Posts Tagged ‘meme’

The Nazis have a reputation for being bad people. Most of the blame can be placed on the Indiana Jones movies and fact. There is one Nazi in particular who managed to rise above the rest and have his name known more than any others. That man was so powerful he only goes by his last name, Hitler.

hitler_1881083c(I actually made this meme and sent it to a girl. Mostly embarrassed that I made a meme)

I remember in school whenever we learned about the Nazis the teachers would make a list of factors and whether or not you would be killed during the Holocaust. This was not very effective since the majority of my school were Irish and Italians. In my reading class there was one mulatto we determined would have been killed and nobody really liked him any way so the Nazis seemed like a fly stuck in a light; only a minor inconvenience.

Not researching much into Hitler’s personality and basing it more off water cooler conversations I have had on the job, I see how I could easily be mistaken for a Nazi. I have several things in common with Hitler.

1) We both love animals. Hitler was a vegetarian or a vegan. I’m not sure. If you have ever had vegan ice cream you will know only the most evil person in the world could have enjoyed it. I eat meat daily and feel sick if I do not. That still doesn’t change the fact I enjoy animals and so did Hitler. Looks like we have a conversation starter all ready to go.

2) We both idolized a movie character so much we changed our image to reflect them. Hitler was a big Charlie Chaplin fan and stole his mustache. I was such a big fan of Taxi Driver that I got a mohawk like Robert DeNiro. Only a truly insane person would ever do this and I will not argue in favor of either of us being sane enough to function in the real world.

3) We both hate juice. Hitler reportedly killed 6 million juice. I’m not sure if this was measured in liters or by the carton. I’m not even sure why it’s referred to him killing the juice as juice never was alive. I’m not a fan of juice either as most are high carbohydrates and sugary. I’ll drink the juice sometimes, but like Hitler, I prefer white beverages like milk with my breakfast.

4) We both were denied access into art school. Hitler always wanted to be a painter. He sent his work in and they turned him down which eventually led to him becoming the most evil dictator in the world. I never bothered trying to get into an art school. It just sounds interesting. Think of all of the needy girls willing to strip just to be told they are unique and artistic. I could have scored so much. I was denied the access though because I didn’t have the skills or desire.

5) We both have orgasms when we give speeches. I remember hearing from a kid in 5th grade that Hitler had one of his testicles removed because he would get so excited during his speeches he would orgasm. I never had my testicles removed so I still have orgasms whenever I give speeches. I’m just a passionate person. Don’t make fun.

Do you have anything in common with an evil person?

evil person

I saw a meme online. When I got finished vomiting over the fact we communicate with brief pictures with a few words slapped onto it (we are much more advanced than that, I think) I thought about it.

The meme was a picture of Batman pulled over by the police saying how the man behind the mask is a millionaire who spent all of this money on a costume and batmobile. What he does with this other than get laid all of the time is visit children in hospitals.


My first reaction to this was I don’t give a hoot! Why should I? It doesn’t affect me. That’s kind of my attitude about life now. I know it sounds terrible and like I’m becoming a worse person, but it really makes me happier. The way I see it there are two types of people. There are people who don’t want to inconvenience others and people who don’t want to be inconvenienced. Instincts tell me that I don’t want to be someone who inconveniences others. I am inherently good and after 26 years on this planet now with bad joints, I’m starting to see the ramification of doing what you think is good all of the time. There’s a difference between right and good. Good is doing everything someone tells you to do, like a dog. Right is asking what the benefit is for you, the person, and society as a whole.

Whether it’s true or not that this guy visits hospitals to help dying kids, and I certainly have my doubts, is good. This millionaire man goes around cheering up kids while dressed as everyone’s favorite millionaire superhero, Batman. I can safely say he’s everyone’s favorite millionaire superhero because if you like Ironman more than Batman you are not a human. Stop trying to be too cool for the room. Ironman is terrible.

ironman(Is it even necessary to give an iron suit fake abs? And why do his legs have to be a different color? Are we supposed to think he’s wearing khakis?)

I think spending money to bring smiles to soon to be dead faces is worthless when instead you can possibly make those smiles last a little longer. I am someone who values life over anything else. I understand a life might be pointless if there is no joy in it too, but you never know that for sure. The fact these kids are in a hospital means they aren’t exactly joyless Third World children who got dealt the ‘directions card’ in a game of poker. Sure, it’s great to want to make people happy, especially sick children. But how about you help make them one day have the chance to be sick and dying old people? The money could have gone toward something much more important, like a cure.

There was also the big Batkid thing in San Francisco recently. While this is cute and great for the kid, I feel it’s too self-serving for the rest of us. The kid will most likely live as his cancer is in remission which is great. However, it still feels like people got together to make him feel like Batman for us more than him. We can say we did our part by contributing to this. Helping one kid live out a fantasy is small picture thinking. The big picture is there are always going to be kids suffering and dying. Temporary happiness doesn’t feel worthwhile when misery is everywhere else.

I wrote most of this rant a few months ago and I don’t feel too strongly about it right now, as the original millionaire dressing up as Batman pissed me off. When I first saw the picture I left a comment that said I wanted to hire someone to dress up as The Joker to punch the Batman guy. Cute stories like this will always grab headlines because we love Patch Adams type people, not real scientists who actually slave away trying to find cures.

Now that the anger is out of my system, here’s something to upset the rest of you. Here’s a friendly reminder who the next Batman is–


The following is something I failed to get published on several websites and is inspired by a Facebook status I made that got like 14 likes a few months ago. Who cares? I’m going to be on the radio, right?


