Posts Tagged ‘finance’

Human imposter (that’s what I call actors) Zach Braff (that’s what I call assholes) has turned to Kickstarter to help make a new movie. He has asked fans (even Hitler had supporters) to donate $2,000,000 to help make his film Wish I Was Here, something I would never say when referring to the film premiere of anything Zach Braff is involved with.

Zach Braff

 

(A face only a mother could wish to abort)

Kickstarter if you don’t know is where wannabes turn when they want money to make their dreams come true. Usually it’s people who have lots of friends/are Catholics and have large families which is why I would never be able to under any circumstances do my own. I have no friends and as my grandpa used to say, “Pull it out and shoot it on her thigh” so I come from a pretty small family with this sexual advice.

Kickstarter has been pretty good for many people. I don’t have any examples, but some pretty genuine people with crappy ideas have indeed gotten the funds to make their lackluster dreams come true. Hey, it’s America. Everyone has the right to pursue happiness so long as happiness doesn’t come solely from strangling women. A lot of people have been outspoken about how this is a dick move by Braff to ask people for money to help produce a film since he easily has the required funds. I agree with them. At the same point, people have every right to spend money on whatever they want so long as that money isn’t spent on paying someone to strangle a woman.

chris brown

 

(“Why strangle when you can punch a bitch?” – Chris ‘If You Support My Music You’re An Enabling Douche’ Brown)

I have an idea though. If funds are tight for Zach Braff and he wants to get in real good with the public, why doesn’t he somehow work in helping out others with this project? He can take the money and give out all of his shitty prizes like getting a 10 second recording of Zach Braff saying whatever you want (does he really have a recognizable voice that anyone would care to have this?) or a Zach Braff commemorative 8×10 photograph of him swimming in his royalty checks from Scrubs all he wants. I think if Braff really wants to be a cool guy though he’ll do something better, he’ll give other actors/directors/people who want to get into the industry a chance.

Here’s what Zach should promise. Zach should have a competition. In this competition there are opportunities for however many people he wants at whatever jobs he chooses to either intern or actually do the work. It’s all about to Mr. Braff how this goes down. Having all of these outside folks working on the project will not only give them the opportunity to add something nice to their resume, it will make sure this is indeed a project done by the people. Of course no one will unfortunately have the power to fire Zach Braff then make a better movie, but when you make a deal with the devil not everything will go your way.

selena gomez

 

(This is how Selena Gomez got famous)

I think the best thing any celebrity of any stature could ever do is get the fans involved. Zach Braff may think asking for money from the fans is getting them involved, but it isn’t. It’s like people who think donating to a presidential candidate helps them get elected. Did anyone really vote for Obama because he drank a beer with someone else after he got enough campaign funds to travel to Harrisburg? I hope not. How weak-minded could one person be?

32,376 people have so far donated $2,446,757 for this project. The average comes to around $75.50 which of course is inflated because it appears one jerk-off donated $10,000 to the project. I’m not saying this money could have been better spent elsewhere, but you’re foolish to think this was a good investment.

What awesome thing would you do with $2,446,757 if you could earn that much on Kickstarter?

And because I’m sure you’re in disbelief that anyone would give money to such a thing, here’s the link to his Kickstarter page. Please note, it’s already gone up about $120 since I copied and pasted this into WordPress. Fuck Us All.

I’ve been thinking a lot about selling my soul lately. Not on eBay or something silly like that. I’m talking straight up to the Devil. It’s hard to get in touch with him though. The Devil has no cell phone service (he has a phone, just no service) and sitting around calling out for him does no good, I’ve tried. I thought maybe doing a post about my soul could help get in touch with him. Who knows? Maybe one of you knows the Devil or something. It’s called networking.

