spent some time in a wheelchair (3-time leg breaker) and I really hate having all of the girls pay attention to me and family members offering to help for once.

The type of disabled person I never notice are the blind ones. I see their markings all of the time. Brail always graces the restroom signs. I don’t know why that is necessary. If they got all the way there and managed to find that one little piece of brail on the wall, I’m sure they can find the correct bathroom. Blind people have really good senses of smell. That’s how they tell the difference between the men’s and the women’s room. One smells like shit and piss and the other smells like shit and piss and has a longer line. And lets be realistic. They’re blind. It doesn’t matter what washroom they use. As long as they don’t mistake a penis for a sink nozzle or a vagina for a hand dryer they’re good.

What amazes me about blind people is that they have these dogs that lead them places. Seeing-Fucking-Eye-Dogs, minus the fucking part which I only added for emphasis on how amazing that is. We as human beings have trained dogs to help blind people cross the street and do other daily blind people activities. We don’t talk about this enough. A wild animal has been domestic and now can be the eyes for those who cannot see. That’s so brilliant. It’s the greatest thing about the planet earth. That we can replace tiny yet important body parts with a German Shepherd.

(When I’m old and need a hip replaced I’ m having this dog replace it)

I’ve heard rumblings that whenever you spot a seeing eye dog that you should not touch them or acknowledge that they’re even there. Kind of like when you see a blind person you’re supposed to ignore that they may need some assistance because it’s rude to ask people with disabilities if you can help them because they’re not handicapped, they’re handi-capable. I don’t care what anyone with a disability says, if I see a human being struggling to do something I will help them no matter how much pride they might have. Unless they’re ugly. Don’t want any of that rubbing off on me. It sucks that you can’t pet the dogs. They’re always so regal and smart. Not like most other dogs. A seeing eye dog would never lick itself below the waist. Now that’s almost as amazing as getting a dog to lead a human being. Getting one to keep his mouth off his dog knob is still pretty good.

There are a few other disabilities that deserve a dog or some other kind of animal assistant. We all know by now that monkey assistants are no good. That never turns out well for any of the parties involved. People in wheelchairs should have the option to attach themselves to a hippo. I mean, their legs are no good anymore, right? Why not get yourself sewn onto the back of a mammoth animal? I know we have to have the science to accomplish this. We can pasteurize milk. We can certainly make a creepy parapelygic/hippo hybrid.

Surgery isn’t always the best option. Maybe people in wheelchairs can just have sled dogs drag them around. The problem with that is that sled dogs move too swiftly and do not cut corners well. It would most certainly paralyze the man in the wheelchair behind them for a second time. Did you know that if you get paralyzed twice it means that when you go to heaven you’ll still be paralyzed? It’s in the Bible, hidden with all that anti-gay and parts about dinosaurs. That’s why instead of a sled dog the wheelchair man can use a hippo to drag him around town. They move at a nice pace and plus, they’re hippos. They can always go into the water if he wants a bath. They really are the perfect animal for helping out. I hear they’re good at math too.

(Why couldn’t this hippo have gone to my school?)

I’ve barely spoken much about seeing eye dogs at all. I don’t really know what else there is to mention except how incredibly awesome they are. And that’s all I need to say really. If you’ve ever owned a dog you can appreciate all of the hard work that a seeing eye dog does. A dog can have a job! Does that not amaze you? With unemployment at an all time-high dogs are getting hired before human beings. Maybe this isn’t nearly as shocking as I am making it out to be. I’m the same guy who used to wake up early on Saturday mornings to watch the garbage truck.

(Fuckin-A)

I know I might have been a little mean to disabled people in this post. Perhaps a little insensitive. I apologize and if you mail a self-addressed stamped envelope to me I will reimburse you fully for your anguish. Write “Mooselicker” on the envelope and the mailmen will know what to do. They’re good like that. Or you could always attach it to a pigeon. That would kind of go along with the theme of this post. Animals helping out humans.

But if you’re blind and decide to mail me something, be sure that you don’t place your mail into a trash can or an open car window. I know that’s a high probability. I’ve done it myself. I’m also going to be amazed that you’re blind and were able to read any of this. Unless seeing eye dogs have more skills than I once thought they did. Now that’s something I would love to see. A dog surfing the Internet.

