I’m Not Dead…

So, I’m not sure how many of my former readers are still subscribed or whatever-the-fuck to this site, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt my cause to throw up a special update for anyone that was curious. Because I’m sure everyone cares a lot.

I’m not dead. I’m still writing. Though it’s not the typical rants that I did here. I’m currently knees deep in two different writing projects, one humorous, one serious, and also focusing on my newly remodeled short story website.

What? Links? Jesus, seriously. I have to handhold? Fine…

The Newly Remodeled Short Story Site: Disassemble The Universe

Non-Linear Short Story Project: Human Echoes

Comedic Pokemon-Related Blogs: Six Balls And A Dream

Also, if any of you that see this have questions or anything, feel free to throw them out. I miss this site. It stays up as a monument to a different time in my life. It’s still filled with things I’m very proud of. Well, maybe proud isn’t the right word. Actually, ashamed may be the right word. Like a dog that gets caught shitting on a rug…

Yeah, we’ll go with that.

Why are you still reading? Fuck off, will ya?

It’s The Japanese Symbol For “Bob Hates Me”

Long ago, before man had fully developed into what they have become now, there were still major dill weeds. Unfortunately, you would leave your mud hut or cave, and have absolutely no way of telling which people were the nimrods and which may be tolerable.

But we evolved. We invented the wheel, discovered fire, and created the ultimate tool bag warning label: The tattoo.

That’s right. At some point in time, people began to cram heavy loads of ink into their flesh. This idea would have probably been the worst idea man has ever come up with, but a few weeks before that someone was curious what was inside their ass and the prostate exam was invented. So doodling on the inside of your outside came in a close second.

I know what you’re saying: “But Bob, tattoos are cool and hip!”. No, tattoos WERE cool and hip. So were motorcycles. And now every time you see someone on a motorcycle, the first thought that crosses your mind is “Jesus, what a dickhead!”. And that’s how I’m starting to react to tattoos.

Each archetype of tattoo comes with it’s own stigma. And because I’m an immense asshole, I will take the time to explain to each and every one of you why you might as well just tattoo “Annoying Cunt” on your forehead. And I will do it tattoo by ugly tattoo.

1) Crouching Tiger, Hidden Douchebag

As mentioned in the title, these annoy me to no end. It’s an attention thing. People get these so they can explain them to other people. And why do they do that? Because they’re too boring to come up with anything else interesting to talk about.

“It’s Japanese for Peace and Love!”

Oh yeah, wanna see mine? It’s the Japanese symbol for “Go Away”.

Culture-rape is a common occurrence amongst the hipster crowd. Being “cultural” means you’re not only intelligent, but really, really awesome-cakes. Well, that’s what they THINK it means. When someone tells you they’re “cultural”, it usually really means: “I ate at the Panda Express once…” The same goes for Japanese tattoos.

I’m more than convinced that the Japanese symbol tattoo is what caused the Japanese to snap and bomb Pearl Harbor. Thanks to you, a lot of people’s Grandpas were blown to smithereens. I hope you’re happy.

2) The Chest Bone’s Connected To The… SWEET JESUS?!

Neck Tattoo.

I’ll give you a second to ponder that one.

Neck.

Fuck.

Tattoo.

It’s a tattoo. It’s on your neck. And now it’s on your face!

Face Tattoo.

FACE! FUCK! TATTOO!

If you have a tattoo above your shoulders, you have officially forfeited all your rights as a human being. It’s now legal for me to take an axe to your head.

“Jesus Christ! You killed a guy with a HARPOON GUN, are you out of your mind?! Death penalty for sure!”

“Your honor, if I could please direct your attention to what’s left of his face, you’ll see that most of it is covered up in a face tattoo.”

“Oh, didn’t see that before. You’re free to go. Continue the heroic deeds, Hero of the People.”

Face tattoo. You can’t possibly go further than that, can you?

Oh, you can:

That’s right. That’s a tattoo INSIDE SOMEONES MOUTH! It’s a tattoo that no one can see unless you show it to them. Now, if only you could put a Japanese symbol in your mouth, you could rule over the Douchedom as the King of all Douches.

3) Stamp Of Disapproval

Did you know that on rare occasions, gentlemen enjoy having sexual intercourse with their lovely ladies from behind? Well, now they can have a tiny art gallery to look at too!

The “Tramp Stamp” is somewhat of an enigma to me. You are aware that you’re going to be an old person eventually, right? You try to explain to your grandchildren what the fuck that’s about!

“Hey Grandma, what’s that on your back?”

“Well, kiddo, you see, when I was a young lady, I would go out to bars wearing half-shirts and pants that were low enough to see the top of my lady parts. I would do what was known as “trolling for poon-tang”, hoping that some random stranger would take me home and cram several inches of hot, man-beef in my crotch, possibly even while violently smacking me on…”

“…I have to go beat myself in the head with a brick repeatedly until I have enough brain damage to get that image out of my head now, Grandma. See you… never again.”

4) Your Stomach Says “Hungry Like The Wolf”

A musician sits down, pen in hand. For hours, days, weeks, months, hell even YEARS they work on perfecting their art. Lyrics scribbled out, new ones written into the margins. All to make the perfect masterpiece of poetry to put to music.

Then some retard goes and slaps their hard work on their ass.

The “Song Lyric” tattoo is there for one reason: To let me know you like shitty music. It’s just like the band bumper sticker. Congratulations, you have an entire a-Ha song printed across your chest, you’ve ruined all music for me forever.

By the way, if someone actually gets Hungry Like The Wolf tattooed on their stomach, I may let it pass as cool. I mean, come on, that’s funny shit right there…

5) Animal Instinct

Nature is a beautiful thing. Each animal is special and majestic in it’s own way. And there is no reason for you to plaster pictures of them on your body.

“Check it out, I got a Puma, my favorite animal, tattooed on my scrotum!”

“…I have to go Grandpa. Wow, my grandparents are seriously fucked up…”

It’s a good thing animals don’t do this behavior with us, or we’d see a bunch of Giraffes with pictures of people printed on their necks.

An animal tattoo AND a neck tattoo… that fictional giraffe is a jumbo-douche.

6) …I don’t get it?

Enough with the “relevant only to me” bullshit.

“Oh, you don’t get it, this tattoo is something only I understand.”

It’s like an inside joke. It’s all cute and funny when you’re on the inside, but it’s epic annoying when you’re on the outside. Ever listened to two friends discuss an inside joke? It makes you want to strangle them with an extension cord and leave their bodies in a ditch. This is what your “special me-only” tattoo does to everyone that see’s it.

Why do people take it that personally, you ask? Because we see something, our brain immediately has to figure it out. It’s just how things work. And here we see your tattoo. And now our brain has to put the pieces together.

“It’s a square with an arrow going through it. Um… maybe she’s a big fan of… shooting… squares. Um… or it’s… a box! It’s a box! And the arrow… is um… represents cancer! Her mother’s box was shot with a cancer-arrow! Yes! That tattoo is a reminder of her mother who died of ovarian cancer! Wait, what? That’s stupid. Maybe it’s not an arrow, maybe it’s…”

It’s about this time we notice the blood dripping out of our ears. Our brain blew it’s brains out. And it’s YOUR FAULT!

7) When that sun goes down on you, it’s gonna get herpes…

Flip that tramp with the stamp around, and the cock-gobbler has a tattoo right above her happy place.

I’ll give you a hint: It’s the Japanese symbol for “Whore”.

8 ) Lookin’ Sharp! Even though you’re anything but…

Barbed wire. Wrapped around your arm. You’re a bad ass! Except it’s not actually barbwire at all. It’s a PICTURE of barbwire. I’ll never understand this one. Not ever.

Does it make you feel tough? Because it makes you look like a pansy-ass trying to look tough. I can’t help but notice these people almost always have a motorcycle. And are dressed in army camo-pants. Over-compensating for much?

The only thing that baffles me more is the “Tribal Armband”. Pretty sure whatever tribe you belong to is a fucking lame one…

9) Cover that shit up, would ya!

