Crime And Hot Dish

The two things the Midwest is fantastic at.

We’re great at hot dish, and we’re stunning at making crime fun and exciting. Perhaps I should provide a few pieces of proof to back up this claim. I can do that. First, we have the Tatter Tot Hot Dish.

Oh, you meant provide proof of the CRIME part. I can do that too. I have two news stories that happened recently that seriously make me love living in the middle of the country. The snowfall and sub-zero temperatures are really great at fueling sociopaths.

Let’s jump right into case number one: “Minneapolis Stabbing Allegedly Out Of Curiosity”.

That’s right, friends. Curiosity didn’t just kill the cat, it apparently also stabbed a dude. For poops and chuckles.

“A Wisconsin man is accused of stabbing a Minnesota man on Christmas because he wanted ‘to see what it felt like.’ “

Nothing like a little Wisconsinite-on-Minnesotan crime to brighten up the holidays and bring forth the Christmas cheer. You’ve got to applaud someone who’s willing to get arrested just out of wondering what it feels like to stab someone. Who HASN’T had that thought at least thirty or forty hundred times in their life? Who hasn’t wondered what it’d feel like to shank a dude in the rib cage, just for the fuck of it?

I can understand where this total nutcase is coming from. I’ve had many a thought along these same lines. I know that comes as a surprise, what with me being so together and obviously not fuck-crazy, but yes, I have had these thoughts. Thoughts such as “I wonder how close to fully engulfed in flame I could get that old lady over there” and “If I took out my cock and peed on that guy, how would he react?” and “I bet I could throw that screaming baby at LEAST thirty feet…”

The only difference between me and “Twenty-nine-year-old Nicholas Leigh Tretter of River Falls, Wis.”, is I don’t DO THIS SHIT FOR REALZIES!!!

“Prosecutors say Tretter followed the man off a Minneapolis bus Friday. As the man walked away, Tretter allegedly ran up and stabbed him from behind, continuing to stab him as he collapsed.”

And people wonder why I don’t want to ride the fuckin’ bus! As if I didn’t have enough to worry about while riding the bus. Am I sitting in a seat that was previously occupied by a crazy guy who pooped his pants? Is that guy over there with the lazy eye looking at me, or is that just the eye? Did the bus driver just spit up blood? Why am I the only white guy here? Now I have to also worry that someone is going to just up and stab me? Fantastic. Really. I’m so fuckin’ stoked to know that that is a possibility.

I don’t know about you guys, but I’m pretty much set in my beliefs that I do not wish to be stabbed. Ever. Not even curious how it feels. In fact, if I went my whole life without ever having a knife plunged into my kidney by someone, I wouldn’t even be the slightest bit disappointed. “Being Stabbed” isn’t even in the top ten thousand things I want to have happen to me in my life. It ranks just under “having a pickle shoved in my anus”. And believe me, that’s really fucking low on my list.

I love the last piece of that sentence though. “continuing to stab him as he collapsed.”. Well, at least he didn’t half ass it. What conviction! He didn’t stop at one poke, he made damn sure the job was done right. If you’re going to do something, you might as well do it well. Kudos to you, Nick, for taking it to the limit.

“The victim had a 4-to-6-inch cut on his neck as well as stab wounds to his back and left side.”

I’d like to point out the guesstimation that the medical examiner took at the size of the gash. He ballparked it. “Meh, it’s like… four, five… maybe three feet or so in length, it’s really hard to tell.”

The only thing that is disappointing, is Nick turned himself in! Come on man, if you’re going to go randomly stab someone for fun, at least make a game of it. See how long you can avoid getting arrested. See if you can frame someone for it. I was on your side, but then you pulled this shit. You fuckin’ wimp! This was the perfect crime. No motive! I’m pretty sure “Just ’cause” isn’t a motive in the minds of police. No one is going to think this was an experiment! You could have easily gotten away with it. But no, you had to “do the right thing” and “take responsibility for your actions”. How pathetic.

In summary: This is why people from Wisconsin should stay the fuck in Wisconsin.

Alright, let’s move on to our second, and even more interesting story: Minnesota Man Accused Of Threatening Teen With Sword.

Now this is my kind of story! Anytime the word “Sword” appears in a headline, you know it’s gonna be friggin’ sweet!

“A Richfield man is accused of abusing his girlfriend’s teenage son, breaking his nose and threatening to cut him open with a samurai sword.”

Yeah, that pretty much qualifies as abuse alright. I love the escalation.

-I’m going to abuse him!