(Satan mocking us in a sweater)

Why would a man want to sell his soul? Is there something I want so badly I am willing to give up eternal damnation in order to get it? These are hard questions to answer. I think there are many reasons why a person should essential sell their soul. Maybe not so much to the Devil, but giving up your morals, integrity, and other human aspects in order to achieve something doesn’t sound so bad right now. I’ve come to the realization I would rather sell my soul before losing it. The same goes with anything. I’d hate to lose something I could have sold. Whether it’s my soul or valuable baseball cards, I hate losing my stuff.

If the Devil were here and he had a contract all written up in a fun yet readable font with a pen I could keep after signing I wouldn’t have to think long before giving him my John Hancock. Heck, I might even leave the John Han part of it out if the Devil looked anything like Elizabeth Hurley. Austin Powers really ruins careers.

(Suddenly I want a strawberry and my toilet cleaned)

There are a few things I would give up my soul to get. Oddly enough most are things I used to pray for. But I have lived my life a certain way to come to the realization a prayer is asking a favor and favors come with a price. The price in this case, my soul. The first thing I would ask for is losing desire. The desire to succeed, to be liked, the desire for everything I want it all gone. Isn’t that what Buddhism is all about? Being lazy and careless and having Urban Legends centering around gerbils up your butt?

(“No Tim, Buddhism is about much more than sticking small pets into your anus. It’s also about not doing anything worthwhile with your popular in the last 10 years.” – Richard Gere schooling me on Buddhism. Seriously, he hasn’t done a thing since Mothman Prophecies)

Selling my soul would basically be for exactly that lone purpose, losing my identity as a person with a soul. It’s been said in science books that every time someone masturbates Jesus cries and a cat kills a retarded person. I want to be the opposite of Jesus, I want to not care what other people do, think, or say. I guess what I’m saying is I’m tired of having emotions. I’m a little sick of being human.

Since my soul seems to have no takers I’m going to keep it. This reminds me of the one time I tried selling some old action figures on eBay and nobody bought them. Rather than throw them in the trash I’ve carried these action figures around with me forever. You can’t just throw out an Andre the Giant action figure without trying hard to find it a good home. So for now I guess I have to keep my soul. I have to continue being angry, petty, sad, angry, frustrated, disappointed, angry, lonely, angry, angry, and thirsty. I’m only thirsty because right before I wrote this up I ate an entire block of cheese. At least I felt satisfied for a few minute.

What would you sell your soul for? Don’t say an evening with me. I already know that to be true.

We all know the stereotype of the high school jock who continues living his glory days long after graduating. He still has his varsity jacket, talks about “the big game” all the time, and he’s gotten fat and gained a drinking problem. I used to think these people were nerdy screenwriters trying to get vengeance on the jocks who they wish they were in high school but I know for a fact people like this really do exist. Like aliens, people obsessed with their glory days are out there.

(An X-Files poster. And as my friend Rob always points out, how do they not believe in aliens when in the pilot episode they nearly get abducted?)

The person I will talk about here is someone I guess you could say I was “close” to. By close I mean one time he tried wrestling me. He climbed onto my back and to get him off I comically kept ramming him into the wall because I fight dirty. This man was a guy my mom dated. He was a guy whose glory days were far away into the past.

The first sign that my mom’s relationship with this man would be a mess was the fact they met at an AA meeting. A more loving couple could meet while executing a terrorist attack than at an AA meeting. The guy didn’t drive anymore because of all the DUIs he had. He owned a gigantic truck for work which was incredibly obnoxious. The only good thing was I could see it from 5 miles away and I’d know I should hide somewhere else until he left.

My mom first introduced me to him on an August evening. I hope if I’m ever divorced and have to introduce new girlfriends or boyfriends (you never know, I could become infected with the gay bug) to my children I do it differently. Everyone I know, whenever they start dating someone new, forces the person down my throat. Suddenly they’re no longer who they used to be. Now they’re one entity and I cannot talk to one without the other there to chime in. The guy seemed fine at first. My mom told me he played hockey for the Montreal Canadians at one point but for some reason this was never brought up and I could find nothing on the Internet about it. I asked him about this and he said he never ice skated in his life. Either my mom misheard him or he was the worst player ever and all history of him in the NHL has been erased.