A Brief History of Humor

Humor is subjective and ever changing. What I’m wondering is, has the general population been getting funnier or lamer? You be the judge. Here are examples of conversations one person might say to another person whom they find funny over the history of life.

10,000 BC: “Man you’re so funny. You should totally remember those grunting noises you made and use them again because they brought me such humorous joy. I bet you can even have those grunts mean actual words one day if you put your mind to it.”

5,000 BC: “Man you’re so funny. You should totally get into hieroglyphic writing. I bet you can make a joke that will last forever and in thousands of years might mean something completely different yet still remain relevant and intrigue the human mind.”

1,000 BC: “Man you’re so funny. You should totally buy a chisel and write out your jokes on stone tablets. I bet you can make them last for centuries and if the joke is good enough it may teach something to future generations about our culture in today’s world.”

1: “Man you’re so funny. You should totally write that down on some scripture. I bet you can even convince a few people to believe these jokes are their dogma.”

1200: “Man you’re so funny. You should totally explore the entire world and tell these jokes to everyone you meet along the away. I bet you can connect our planet and make the human race closer than ever before.”

1450: “Man you’re so funny. You should totally get one of them printing press things and make copies of your jokes and distribute them out. I bet you can inspire other people to think and come up with jokes of their own.

1600: “Man you’re so funny. You should totally become a bard and write plays about intriguing characters that will not only make people laugh but also make them think. I bet you could be the next William Shakespeare.”

1776: “Man you’re so funny. You should totally get out from under English rule to have the freedom to tell whatever jokes you want. I bet you can even create a nation where freedom of speech exists and we live alongside each other passively while we continue to expand as humans until eventually the rest of the world sees that democracy is the most important thing a leader can offer its people.”

1920: “Man you’re so funny. You should totally get involved in filmmaking. I bet you could make a really funny feature length film that provides a lot of entertainment for everyone who is too stupid to realize this whole prohibition thing is a joke.”

1938: “Man you’re so funny. You should totally put that on a radio program. I bet you could become famous from it if enough people are naïve enough to believe aliens really did land on earth. It could make your career!”

1960: “Man you’re so funny. You should totally move to Hollywood and pursue your dream at becoming a screenwriter for films and television. I bet if you put in the hard work and believe in yourself you can achieve so much and change the way media works.”

1980: “Man you’re so funny. You should totally try standup comedy. I bet you could get a national tour going. Who knows, maybe you’ll even get your own sitcom if enough people ever appreciate you.”

2000: “Man you’re so funny. You should totally do one of those new blog things. I bet you can even write a book one day, you know, maybe if you feel like it. What do I care? It’s not me.”

2008: “Man you’re so funny. You should totally make a Twitter account. I bet you can even get a bunch of followers one day. And I swear even when I make passive aggressive comments to you about how much funnier I am than you I’m still happy you have a bunch of strangers who read your daily thoughts.”

2010: “Man you fall down a lot. You should totally videotape everything you do. I bet you can get the video to go viral. You may even end up on a television show where all they do is talk about YouTube videos for a half hour with snide one-liners. Your dead parents would be so proud.”

2013: “Man you’re so funny. You should totally make one of those stupid pictures with the white text that points out a quick quip about society, social issues, or celebrities. They’re called memes, right? I know it sounds ridiculous, but I love not having to think very hard or work at anything else. You should do it man it’s really easy work and it most likely will not be relevant in a week. I bet you can even get someone to like it on Facebook one day.”

The point, don’t grab life by the balls. Grab life by the balls, bell-end, full scrotum, and a little bit of taint. If you settle on anything, you’re never going to reach your full potential.

We have no cure for cancer. After millions of dollars being poured into research, nothing. I don’t even know how you would go about trying to find a cure. My mind still works the way people’s did in the Civil War, cut it off if there’s a problem. But we can’t have everyone running around with cut off breasts, testicles, and brains. Still, some diseases have cures. One horrific disease, boredom, has the perfect cure. That cure is visiting an online forum.

If you’ve never visited an online forum you’re either lying or have never tried to kill yourself. The people on the suicide forums aren’t nearly as interesting as you would think. I used to peruse them late at night. I’m not exactly sure why. Plans to kill myself never got further than looking up at tall buildings thinking it would hurt really bad if I fell off. I would still recommend everyone make an account on one of these forums at some point. Either to help out some sad poet or to feel better about yourself. I’m guilty of them both.

(More poets should be like Edgar Alan Poe. He only whined about his lost Lenore. Not about how hard it is to get out of bed for a well paying job everyday)

Most large websites have forums. They allow for fans, or in most cases enemies, of the sites to express their opinions and bully 12-year-olds who post there. I believe bullying was invented to be used on forums. It’s the great place to shit talk and make someone feel like they’re subhuman. You not only get to hide behind a computer screen, you also are able to publicly showcase your insults to the rest of the members. It’s like that saying, if you calling someone retarded for having a lame opinion and there’s no one else around to see your great insult, does it hurt as badly? I’m not sure what the answer is because I might have used a double negative. Point is, online forums are a great place to make people hate themselves.

Personally I have never been bullied on a forum. It’s probably because I always forget my passwords and never log back to see the responses. The few forums I have posted on though I have always felt stupid after doing so. Fitness forums can be pretty bad. It’s a bunch of meatheads with how much weight they can move in a certain way posted under their misspelled opinions. I’m sure most of these guys are as strong as they claim to be. It’s not like most are closeted homosexuals trying to impress other men on the Internet. Why else would they post YouTube videos of them squatting shirtless in shorts? Anyway, if you hate being bullied avoid asking any question on a fitness forum. You will be met with a thousand opinions by a hundred guys who date a mirror.