If only we had Tattoo White-Out, huh? Occasionally, you get drunk and get a tattoo of your penis on your penis. Sometimes, you’re a fucking brain dead idiot and get “Property Of…” and your boyfriend’s name written across both of your boobs. And one time, you passed out drunk and your friends got “I love cock” printed on your forehead. Time to cover that shit up!

So what do you do? You go out and get another tattoo on top of it to cover it up. The problem is, you have to get a dark tattoo. Usually black ink. So you get a black falcon or a horse or something. You cover that penis tattoo on your penis with a BLACK penis tattoo on your penis. Something like that.

10) …do you even HAVE skin?!

And sometimes it goes too far. Sometimes these people cover up most of their body. Sometimes they cover up ALL of their body. At least it’s easy to avoid now!

“Holy shit, look up ahead, someone with a FULL BODY tattoo!”

“…wanna cross the street now. Maybe go a few blocks down. Shit, do you have your passport on you, let’s get the fuck out of this country all together…”

Ultimately, tattoos aren’t going anywhere. They used to be cool, only found on tough guys. Now teenage girls are getting them on their crotch so that drunk Frat guys can find their vaginas. Admirable, but ultimately obnoxious.

If you have a tattoo and this offends you, take a look at this. It’s the Universal Symbol for “Fuck yourself!”

I’m Older Than I Am (aka Halfway To Midlife Crisis)

I’m twenty-two years old.

Now, I’m not saying this for your benefit, because most of you probably already know this. I’m simply stating that fact so I can remind my brain to stop making me act like I’m seventy! And eleven. At the same time.

I’m finding it difficult to balance my bizarre child-like obsessions with my premature old-fuck moments. Trying to figure out if I should spend my money on orthopedic shoes or a big bag of candy. Working out fart jokes and thoughts about retirement. Writing a blog while I attempt to figure out how the hell to make this stupid DVD player work.

How in the hell does it work that I both seem much older, and way younger, than I actually am? Well, let’s break it down on the Bob’s Mental Age Timeline. We’ll start at my inner child and drive it home to Old Fart City (a town that even rivals Detroit for Worst Smelling Place To Live).

1) I love me some Pokemon – Oh, that’s right. I’d be willing to throw an elbow into the eye of a eight year old kid just to get the last copy of a Pokemon game. I’m a gamer at heart, and I know far too much about the world of Pocket Monsters. I play it regularly, and I play it with vigor and excitement. It’s addicting. It’s like cocaine, only you can’t get a hooker’s panties off with a Pikachu.

And it goes beyond the games. I love watching the cartoons. That’s some good quality television. Shit, I gladly chose to watch Pokemon over Lost. Pokemon makes more sense and seems to be better thought out anyway.

So, my inner kid loves to participate in a fiction equivalent of animal abuse. That’s basically what it is, if you get right down to it. You think it’s weird that Japan made a video game supporting animal abuse? Need I remind you this is the same culture that has rape video games? The Japanese are fuckin’ goofy.

I know, you all just went out and bought your kids, your cousins, whatever, the game. And now you’re wondering how I figure it’s about animal abuse. Well, since I know far too much about it for someone who also has to pay bills, I’ll break it down for you.

Step 1: Beat the fuck out of something to capture it

Step 2: Throw a ball at it’s head

Step 3: Trap it inside said prison and carry it around with you

Step 4: Use it to battle other animals (Michael Vick was a Pokemon Master for reals…)

Step 5: Force-Evolution so much it makes Darwin shit in his coffin

Lovely. So, not only does my childish age make me play the game, but my sinister adult sense of humor makes me see evil in it. I may need professional help. Thorazine, I choose you!

2) Candy is the base of my food pyramid – I’ve mentioned my candy obsession before.

Is it unhealthy? Oh sure. Am I going to put myself in a diabetic coma? Eventually. Do I give two squirts? That’s a big Fuck-Nope there.

3) Pee-Pee Jokes Are Happy-Fun-Time – Why write a sophisticated joke about politics or the state of the world when I can just as easily talk about my nardsack? If only I could combine the two…

4) Bills or Shiny Shit… Yeah, I’m goin’ with the shiny shit… - Fuck responsibility. Electricity isn’t that important, not when I can buy this friggin’ cool thing. It serves no useful purpose, but it’s cool looking and it makes noise and stuff. I’ll spend my money on this, and worry about feeding myself later.

5) BUNNY! – Chasing animals = always fun. Do I look like a buffoon while chasing a squirrel across the parking lot? Oh sure, but it’s got a puffy tail and I simply must touch it.

As you can see, I often act younger than I actually am. But I also have moments were I feel a few dozen years older. Moments I’m sure you all have.

1) …I could have fuckin’ sworn I came over here for something… – What is it about walking across the room that makes you forget why the fuck you walked across the room?! I often find myself standing in a room in my house, curious as to why the balls I wanted to be there in the first place. I’ll start investigating the room, hoping maybe I discover something that sparks my memory into reminding me why I’m there.

“Let’s see… nope, nothing in the medicine cabinet. In the shower? No, I didn’t need a shower. Perhaps the toi… OH YEAH! I had to pee…”

Yes. I have forgotten that I had to pee. Which leads me to my second old-fuck habit…

2) Peeing is like a game of chance – I have to pee. Then I have to pee again, twenty minutes later. And again in an hour. Did I drink something in the last ten minutes? Gotta pee it out, pronto. Flomax, I choose you!

On occasion, I’ll forget to pee, and my multiple urination-bursts will add up. And I’ll take a piss that takes slightly longer than cooking a baked potato. You know the piss, the one that consists of five stages:

Stage 1: Relief – “OH THANK GOD! I’ve had to pee since last Tuesday…”

Stage 2: Pleasure - “Wow… oh man, this feels like a massage for my urethra…”

Stage 3: Surprise - “Hah, holy shit… I didn’t even think I had room for this much liquid…”

Stage 4: Irritation – “Alright, come on. Let’s wrap it up…”

Stage 5: Fear – “Ok, pretty sure I should have stopped by now. Am I going to have to courtesy-flush my piss? I’m starting to feel light-headed…”

This is, of course, all assuming it comes out all in one consistent flow. Sometimes it’s like a lawn sprinkler.

PSH PSH PSH PSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHH… PSSSSSHHHHH…. PSSSH… PSH.

3) Now, how the hell did I lose… – Ever lost something within a three foot radius of where you currently are. And can’t find it for a year or two? I do it all the damn time. And after searching the dumbest fucking places, you find it in an even more dumb place.

“Alright, my keys aren’t in the freezer. I didn’t leave them in my cat’s litter box. I… holy shit, my keys are in the toaster…”

4) “Hey, do you want some…” “No, I can’t eat that, I’ll die.” – Remember when you could eat food, and that’d be the end of it? You eat it. And you forget about it. Not anymore. My body can’t process certain foods anymore. Not only will my stomach hurt, but random other parts of my body will hurt too.

“Wow, that was a delicious ham sandwich, but it made my knees hurt like a mother-shit.”

5) When I was your age… – Oh, you’re thirteen minutes younger than me? Allow me to tell you about the “Good Ol’ Days”. Here I am, standing by the vintage video game kiosk at Mall of America. The sixteen year old is playing his fancy new video game system, the one that you plug into your head and the game appears inside your mind. And here I am, staring at games that consist of “pixels” and telling him about the wonders of the Sega Genesis.

“I had one of these when I was like two. Oh man, that feels like three forevers ago. Wow, it’s been THAT long since this stuff was new?! If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go kill myself now…”

I’m not old by any means. And I still qualify as an adult (or as the Government puts it: “Taxable”). Eventually, things will start shifting in favor of the aged. And that’s when I’ll know I’m getting too old to be hip and cool. Not that I was hip and cool when I was young, but eventually it’ll be too late to even fake it.

By the way, I hope a 22 year old bitching about feeling like an old man makes everyone older than me feel ancient. The only way I’ll feel better about myself is tormenting you geezer fucks.