-I’m going to break his nose!

-I’m going to SPLIT HIM IN HALF WITH A SWORD!

“Forty-four-year-old Craig J. Kurzawski was charged Tuesday with a felony count of making terroristic threats and a gross misdemeanor count of malicious punishment of a child.”

If anything, “terroristic threats” just about sums it up. If anything is going to strike terror into someone, it’s the prospect of being split the fuck in HALF! And “Malicious Punishment” is a pretty fuckin’ correct term too. We would have also accepted: CRAZY ASS PSYCHOPATHIC BEHAVIOR!

“The teen’s mother tells authorities Kurzawski punched the 14-year-old in the face and torso while forcing him to do push-ups, sit-ups and squats.”

Ah-HA! The plot thickens. Now excercise is involved! I knew working out was bad for you! First of all, I’d like to comment on how difficult it would probably be to do push-ups when someones hammering you in the torso. In fact, it’d probably be near impossible. I can barely do a push-up as is, let along when someone is UFCin’ my ass in the ribs while I’m doing it.

And why is he making the kid excercise with this much anger? I understand that working out is important (I guess), but is it really worth… you know… threaten to gut a kid? Actually, it’s a little known fact, but this was the same guy who helped Oprah lose all her weight. They call it the “I’ll Cut You Open And PULL The Fat Out If You Don’t Start Doing Some Fuckin’ Sit-Ups” Plan. It’s a bit wordy, but at least it’s straight-forward. And people appreciate honesty.

“She says Kurzawski also took a sword off the wall and ran it along the boy’s chest from his neck to his stomach, saying he could ‘cut (the boy) open like a dead fish.’ “

Let’s wind it back a second and look at this logically: WHY THE FUCK IS THERE A SWORD ON THE WALL TO BEGIN WITH?! You know what I have on MY wall? Posters! Pictures of Family! I don’t have Medieval weaponry on display. If you collect swords, you’re already a scary person. But do the world a favor, and don’t hang the sum-bitch up where everyone can see it! Are you really expecting to show this off to friends when they come over?

“Wow, those are beautiful pictures. Is that your mother? She’s lovely. Oh, and look at the picture of the baby and the dog. And what’s this above the… Jesus fuckballs Christ is that a MANSPLITTER?!”

“A Hennepin County court official says Kurzawski did not have an attorney listed Wednesday morning. Kurzawski is due in court Wednesday afternoon.”

And isn’t it obvious why? Defense attorneys will do just about anything for money. They’ll defend rapists, they’ll defend child molesters, they’ll defend Tiger Woods. But they sure as hell are not getting involved when the word “Sword” appears on the paperwork. I think this is something that is best left up to King Arthur’s Court, not the Hennepin County court.

I couldn’t even imagine this being on the docket.

“Alright, first we have a guy who ran a red light and hit a car.”

“Easy.”

“Next, we have a man late on his child support payment”

“Easy.”

“And then we have a guy who threatened to split his girlfriends kid open with a katana”

“…A… Katana”

“Yeah, big fuck sword, your honor.”

“…I need a drink.”

Now, I don’t know a lot of things, but I do know this: If someone was pointing a sword at me, my ass is gonna be doin’ a ton of fuckin’ sit-ups! I don’t care how much it hurts, it can’t possibly suck any more than having your whole body divided in two. So, if anything, this guy was at least a decent motivator.

So there you have it. Minnesota crime at it’s finest. The only way, THE ONLY WAY, this could have been better, is if these were combined into one story.

“A local man is charged with decapitating a stranger on the express way today with a broadsword. He claims to have done it ‘Because it sounded like fun’ “

I can dream. I can fuckin’ dream.

The Priorities of Modern Man

The Future.

No one knows what it’ll hold. It could be filled with great achievements, or it could be filled with great evils and even greater disasters. Considering our track record as of late, I’m leaning towards the latter.

I know, we’ve made leaps and bounds in technology in the last few decades. We’ve cured diseases. We’ve solved many problems to up the speed and efficiency of life. We’ve also made it possible to do almost everything without thinking. A prospect which sounds lovely to most, but terrifying to me.

You don’t know what I mean? Allow me to explain. The Lexus LS series parks itself.

Got that? The car parks ITSELF! This was a big thing for about twenty three minutes a few years back, and it’s really just a drop in the bucket of things that frighten me. All the futuristic thriller sci-fi movies show robots taking over the planet. The AI gets too smart and they snap and kill us all. I’m pretty sure at the start of those movies, cars are parking themselves. At least we don’t have robots that clean up after us!