There are a few terms on forums that you may need to know incase you’re thinking about signing up for one. The first is Signature Picture. These are the images used at the bottom of every post made. One time I made a “Sig Pic” on a wrestling forum. I’m like Internet famous. I’m Tub Girl only more blurry and covered in less fecal matter. There’s also the term “Moderator” which is important on forums. This lets you know which members don’t have senses of humor or real jobs.

(Every time Undertaker27 tells you about his lame opinion, you can see me in the center in front of a lime green sign with a rope going in front of my face. At least this picture confirms I am a half-inch taller than my friend)

I’ve been a moderator on two forums in my life. Both were on websites that my friend created. The first was a professional wrestling based forum which went nowhere. The second was a pornography based forum which went nowhere. Here’s a tip, don’t have a website about porn without any actual porn. It really is like that old joke of getting Playboy for the articles. So few people joined that we began to create fake accounts to encourage new people to sign up. I didn’t even know anything about pornography. All I knew to do was use names like Amber and Xilda, the standard porn names. A few Arab guys joined but never discussed anything. But really, who wants to talk about porn? What would you even say? “Did you see the rack on that one? Boy she knows how to make a man smile!” Two people who I knew joined. One had red hair and the other was a girl with thyroid problems. You’re only as good as the company you keep–

Like with anything on the Internet, things are negative. Forums are no different. People just love to be assholes online. This makes me believe that people are assholes deep down inside. Give them an anonymous nickname, an avatar of Captain America with a large erection, a lifetime of never fitting in and you have a mean Internet troll. Never post something you’re proud of online. If it ever becomes big your ego will be destroyed within 5 minutes. Yeah, people will be talking about. But you’ll be the new Rebecca Black. Nobody wants to be the new Rebecca Black. That’s too much pressure. You have to live up to being such shit.

(This face makes me hate the beginning of the weekend)

The most creative person I have ever met is myself. Really, some of the ideas I come up with, classic! Changing that lightbulb with wet fingers, it gave me a jolt of energy that no caffeinated drink ever could.When I am killed sometime in the near future (I’m a realist) my brain will most definitely be placed in the Smithsonian. If Archie Bunker’s chair could make it into that sham of a museum, surely my mind has a shot.

(Why is there a picture of an enslaved African man next to this chair? If anyone would have little sympathy it would be Archie Bunker)

With my amazing creative skills I am still modest enough to acknowledge the creativity of others. Yes, sometimes I get jealous when I see someone impress me. I’m angry that I didn’t think of it first. I hope that this creative person has some sort of terminal disease and will soon die so I can claim their ideas as my own. I guess that’s why you never hear about anyone with Stage 5 AIDS inventing something cool. Is AIDS separated into stages? So many Broadway stars of the 1980s had it that I would think this would be a fun way to categorize the disease. And when they die you can joke and say “exit stage left” or something cute like that to lighten the mood.

I find that the more I am around creative people the more creative I become. It’s a very subtle thing too. I’m not so much influenced by them as I am in competition. My competitiveness isn’t so huge. Yeah I’ll scream, curse, and hit if I feel like my fellow Uno players are drawing better cards than I. But how else can you convince someone to forfeit and give you a better chance at victory? It’s good to be around both creative people who you think are better and worse than you are. Fitting somewhere in the middle of the pack lets your head keep from getting too big and detours you from blowing off that head with a shotgun due to how much you suck. That’s how I see it at least. I never like to be the best or the worst. Being the best means people will expect me to always be that tremendous. Being the worst means I should probably hang it up. And by “it” I mean my neck in a noose.

Surrounding yourself with creative people also has a downside. Usually they’ll be more judgmental of you. I hate being judged. That’s why I haven’t shown up to court for that vehicular homicide. That judge doesn’t know me. He has no right to be so judgmental. The worst thing about talented folk is that they can justify their telling you how crappy you are. Not that too many people with talent really care or notice us slobs at the bottom of the barrel of skills. That’s another thing, creative people never really care about other creative people. Take blogging for instance. It’s great to have other bloggers read your stuff, but it’s even better to have non-bloggers do it. Non-bloggers, or shit-heads as us bloggers call them, are much more valuable readers. That’s not to say I don’t appreciate all of my friends who are also writers, but I like it a lot more when those shit-heads I mentioned earlier read my masterpieces. Think of it like you’re a musician and only other musicians are in the audience. That’s not very much fun. They’ll be standing there with their lighters thinking not about how great you are. Instead they’ll be more focused on how they could do that if they wanted.

(Don’t have a blog? This is what you look like to me)

My most favorite thing about creative types is that if we’re lucky we can put our amazing brains together and create something awesome. The keyword in creative is create. That’s not to say the act of creating anything is creative. My nose creates boogers nightly and only about half of them are anything impressive. To be truly creative I think you need to be original, draw emotion from your creation, and be unafraid of failure. It’s not always the first try that brings in the success. So keep on failing readers. Perhaps some day you can claim writing about creativity as something creative like I just did.

The first time was cute. The first time for anything is cute. The first time man stepped foot on the moon, adorable! Look at silly Neil, bouncing up and down like a dog in a swimming pool. When Obama won the election I wanted to pinch his cheeks it was so cute having a black president. Even the first plane crash was pretty damn swell. You know, the old black and white footage of the plane with the wings flapping? You can’t help but laugh at the carnage that did not ensue and does now each time a plane does crash. If we went back to that old model, Lost would have been a 3 minute show and J.J. Abrams could go back to being named after Good Times characters like he should.