Forcemeat – Sounds Sorta Rape-y To Me…

For those of you who are interested, someone over at Ask And Ye Shall Receive, a blog-reviewing blog, reviewed my blog (jesus, that sentence was a pain to type…)

So, go over here and check it out. It’s… not favorable.

I suppose I should write some sort of response, my thoughts on it, that sort of thing. But apparently I’m not funny. Or clever. Or really all that worth reading. So, instead, I’m going to let… um… “Forcemeat” do all the talking for me.

You can read my comment on his review, and see me take the high road. Something I’m not that inclined to do. Ultimately, there was nothing remotely helpful or constructive in the blog. Nor was it funny. If you’re gonna roast me, make it funny. That’s all I ask.

Enjoy.

(Also, I’m not going to stop just because some nobody on the internet doesn’t like it. My ego just doesn’t depend on other people’s opinions that badly. I do appreciate the time to review though.)

The Complaint Department: Volume 4

I would like to file a complaint against…

-Books Made Into Movies – If a book is written and it reaches even mild success, which in this case means more than three people have read it, it’ll probably be made into a movie within the year. The movie will do well because everyone that read the book will go see it. This is partially because they liked the book and partially because they’re uninteresting and need something to talk about. This will then in turn lead to them walking out of the theater saying that the “book was better”. Of course the book was better, the book didn’t have Gerard Butler in it. That’s the best thing about books: they lack Gerard Butler.

I would like to file a complaint against…

-Baby-Changing Stations In Bathrooms – For one reason and one reason only: Braille. They have braille on them. Now, I’m not saying that blind people can’t have babies, I’m just saying I’d rather them not be the ones walking into the bathroom to change them. It could lead to some really awkward situations:

“There, now we just powder your lil’ bottom and we’re all done! How does that feel!”

“…that feels great and all, but your baby’s over there…”

I would like to file a complaint against…

-MTV – Sure, it was annoying when you stopped being about music. And started being about piss-poor reality television. But now you have the gonads to have an “awards show”? Winning an MTV award is like winning Employee of the Month at Wendy’s. You didn’t exactly beat out a bunch of winners.

I would like to file a complaint against…

-My Cellphone’s T9 Feature – For those of you who don’t know what it is, it’s a feature that automatically tries to figure out what it is you’re trying to say. It guesses words and puts them in for you so you don’t have to think while communicating. Because, who the hell likes to think? Mine is a bit too aggressive at times, it’s starting to feel like it’s turning into a Nazi. “T-NIEN! That iz NA-ZI wurd you are lookin’ for!”

I would like to file a complaint against…

-Anyone That Thinks They Are A “Dream Interpreter” – It seems like everyone thinks they’re a dream interpreter these days. Ok, fine, I’ll tell you about my dream.

“So, I was in a clown costume, being chased through a Best Buy by a rhino…”

“Wow, I didn’t know you were gay…”

“What?! I… didn’t know that either…”

“Oh sure, the Rhino in you dream represents a RAGING erection. And the clown costume represents confusion about your identity.”

“I see… what about the whole Best Buy thing?”

“Oh, Best Buy means you like to take it in the ass…”

“What?! Uh… I don’t think I’m going to buy my electronics there anymore…”

Speaking of Best Buy…

I would like to file a complaint against…

-Best Buy – Is there a reason I need twenty-three feet of reciept each time I buy something? I always end up walking out of your store with a huge handful of paper, looking like I just made it to first base in Middle School. “Why?! Why is this here?!”

The only reason I go to Best Buy’s anymore is if I get a gift card. Did you know on the back of those gift cards, it says it’s good in all 50 states… AND Puerto Rico. Puerto Rico, really? They have Best Buys in Puerto Rico? Shit, I didn’t even know they had ELECTRICITY in Puerto Rico. Maybe they don’t. Maybe they only go to Best Buy to buy a refridgerator so they can use it as a raft to float over to America…

I would like to file a complaint against…

-Excuses Fat People Make – “I may be big, but I’m actually only 7% body fat!” Oh yeah? Well, you’re also 58% chocolate cake, so shut your sausage pit.

I would like to file a complaint against…

-The Tag-Team of Wikipedia and Google – I want to quit you. But alas, I cannot. You’ve become a crutch in not only my life, but in everyones life. At some point in the last five years, we’ve all become useless without these two simple websites. We no longer have to reach into our own minds to pull out information. It’s going to reach a point where we’re googling our own memories.

“OH SHIT!? I must have gotten pretty wasted last night… quickly, Google: ‘Who’s this naked chick I woke up next to?’…”

Did you know if you type in Google in Wikipedia, or Wikipedia in Google, you’ll see Jesus? That is, if you have a fast internet connection, if you have a shitty slow connection, you’ll just see Mohammed…

I would like to file a complaint against…

-Drug-Related Documentary TV Shows – So, I wasn’t considering a career in Meth-lab operations. Until you showed me how much money could be made. And how to do it. And what usually leads to the cops figuring it out. Thanks to you, I now have all the information I need to be a succesful drug pusher.

Also, since we’re talking about documentary tv shows, the terrorists would also like to thank you for teaching them about American security. And forensice science tv, seriel rapists are so glad they know where to clean up so you can’t find their DNA. Thanks to all this knowledge, you are truly making the world a safer place… for drug peddlers, rapists, and mass murders.

I would like to file a complaint against…

-BP – You do realize that by putting a cap on that oil spill and finally putting an end to the tragedy… you’ve single-handedly ruined any future attempts at comedy? It was a true comedic black-gold mine, and you had to go and stop it up. Thanks a lot, you greedy cunts. Now we have to go back to writing jokes about our President George W. Bu… AH FUCK!

Slow It Down, Captain Advancements

Progression. It’s what the human race has always been about. Think of the path we’ve taken to reach where we stand today. We discover the wonders of fire. We invent the wheel. We make tools. Discover electricity. Buildings. Phones. Automobiles. Trains. Planes. Computers. Rocket ships. Remote-control operated anal beads.

We’ve come a long way! Think, only 100 years ago, we didn’t even have remote-control operated anal beads!

But lately, it seems like our progression has sped up somethin’ fierce, and a lot of people are being left behind! I like to think I’m decent enough at adapting to the ever-quickening pace of society, but even I feel like I’m starting to stumble and fall behind the times. So many changes around me simply baffle and confuse me. And make me feel like a fuckin’ old man.

Listen, folks, I’m 22 years old. So why is it that whenever it comes to technology, I feel like I’m fuckin’ 80?

For instance, I didn’t think portable cd players were considered old. That was until I tried to buy one! Holy shit! They’re in the back of every electronics store, tucked in a dark corner, back by the bathrooms. Ever asked someone who works at a Best Buy where the cd players are? They can’t even tell you, ’cause they haven’t sold one in three years.

“CD players, huh? Um… Jesus, let’s see… well, our MP3 players are over here, maybe if you go past that and hop in a time machine and travel back to 1998, you can find one?”

It’s impossible to find the cd players. You can find a whole square-mile of cds, but nothing to put them in and walk around with. Sure, you can get a big ass state-of-the-art, surround sound, 3000-disc changer equiped, forty-two speaker stereo system, but you can’t find a portable cd player. I finally folded and bought an MP3 player. It’s fine and dandy and can hold every song ever made in the history of music. It has a battery life of twenty three and a half minutes, but that’s a small price to pay to carry the entire world’s music library with you wherever you go.

Anyone ever tried to find a payphone? Holy shit, It’s easier to find Jesus than it is to find a fuckin’ payphone. People are even surprised when they find out you’re attempting to locate one. You walk into a store:

“Do you know where I could find a payphone?”

“Shit, did you try a museum?”

Sometimes, you walk past a payphone booth, but the phone itself has been removed. The structure left as a reminder, ruins of a past civilization. People walk past the payphones with their children, as if they’re walking past a piece of history, long-since forgotten.

“What’s that, daddy?”