Oh, nevermind. First, it’ll sweep your floor of all the dirt. Next? It’ll clean THE WORLD of useless humans! I’m on to you vacuum robot. You little waffle-iron lookin’ mother fucker.

Now, before this sounds too cynical (like anything I ever say sounds cynical. Psh.), I’d like to say that these two things do serve a purpose. Sure, it’s lazy as hell to sit on your ass while a giant circle cleans your house, but at least that’s a purpose. Predating these two things however, was the moving sidewalk. Moving. Fuck. Sidewalk. Really, this marked the beginning of the end of us as a species. And no one seems concerned but me!

These are the obvious ones though. The ones that stick out the most. The ones everyone looks at and laughs. And then wishes they had them.

Now, the human mind has achieved many great things. We really have. But for every intelligent person, there are about thirty thousand idiots. And that ratio is being turned even more in the favor of stupidity by the people who are intelligent, but utilize it in useless ways. For now on, we’ll refer to them as Smartards.

The Smartards have taken over the world. The reason we can’t fix any real problems, make real advancements, is because of the Smartards. We don’t have those flying cars I was promised, and that pisses me the hell off.

I’m going to present now a small list of things the Smartards have given us that serve no real purpose other than to shorten our stay in this universe.

We’ll start with chewing gum. Yes, chewing gum. Originally, a simple concept. Take gum resin, and flavor it. Awesome. Helps people with oral fixations. Sweet and simple. The way it should have stayed. But no, no no, it kept going. They couldn’t stop with just flavored. That flavor had to be “Extended, Long Lasting!”. Why? Because we are too cheap to buy another pack, and we need to be chewing on something every second of every day!

That’s what gum has become. We, the nation of big-fat-fatty-fatasses has to be eating every second of every day. But if we did that, we’d explode. So, we use gum as a means to keep our mouths occupied so we don’t accidently shove your own young into our mouthes and eat them like gerbils.

But it didn’t stop there. At some point in my life, gum became a dental tool. Now it’s “Dentist Approved! Long Lasting Flavor!” gum. They’re trying to make it surpass brushing our teeth! How fucked up is that! We can’t even lift a stick up to our face and move it up and down for a few minutes!

Speaking of toothbrushes. Let’s put those on the list of things the Smartards have ruined for me. Remember what it used to be? It used to be a brush. For your teeth. That’s it. A fuckin’ brush.

Then they added that little blue strip. The one that tells you the toothbrush ain’t good no more. Because we’re too dumb to go “…wow, this thing looks sorta nasty… I should probably not stick it in my face anymore…”

You’d figure that’d be enough. But no, no no, it was NOT. How can we make brushing easier! Less energy consuming. Well, we could make them electric. And why not!

I wouldn’t put something like that in my mouth if you paid me to. It looks like it could be used for self-defense. Or rectal pleasuring. When toothbrushes begin to resemble sex toys, it’s time we dial it back a bit.

The Smartards have really spent a lot of time in your mouth, haven’t they? Well, they can continue that trend with flavored condoms. Because sexual protection needs to taste nummy.

The condom may be the single most advanced thing mankind has ever come up with. Does that scare anyone else? We’ve got spermicide, ribbed for her pleasure, extra-strength, lubricated, reservoir tipped, biodegradable, flavored condoms. And ample supplies of them. So ample that we can’t help but litter the streets with them!

Sex is something that’s real important to the Smartards. It may or may not be because most of the Smartards aren’t HAVING any sex, but that’s beside the point. The real point is… well, the real point is a giant rubber cock that is scientifically sculpted to hit your clit perfectly. That’s what the real point is.

Vibrating buttplugs? We got ‘em. Sex swings? Check. Giant devices that literally fuck you where you lay? What kind would you like?! Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for a good time, but there has to come a point where we stop spending so much effort and time on getting off. I suppose I should be happy, most of these toys and the protection prevent some pregnancy, but it really is getting out of hand. “Out of hand” may or may not have been a masturbation joke.

And the good news is, if you’re too ugly to get fucked, the Smartards can help you there too. Because even medical school is now plagued with Smartards as well.

That’s right, we have plastic surgery. Sure, there is plenty of it that’s necessary. Let’s say the Vice President of the United States accidentally blasts off half your face with bird shot while hunting. Don’t worry, we can put it back on.