(President Obama looking so adorable at his inauguration in his big boy suit)

When things jump the shark, become too common, they lose their flair. It’s no longer interesting or admirable. What exactly is it I am referring to specifically with all of this? Pleas to celebrities to go on dates with the downtrodden. I’ll do my best not to shit on marines or cancer kids in this, but no promises.

If you don’t have any idea what I’m talking about, let me catch you up. There’s this trend going around where common folk like you and I ask celebrities out on dates. Usually they do it via YouTube. You know, the website with videos that doesn’t have any nudity. Yeah, I think it’s useless too. I’ve never watched these videos. Why would I? I have better things to do like eating and checking my dog’s poop for worms. Finally found some! My bucket list is getting shorter and shorter each day.

I’m not positive what my first experience with these entrapment dates was. I think it was a marine asking Mila Kunis out on a date. Hey, I’d love to go on a date with Mila Kunis. I’d even ask if she wanted dessert afterwards. I’d drive to a separate place for the dessert too for Mila Kunis. I don’t just do that for anyone. It’s usually you can get an appetizer and if you’re still hungry you can pick at what I have left on my plate when I’m done. To Mila’s credit, I don’t think she ever went on the date with the marine. She politely turned it down. She gets harassed and jerked off to all the time. You really think because you have a webcam and camouflage on that she should go on a date with you? Actually now that I think about it, she actually did go over to visit him. I’m not really sure and don’t feel like looking it up. Point is, Mila baby, you don’t have to ride in a black hawk helicopter to come and see me. I bet that marine didn’t even take you somewhere interesting to eat. I’m not pleading with you to go on a date with me, just suggesting.*

*I researched it and she did meet up with him. She went to a Marine’s Ball in one of the Carolinas. Sounds like a blast.

There seems to be a new one of these everyday on the Yahoo homepage, my number one source for news other than listening to high school girls gossip at the mall. Today I learned that Michelle is a whore. That was from the high school girls, not Yahoo. There’s nothing wrong with asking celebrities out on dates, it’s just–I don’t know. Corny. It’s desperate. There are plenty of beautiful people out there in the world as lonely and pathetic as you are. Try them. Maybe, and this is a real shot in the dark, you will be more compatible with a chick who works in an office than one who plays pretend in front of a camera.

(I’m sure she makes an awesome bowl of oatmeal)

Not always are these pleas from marines. Sometimes they’re from kids with diseases. Finally, sick children making use out of their own wish. I always thought what would happen if a Make A Wish Kid asked for his one wish to be having sex with a celebrity. My guess is they’d smother the child with a pillow immediately. No way they’re letting him into the pants of some Hollywood starlet. I know it’s great to ban together to get some kid a date with a celebrity and I’m mostly jealous that I’m not even allowed to fart near one let alone feel one up, but the all that effort to help the kid meet a celebrity crush doesn’t do anything. All your hard work spent on trying to fly in–Fibi from Friends? Kids think she’s sexy right?–could be better used in other ways. If the kid is dead in the water, for sure, get him whoever he wants. Force her to touch his soon to be dead body. Make her do some magic tricks for him like pulling a cure out of a hat. Maybe I’m harsh, but I think all this teaches us is nobody gives a shit about you until you’re dead or dying. Which is true.

I could never get a date with a celebrity crush. My life isn’t bad enough. I take care of myself, I’m not retarded, I’m probably going to be stuck on this rock called earth for a few more years. If I want a celebrity to screw, I do it the old fashion way. I break into her mansion and have my way. Or I work really hard to make a name for myself. Make them want me. I hate all kinds of free handouts. Especially when they involve putting guilt on some poor celebrity into having no choice but to tell you that your video was charming but they have to politely decline your request to stare at you awkwardly for 10 minutes while you blab about how much you loved her in some terrible movie. How can any other girl ever love you after you’ve publicly humiliated yourself showing how obsessed you can be with a stranger? She knows she’ll never live up to that. Why should she even bother?

Simply put, you’re a loser if you ever make one of these videos.

So here’s my first of many to come.

Off the record: I swear my delivery is much better in the second one I made. This took about 2 hours to figure out and that doesn’t include how long it took me to realize I needed to convert the file. I had originally done a very flamboyantly gay voice, but realized I couldn’t say certain words with a lisp, like anything starting with an S. I’m also adding a link to my YouTube channel I created on my blogroll so you can look at the other things I put up there. And for good measure I’ve added a picture of Ms. Malin Akerman at the end of this post because I will get more Facebook hits from that being the thumbnail used.

I am near black belt level of remembering the people I meet in life. Sometimes their names escape me. They will forever be known by other things like “gay kid from sports camp” or “gay kid from baseball camp.” As you can see, I went to a lot of camps and made a lot of friends with gay kids. Whether it was general sports or a more niche one, campgrounds are filled with little homos offering a trade of “show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

Going through my Facebook, there are some people I have no clue who they are. Thing is, I never knew who they were. They were random people who added me. It’s different with Facebook than it was with Myspace. Myspace was about meeting new people. That’s why it was so great at first. Do I need to remind you how many girls offered themselves to me on that website? Well, 4. Half of them were underage. Still, that’s more than Facebook. Myspace was awesome because you could spy on people and they could spy on you. A random girl could be browsing, look at my profile, then think that I was awesome. Then we could talk a little more and she could realize I wasn’t that great. At least I knew where I stood. With Facebook I’m lost in the woods.

(Facebook makes me feel like the Blair Witch is after me. I have no idea what’s going on and my nose runs a little too much)

I wonder this about random Facebook friends, who the fuck are they? They usually don’t have very many friends in general. Or they have a lot. I’m not referring either to the people you have a few friends in common with. Usually these are just friend whores. Instead I’m focusing more on those completely random out of the blue can’t find any connection with individuals. They baffle me. I need to find out more.