(The worst wrestling gimmick ever, The Goon. I think my 4th grade class photo had the same background)

The guy’s main story he would always tell was about how he was a high school wrestler. Who am I kidding, this was his only story. He never even talked about any legendary matches. All he talked about was trying to sweat off pounds and ringworm. He still did have his varsity jacket too which is such a jerk thing. He’d try on numerous occasions to get me to be more physically active. He even bought me a silver insolated suit that could help me sweat extra to drop some weight. I think my biggest mistake was actually using and enjoying this gift. Scratch that. My biggest mistake was wearing the pants to the gym once.

(I see they’re called sauna suits. Screw getting your wife a trip to the spa. Buy her one of these and put cucumbers over her eyes and it’s the same basic concept)

Despite both were in AA, their drinking problems persisted. I’m not sure who the troublemaker was between the two, but if you put two addicts together one will probably break down and take the other with them. My mom’s boyfriend always insisted he would one day take us to his cabin in Quebec. The guy lived with his mother (I don’t live with her, she lies with me!) and still had a Canadian cabin? Why do I have a feeling this cabin was incredibly alone up there and in a town without police?

My mom knew how much we disliked the guy and one time they slept outside in the driveway in his truck rather than come inside because “he didn’t feel welcomed.” What about me who didn’t feel safe with some strange man who wrestles me in the house? I really didn’t hate the guy though. What I hated was invasiveness into my life. Between the ages of 13-18 my house was a revolving door of random people coming and going. I like to describe it as a soap opera cast where instead of killing off characters you’re replaced with new actors to play the same person. My family was clearly broken and having other people from broken homes entering wasn’t doing any good for anyone

My favorite memory of the guy though was when he explained to me what his life’s goal was, to teach retarded people how to play the stock market. Huh? First off if you want to work with retarded people you don’t call them retarded, you call them something nicer like mentally disabled or waterheads. I attempted once to record a conversation with the guy on how he would go about teaching retarded people to play the stock market. It turned into a drunken tirade about high school wrestling and would be pointless in searching for on my old computer. If the current state of the American economy suggests anything maybe it’s that he did achieve his dream. A lot of people who do run Wall Street are pretty retarded so kudos to him for destroying America.

(It’s hard for me to decide who I hate more, the retards pictured here or the entitled dummies outside with all the shiny posters whining about how they can’t afford everything they want)

In Japan they have these things called glass ceilings. Above these glass ceilings are young girls walking around in skirts, with or without panties, doing things girls do like talk about David Beckham’s hair or pick wedgies when no one is looking. I’m not even quite sure if that’s true or not. I heard it from someone who wanted to go to Japan. I’ll take his word for it. His mom is dead and his dad is in prison. People living in those situations know a lot about the world. I’m not here to talk about the Japanese and how perverted they are. I am instead here to talk about a more important issue. The glass ceiling. It’s helped keep women down in the world. Away from reaching their potential. Away from being as fucking awesome as us men.

I do find it ridiculous that women still make less money than men do. Actually no. I don’t think that’s even true. I find it ridiculous that I still believe this to be true. Is it true? No way in hell. Maybe in Louisiana. Women can’t even own property there. Or maybe that’s another one of those lies people tell me. It makes sense though. Have you ever watched True Blood? They respect the living dead more than they do the waitresses at Merlot’s. The only situation I believe a woman should be paid less than a man for doing the same job would be–actually no. There is no job. In fact I think women should be paid more for certain jobs. Sword swallower? Pay those women 6 figures. Nude Liberty Tax sign twirler? Get her in Forbes. Sex delivery woman? Even if she’s wielding an axe, I’m letting her in and tipping her 200%.