But that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the vanity medical stuff. The botox and face lifts and implants and hip shaving and the chemical peels and the hair plugs and the laser surgeries and the liposuction and the “natural male enhancement” pills. Keep in mind we can’t cure cancer. But your tits look fabulous!

And how can we contact Miss Flawless-For-A-Price and get her over to our place so we can fuck her with the vibrating remote controlled butt plug, with out breath that is fresh from the Sonicare 2000 Super-brush and new Dentist-Approved Ultimate Toothcare bubble-yum pelting her in her chemically treated face? Easy, we use our cellphone/camera/gps tracking device/personal media and mp3 player/text messaging/internet ready device. That’s how.

Fuck cellphones. How the fuck do we think we’re ever going to stay on this planet if we keep pumping so much shit into cellphones. You know what they’re doing, right? They’re making it so our entire life can be carried on one tiny fucking handheld thing. Imagine that. A monopoly on life itself. I’m waiting for the day when cellphones actually spew out Starbucks coffee. It’ll happen. It’ll fuckin’ HAPPEN. You’d figure with all these amazing additions to portable communication, they’d actually make a phone that could fuckin’ work as a PHONE!

You know what the most used feature of a cellphone is today? Checking the time. Didn’t we used to have an article of clothing, an accesory, that did that once? Oh yeah, a watch! The Smartards figured we might as well over-haul those as well. And thank your imaginary higher power that they did! They have divers watches. Divers. Watches. Do you know what those do? Tell time UNDERWATER! Are you SHITTING ME! What the FUCK possible real life application could that have?! Divers dont need them. No diver is underwater and then goes “Oh shit, it’s almost 7 I better get out of the bottom of the ocean or I’ll miss Ugly Betty!” Alright, maybe a diver needs one so he can make sure he doesn’t run out of air or something. I guess I’ll let that slide, but…

How do you explain the regular watches that still work underwater? Are we too lazy to take it off when we shower, is that what this is? Outside of being a diver, I see no reason why you’d need to check the time when you’re under water. Unless you’re looking for an exact time of death when you drown, it seems useless to me.

And whats with the watches that have multiple different times on them. Have you seen this shit? They’re expensive too. All so you can tell what time it is where you are, and what time it is in Pango Pango. Helpful, I’m sure, if you’re The Flash.

ZOOOM!

“Shit, I’m in New Guinea now… damn, that means my watch is going to be off. Oh wait…”

Well, speaking of time. I think it’s time for me to close the book on this riff about Smartards. I’d usually end this with a plea of some sort. Trying to get them to focus on more important shit. Such as blowing up the moon or keeping my farts from ruining social interactions. But no, no no, no plea today. Instead, I’m simply going to throw my hands up on this one. The Smartards are plentiful, and they have their dicks in everything around you. They’ll be the undoing of mankind. But don’t panic. They are good for something.

They give me a lot of funny shit to bitch about!

—

Also, I’m really sorry about that picture of The Flash. It’s even more creepy than the one of Aquaman I put in my blog about
muskrats.

Food For Over-Thought (aka The Menu Mind Fuck Game)

Here’s an article for you, recently put up by the New York Times. An article about what they deem “Menu Psychology”. In other words: Restaurants are fucking with your head!

Let’s just kick right in with the opening sentence. One of which I hate with all my heart: “CHICKEN liver is what the restaurateur Danny Meyer calls a torpedo. “

First of all, “restaurateur” is the worst word ever. It’s right up there with pus and bologna. You’re a restaurant owner, not a “restaurateur”. What kind of self-righteous arrogant shit is that?! It’s just like the fact the Liberal Arts major who serves me my over-priced latte has to carry the job title “Barista”. Who the fuck knows what that means?! I sure as hell don’t, and neither does this poor fuck. How can he BE something and not know what it is at the same time?! That defies logic, and it’s all because of our need as a society to sugar-coat everything with fancy language that makes the people using it look like fuckweeds.

Not to mention, if someone goes by “Danny”, they probably shouldn’t also go by “Restaurateur”. That kind of word is held only for people who don’t shorten their names. If his name was Daniel, I may buy it. But “Danny” sounds like the name of the 16 year old pie-faced kid spitting in my onion rings at Burger King, not the name of someone running a restaurant that serves chicken liver.

“Left to its own devices, it may be unappetizing and unpopular (MAY be unappetizing and unpopular?! What makes you have that idea, is it ’cause it’s a fuckin’ ORGAN?!), but when paired with what he calls an enhancer — applewood smoked bacon in the case of the chicken liver on the menu at Tabla, Mr. Meyer’s Indian fusion restaurant in the Flatiron District — it not only excites the taste buds but goes to work on the mind.”