The thing about this phenomenon, yes like the John Travolta lightning movie, is that they’re almost always men from Eastern Europe or the Middle East. Something happens on that side of the world. Maybe they’re friendlier. They’re more willing to take risks because their lives in general involve more risk. There’s that and then there’s they’re perverts. If you’re a girl and a random guy adds you, he’s a pervert. I added one random girl on Facebook ever. We were Facebook friends for 23, yes like the Jim Carrey number movie, minutes. We had two friends in common. Why did I add her? She was hot and had very large breasts. I was lonely and felt like rolling the dice. I didn’t get a chance for her to say to me “Do I know you?” and for me to reply with “Yes” and freaking her out. I have since avoided adding random people. Unless you count the cute waitress I stalked and tried to add. But I mean c’mon, she must have seen me 50 times and even said hi once. It can’t be that creepy. It’s not like I post pictures of her on my blog…

(This isn’t a picture of the girl I tried to add on Facebook randomly. She’s just some random Google Image who came up from searching waitress. I wanted for a second you to think that I really would post pictures of random people I stalk)

I did have a girl add me randomly on Facebook. Her name was Nena Fitriyani or something very similar. She was from Indonesia and always called me Mister. She deleted me after I took one of her random pictures of her singing karaoke with friends and tagged friends of mine in it. I guess Indonesian humor doesn’t involve practical jokes. It’s more about tsunamis and–what else is Indonesia even known for?

(Didn’t a man with funny hair and a bad reality TV show say Barack Obama was born in Indonesia?)

I wouldn’t mind random people adding people if they had something to say. They never do though. They add you then never do a thing. This always throws me for a loop. I hate when people try to make a connection with me and don’t say a thing. I feel like a prostitute. You’re using me as a number to boost your popularity. At least say hello or like something I posted. Otherwise you’re clearly spying on me. You only added me hoping you could find out that my life was worse than yours. The joke is on you. I don’t post enough about how much my life stinks on Facebook. It’ll remain a constant mystery for you unless you’re reading this. In that case, my life rules.

I’m now led to the idea that there are others who have at some point seen me on their friends list and thought “who is this guy?” That’s a pretty shitty feeling. I don’t add people I haven’t met in person. Unless they’re some sort of celebrity. I’ll always add a celebrity. I have this fantasy of a celebrity seeing something I posted and making me famous. Or having sex with me. But isn’t having sex with a celebrity kind of like becoming famous? Or are you just another number to boost their popularity? I will never understand a thing about the beautiful and successful people of the world.

(Malin Akerman, I don’t get you, but I love you and you are the inspiration for everything that I do. More on that to come)

What makes a random person add someone on Facebook? The only thing most people can see about another is the main picture. Was I that attractive to the Iranian guy who decided to befriend me? Does that skinny old man who added me named Romes Forel have some infatuation with my image? I guess I should take what I can get. When a random person adds you on Facebook, it’s reassurance that you look like a friendly person. At the very least, you look like someone who could easily provide them with some sick torture fantasies. Look at the random friends you have on Facebook and tell me you can’t imagine them starring in a torture porn. On the rubber end of the knife too.


Posted: January 19, 2012 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

The time has come for a new achievement to be announced. My 200th post! Woo-Hoo! I’d say I couldn’t have done it without a lot of help, but the truth is I could have done it all by myself. I wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun by myself and I might have given up by now. You can take that much away from being a part of this monumental occasion.

Did you know that no blog has ever had 200 posts? It’s true. I am currently in contact with the Guinness Book of World Records trying to get my place in history. They haven’t responded back yet and the only form of trying to contact them I have made has been shouting really loudly in the direction of their headquarters. I believe it’s south of me? Who knows. What matters is that I know what a champion I am.

For the few of you who were around for my 100th post, I am going to do something similar. I am going to link up to a few past posts. This time instead of doing them in order and giving you a history I am going to have each letter represent a blog title. I hope you enjoy some of my older, less/non-read posts and can take something away from the person I have grown into in that time period. Thank you and enjoy.

A is for Abs. You probably aren’t that in great of shape. It’s okay, none of us are. Maybe this will cheer you up. I’ll show you how abs are so overrated.

B is for Bananas. A very timely piece about when at a hockey game a black player had a banana thrown at him. You probably don’t remember that. It’s okay, we don’t expect much from the retarded.

C is for Champions. It is here that I try to convince you of what championships are the most valuable in today’s society. I’m not going to bother reading it to give you a better glimpse into what it is. If you’re a champion like me you will read it. Otherwise you’re a fraud like Michael Jordan. Did you know that he’s really two guys standing on each other’s shoulders?

D is for Dog Bets. I made a bet with my dog. Yes, he has a gambling problem. I didn’t quite cut off his fingers, but he did feel my wrath.

E is for El Chupacabras. You’ve probably always wanted me to discuss the mythological Mexican Goat Eater. I already did! Here’s your chance to “read all about it” as a newspaper boy might say.

F is for Foul Balls. I think only two people ever even clicked on this. That means neither of them ever read it. It’s kind of long, but I thought it was pretty good. It’s about bonding over balls with your dad. And it’s about falling to your death and getting a lame statue created in your honor.

G is for Golden Rules. I have my own interpretation of it. Want to better your life? This probably will not help.

H is for Holiday Battles. I pit each holiday against each other to figure out who has more holidays, God or US Soldiers. The results WILL shock you. And I typed will in all Caps. That means if it doesn’t you get your money back.

I is for Ironies. An amazing little tale that was so great that 2 people decided to share it on Facebook. Thank anonymous stalkers!