Open Challenges

Reality star, actress, fat fuck, America’s Sweatheart (yes sweatheart), and oddly colored gnome Snooki recently turned 24 years old. My first thought seeing the news was that she would have been in the same grade as me if she didn’t drop out of school at the age of 6 to pursue competitive eating and non competitive thinking. I’m scared now. So scared that I will grow up to be nothing more than a failure.

I am older than Snooki by a little over a month. That means I am wiser than her. She should call me sir and ask for my autograph. That isn’t the case. If we were to run into each other at a men’s big and tall shop, I would be the star struck idiot calling her sir.

It bothers me way more than anyone can ever imagine to know that Snooki has surpassed me in money, fame, and love. As much as millions of us hate her she still does have her fans out there.

What did Snooki do right that I did not? For one she tried out for a reality show. I’ve never done that. I had the opportunity to be on an MTV show in an episode of a spin-off of a reality show that I forget the name of. My role was going to be “Improv Sketch Comedian in the Park #2”. I turned down the role as it paid nothing and would cost me $40 to get to plus losing a day’s pay at work. The show was never picked up and I like to think it was because it lacked my smile.

Snooki and me have a lot in common already. We’ve both been to Seaside Heights at the Jersey Shore. We both felt incredibly embarrassed when she botched her finisher at Wrestlemania last year. I enjoy pie and assuming that the phrase “we are what we eat” is true, she must like it too. With so much in common why is it that she gets all of the fame and glory? I’m left here waiting to be discovered for my incredible talents while she’s out getting her picture on hamburger wrappers.

This is a plea to all talent agents out there. I guarantee 100% that I can do whatever Snooki can do and I can do it better. No matter what it is I will win. This is also an open challenge to Nicole. Yes, I called you by your real name. I am challenging you to every competition imaginable. Think of it like that part of Billy Madison where they have all of the competitions against one another. I want that with you. We’ll have a race, we’ll mix science chemicals, and we’ll finish it all off with a trivia contest. I will beat you. There is no denying that.

I would like to however give Snooki credit. She has made a career out of being useless and annoying without having to put out a sex tape. This may disgust you, but I would watch a Snooki sex tape if it was handed to me. I wouldn’t go out of my way to find it. I wouldn’t dare risk getting a computer virus to watch her tits bounce around. She doesn’t do it for me enough to risk any of that. But with a DVD of the sex tape was handed to me, I would most certainly watch it.

It’s your move Snooki. Take the challenge or be branded a coward. Branded–I know there’s an easy cow joke in there somewhere, but in the spirit of sportsmanship will not go there.

Random Fact: “Satan” rhymes with “spray tan” coincidence?

Bag Factories

Okay, imagine this. I’m outside on a warm fall evening. It’s dark outside. So dark because there are no stars from the pollutants in the air. I’ve just eaten eggs for dinner (for breakfast I had a Lean Cuisine) and now I’m spending my moment in life outside, with a dog on a leash, circling around him getting ready for him to shit. Without fail, he does shit. I reach into my pocket and pull out a plastic bag. I look at the bag and know that if this was a Disney film it would be screaming for me not to do what I did. What I did was sick. I picked up dog shit with a bag then threw it away like it meant nothing to me. I am a cruel human being.

I would hate to be a bag. That’s got to be an awful life. I guess that’s why God made bags non-living items. He didn’t give them eyes, or ears, or butts, or hearts. That’s what you need to be considered living by my standards. Fuck you trees. You’re always wasting your time GROUNDING MY ROOTS!!! into the ground to help you remain stable. You eyeless, earless, buttless non-beings. Trees do have hearts though and I’ll give them that much. They only ever fall on bad guys which is like the ultimate sacrifice a tree can give. They’re like marines, only taller.

(A true American Hero, Colonel Sweet Chestnut whose real life mission was the basis behind the film “Saving Private Pine”)

After I tossed away that bag full of shit (it wasn’t actually full of shit, there was plenty more room for more shit and possibly more items like batteries or carrots) I wondered where that bag had come from. Well, I know it was Target, but I mean before that. It must have come from a factory. That’s where all items come, except babies. I learned that this morning. I have never seen one of these bag factories, but until now, I have never really opened my eyes in search of one.