Why does that paragraph exist in this article? A precursor to help you get the idea of what the whole thing is about? No, it exists only to piss me off. They wrote this article with one thing in mind: Send Bob Around The Fuckin’ Corner!

Where do I even start? How about “Indian Fusion” restaurant. Do you know what that means? Right: Not real Indian food. Fusion?! That is NOT a word that is appetizing in the least. That’s a word you MAYBE use with juice: Banana-Strawberry FUSION, but even then it’s really forced and obnoxious. However, what this seems to imply is that it’s Indian food PLUS other shit. Basically, American’s are bastardizing another type of food. We’ve done it with many other types. For instance, Italian and Mexican fused to make a Mexican Pizza, which looks oddly like a taco that didn’t get folded up. American bullshit with extra cheese!

Indian Fusion is one of those trendy-terms. For pretentious indie fuckers who like to think they’re hip. These are the ones who buy clothing at thrift stores, drive hybrid cars, and sit around coffee shops silently judging (and not in the funny way like I do) everyone that is different than them. They like Wes Anderson films (which no one with actual taste does), and they enjoy Co-Op food stores. Why? Because they like paying thirteen dollars for guilt-free milk.

This same mindset is why, at the Mall of America here in Minnesota, we actually have something called an Oxygen Bar. An idea that makes me reconsider my stance on genocide.

My next complaint about that paragraph is his use of bacon. Listen, bacon is basically the reason why happiness exists. Don’t go shovin’ it into stuff that shouldn’t have it in it. Like other animals. Chicken and pig do not work together. They are meant to be eaten separately. Bacon isn’t an “enhancer” either. Viagra is an enhancer. Bacon is food, fucker. It doesn’t “enhance” anything. It just makes it taste better. Enhancer is another one of those buzz words, like fusion. It’s strong, it’s scientific. As if this was a genius idea. No, you just put bacon, which is pretty much universally loved, on top of something else. You’re not a genius for doing something that high college students have been doing for years. How about I give “Danny” a vasectomy, and “enhance” society by making sure he can’t reproduce.

The worst, however, comes right at the end: “it not only excites the taste buds but goes to work on the mind.” Holy shit! It EXCITES the taste buds. I didn’t know my taste buds could get excited. Now this whole thing is starting to sound like sex. After we use the ENHANCER, we get EXCITED. MMM, this sounds fantastic. I assume when I digest this food, it’ll be like a climax for my stomach, correct? Why not just say: Bacon, it’ll make you jizz.

Then they say that it’ll GO TO WORK on my mind. Go to work on it? What are you trying to do here? Charles Manson “went to work” on the minds of some young girls. I don’t want my food to get involved with my mind. Stomach, yes, mind, not so much. This plate of food isn’t Hannible Lecter, fucker, it’s just a damn meal!

“And the name of the Tabla appetizer, Boodie’s Chicken Liver Masala, draws even deeper from the growing field of menu psychology because Boodie is the mother of Floyd Cardoz, Tabla’s executive chef. People like the names of mothers, grandmothers and other relatives on their menus, and research shows they are much more likely to buy, say, Grandma’s zucchini cookies, burgers freshly ground at Uncle Sol’s butcher shop this morning and Aunt Phyllis’s famous wedge salad. “

Boodie? Again with the sexy talk! Come get yourself some Boodie…’s Chicken Liver Masala. So, they named it after the cook’s mother? I mean, I wouldn’t really know that just flippin’ through the menu, but alright. It’s not even important. You could name the sandwich after some hooker you fucked three weeks ago, and I’d care just as little.

“People like the names of mothers, etc.”. Do they now? Is that a selling point to you guys? If I were to name a big bag of crap “Nancy’s Bag O’ Crap”, would you be more inclined to buy it? Has your mind EVER been swayed by the inclusion of the name of someones mother? Research says though. Research says people are more likely to buy the stuff with family names on them. Isn’t that sad? Research. Who has the time to research something THAT unimportant! Advertisement people are so full of shit it makes me want to puke up the plate of Auntie Jane’s Mexican Pizza Fusion Surprise that I ate this afternoon.

The article continues by explaining that, after combining with the BREAD BAR (or “Bakery” if you’re not a new-age hipster dumb fuck) that was downstairs, they spent “months” pondering this stuff. Wow, really? Months? Don’t you have something better to do with your life? You know, like… fuckin’ ANYTHING! I understand you’re working on making your business better, but not even Rembrandt spent that much time thinking about… whatever the fuck it is that Rembrandt did that was so special. Your restraurant probably sucks, it’s not worth that much effort “Danny”.