J is for Jock Insults. I came up with a list of mean names to call some of the biggest sports stars of today’s ESPN world. Then something funny happened.

K is for Kicks. I have to say, no one has ever broken down one single word as much as I do here. If you read my stuff a lot now and like when things get every which way, you will think this post is decent.

L is for Locations. I really liked this post. I don’t remember why. It was fun to do. It’s about where I live. Then it turns into why I live in a shitty place.

M is for Millionaire Dog Killers. This I wrote after Michael Vick was given a huge contract for having 6 great games and killing 3 times as many adorable puppies. To say I hope he breaks his neck is an understatement.

N is for New York Laws. It is here that I discuss how silly it is for some of their laws to exist. What laws you ask? Click on the link and find out! I’m such a good salesman.

O is for Obese Twins. There are too many twins where they are both disgustingly fat. That’s what I talk about here. Yeah, it was a slow day.

P is for Pirate Paths. This is not your run-of-the-mill pirate post. It’s more about the meaning of their lives with a few jokes about gays. I don’t know that last part for a fact. I’m assuming because I wrote it.

Q is for Quitters. Some people need to quit. I found two of them.

R is for Religious Brackets. Everyone loves putting things into brackets and finding out who the winner will be. I did it with religions. I even got Dick Vitale to do a voiceover for it. That’s actually a lie. I would never talk to Dick Vitale.

S is for Smarts. No clue what this is about. I’m only posting it because one person commented on it as every retarded person who know in person.

T is for Team Names. This is a post about offensive sports teams names and how we overlook some obviously offensive ones. I’m not much for getting offended about anything. This is more of a satire post. I know, who would have guessed I’d do something sarcastic.

U is for Unknown Origins. I take the time to wonder, where do all of those actors who play Holocaust victims come from? I’ve wondered this for years actually. I may have found my answer.

V is for Villains. There are a lot of bad people out there. I talk about them here. Yeah, I’m not feeling very clever after the first however many letters of the alphabet. 21? Yes because T is the 20th letter. I always remember that because my name begins with it.

W is for Writers. After I posted this, I got 3-4 new followers which at that time was amazing. Now I’m always getting random people following me then never commenting. Are they real or bots? I’m not sure. But thanks shitheads, I guess. Oh and this is about some writing seminar I went to.

X is for X-Rated Film Stars. Honestly, I only wrote this so I’d have something to put here. That shows you how far in advance I planned my 200th blog posting. And I’m waiting about a week in advance to get this done. I stink.

Y is for YouTube Sensations. Do you love it when other people’s lives suck? Read this!

Z is for Zoo Animals. It had to be this one. I never wrote about Zorros or Zuchinnis. Still, this is a pretty good one. We all love the zoo. And now here’s a review, of all the animals there. What is true, is that I wrote it all for you! (I am so poetic)

Since writing this up 2 weeks ago in preparation, I have not only also eclipsed 10,000 views but also 100 blog followers. Whole solid numbers! I love them. The bigger the better.

And finally, a special thank you to all of my readers, followers, people who link me on their blogs, people who comment, people who liked my posts but didn’t really read it, and anyone else who has had anything to do with this blog over the past 200 posts. You guys are tremendous. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d have such a supportive, talented, funny, and sweet group of people to share my blog with and have them share theirs with me. I would call you my friends, but that sounds too lonely and desperate for relationships with others. I’m not like that. I’m more like Dexter. I have no feelings. But yes, I appreciate all of the comments, all of the compliments, and anything else good you have to say to me. It’s a great feeling to know that even though we could all be lying to each other and will most likely never have that big of an impact on each other’s lives, we still matter to each other right now in this moment. Thank you again. Keep up the great work. Keep being yourselves. Please don’t die.

-Tim “Mooselicker” (nobody has ever called me that in real life)


Posted: December 18, 2011 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Preface: I’m posting this ahead of time and scheduling it for a future date. I will not have a chance to post anything Sunday or Monday so hopefully this will hold you over. I hope the “scheduling” feature works for this. Also, if you are one of the creeps who frequently looks at my blog and does not comment, leave a comment. I like to know who reads this so I can cater to you interests/make sure I don’t say bad things about you/make sure I do say bad things about you if I don’t like you. I’m curious to know who these people who Google “mooselicker” are. Yes, I can see that you do that. Stop being a creep and show yourself.

(Until I know better, this is you. A gay clown in the bushes spying on my every move. He’s gay because gay clowns only red the tips of their nose, not the nostrils)

Onto the article:

This is a thought that has putted around in my head for a while now. It came to me when looking at Facebook profiles of old high school classmates. I might be going out on a limb here, but Jesus Christ, I am the only person who looks better now than they did 6 years ago. I’m not in amazing shape or anything. One thing I do have is that I am completely unrecognizable. I’ve talked to people from my old high school and they have no idea who I am. Maybe they never noticed me and I didn’t get more handsome. Crap. I was excited and pooped my pants for nothing.

I recently saw a picture of an ex-girlfriend on the Internets. Before you get mad at any insults I might say about this girl, let it be known that 2 days before we broke up I texted her “I miss you” and she responded with “That’s nice.” What–the–fuck? You said you loved me! It took us dating 2 days and you were in love with me! Now only about 2 weeks later, it was nice when I missed you. You son of a bitch. I regret not saying your face looked feline.