“Why that, that’s what was once known as a “Payphone”. You see, people back then didn’t have cellphones. If they left their house, and needed to talk to someone, they had to use one of these ancient devices to communicate long distances.”

“No cellphones?! HOW DID THEY LIVE?!”

“How indeed… how indeed…”

The kids run ahead to look at the phone.

“Hey, how do you send a text message on this?”

“Actually, they didn’t have text messaging back then. They had to use the phones original purpose, which was voice communication. You spoke into one end and listened to the voice of the person on the other end.”

“Wait… you mean you actually had to acknowledge there was another human being on the other side of the phone? Alright, now you’re just screwing with me…”

Cellphones are one of the big advancements that scare the living shit out of me. It’s reached a point where phones are becoming much like communication devices from sci-fi films.

“Welcome to Sprint, how can I help you?”

“Um, yes… this phone looks cool, what can it do?”

“Well, I’m glad you asked. It can send text messages. It has a great camera feature. It holds up to 300 songs. Internet access with streaming video. Walkie-talkie feature for when you’re on the go. It has applications that are near-limitless in their uses. Oh, and if you press this button, you can instantly teleport anywhere on the planet.”

“…can I make phone calls with it?”

“Hahahahaha… heh… oh, you’re serious? Yeah, I think it still has a phone feature on it. However, it only picks up reception if you stand on one foot, on a bridge, while holding tinfoil.”

That’s what it boils down to. No matter how many great advancements they reach on cellphones, they still can’t make the fuckin’ phone itself work right. No service? Dropped calls? We can’t fix that, so instead, we’ve made it so you just hold the phone and communicate telepathically with your friends. You can connect with their very minds!

I blame science. Fuck the cure for cancer, we got a 4G network that gives you magical fucking powers. This is something I’ve already touched on before when I discussed the priorities of modern man.

We’ve spent a lot of time and effort and money into advancing everything we come across. You know what we’ve made more amazing and powerful? LIGHTBULBS?! Light-FUCK-bulbs! Remember lightbulbs? You screw one into the lamp and light comes out? Doesn’t get much more fuckin’ simple than that as far as technology is concerned, right? Apparently, WRONG. We have to invent ones that are brighter, last longer, and save electricity.

Energy-efficient. Long-lasting. GREEN. Going green is the worst thing that could have ever happened to the technology world. So many simple things have been completely over-hauled in the name of going green. Cars. Shampoos. Shit, even shower heads. Why? Because you think you’re going to save the planet? The planet’ll kick your hippy ass, got that?

Progression is getting more and more rapid everyday. It seems almost every time you buy something, it’s obsolete by the time you open the box. Computers. Video game systems. Your fuckin’ PANTS!

Your pants are obsolete.

Some people are still upset you got rid of their ability to use bunny-ears to watch basic network television. A converter box? Digital television? Where was that back when decent shit was on tv? Now, you have to go out and pay more money on a device just to get the other expensive device you just bought to even be useful. And now they made the tv 3-d. Yes, I really need Kim Kardashian’s tits to come out of the tv at me. Now I have her boobs in my face, and they’re just as fake and unreal as… well… they would be if I actually had her tits in my face in person.

I’m not saying we shouldn’t strive to invent cool new things. I’m just saying we should stop acting like things from two years ago are old and unused. We need to stop attempting to BEAT the people using our gadgets. It’s really starting to seem like we’re attempting to leave people behind on purpose.

I think that’s it. That’s going to become my theory on technological advancement: It’s a population control issue. We’re attempting to weed out the stupid and weak. What? You can’t understand the new computers? Well, we’ll make everything run on it, so if you don’t understand, you’ll just waste away.

You go to a grocery store,and you want to buy some food? Well, how about if we made it so you had to use the self-checkout to buy it? Oh, you can’t figure out how to use it? Guess you’re gonna have to starve, aren’t ya?

It’s genius if you think about it. Kill off the people who can’t adapt. A new 21st-Century version of Darwin’s theory on Survival of the Fittest! We’ll weed out all of those that can keep up, so we can use them to build even more advanced technology. We’ll become an automatically-growing society!

And soon, robots. We’ll have robots to do all the work for us. We’ll just sit back and everything will come to us. And soon, even humans will become obsolete. It’s like a sci-fi film on overdrive. We’re actually outsourcing the human race to techology. We’re going to allow ourselves to die off, and for what? A toaster with light-dark settings? GPS tracking that tells you where ever person on Earth is at any given time? Hell, maybe even those remote-control anal beads will become voice-activated!

“Anal beads… TICKLE MY PROSTATE!”

The world isn’t going to stop moving. And it sure as hell isn’t going to slow down. So grab onto your outdated pants and have a safe trip.

Oh, and for fuck sake, will you get rid of that cellphone! That’s last year’s model, it’s like… a million years old!

The Counter Culture Clown Says Go Kill Your Family!

Sometimes, it’s hard to open a blog. The intro is such a delicate area. You need something that not only grabs the attention of the reader, but also serves as a gate to the realm of what is to come. Many people find it easiest to select a quote that lends itself to what is to come. So, today, I will open this blog by quoting the lyrics to a song that is both resounding with elegance and beauty. Here we go:

“In blood his victims will crawl. Body parts all over his house. They feed the need of his cannibal mind. Bloody murders he left behind. Jeffrey Dahmer – master cannibal. Jeffrey Dahmer – master of the gruesome”

Chilling in it’s poetic genius, isn’t it? Oh, how the transfixing melodies of Soulfly open my very soul and implant seeds of true emotional openness.

In truth, that song scared my heart out of my ass. He’s singing a song about Jeffrey Dahmer. You know, a song. A SONG. As in: La la la. As in: do ra me fa so la te DAHMER! Granted, I couldn’t make out most of the lyrics because they were screamed in such a way that I thought the radio was picking up static. It wasn’t. It was his voice. To be honest, he did capture the tone of the song… so kudos to him.

While at work, we tend to listen to a local listener-run radio station. The sheer variety of things played on each of the specialty programs throughout each night (this was at about 3 in the morning, mind you) are borderline limitless. From old school funk to crazy techno to this: the true metal show. You think you’ve listened to metal? Your metal is pansy baby bullshit compared to this metal. This metal rapes your metal in the butt. These metal bands urinate on your very SOUL with their metalocity!

As my blood pressure finally found it’s way back to normal from my fright, I began to analyze what I heard. Was he really singing about Jeffrey Dahmer? Naw, he couldn’t be. I mean, is that really subject matter for a song? I picture the creative force behind this song sitting down behind his desk, pen to paper. The scraps of previous failed songs lie strewn everywhere. Songs such as “An Ode To Ted Bundy” or “Charles Manson’s Love Ballad Number 6″. A kitten in the corner batting around a ball of paper. A pretty daffodil sits on the window sill. The BBC news coming out of the tv behind him. And here he is hit, finally, by a hammer called inspiration. What will soon be his magnum opus, his life’s masterpiece, begins to pour out of the end of his pencil. The words jump from the tip as he sips his green tea with just a hint of honey, humming a tune to the words as they come. It will be his time to shine!

Jeffrey Fucking Dahmer? I understand wanting to be a hardcore bad-ass metal band, but… JEFFREY FUCKING DAHMER?! How can you possibly write a more fucked up song?

Don’t EVER ask questions like that while listening to a death metal radio show, because not twelve seconds after the thought passed through my head, did I hear through the jumble of teeth-shattering bass and brain melting guitars, a wonderful lyric about SCHOOL SHOOTINGS!

Oh yes, student bodies line the halls indeed! Why the hell NOT write a song about school shootings? And these bands wonder why, when shit goes down, they’re blamed for it.

“Yes, the prosecution would like to present this album from the band Nun Molesters, titled ‘Why Don’t You Go Downstairs And Rape Your Sister In the Ear’. On the albums opening track ‘Kill Everyone At Your School’, vocalist and main lyricist Stab A. Baby sings… er… does something… screams… whatever… anyway, the lyric is ‘Take a machine gun and start shooting everyone in the auditorium’. Clearly this was the source of inspiration for the mass murder that took place on campus”

It’s at this time that Mr. Baby, real name Albert Kuttiefluffs, stands to defend his work.