“The price of Boodie’s chicken livers, for example, is $9, written simply as 9. This is a friendly and manageable number at a time when numbers really need to be friendly and manageable.”

Oh it just doesn’t QUIT does it?! This blog is going to be about thirty chapters long at this rate!? Every fucking sentence makes me more annoyed than the previous one! Son of a bitch. “Friendly and manageable” NUMBER?! How can a number be FRIENDLY?! Does that mean other numbers aren’t so friendly? “8″ rhymes with “Hate”, so it’s clearly an unfriendly number. When you’re attaching personality traits to NUMBERS, you’ve now breached the border between “annoying” and “fucking nutcase”. When you’re trying to get people to go all buddy-buddy with the price of their food, you’ve gone completely psychotic. It’s not even up for debate. No psychologist need be brought in, you’re a fucking lunatic “Danny”.

And then it gets more depressing when they say that we live in a time where numbers “need to be friendly and manageable”. I didn’t know that was an issue, did you? I mean, I know we live in a time where we need more funding for schools. I know we live in a time where we need to seek out a revival of common sense. I know we live in a time where understanding and togetherness will get us through the biggest of problems. But we also live in a time where we need to make sure our numbers are friendly? If that’s the time we live in, it’s time for us to go. Pack your shit, friends, it’s time to down the cyanide-laced purple Kool-Aid and go meet our fuckin’ makers. Life isn’t worth living if my numbers need to be “manageable”.

“In the world of menu engineering and pricing, a dollar sign is pretty much the worst thing you can put on a menu, particularly at a high-end restaurant. Not only will it scream “Hello, you are about to spend money!” into a diner’s tender psyche, but it can feel aggressive and look tacky. So can price formats that end in the numeral 9, as in $9.99, which tend to signify value but not quality, menu consultants and researchers say. “

“Menu Engineering”. Nope. I didn’t just read that. I made that up in my mind, as a cruel joke. Clearly no one would refur to making a menu as “engineering”. Would they? Of course, these are the same people that have used “Fusion” and “Restaurateur”. I guess we can’t let anything slip past them.

Don’t use dollars signs? Fine, I’ll let it slide. But only because they’re pointless. That’s the only reason you don’t use them on a menu. Not because they’re verbally assaulting you! And what the fuck does “diner’s tender psyche” mean?! My “psyche” wasn’t tender up until just now. And that’s simply because of your article, not a fuckin’ dollar sign! Your article has crippled my psyche, and pushed me that much closer to my inevitable breakdown.

Also, note the term “Menu Consultant”. So first it’s “engineered” and then we need to “consult” people. All this just to make a list of what shitty food you’re serving?! Listen. If anyone ever tells you that America has a job shortage, this article is your counter-argument. If a “menu engineer” and “menu consultant” are both real jobs, there is no such thing a job shortage.

” Mr. Meyer said. ‘The chefs write the music and the menu becomes the lyrics, and sometimes the music is gorgeous and it’s got the wrong lyrics and the lyrics can torpedo the music.’ ”

I sure hope he didn’t say that OUTLOUD! And what the fuck is with “Danny” and the word “torpedo”. It’s the second time he’s used it. Apparently, he’s really eager to blow up his diners. Which, considering what happens to your bowels after eating Indian food, isn’t exactly far from the truth.

By the way, a menu is not music. A menu is a menu. Music is music. Music takes actual talent and artistry, a menu is just a FUCKING MENU! Leonard Cohan could write a menu, without breaking a sweat, “Danny” could not write the song “Hallelujah.”. Unless it went something like “Hallelujah…. TORPEDO!”

“The use of menu engineers and consultants is exploding in the casual dining arena and among national chains, a sector of the business that has been especially pinched by the economy. In response, they are tapping into a growing body of research into the science of menu pricing and writing, hoping the way to a diner’s heart is not only through the stomach, but through the unconscious. ”

Science of menu pricing. Yes, I remember taking that course in High School, right after Chemistry and Physics. If these people who write “Hamburger: Five Dollars” call themselves scientists, they deserve to be shot. Or worse: Forced to eat the food they’re serving!