Chances are, I’ve met someone who knows someone who has a brother who knows someone who had sex with someone who works at a bag factory. That same person also saw an alligator in a New York sewer, got high on LSD and microwaved a baby, and was the physician who got the gerbil out of Richard Gere’s butt. I’m not going to sit here and make fun of people who work in the less than lucrative position known as “bag maker.” I’m not that high on my horse to be able to judge what other people do to feed their children/addictions. I would like to instead send out an apology.

(Mr. Ed, a horse who used all of his Hollywood fortune on drugs to get high. That’s where the term “high horse” comes from according to my thought process)

To those of you who are reading this that work in bag factories or know someone who does, please accept my apology for treating your hard work so poorly. You slaved away in that hot oval-shaped room for hours trying to perfect a plastic bag for my use. All I did with that bag was put a gallon of milk in it for a few minutes, then toss the bag onto the ground, and when it was finally selected by my hand it was used to pick up dog shit with. Your hard work ended up with a piece of dog poop at its center and ultimately placed in a dumpster with a couch poking out of it. It’s not fair that your hard work was treated this way. It would be no different from if Van Gogh finished “Starry Night” and I proceeded to urinate on it. Making plastic bags is your art and I’ve stripped you of that.

I don’t know what the exact process of plastic bag making is. I can only assume that it precisely takes precise precision. You need a steady hand and a strong heart to take on this job. It’s a job that I could never do. Not because I feel I’m above small menial tasks, but because I lack the courage that one must have in order to properly design these bags. The bags need to be strong, smooth, and even. It needs to be able to support heavy items. They need to be airtight to teach children a lesson in oxygen and where you cannot get it from.

Plastic bags have gotten a lot of notoriety from such films as “American Beauty” and several starring Robert DeNiro where he suffocates a traitor with one. But remember, plastic bags are not living creatures. The brave men (women are entirely too clumsy to build a bag properly) who are the Gods of these bags need the credit that is long overdue.

(A stock photo of a clumsy waitress spilling Justin Bieber’s brother’s lunch)

The next time you waste a plastic bag on something stupid like carrying your lunch or if you’re poor, carrying your books to school, take time to salute the factory where the bag came from. You can always find out exactly where if you put the bag over your head and look long enough at the inside. Trust me on this.

(Ricky Fitz is not mysterious or sexy. He’s a creep)

New Mexicans

(Walter White, resident of New Mexico)

Calling someone a New Mexican is the most offensive term that I can think you could call a person. There are already Mexicans, why do we need New Mexicans? Are Mexicans obsolete?

In the United States, there are lots of “New” places. New York, New Jersey, New Hampshire, New England; as well as countless other tinier, shittier, places in these states and areas that begin with the word New. There was never anything wrong with the old York, the old Jersey, the old Hampshire (except for the prostitutes being overweight), or the old England. The people who named these places lacked originality, but they could either name the place after an old favorite city of theirs or some complicated Native American name. Chipoqupequa is hard to spell and may not even exist. Taking a city that you’re already familiar with and throwing the word “New” in front of it is much easier. Remember, back in those days everyone had to write letters. Hand write! Benjamin Franklin never browsed the Internet. He was too busy stealing quotes from Yogi Berra. That sneak!

(“A penny saved is a penny earned.” – Yogi Berra, 1784)

The state of New Mexico is different from the rest. It’s newer and we had already come up with more clever names for our states by then, like Ohio and West Virginia. My problem with calling this state New Mexico is that I don’t think the regular-old-plain-smelly country of Mexico is done. Calling a place New York isn’t nearly as insulting. York is a city. Mexico, a country. Calling a place New Mexico is like saying “We can do a better job than you can and we’re only one lousy state, not an entire country. Ha Ha! Nenny-Nenny. Boo Boo!”

New Mexico is much smaller than Mexico. I don’t have the exact number in front of me, I’d have to minimize the pornography on the screen in order to do that. I do believe however that New Mexico does have a lot of Mexicans. I guess it makes them New Mexicans. New and improved. They’re the latest model of the T-Bird. Out with the old, in with the new. It’s like in Terminator when Arnold’s cyborg was no longer the best and that chick came in as the best and most up to date cyborg. Too nerdy or obscure? Okay, how about when Darth Vader rebuilt the Death Star with a much stronger shield? Yeah, that’s as non-nerdy of a comparison I can make.