I’m sitting on Facebook trying to find some Spanish girl whose name I recently learned. Yes, I’m stalking. Big deal. Do you know what the worst thing about Spanish girls is? They’re impossible to stalk. All of their last names are the same. I hope I never need to seriously stalk a Maria Lopez. There has to be 5 million of them.*

(Sofia Vergara has never had a successful stalker. Believe me, I’ve tried)

*This is a recycled joke that I posted on Facebook. Sorry if you’re my Facebook friend and had to read this again. I thought it was clever. Only one person commented on it which is one more than I usually get. I felt it was also very fitting for this post so I used it again. I really was trying to stalk a Spanish girl so it’s not so much a joke as it is a harsh reality. It’s fine to recycle harsh realities.

I am getting so off-track here! I apologize. What I wanted to say was that I saw my ex-girlfriend had some new photographs up. To say she packed on a few L.B.’s would be an insult to the letters L & B. Do letters get insulted? I can’t remember if it’s letters or numbers that have emotions.

(Numbers and Letters getting along for once despite religious affiliation)

I won’t go on a tirade of fat jokes or anything. I’m above doing that to anyone I actually know. I also can’t think of anything clever or hurtful enough. My question though has to do with exes. There are a lot of people who go from “geek to chic” as Jenny Jones would put it. Or in other cases they go from “chic to big fat mess.” I know there’s nothing wrong with change, that’s how Obama got elected.

The question here for you is, what’s the most important and what is the worst of the below choices? Yeah, I’m having trouble wording this. Fuck letters. I hope they are the ones with emotions and feel sad now. Just select which one of the below is more true for you.

A) I would rather date someone attractive who used to be unattractive


B) I would rather date someone who has always been attractive who ends up becoming unattractive after we break up

There are tons of variables to this. I know I would rather date someone who used to be unattractive merely for the fact that they’ll probably lack confidence and be easy pickings. Having dated someone who turned out worse feels a little embarrassing. I don’t know why that is. Maybe because I relate more to people who get better looking as opposed to others who take a nose dive into a bucket of ice cream.

I guess though what really matters is what the person looks like when you actually do date them. Why else should any of us care? Because we’re gossips who want those who hurt us to live miserable lives! That’s why.

To be less shallow, what really matters is personality. I can’t fall in love with someone unless I have some sense of a personality. That’s probably why I don’t like porn. Those girls don’t have a personality other than being a slut. I need to be able to know that the girl has a sense of humor or is real into animals. If more pornographic films had girls wearing clown noses or holding kittens I might get into it and fall in love.

(I am in love)

Yes, sometimes I’m a real pig and will find something very small to turn myself off from another person. What you might call being an animal, I call being observant. I’m not picky at all with girls I’d date. All I ask is that you let your beautiful personality shine through, always let me remind you how amazing you are, and don’t have a big nose. Everybody needs a line. Big noses are mine.

P.S. I also wrote something else. It’s about wrestling! Enjoy by clicking on this link.

I mentioned in a previous post how I had a girl turn me down for a YouTube Sensation. This is true. I had met her through friends of friends. She thought I was cool. She compared me to Bill Clinton. She said that neither of us were all that attractive, but she would still have sex with both of us. Both Smooth Willy and I were charming and captivating. We were alpha males who demanded respect. She saw this in us both. Instead she chose a boy with a video over me and a slutty president.

(“I love blow jobs.” – Bill Clinton, spokesperson for all men)

I never officially confessed my life for her. In a way, I’m glad I didn’t. It would have hurt more to be turned down for a marine who looked like Steve-O. This was a girl who sent me naked pictures on the Internet because “she wanted to know which ones looked best.” Yes, that’s exactly why. And you thought it was a shock that I believed you wanted more. I’m sorry for hugging you. I’m glad you lost your sunglasses in my car. I hope you know that the disposable camera I bought for when we hung out that one day at the beach never had the pictures developed. You hurt me so much that I threw the camera away. That felt good. Real good.

It took me a while to get over her. As you can tell, I’m still a little bitter. Mostly about myself. I know that I deserved better than that. Nobody should have to go to a diner at 3 in the morning to hear about a girl’s dreams she had last night that don’t involve you. She wanted to know my interpretation of the dream. Wow, really? Don’t you see that I’m in love with you? Of course I’m going to say that the dream means you shouldn’t get married. You stupid drug addict.

When I met this girl she already had her boyfriend. They had been dating for a few months. After knowing her for a month, she went to visit him and came back with an engagement ring. Oof! My heart sank. I still remember the day they got married. I was sitting at work wanting to kill myself or see something pop up on Yahoo about a massive plane crash into a wedding reception. I had my heart-broken, can you blame me for wanting massive amounts of innocent people to die? If you don’t understand, you’ve truly never thought that you were in love when you weren’t.

The last time I remember communicating with her was a comment on my Myspace page. It was a nice shot of me at a baseball game wearing a hat, sunglasses, a badass jacket from the Vietnam era (think Travis Bickle or Charlie from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia), looking 30-40 pounds lighter than when she has last seen me in person. She said something along the lines of “When was this taken?” I know, she might have just been curious. I like to think that she said it with regret in her life decisions. I did once tell her that I did not plan on getting married until I was 30. She joked that she’d be divorced by then. So maybe there is a chance that I can marry her then break her heart too. I totally would. I’m vindictive and evil like that.