“Huddle House, the family-dining chain with more than 400 restaurants in 17 states, is rolling out a test menu at 20 restaurants next week. The company hired Gregg Rapp, a menu engineer and consultant who holds ‘menu boot camps’ for restaurants around the country. He said he had been ‘taking dollar signs off menus for 25 years,’ ”

I’m just going to go ahead and say it: FUCK YOU GREGG RAPP! I hope you vanity-Google your own name and come across my blog. Just so you can read this paragraph. I hope you get AIDs, you stupid ass. Menu Boot camps? Holy fuck, that’s a really powerful way of saying “Lesson on Writing Menus”. You’re not a drill Sergeants Drill Sergeants are tough, intimidating. You’re a fucking toolbag. You couldn’t intimidate a pack of 6 year old Girl Scouts with a title like “menu consultant”. He actually even says that he’s been “taking dollar signs off menus for 25 years”. Woop-de-fuckin’-do. Aren’t you special. I really hope a giant dollar sign falls of a big sign and crushes you today, Mr. Rapp.

The article jumps to another page. Imagine that, more than one PAGE of this shit!

A new person is talking at this point, someone who’s a something for somewhere, I don’t really care anymore. But she does say something that hurt my eyes to see.

“She said the chain took dollar signs off the menu in 2007, and now on the test menu, instead of an omelet and orange juice, there is ‘the light and fluffy Heavenly Omelet’ and ‘Minute Maid orange juice.’ “

Heavenly Omelet. And just when I thought Mr. Rapp was the worst thing to happen to me, I have to witness someone call a fuckin’ egg HEAVENLY! I don’t even believe in Heaven, and yet I still find this unbelievably dumb. If there was a heaven, I’d certainly hope it was more exciting than a fucking omelet. Why not just go for what you’re really trying to say: Orgasmic Omelet. Eggs so scrumptious they’ll make you bust a nut right there in the restaurant. I bet you’d sell a thousand more omelet’s a day than you ever could calling them “Heavenly”. Maybe I should become a “menu engineer”!

They then dive into the tricks of the trade. Talking about “decoy” items, really expensive items placed at the top to make customers think the rest of the dishes are more “resonably priced”. They begin to explain how customers don’t order the cheapest or the most expensive item on the menu. This is not true. If I’m with a date, and I can already tell I don’t like her: she’s getting the cheapest item. If I’m with someone who is offering to pay for my meal, I’m getting the most expensive. I have proven you WRONG, menu-consultants. So spare me your dumb-ass decoy.

After they list a series of other tricks, they throw in this stand-alone thought:

“Unless a restaurant wants to frighten its customers, the price should always be at the very end of a menu description and should not be in any way highlighted. “

“OH GOD IT’S THE PRICE!!!” Nothing scarier than the fuckin’ price. Give me some credit, I’m not scared of a number. I mean, it’s such a friendly number, right?

“Mr. Rapp, of Palm Springs, Calif., also says that if a restaurant wants to use prices that include cents, like $9.99 or $9.95 (without the dollar sign, of course), he strongly recommends .95, which he said “is a friendlier price,” whereas .99 is “cornier.” On the other hand, 10, or “10 dollars,” has attitude, which is what restaurants using those price formats are selling. “

Mr. Rapp is back again. I thought I told you to die, fucker. And he’s hit me with another moronic barrage of stupid. Now 95 is the friendly number. And 99 is CORNIER. It’s not a fuckin’ romantic comedy, you numbnuts, it’s the price of my food! And apparently, 10 has attitude. Again with assigning personality traits to numbers. While we’re at it, why don’t we avoid putting 1.36 as a price, because “36″ is a bit of a whore. And don’t get me started on that douchebag 73!

We keep going, now on to the adjectives used to describe food. Apparently, words make you more full after meals:

“Vivid adjectives can not only sway a customer’s choice but can also leave them more satisfied at the end of the meal than if they had eaten the same item without the descriptive labeling. “

That makes no sense. If that was the case, why not just try that shit at home. Sure, when you give a homeless guy a sandwich, don’t say it’s a sandwich, say it’s a “SUPER FUCKING AWESOME SANDWICH OF FULLNESS”. Sure, he’ll think you’re crazy and give you his change, but at least he’ll be more full from that sandwich. Just don’t buy the sandwich from “Danny”, because he’s a moron.

Why is he a moron? How about this:

“In contemplating the Tabla menu, Mr. Cardoz said he and Mr. Meyer decided there were too many unusual Indian terms that were alienating customers, so they kept only the most recognizable words, like tandoori, paneer and tikka. “

Tandoori. Paneer. Tikka. Nope, never heard of any of them. Are they the name of characters in Lord Of The Rings? So, Indian Fusion means “Indian Food… Fused with American Idiocy”.