What’s the solution to this New Mexico problem? Change the name–of Mexico! They’re long due for an overhaul. Many great places change their names. Tokyo used to be Edo. France used to be Gaul. Istanbul used to be Constantinople (thank you They Might Be Giants). Iraq used to be Persia. The People’s Republic of the Congo used to be Congo. See, there are many tremendously amazing places that have gotten a new name and remained successful. It’s not like any of those places ever bombed Pearl Harbor, are hated imperialistic cowards, are in countries named after birds, harbor terrorists, or perform female circumcision against the will of the female, respectively. I don’t know what we could call Mexico. It’s up to their trusting government. They must really like their guys they got in charge. They always win the elections every year. It’s like how Saddam Hussein won the presidency all those times despite it being against the law to serve so many terms. But he was The People’s Champ and the people spoke–with guns to the back of their heads.

Standing Ovations

I was witness to something awesome recently. So awesome that I’m writing about it. I only write about awesome things. That’s why most of what I write about is myself.

I was at a comedy show and while waiting outside noticed a fat girl near the front of the line. She must have been waiting there for 30 minutes already. The show doesn’t start for another hour and a half. My first thought upon seeing her was that she looked like actress Kat Dennings. Actually no. That was my second thought. My real first thought was that she was a fat chick who happened to look like Kat Dennings. And that is why I easily whispered “Hey look, it’s Fat Dennings” into my girlfriend’s ear. She agreed and I felt like a stud. I wanted to pass it along to others in the line, but the man behind me had a shaved head and a goatee. Then the man in front of me had glasses. I was surrounded by brains and brawn. If the joke bombed, I’d be fucked.

We got inside and the first thing I noticed was that Fat Dennings was seated front and center. I mean as front and center as possible. She lined herself up directly with the microphone stand. For the next hour or so (until the show finally started, do shows ever start on time?) she continued to look back, waiting for a friend to join her. It was annoying and creepy. Every 25 second I would have to be subjected to her chubby fat face with even chubbier whale lips. I don’t think whales have lips. It wouldn’t surprise me if they once did and Fat Dennings had stolen their lips to place them on her own face. Her friend finally showed up and she was a very frumpy looking girl. She didn’t look like any celebrities that I know of. Celebrities are usually good looking. This girl was not. She had tumbleweed hair and a scarf that I had earlier in the night seen a homeless man shining his penis with. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but later on I had a laugh about it.

Then came the big failure. At the end of the show, Fat Dennings who I am convinced is a stalker, stood up. She was giving a standing ovation. The thing about standing ovations is that they must start somewhere. It’s like all human life. It makes me think of that whole “which came first, the chicken or the eggs?” shit. F.D. was about to not only fail at giving life, she was having a miscarriage in doing so.

Her fat arms flapped together. A nice clap. She was officially giving a standing ovation. Standing, clapping, giving ovation to a show well done. I thought another man was about to stand, but he was adjusting his ass in his seat. F.D. turned around and noticed that she was the only person standing. It had only been about 10 seconds of her making a fool of herself, but I noticed it and being front and center, others must have too. She had failed at a standing ovation. For a second I thought of giving her a standing ovation for her failure. Or perhaps a round of applause. That is, clapping my hands in a circular motion. I learned that one when I was 5.

F.D. sat back down embarrassed. It must be like how those douches at baseball games feel when they try to start the wave and instead get peanuts thrown at them after they trip.

She should have seen the omen. The entire show she was shielding her eyes from the light that was shining immediately into her face. Front and center and the entire show you have a blinding light detaching your retinas. That’s a sign that you suck. Sit down, shut up, and stop being fatter versions of already questionably overweight celebrities.

The Doors

One band that gets too much credit is The Doors. They are remembered as being so amazing. I wasn’t alive back when they were together. I’m not an old hag, like you. Why are you dressed like that? You’re not 16! On that same note, why are 16 year olds wearing shirts with Jim Morrison on them? First off, I don’t like seeing men’s nipples. Jim Morrison was always shirtless. I give him credit, for a drunk who pranced around and was fortunate enough to have a nice voice, he never really let himself go and get fat. I thought drinking beer made you fat. Another government lie. The show Manswers proved that it doesn’t make you fat. They know everything that a man wants to know. Unless your thought process goes further than beer, boobs, and beating your wife. Spike TV, for men who slug their wives then eat pork grinds.