“Your honor, we weren’t being SERIOUS when we said that!”

“The song continues, ‘No, we’re not kidding. We’re completely serious. Kill all the teachers first, and then rape all the female students. And then kill them. Seriously. You should go do this now.’ that… sorta sounds like you’re serious to me.”

“You just don’t understand music today. We were making an ironic statement about the current state of our government and world politics in general. If you only understood your kids, you’d realize that these lyrics are relevant to them and what they stand for. It was not intended to cause any real world harm.”

“…You do see how it could sorta be confused as… well… a call for massive killings though, right? I mean, in the song ‘Stab ‘Em In The Eye Balls’, you say ‘If someone makes you mad, stab them in the eye balls. And then piss in the hole where their eye’s once were.’ how does that NOT come across as a call for aggression? What possible statement were you making with that?”

“That’s clearly a rant about the current state of education funding and overwhelming student to teacher ratio!”

“Yes, clearly.”

Listen, I’m more than certain that MOST if not all of these songs aren’t actually calling for terrible acts, and I’m not one to blame music or media of any sort for violent acts, but these artists need to see that the possibility for someone to think it’s the source is there. I mean… you’re singing about school shootings. And someone who commits a school shooting happens to listen to your music. It’s kind of easy to make a connection.

Should this kind of music exist? Of course. Why not? I don’t like it. I think it sounds like someone is rectally violating a cat with a serrated steak knife. But someone likes it. And as such, it should be allowed to be made. Because guess what? The same horror and disgust I get from hearing a song about Jeffrey Dahmer, I get from listening to Celine Dion. My heart will go on? My heart will be torn out and eaten by legions of demons from the depths of Satan’s nard-sack? Both sound just as vile to me…

I suppose this means I should touch on the concept of blaming media for violent crimes. It’s an age-old problem. Everything is blamed on violent media. My son beat his brother to drool-and-helmet levels of brain damage with a steel chair because he saw a wrestler do it on tv. My daughter slit her throat open and bled all over the Thanksgiving turkey because she heard Marilyn Manson tell her too. My kids went out and shot up a 7-11 because they were playing Grand Theft Auto.

No, they did that ’cause you’re a shitty fucking parent and the world sucks total ass. Jesus, I’m just a hair away from buying a mansplitting sword and mowing people down on the bus myself, but it has nothing to do with music or video games. It has to do with the fact that a lot of people are cunts and deserve to be decapitated without mercy. I’m not going to do it, but the thought is there.

Your son took a chair and beat his brother into a wheelchair because your dumb ass was too busy watching The Biggest Loser to hear the clanging noises from the other room. Your daughter slit her wrists open because she’s “overweight” by magazine standards and you continued to feed her depressed nature by not paying any attention to her when she came to you saying she was being bullied by peers. Your kids shot up a 7-11 because… um… well, because they were out of Cheery slurpees, God dammit!

Listen, violent media didn’t breed a violent society. A violent society was what lead to violent media. Do you really think killing people only started when Metallica started making music? Satan wasn’t invented by Slayer, he was invented by organized religion! Shit, ever read the Bible? That stuff is far more horrible and morbid than any Pantera album ever could be. And it’s shoved down your kids throats at a far younger age than death metal music.

Hitler did not spend his free time playing violent video games!

“Mr. Hitler, sir, it’s time to conquer Poland…”

“Hold on! I need to get to the Laundromat and shoot this gang banger who stole drugs from me. I’m going to need to put in the Free Rocket Launcher cheat code for this one… oh,and fuck the Jews. The radio told me to kill them for some reason. And since I do whatever someone I don’t know tells me to, I’m going to gather up all the Jews and kill them.”

Oh, and school shootings? Usually the result of your cock-for-brains kids picking on someone for too long. You spend ten years being called faggot and given wedgies and then you talk to me about wanting to take an AK-47 and smearing someones brain matter onto a chalk board next to the algebra equations. If you taught your kids not to be such animalistic douchebags, a lot of this shit wouldn’t even happen.

We live in a society where personal connection is getting more and more unlikely. Gone is the day of bedtime stories and tucking you in. In it’s place? Texting “Gnite” from downstairs. If that. People don’t communicate, the can’t vent their depression and fears and anxieties, and they bottle it all up. They blow up. Fuel on the fire.

Is it all the fault of parents? Of course not. It’s real hard to pay attention to that little shit when you have to work two jobs just to pay for your home. It’s a domino effect. The world is fucked up, so the people are fucked up, so their spawn are fucked up. Eventually, some shit is going down. Hell, we shouldn’t vilanize the death metal bands: they’re the ones that put that angst and hate to good use. They’re the ones NOT gunning down people in the streets. They’re simply writing songs about it! Maybe if someone would have given Dahmer some singing lessons, he’d have ended up on MTV, not on death row. Maybe if he would have picked up a bass guitar, he’d be drinking Red Bull’s backstage, not drinking the blood of family members in a cabin in the woods.

Come on, wouldn’t it have been much more pleasant to see a poster of this guy on your kids walls!

…maybe not. But you get the point.

All I’m saying is, while this music was shocking and appalling to me, it’s not bad. I mean, it’s fucking awful, but it’s not bad. It has all the right to be here. And it’s not decaying the moral fabric of society. YOU are decaying the moral fabric of society.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, me and my band the Flaming Fetus Catapult Operators are about to go work on our new song, titled “Funny In Shadows Means Putting An Axe Through A Clown’s Spleen”. Doesn’t that sound a fuck-load more pleasant than a Lady GaGa song?

Oh, and in case you wanted to listen to my new favorite song… oh, and check out that pretty album art!

Energy Drunk (aka A Big Ol’ Can Of Fail!)

In my youth, I was like most kids. Full of optimism and ignorant to the horrors of the real world. I watched morning cartoons and played video games. I ate sugary cereals and played with potentially life-threatening toys. And eventually, I discovered my penis. And boy did I discover it A LOT.

But there comes a time when you must grow up, and you must move out into the world and take a handful of feces right to your senses. The optimism is soon squashed down by despair. Your child-like ignorance and innocence is raped out of you by harsh realities and terrible discoveries. Terrible discoveries such as what I stumbled upon in a gas station earlier today.

Ever seen something that simple stops you dead in your tracks. Imagine, if you will, you are walking down a peaceful suburban neighborhood. You see white picket fences and little kids playing in sprinklers. A lady with a dog walks by. Two beautiful teen girls roll past on a bike. And then suddenly, you turn and see an all-albino wheelchair roller derby in the driveway of the next house. Your mind is kicked right in it’s testicles. The sudden realization that everything you thought you knew was nothing hits you like a ton of bricks. You’ve just seen something that doesn’t seem real. You even have to pinch yourself to make sure you’re not in some horrible nightmare.

That’s what I experienced today while walking through this gas station. Right there, in the beverage cooler, sat THIS monstrosity:

 

For those of you who are wondering, that there is a 32 fluid ounce energy drink. 32. If you tipped the can over while it was open, it’d dump out so much toxin you’d think it was produced by BP. 32 ounces. And I drank the whole thing in about ten minutes. Why? Because I’m an adult and I make good fuckin’ decisions!

After I drank it, I proceeded to draft up a formal apologize letter to my heart. Not the first organ I’ve apologized to, but perhaps the one I’ve wronged the most.

Glancing at the back of this can, I can’t help but notice that it contains 95% of my daily recommended amount of regret! If I didn’t already get over 100% of my daily regret just by waking up every day, this would be useful I guess. And, it appears to have more sugar in this one can then the entire country of Brazil (which is eh… the world’s leading exporter of sugar, in case you don’t hold that kind of useless information in your gray matter).

Energy? You could say I have energy. Hell, there is so much adrenaline running through me now that when your mom swallows my load tonight, it’ll replenish all the energy she spent riding me reverse-cowgirl all night. She’s a real classy lady, your mom.