(This picture is like 5 years old. My posture is much straighter now and I am no longer in fear of being recognized by paparazzi)

(For your viewing pleasure, a more recent photo of me back when I played with the Montreal Canadians. I seemed to be slumped back not forward now)

What hurt most was who she chose over me. Quite frankly, I’m a pretty cool guy. I’ve had attractive girls ask me for my phone number (most were sales people), I’ve had European girls ask me for my autograph (they were kind of bullied into it), I’ve had complete strangers come up to me and ask to have their picture taken with me (they probably had never seen someone so odd-looking), I’ve made promises to myself and kept them (I always put the toilet seat down), the only thing I’ve ever become addicted to is self-improvement (the downside is I cry at every little mistake), and I’m overall the most wonderful person you could ever meet. I don’t know if I actually believe it or if I’ve tricked myself into thinking it’s true. One theory I have is that I’m a very convincing actor with no real personality. I become whatever character I need to be to please whoever happens to be around me. The real me is very mean and doesn’t like to go outside much. That wouldn’t be a very coveted role for a thespian which is why I try to hide how much I hate whoever I am talking to. Sometimes it’s harder than others.

I would like to do a little comparing and contrasting between myself and YouTube Sensation who is the reason behind my anguish. He was never a huge hit online. I wasn’t dumped for Chocolate Rain or Star Wars Kid. Even dumping me for the runner of a RANDOM FEMALE BLOG!!! would be nice. That wouldn’t bother me. I’m not sure what his actual video included, but I’m sure it was nothing that Weezer would ever include in a music video.

Onto the comparing and contrasting! Finally! I will list points as to why I am better than YouTube Sensation. Why the first girl I ever thought I was in love with made a mistake and why given the chance, I would throw a rock through her windshield. If Carrie Underwood can be a crazy bitch, so can I.

(When I grow up, I want to be rich and successful and still hate the men who hurt me)

Point 1:

YouTube Sensation looked like Steve-O from Jackass. I mean he was the spitting image. Jackass hasn’t been popular in years. How’s it feel to be married to that? Someone once told me that I looked like Neil Patrick Harris. I don’t. I couldn’t look further from it. That doesn’t matter though. One person thought I did. How I Met Your Mother does very well in the ratings. Neil Patrick Harris is the big get of the show too. NPH has been popular since the 90s while Steve-O had his 15 minutes of fame getting whacked in the testicles with a hippo jaw. I win this round.

Point 2:

YouTube Sensation had a lot of views on his videos. I have never had a YouTube video get more than about 20 views. That means I don’t need a video to clarify how brilliant I am. It also means I am better at sex.

Point 3:

YouTube Sensation had gained 15 pounds since she knew him. Since she met me, I lost 40 pounds, gained 20 back, lost another 30, then gained 20 back. I’m unpredictable! While he’s married to her continuing to have his weight go up, I’m over here zigzagging every which weight with the scale. Do you want to be in a marriage where you know the exact weight of your spouse a year before it happens? You’re insane if you do!

Point 4:

YouTube Sensation was a military man. I don’t know which branch. Probably the Navy because he’s so gay (I’m allowed to make fun of him, he was a road block to happiness). I have never joined the military and probably never would. That means less of a chance of me getting shot. Nobody wants their husband to get shot. Mark this one down for me.

Point 5:

YouTube Sensation was originally from Texas. Do you know who else is from Texas? George Bush! Both of them! I’m originally from New Jersey. Do you know who else is from New Jersey? Bruce Willis. It’s simple. Bruce Willis is greater than George Bush. George Bush can send in as many troops to kill terrorists. Bruce Willis only needs one pistol and an elevator shaft.

Point 6:

YouTube Sensation was stationed in Florida. She had to move to Florida to be with him. Moving is so annoying! She wouldn’t have had to do that with me. Also, the humidity is so annoying down there. I know New Jersey has a lot of bad things about it. Do you know what we don’t ever have? Deadly hurricanes! Enjoy your deck furniture flying away bitch.

I’ll stop at 6 points. The rest is all assumption on genitalia size. I don’t remember what nationality he was, but I do remember her telling me that he could only get her off with his tongue. That’s not a real man if you ask me. A real man can get a girl off with a simple wink. Come anywhere near me and I’ll be sure to give you several.

The way I was treated is comparable to how a girl treats a gay friend. She knew I wasn’t gay and that was the problem. If there was some sort of misunderstanding then by all means, you are forgiven. Setting me up with your fat friend because we were both fat doesn’t make things good. It makes things worse.

You got married when you were 22. Now you’re like what, 26? The current life expectancy of a female in the United States is around 77 years. 77 minutes 22 equals 55. That’s 55 years of being married to him. Well, assuming he doesn’t die first. The average life expectancy of a male in the United States is around 73 years old. So that’s 51 years of marriage. You’ve been married for about 4 years already. That means you have to do this about 12 more times over. And that doesn’t include advances in medicine that will most certainly take place. Chances are, you’ll live to be around 100 or so. 80 years of the same Steve-O crap. Enjoy. You will be married to him for the rest of your life! Possibly. You’ll be together when the Cubs finally win the World Series. You’ll be together when man first takes a step on Mars. You’ll be together when the first infant is elected president. Til death do you part! (imagine me saying that in a very spooky voice)

(Mean Mark Calloway doing his signature “What’s up?” gimmick based off the old beer commercials. He has a very spooky voice)

Here’s some advice to anyone who experienced anything similar to what I have. Move on. It’s the best thing you can do. I was turned down by a girl one time and a female friend said “Why are you so upset? It’s just pussy. There’s lot of it out there.” She was right. Unnecessarily vulgar, but right. There is always someone else out there. Even finding other mates who don’t quite work out can get you out of that rut. Just knowing that you’ve “still got it” is so valuable. I went about two years still wishing things were different. Then an 18-year-old girl asked me to buy her beer. She told me I had gorgeous eyes and suddenly everything faded away. No more fear, anger, or sorrow. I had found someone new. I bought her and her friends the beer and one of them kissed me on the cheek. Her name was Wendy and that reminded me of Peter Pan. Suddenly I was grossed out and didn’t want to be around girls for a while. I got over her. So can you.