(Jim Morrison clearly not in a cold room)

Did you know that The Doors didn’t even have a bass player? How do you call yourself a band without a bass player? Even Hannah Montana has a bass player. And she’s two people. I know Morrison had his alter ego Mr. Mojo Rising. He didn’t go to the trouble of wearing a blonde wig to try to fool his fans and that’s why Billy Ray’s daughter gets the nod in this feud.

They do have a few songs that I like. You know, the ones that don’t sound like them. Morrison was a poet first and foremost. At least, that’s what I learned from the movie about his life. He also looked a lot like Val Kilmer. “The End” is a great song. It’s about 18 minutes too long, but I remember listening to it on the radio while driving in a snow storm a few years ago. I felt like I was going to die and this would have been the perfect song to go out to. I didn’t and now I have to fear dying to something less poetic like a new Daughtry hit. Do the songs he comes out with count as hits? I usually hit my face into the steering wheel and question God when I hear it. Not sure if that counts.

Also, you’re not cool if you know who The Doors are. They’re mainstream. There’s been a movie about them, a professional wrestler who uses a Jim Morrison gimmick, and they always have lots of shirts at Hot Topic. There are plenty of other great older bands that you can check out. Don’t lock yourself into this one because “my dad liked it” or “you love the keyboard chorus” or “your first ass licking session took place with LA Woman on the radio.” Who eats ass with the radio on? Come on!

But none of that is what I wanted to discuss. Sorry for wasting your time. I wanted to talk about doors in general. You know, those barricades for neighbors. I once heard a woman say “Doors are bad. We should let our neighbors in. Not keep them out.” This statement led her to taking away the doors to her home. Soon after she had her home broken into, all of her items taken, and she died of the draft of cold air that had previously been blocked by the door. A sad story. If you don’t believe me, look it up on the Internet. You’re already there, lazy.

I always hold doors open for strangers. For girls and the elderly, I always will go out of my way for them. Even guys sometimes. Does that make me bisexual? And because I do it for the elderly, does that make me a necrophiliac?

It’s a popular opinion to dislike those who do not hold open doors for others. I feel no ill will for those people. They’re in a rush. You have two arms. You could easily open that door just as easy. And when the doors slam into your face and break your nose, remember, broken noses eventually heal. Quit complaining about those busy men and women who are too important to be kind and hold open the doors. If the store wanted them holding open doors for strangers, they would get automatic doors.

And that my readers is what I want to point out. Automatic doors are the most laziest, germaphobic, laziest, self-important, laziest reason why people in the third world hate us. I don’t see what’s wrong with having one of those cowboy doors. The saloon ones that you can walk into and they open. I love those doors! I want to live in a home with them one day. It’ll make me feel like Clint Eastwood, John Wayne, or Emilio Estevez. Emilio was in Young Guns after-all. He counts as a cowboy.

(Ledger might have broken the backs of mountains, but Estevez broke the box office with his cowboy portrayal)

The only real reason for writing all of this was an experience I had recently. I was holding a door open after exiting a train. The man behind me decided that it be better that he use the adjacent door than the one that I had been holding. It was annoying. Here I was, standing like a helpful ass, signaling for him to enter the same passageway as myself. He chose not to. I let go of my door and continued on. Perhaps he’s a reverse feminist where he gets offended by men holding doors open for other men. That’s my theory at least.

“When one door closes, lock it. This is a bad neighborhood.” – Motivational Phrase about moving on

P.S. Happy Thanksgiving to my America friends, thanks for the religious persecution to my English friends, and for those of you not from America or England, you are not my friend.

(Slumdog Millionaire Kid, an enemy of mine)

Liebster Awards

Adding to my 2-time championship reign as a Versatile Blogger Award Winner, I have recently been the recipient of something called The Liebster Award. Liebster, a word that in German means “dear” or which roughly translates into “Non-Jew” in English, is a great honor to be called, I think.

The award was given to me by two wonderful individuals who could very well be the same person masking themselves under multiple identities. Michael Cargill and Random Female Blog both presented me with these awards on the same day. How about that? Winning two awards in one day. I’m like Avatar but I’m still good outside of a movie theater setting.