Much to my surprise, there is no liquid in the can. You open it up and a midget (that’s right, I said midget. Suck my nuts, that word is NOT the same as “Nigger”!) jumps out and yells at you to get your ass in gear. It’s energizing, alright!

The entire concept of energy drinks is lost on me. It’s sudden impact on our society has both appalled and amazed me. It’s a phenomenon much like skateboarding or iPods: it lends itself to nothing but a huge collective of douche-for-brains people trying to be hip and cool.

You can tell energy drinks are full of bullshit simply by listing off all the “extreme” names that people give them. Names that have to be typed in all-caps, or they don’t have the same impact. In fact, “All-Caps!” And “Impact!” are probably drink names themselves. You recognize the names: MONSTER! AMP! ROCKSTAR! FULL THROTLE! What you don’t recognize, is the society-splitting repercussions of their very existence.

Allow me to explain. As I said before, a whole rectum-load of giant tools drink these beverages the most. And what do they do? Get energized. That’s right, now we have a whole fuck-all load of high-energy assholes. And what happens when assholes get out of control? You get shit EVERYWHERE!

These people do not need more energy. They’re always the ones that “woo!” shit.

“Dude, let’s go piss on that wall over there!”

“WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“Hey, you wanna go light farts on fire?”

“WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“I’m sorry to say, but you have leukemia…”

“WOOOOOOOOOO… wait… dude, that blows!”

As I stared at the can, I began to wonder why someone would buy an energy drink in the first place.

I don’t think anyone buys them for the taste, because they taste like garbage water with a hint of citrus. As far as I can tell, energy drinks come in three flavors: Professional Wrestler’s Swamp Ass. Six Week Old Bacon Grease. And Grape.

I’m pretty sure no one buys them for the energy content. Not when you can easily wake yourself up with things that are less horrible, such as stabbing yourself in the scrotum with a toothpick, or sticking your penis in a wolverine’s mouth.

So, that means one thing: people simply consume them because they’re there. You put anything in a “cool” looking can and talk about it’s “positive” effects, and someone will buy it and put it in their mouth crevice. If I bottled up my urine, slapped a picture of a bull goring someone in the face, and wrote “Bob’s urine causes your penis to grow six inches INSTANTLY!” that shit would be flying off the shelf.

I’d like to end this blog with my great idea for the day. In an effort to cash in on this energy drink fad, I’ve decided to go into the energy drink business myself. The Counter Culture Clown is going to become the Counter Culture Energizer. Not as catchy, but fuck it. I’d like to introduce you to my first product:

HOLY FUCKIN’ SHIT DUDE

Special Soul-Molesting Bin
2 Gallons Of Straight-Up-Your-Ass Energy!

Why be full of energy for just one day when you could never sleep again!

Disclaimer: Holy Fuckin’ Shit Dude will give you diabetes as soon as you open the can. Not recommend if you’re pregnant, a recovering crack addict, or planning on leaving your home this month. Holy Fuckin’ Shit Dude cannot be held responsible for any physical harm done to yourself or your loved ones due to use of our product. Once emptied, do not throw this can in the garbage, for it may upset the ecosystem and kill off all the animals within 300 miles of your local dump. Product not intended to cure, treat, or diagnois any diseases, though there is a decent possibility that it cures throat cancer. Or at least burns off all the tumors. Product illegal in Alabama, something about a massive incline of mule fucking.

Forget Your Robe Of Magic Power, Try The Mystical Tie Of Business Intellect Instead!

Eight words. That’s all it takes to strike fear and despair into the hearts of parents around the world. Those eight words puncture relationships right at the heart. Destroying even entire lives with a single utterance. Those words of course being:

“I’m going to go play World of Warcraft!”

The beast that calls itself an online role-playing game has it’s teeth sunk deep into our society. Reaching a level of popularity and massive player output that lends itself to the wet-dreams of thousands of video game designers, WoW has lived up to it’s name. Wow. Just… wow.

Think WoW is just for losers? It is. However, occasionally losers do something right. Take the case of Stephen Gillett the CIO of Starbucks. It has recently come up that the fast-rising, MBA-bearing business man has spent a lot of time as a successful guild leader in World Of Warcraft. And one of his former bosses believes it has played a part in his rise in power.

He has claimed that being a guild leader requires “a high degree of influence…you have to be able to influence and persuade people–not order them to do things. Ordering people in most of these guilds doesn’t get you far.” That’s right! The face of tomorrow’s leaders will soon resemble THIS:

That’s some serious shit, ain’t it? And how does one gain this power? How do you gain this “high degree of influence”? Well, how else do you influence nerds? The same way you lead any group. You have to be something special. Someone they could look up to. You have to have things that they dream of. You have to acquire things that they only wish they could have.

So, that probably means this guy has seen boobs that weren’t downloaded. Hell, he may have even TOUCHED THEM!

“That’s right, lowly peons…”

(Seriously, that’s how a lot of them talk…)

“…I have gone into the Cave of The Blonde Amazoness with the Tramp-Stamp of Destiny and have come out, having cast my Seed Of Mighty Quick Coming upon her heaving bosom! I have achieved more than you could ever dream. I shall now lead you into the great unknown… WHAT MOM?! I’M TRYING TO PLAY WORLD OF WARCRAFT, I’LL TAKE THE LAUNDRY UPSTAIRS LATER, GOD!”

This guy continues with his praise of high-powered WoW players, saying they “conduct extensive after-action reviews of their performances as well as that of the leader”.

Which, as far as I can gather, means after they slay imaginary monsters, they sit around and talk about it.

“Did you see me slash that ogre to pieces! I was so bad-ass!”

No, no you are not. You hit Shift-K and clicked the left mouse button until your fingertips bled. That is not bad ass.

“I devised a strategy using my high intellect stat and my upgraded magical armor to infiltrate the dragon’s nest and cut out it’s heart! And I did it all while downloading porn in another window!”

A good business leader knows how to conduct performance reviews on his subordinates as well:

“Hey, Larry, the hell were you thinking, using Fire magic on a Flaming Salamandra?! They absorb fire, you idiot!”

“Hey, Jim… I heard your dad’s an alcohol and thinks you’re queer.”

“…that was low, Larry…”

And once more, this guy continues his praise of WoW players, saying they “customize their own game interfaces to offer statistics and rate performance in areas they consider critical to their strategy”.

Areas that are critical to their strategy? Such as? Rationing out their Doritos and Mountain Dew to last the entire campaign? Making sure their black-out curtains are tightly pulled over their window so the natural light doesn’t cause a glare on the computer screen? Those kinds of critical strategic areas?

This Gillett guy has an entire blog related to linking power in WoW to power in the real world of business. I’m sure ultimately he has a point, but it’s just so fucking weird. Taking something like playing video games to the business world. Can this kind of thing work for other aspects of life as well? I do believe I’ll give it a shot.

So, now that the introduction is out of the way, I’d like to provide you with an exert from my latest life strategy guide:

The Counter Culture Clown’s Guide On How To Apply Video Game Smarts To The Real World!

We’ll look at one special area of your life. I refer to them as “levels”.

Level One: Love And Relationships

Scenario 1: You’re at a club. Horribly shitty dance music is being vaulted at you from all sides. To the left, you see a white guy trying to dance like a black guy. He just tried to pull off “The Sprinkler”. He is clearly a total fucker. However, you can’t be distracted by that, because to your right, at the bar, is a beautiful blonde. Sitting all by herself. You have to make your way over to her before someone else does.

How To Play It: Let’s use our Frogger skills to evade the oncoming traffic of drunk sorority girls and douchey macho-men wearing too much Axe body spray. Hop across the dance floor without getting plowed into by the inevitable fist fight that will break out. I say inevitably, because men are idiots and when confronted with conflict, they like to implement their Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out skills and repeatedly smash the problem in the face. Once you get around that, you have reached the princess, and it’s time to woo her.