(Okay, this one is getting turned away. Not because the axe. I just have never gone for the whole unsexy librarian look)

My inspiration for this post comes from listening to the radio. A woman was on the sports talk station I listen to. Yeah I know, so cute. A woman pretending to understand sports. She probably thinks the Red Sox and the White Sox are the same team. It just depends which footwear they happen to have on at the time. You girls and your fashion. So adorable! This woman never gets a chance to have her own shows on the radio station. She’s terrible too. They never let her answer phone calls. She’ll ramble about her nonsense slit opinion. I remember during the Super Bowl two years ago I was driving and guess who was on? This woman. During the one time when nobody is listening to Philadelphia Sports Radio, they put the dame in to try to entertain us all. I almost feel bad in a way. She seems to really care about her job. She tries so hard. If only she knew how to properly pronounce players names and rated them on statistics, not how cute their butts are.

(“The Red Sox are my favorite hockey team. I love Manny Ramirez’s dreadlocks. Touch down!” – females talking sports)

I’ve always worked under women. No, not like that. Although I have done that too. I don’t want you to think I’m some unadventurous cold fish here. I needed to clarify. Some men have a problem with women as their bosses. I never really mind. I get along well enough with the female brand. I’m not one of those guys who feels like less a man because his boss is female. Men who are bothered with females in charge of them usually have some underlying issue with their mothers. They probably come from a long line of failed relationships. At least if a woman is your boss you can always flirt your way out of a problem. Forgot to wear pants to the office? Call attention to your crotch. Women love that stuff! You make a woman turn you into a sexual object and you can get away with whatever you want. Remember though, women want more than sex. They want to be held and told how special they are. I don’t recommend saying this to a female boss. Somehow I see this as a stronger form of sexual harassment than simply putting a bright red dot on your balls and making it a target for her eyes.

Thing is, the glass ceiling holds back men a lot now too. Events like Enron, Watergate, and Tyler Perry movies have turned white men into evil villains. At least Disney mixes up their bad guys. God damn it Tyler Perry, not every white person is out to get you. And does Madea always have to be in your movies? Big Momma’s House was fantastic! But it was fantastic as a one-off film. Not a movie a year thing. If I ever run a company and hear an employee speaking positively of a Tyler Perry movie they’re getting the Final Destination 2 glass ceiling treatment.

(It scared me how this character’s name was Tim. I always figured this was how I would die too. My death logic is so savantly simple)

Deep down inside I don’t think the glass ceiling is very relevant in today’s world. Anyone can achieve anything they want so long as they believe and put in the effort. Or put in the effort. Even if you don’t believe it but work hard enough you can. Santa has never answered my prayers. I do it on my own. Women are successful and famous for some of the most ridiculous things these days. Paris Hilton is famous and nobody really even finds her all that attractive. If her name was Francine Orton and her dad was an Eskimo totem pole painter we would have no clue who she was. And Kim Kardashian, the only reason she’s famous is because O.J. Simpson hates blonde women. I say we take O.J. to court for all the travesties the Kardashians have brought out into the world.

(If Reggie Bush’s dick does not fit, you must acquit)

Where have you seen the glass ceiling still exist? Race is a much bigger factory in today’s business world than sex is. Or maybe I don’t hang around enough Wall Street coke addicts. But why would a woman even want to work there? I don’t even want to work on Wall Street and I’m a man’s man. A real guy’s guy. I have a hairy chest and second-hand smoke. I pop my collars because I don’t know how to keep them down. Red meat makes me gassy, but I eat it anyway. What I’m really trying to say is the glass ceiling no longer exists. If you see it, say something to someone and people will roll over. There’s the ACLU to complain to. They would defend a Nazi rapist if they could.

“The worst thing men ever did was give women the right to vote.” – my 9th grade history teacher who was fired right before Christmas. He also told us the anthrax mailer was caught, but the FBI didn’t want Americans to know so they would live in fear. I think his name was Mr. Oliver Stone