In order to claim my prize I must give each of them a lap dance, beat a grizzly bear in a game of tic tac toe, and nominate 5 other blogs who I deem worthy of this privileged award. There are so many blogs to choose from. What I want to do is make sure that a few blogs that I often check out get some publicity. They have flown under the radar at times and deserve some attention. Here they are, my Liebster Award Winners:

Mindwarpfx: My first subscriber I ever got to my blog. That isn’t why he’s winning this either. He gave me a blow job, that’s why. He does something I don’t, he researches his topics. He has the ability to rant without seeming angry, a problem that I have. He’s well-informed (or at least has fooled me into thinking so) and deserves this award just as much as anyone who has gone down on me.

End of the Game: Yet again another smart cookie. Sometimes I don’t understand what he writes about it’s so intelligent. He’s into science, philosophy, and psychology. He enjoys long walks on the beach and bare-knuckle boxing with loved ones. If I ever have a question about the universe, this is the guy that I would ask.

The Adventures of Tootsie Woo: She’s silly, out of the ordinary, and comes across as lovingly adorable. There’s no real theme to it except for an explanation of all of the daily adventures she gets herself into. I love the quotes from her parents. They’re fun and remind me of what it was like to have a happy family before I murdered them all.

Paul Before Swine: This is a new blog I have found and I’m too lazy to research anything else. What I’ve read of his so far was great. His first blog I read and most recent about The Shining hade me howling! Okay, that’s an over exaggeration, but it was  really damn funny. I expect great things from him. Don’t let me down asshole!

Prone to Uncontrollable Fits of Laughter: The title says it all. I should stop right now and not say anything else. I won’t though. This is a blog that is updated frequently and has a lot to offer to everyone. Unless you’re blind. They’re this blog is useless to you. My favorite of the posts are the “First World Problems” that are up there on occasion. It reminds me how much greater my life is than those filthy cave dwellers over in Sweden.

So those are the award winners. I hope you can check them out and enjoy them as much as I do. I also hope these bastards appreciate the free plug.

Congratulations to you all. Your prize is forever being immortalized in the Hall of Liebster Award Winners located in Tallahassee, Florida. Stop on in the next time you take a trip to Disney World.

Misunderstandings

Sometimes I misunderstand what people say. It makes me come off like the idiot that I really am and not the brilliant specimen I have continued to fool people into thinking that I have the potential to be. Here are some of the ones that I remember and THE EMBARRASSMENT!!! they have caused me.

Setting: Target Department Store

I’m at the check out counter after buying my groceries. Yes, I buy my groceries from Target. I’m one of those greasy people. You might be laughing now, but I’m saving 30 cents on everything I buy. Suck it!

The check out counter girl was scanning my items as they are forced to do. She looked at me and said “What are you making?” A very obvious question. I’m buying lots of food. She thinks I’m making a concoction.

“What? Like $12 an hour.” I respond. Oof! What the fuck? Huh? I need my head checked. Why would she possibly care how much money I make? My thought process was that she thought I was buying so much stuff that I must be loaded. Yeah, people think that way. Dumb fuck me.

She explained herself and the next 2 minutes were awkward. For her that is. The rest of my life has been awkward.

Setting: Bus Stop

I’m waiting for the bus. There are a bunch of kids smaller and younger than me who scare me despite the age and size advantage I have. Today is no different. I’m sweating out of fear and fatness.

For this story, you need to know that my name is Tim. That’s all you need to know. Continuing–

One of these younger, smaller, scarier kids is goofing off. He’s never talked to me. He looks down at my boots and says “Are those Tims?”

“Yeah they’re mine.” I say. Oh fuck! This isn’t good. I completely missed what he was asking. He was asking if my shoes were Timberlands. The cool kids call them Tims for short. I thought he was asking if they belonged to–shit I’m dumb.

Setting: The Internet

I’m chatting up a storm with some girl I met in a chat room. The year is, 2001-2005. I’m fresh off of the September 11^th attacks so my innocence should be long gone. It isn’t. I’m still a dumb fuck with no knowledge of the world.

This girl I’m talking to is hot. At least, her screen name is ModelMaterialMe87. Shit. She’s model material. Keep cool. I know she lives 2,000 miles south, but we can make this work.

She tells me that I’m making her horny. Really? I just put up an away message that says “brb”. You’re easy. She’s getting more and more aroused and then she wants to know more about me. “Are you cut?” she asks.