Scenario 2: Alright, hotshot, you’re at the bar. You’ve taken your seat next to the beautiful vixen, and it’s time to work your magic. What do you say?

How To Play It: Let’s use our skills from Text-Based adventure games. Those shitty “games” that simply TELL YOU about cool things happening with plain and boring text, and you just type in what you hope is the correct solution. This helps you with your “bull-shitting” and “saying the exact right thing” skills. You have to find the exact correct combination of words to type in, or else you’ll be maimed to death by mutants or something. By the way, if you type in “Hey babe…” the game will immediately end for you. That command is not recognized! “Hey babe…” is not what the woman hears. What she hears is: “I am an immense tool”. However, if you’re tactful in what you say, you may gain her interest. Which leads us to…

Scenario 3: You’ve won the first round! You’re now back at her place, and things are heating up. She wants to, how can I put it tastefully, fuck you until your legs are less useful than FDR’s. Sex is a whole different game in and of itself. It requires a lot of video game skills to pull it off well.

How To Play It: First off, you need to know what goes where. Imagine you’re playing a big game of Bed-Tetris. Your penis is one of those four by one long pieces, and her vagina is a nice, straight four by one gap waiting to be locked into. If you fuck up and accidental place it in the wrong spot, you really fuck up the game for good.

Then, of course, you have to make sure she’s enjoying it. This requires you to locate a special spot on her body. The “G-Spot”. What video game skills do you implement here? Why, you have to use your boss-fighting abilities! Every good gamer knows that in order to defeat a boss, you have to find it’s weak point and exploit it. Just as you must plunge your mighty blade into the eye of the cyclops, or the big glowing orb-y thingy on the back of the beast to kill it, you must locate the g-spot. If you’re good at it, you can get the boss fight done nice and quick, and score bonus points for a quick kill.

Congratulations, you’ve successfully engaged in sexual intercourse with a willing woman. And you did it without having to enter the World of Whorecraft. You’re a real man among men! But now she’s into you…

Scenario 4: The relationship stage has begun. Either because you two actually get along sober, or because you accidentally leveled up inside her and now she’s got a mini-boss in her dungeon. Either way, it’s time to get serious!

How To Play It: The game “Sim City” gives you the ability to manage and create your own city. You choose how to place buildings and districts, and manage all the shit to make your city flourish. It’s an overwealming game at first, because none of it makes any sense. And like Sim City, making a successful relationship out of nothing is really fucking hard. And not really all that fun.

At the start, you have to lay down the foundation. You don’t have much substance yet, just a few tools to start out with. If you don’t know what you’re doing, you just end up laying out lengths of road that lead to nowhere, and you feel like a total ‘tard.

Once you get things rolling, you’ll notice little windows popping up constantly. Demands from the townsfolk:

“The people want a school”.

“Fuck you, I can’t afford a school, I spent all the money on a sports stadium.”

“The people need a fire department.”

“Naw, I’m sure they’ll be… oh shit, the entire town’s on fire…”

“You never take the people dancing!”

“What?! I took you dancing… once…”

But alas, you eventually end up married. The town is fully built, and now all you can do is pray the major natural disaster known as “Divorce” doesn’t come and destroy everything. Because if it does, you’ll notice that half your town is suddenly the property of another mayor…

—

Ultimately, life is not a game. There is no “restart”. There are no “extra lives”. There are no cheat codes in life. You can’t pull off the Konami Code to get rid of your prostate cancer or make your 15 year old daughter NOT date that douchebag with the spikey green mohawk.

You can simply use some of the skills you learn to solve problems. However, not EVERY skill you learn is a good one to use. Do not, under any circumstances, attempt to pull off a Ryu from Street Fighter-style Hadouken attack when you’re in an actual street fight. No matter how many times you try, you cannot fire a giant ball of energy from your palms. Believe me, I’ve tried…

However, if people could do that, it would make those UFC cage matches really fun to watch.

Anyway, Mr. Gillett is living proof that not all video gamers are total useless bottles of Loserade. So, consider this article about this one man a major “Fuck You” to all those people that think video games are stupid.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I accidentally killed a hooker…

Up Up Down Down Left Right Left Right B A START!

…shit, she’s still there. Um… does anyone have a shovel I can borrow?

Game Over

A Troll By Any Other Name…

The internet. Something of a modern wonder. Ever since it’s creation, it has existed much like an amoeba. One website becomes two, two become four, and it just kept going. Growing and growing, into a now-uncontrollable beast of burden.

And so, here we are. The current day of the internet. You look around, and the sheer amount of information being passed from computer to computer is staggering. And the fact that rule 34 seems to be completely true lends itself to this astonishing nature. Since there is so much to do in the realm of the interwebs, there is no surprise that it attracts large amounts of people at any given moment.

And like any large scale gathering of people, there are a cock-load of assholes and douchebags running rampant like fleas on the ass of a dog.

That’s right. Today, I’d like to discuss the wonder of the “troll”.

“Post Your Comment”

“Free Forum”

“Submit Your Stuff”

Sure, you read these as they are written, but a troll’s eyes see things in a much different light. The douchewater that pours through their heads in place of actual brain matter leaks into their eye-units, and they read those three statements as follows:

“Be A Total Crotchweed!”

“LOOK! ATTENTION!

“Submit badly drawn Microsoft Paint pictures of Penis’ and giggle like a 6 year old”

Let’s focus on that middle one though: “attention”. Ever wondered what trolls eat? It’s not children or billy goats, but attention. They feed off it like a parasite feeds of the life of another. The more attention is fed to the troll, the more they evolve into an unstoppable pile of feces. Every time you tell them to go fuck themselves in their troll-ears, they come back with “YER MOM! LOLZ!” Attention only makes them stronger.

As such, they are a difficult demon to excercise. I know, you’re looking for a solution. You’re waiting for me to come up with some master plan to rid the world of the ever-present troll. I don’t have one. They’re always going to be there. However, this doesn’t mean that you can’t at least fuck with them.

The best I can offer? I suggest using IP addresses to find out who they are, and then proceeding to murder their family. Go ahead and leave the heads of their loved ones on their door step. Their door step will be easy to find, because once you kill their parents you just leave the heads by the door to the basement. When they come up to get more Mountain Dew or towels to clean the splurge off their keyboard, they trip over their mom’s head and realize: “Oh noes! I will has to get a job and my own place! THIS WILL NOT DO!” And the pressure of having to be an actual useful human being will actually cause their heads to explode.

However, if you don’t feel like beheading elderly people and sticking their heads on the end of brooms in a way similar to Marie Antoinette, then you’ll just have to try and understand the troll. And you’re in luck, because that is something I actually can help with. Just call me the Troll Whisperer!

Why? That’s the question that’s filtering through your head. Why do they do what they do, Troll Whisperer? It’s difficult to say for sure, but here are a few basic facts about trolls that could aid in finding an answer:

1) Trolls are inept at human interaction. They don’t make friends, they sure as hell don’t get laid, and they totally lack the ability to be worth knowing in general. Usually, they’re unattractive, smell like a wet bag of old gym socks, and have an over-all personality which makes you wish space debris would break orbit and kill them. Or you. Whichever.

2) Trolls lack any creative ability. Not even a small inkling. They can’t make their own forums, their own websites, their own blogs, their own art, so they attempt to urinate all over the work of others. You can usually see their utter lack of intellect simply on the comments they choose to post. They usually go much like “Ur so stupid, lolz” or “U r teh sucks, lolz”. Note the fact they “Laugh out loud” at their own poorly executed insult. A sure sign you’re dealing with someone who isn’t worth the flesh they occupy.

3) Trolls are unloved by anyone or thing. Mom and dad are ashamed that their son (and 999 out of 1000 times it’s a male. A female troll is a rare sight indeed!) is a total failure. The opposite sex looks at them much like they would look at a leper. Hell, even their pets hate them. “Come here, Fido” “Fuck off, you whiny cunt. I’m a dog. I have standards!”

4) Trolls have spare time like you wouldn’t believe. You know how you go to work, enjoy the outdoors, have hobbies, talk to people, have copious amounts of sexual intercourse with supermodels (that’s not just me, is it?), even go so far as to occasionally bathe? Yeah well, the troll doesn’t have that luxury. The troll is too busy sitting online, google image searching the word “Vagina” and looking around /b/ for pictures someone else created that they can post on forums to appear to be witty.

So, from these things we can figure out why trolls need the attention they so obviously crave. They are unloved, ignored, and usually insulted on a regular basis. They just want someone to “Like” their “hilarious” comment on Youtube. Just one lil’ green thumbs up will feed their fragile ego for the day.

Do we take pity on the troll? Do we take the five seconds to click that thumb? Do we lol at their comment? Fuck no. They’re not even worth that much time out of your day. Why communicate with these sacks of fucktard juice when you could do something more worthwhile with your time. Like stare at a wall. Or scratch your ass. Or scratch your ass while staring at a wall. Hell, even just completely spacing out and losing track of an hour of your life is more worthwhile than acknowledging these cock munchers exist.

The next step to understanding the wild Troll, is to look at the various types of troll. If “troll” is the Genus, then we must look at the Species. Here is just a FEW of the types of Troll you may stumble across during your time in the world wide web.

The Stealth Ninja Troll

“Hmm, is this guy a troll or just a bit weird? He seems normal enough, he took the time to capitalize letters and write out full words. I mean, the comments are actually making some sense and… NOPE, total troll. God dammit…”

Sometimes a troll likes to camouflage himself as a normal, useful human being. They’ll participate and act like a typical average person. However, a troll cannot resist it’s natural urges, and eventually they’ll make it pretty obvious they’re a douche fountain in disguise.

The Mush-Mouthed Troll

Sometimes trolls just flat-out make zero sense. You can see that they intended on saying words, but all that came out was an orgy of bad internet speak and unintelligible nonsense. You can usually spot this troll from a mile away. As you’re scrolling through the forum pages, you’ll notice occasional posts that look like someone vomited a bowl of Alphabet’s cereal on your screen. Beware, if you actually stop and attempt to read these posts, urine will shoot out of your eyes. This is your brain pissing itself in fear, for it just had a near-death experience.

The Screaming Banshee Troll

FUCK YOU COMPUTER KEYBOARD AND YOUR STUPID FUCKING CAPS LOCK! Trolls can’t resist the urge to e-yell at you. Nothing gets more attention than huge fully capitalized sentences. They’re literally screaming “PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO ME!”. You may also notice a phenomenon known as “Exclamation Point Rape”. “YOU ARE SO STUPID!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11111oneoneoneoneone”. Never in my life did I think we would actually have to legally get a form of punctuation removed from all keyboards. The exclamation point did nothing to you, why do you have to victimize it so?! Let me say this in a way you’ll understand: STOP TYPING LIKE THIS OR I’LL CUT OFF YOUR TINY BALLS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Gaytarded Troll

 

 

If inanimate objects, things you say, and videos had sexual preferences, they would apparently all be homosexual. This troll can’t come up with anything to say about anything except that it’s totally gay. Your gay. Your picture is gay. Your video is gay. What you just said is so gay. GAY! GAAAAAAAAY. It’s such a fun word. Gay gay gay. You know what’s really gay?! EVERYTHING!

Trolls seem to be unable to express dislike without drawing into question the thing they don’t like’s sexuality. I can just imagine them sitting there at breakfast.

“I bought new cereal, what do you think?”

“Eww! These Fruity Pebbles are totally gay!”

Now, putting aside the fact that Fruity Pebbles kinda ARE a bit gay, this would get annoying as the day progressed:

“Ow, I stubbed my toe! This table leg is such a fag. It’s a table fag!”

Or maybe…

“You have prostate cancer…”

“Prostate cancer is in your butt, right? My tumor likes to be inside men’s butts! That tumor is such a gaylord!”

Hell, even the end of the world has homosexual tendencies:

“Oh god, the sun is collapsing! The world as we know it is going to cease to exist!”

“The sun is such a queer! Lulz. Am I right? AM I RIGHT?! Hah… heh… I’m going to die a virgin…”

The Disliking Troll

“Thanks for posting this!” 1 person Dislikes this.

The fuck, how can you dislike a totally mundane and unthreatening post like this… Oh, it must be the Disliking Troll. For some reason, the fact that a Thumbs down button exists just draws the attention of the troll. If that button was a “This is totally gay” button, the troll would dump a happiness load. But until that happens, they’ll just have to settle for neg rep’s and thumbs-downs for no reason to show you just how superior they are to you. In their minds at least.

You see, they expect you to log on and see that someone “disliked” your opinion or negative rep’d your forum post and just start crying. I mean, is their any bigger insult than to be negative rep’d?! It’s like watching someone stab your mother repeatedly in the face! The pain is so unbearable. That little red thumbs down is going to be the only thing you’ll be able to see for the rest of your life. It’ll haunt your dreams. Everytime you think you’re doing something good, it’ll appear out of nowhere. Your very gravestone will just be a giant negative rep. How ever will you live? No, wait, what I meant to say is that disliking something holds less than zero power over a person, making it a completely useless gesture. My mistake.

The Counter-Troll Troll

I, uh, can’t find a picture for this one… sorry.

But yeah, the Counter-Troll Troll. If there is one thing trolls don’t like, it’s other trolls. Troll Two is stealing the attention that is rightfully saved for Troll One! How dare they! Troll Vs. Troll fights are breathtaking. Like staring at a shooting star going through a waterfall AND a rainbow while in a canyon during a sunset. It’ll blow your fuckin’ mind. The level of stupidity that goes into a Troll Vs. Troll battle royale is beyond imagination. 

“Ur gehy!”

“Psh, ur mom’s gehy!”

Stunning, isn’t it. The Counter-Troll Troll essentially breaks rule number one in dealing with trolls: Don’t feed the trolls.

That’s what it all comes down to. “Don’t Feed the Trolls”.

If you start to pay attention to the trolls, they eat it up like candy. OM NOM NOM ATTENTION. There are three types of food to provide to trolls:

1) Counter-Troll Chow – I discussed this already. Trolls eat the droppings of other trolls. It’s gross, but sometimes you do what you have to to survive. And if that means eating Troll Crap, so be it.

2) Fuck-Off Troll Snacks – If you tell a troll off, it’s like trying to put out a fire with gasoline. You’re just going to get more fire. Trolls love when you get mad. It means they have power over your emotional output. They are in control. You played right into their grubby Cheetos-stained claws. You’re now a gaytard. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

3) Reasoning Flakes – Don’t you EVER try to be a reasonable human being with a troll! Speaking in a calm, mature, respectful manner only makes a troll enter hyper-mode. Not only will you be counter-attacked with a barrage of “GAY!!!!!!” bombs, but you’ll never in a million years actually make them realize how stupid they’re being. No amount of “Come on, we’re all just trying to enjoy this web forum. Couldn’t you tone it down or go somewhere else? If you don’t like it, don’t read it. This is a place where everyone should feel welcome. What are you trying to achieve with your comments?” will save you. No matter what, a troll cannot be reasoned with. You should handle a troll much like the American government handles terrorists. No, I don’t mean you should fail to find the troll you were looking for and instead kill another troll, I mean you shouldn’t try to negotiate with them. It’ll never work. No matter how decent you are

So, how do you deal with trolls. You play the Ignore card. That’s it. Trolls will not go away. They’ll just sit in front of their computer and continue their nonsense until they perish. And even then they’ll live on through a new generation of douche monkey. All you can really do is ignore them, or at least have a bit of fun with them, and then go about your merry way. Let them have their fun, because eventually they’ll piss off the wrong person and get e-mailed a computer virus that deletes all their porn. And without porn, the internet troll’s depression will overwealm them and they’ll kill themselves. And the world will be a better place.

So, trolls, go kill yourself. Seriously. I’m not even kidding. Just don’t leave a mess. No one wants to clean up after you.