“No. I’m not that depressed.” Oh crap! I picked the wrong one! She was asking if I still had my foreskin or not. How should I have known? I don’t know what foreskin is. I’m a young teenage American. We don’t know that shit!

She explained what she meant and I understood. The biggest problem about it was that I had a few other potential answers that I was going to give her.

“No. My hair is pretty long right now.”

“No. I’m not that thin.”

“No. I can’t mow the lawn because I get really bad allergy attacks when I’m around freshly cut grass.”

Economic Troubles

Everything gets blamed on the economy these days. No matter where you are there is no escape. You can’t be like LILY IN CANADA!!! and flee the country. I don’t think the economy really has much of an effect on most people. Sure, if you lose your job or your business, you are effected. But not after a lot of other people lose money. That’s something called a scapegoat. I learned that word today. It comes from ancient times when goats would escape and everyone would blame it on a reason other than the fact that they forgot to close the door. At least, that’s where I think the term comes from.

I will admit that people don’t have as much money as they would like. That is all I will admit. Look at your last bank statement and tell me you really needed to spend your money on most of those things. Were Ja Rule concert tickets really that necessary? Is he even still alive? The economy doesn’t stink. Our ability to find cheap forms of entertainment does.

It now costs around $10 to go to the movies. That is ridiculous, especially with how many bad movies there are out there. A Foot Loose remake? Really? There are human beings with the same DNA frame as myself that thought, “Hey lets remake Foot Loose.” Then there are thousands that will look in their newspaper and say “Hey, they remade Foot Loose. Lets go.” It makes me want to scream. Not dance, scream. Even the theme song should make you want to burn down your local theaters.

Everybody cut loose,

Foot Loose,

Kick off your Sunday shoes.

You cannot rhyme loose with loose and then rhyme it with shoes. Walt Whitman would be turning over in his grave if his body wasn’t shot into space per his request. If you’re going to make a musical, make sure you know how to rhyme first. Start with Dr. Seuss and work your way up. Seuss rhymes with loose! Couldn’t you have used that?

Back to the topic at hand, a less important one than shitty Hollywood remakes. We have no money because things cost more. And not only that, we want things that cost more. Here are some things that most of us own that we didn’t have 10-15 years ago and an estimated price:

Cell phone ($100)

Cell phone bill ($50 a month)

Ipod ($100)

Ipod downloads ($20 a month)

Laptop ($600)

Internet bill ($20 a month)

Electrical bill ($100+ due to all of the new gadgets that we need to plug in)

Cable bill ($100 at least a month)

Video games ($50 each)

Video game system ($200-$300 each)

And those are only a few things that I have come up with that I think a lot of people are spending their money on. Notice how they all involve sitting in a room alone? Concert tickets, sports tickets, train tickets, gas, designer scarves have all gone up as well. By a lot too! It used to cost $20 to take the train up to NYC from my old hometown, 50 miles south of NYC. Now it’s $30. That’s a 50% increase for you math whizzes. This is why people are going into NYC an occupying Wall Street. Because they’re pissed off about having to spend $30 to get there. Plus they had to download a few new songs for their iPod for the trip. It makes me furious too!

Quick question. Why is it that everyone who owns spinners on the tires of their cars can’t afford to live in a nicer neighborhood? They’re the same people who always complain about how the government is out to screw them. They can’t afford to feed their kids, but they can afford to make their tires spin at a red light. That’s called having poor priorities.

I don’t care how anyone spends their money. If you earn it legally (fuck you drug dealers, thieves, and teamsters) then you have earned the right to spend it on whatever you want. Just don’t expect for your salary to rise because there’s some new gadget that works the same as another, but has a new name to it.

I don’t have a solution to this problem other than becoming Amish. You never read things on the Internet about Amish people complaining about the rising cost of living. It’s because they live simple lives with barns and other essentials in their life. It’s a strange way to live, but maybe we can be a little more Amish. It’s hard to feel bad for someone with a Bluetooth, a cappuccino, and a college degree who thinks that blocking traffic at City Hall is going to make a difference. It makes me want to side with the evil Illuminati once and for all because of your pure stupidity. Life isn’t that expensive. Learn to make a sacrifice if you have problems paying for stuff. Ask yourself, do I really need this? You might be a little happier because of it.

“Creed is good.” – Gordon Gecko, Wall Street, Fan of bad music