Now “Danny”‘s partner is getting in on the mix. He has this to say:

” ‘I feel most guests want to know what my inspiration was for any dish, and when they realize there is a connection for me doing something, they want to try it and they want to know it,’ he said. “

No, I really don’t. I don’t want to know SHIT about you or your meal. I just want to stuff food in my face because I’m hungry you idiot. That’s why I’m in your restaurant. For food! Imagine that! I’m not here for a history lesson or a Inside-The-Douchebag-”Restaurateur”‘s-Studio discussion. I just want to put something in my face that’ll make me not as hungry as I was before.

“And there was one connection he was definitely not going to take off the menu, whether it was on the chicken liver or the onion rings, which come with “Boodie’s Ketchup”: his mother.”
Alright, “Boodie’s Ketchup” is the single most unapatizing thing I’ve ever heard. It really sounds like it’s in the same boat as “Butt Gravy”. I will never, in a million years, buy something with Booty Ketchup on it. Your mom needs a different name, man…

That was, without a doubt the second most painful experience of my life. The only way it could be worse if I had to eat a jar of vegemite while reading it.

The article has taught me two things:

1) The New York Times is fucking stupid

and

2) I shouldn’t go to restaurants, because they’re trying to fuck with my head.

So, there you have it folks. Next time you go out to eat, you’re now armed with the knowledge to beat the “Menu Engineers” at their own game. Now: Happy Eating!

Why Don’t I Just Get Under My Desk? (aka God Vs. Nuclear Weapons)

This may come as a surprise to some people, but I am not a church person. I know, it’s shocking. I don’t care if you are church people, you can be church people, but I am not.

However, I may need to reconsider my whole philosophy on religion and church after what I discovered not too long ago while going for a walk. Near where I live in the outskirts of Minneapolis, there are a couple of churches. And what do I see on those churches? Right next to the door of those churches? I see this:

Fallout Shelter? Hmm, that seems important.

I have no complaint that you can use a church as a fallout shelter, I do, however, have a complaint that in my local area, this is the only place you can see that sign. I don’t see it on any other building. Just the churches. So, what, they’re the only places that are safe from nuclear-fuck-fallout?

Do Jews or Muslims or Atheists get to go hide in the church if some shit goes down, or are we S.O.L.? If North Korea goes ape-shit and blows large craters into the Midwestern United States (because we’re clearly the biggest target here in America. I mean, if you factor out NYC, California, and Washington D.C. And Florida… and Chicago… and most of New England… and Texas… but hey, we’re more of a target than Nebraska!) does that mean that anyone that isn’t Christian is totally screwed? Could we maybe have a strip club or an abortion clinic be a fallout shelter for us faithless heathens? Or are you trying to tell us we DESERVE to be melted down into nothing by waves of nuclear death?

I’ve looked at these churches, usually with a scowl on my face, and I’ve concentrated on the structure of each one. They’re old-ass buildings. I’m pretty sure they couldn’t protect against a water-balloon barrage much less a 10-megaton blast.

I don’t understand it. Are these Government-issued signs? Does the city have to recognize a place as a worthy fallout shelter, or did Father Murphy just go out to Ace Hardware and buy one with the church collection plate money? I mean, if they are picked by the Government, that gives me zero faith in the “Seperation Of Church And State” concept (as if I had any faith in that, anyway…).

And if they did just go out and buy it: Who the fuck makes them experts? How does a Pastor know that his church is a good fallout shelter. What if it’s the only place that ISN’T a good fallout shelter? Seems to me stained-glass windows would be really cool to watch explode during a nuclear blast, but that’s about the only good a church could be during that kind of crisis.

Maybe what they’re saying is that God is going to protect them? Is that it? Is it Divine Fallout Protection? Guess what: Not gonna work. If Iran somehow manages to get their Fisher-Price nuclear weapons to function (a big fuck “somehow”) and launches a few of them your way, all the prayer in the world isn’t going to do diddly-damn shit. Even Mr. Christ would have to kiss his Holy ass goodbye if a nuke came his way.

“Jesus, Jesus, the Jews have launched a nuclear attack. There is a bomb, right there. Perform a miracle, save us from the nuclear fallout.”

“HAH! Are you kidding me?! We’re FUCKED! We’re FUUUUUUCKED. Shit, how long do we have? A few minutes, I can get a blowjob before then. Anyone have any cigarettes. Or water, I’ll turn it into vodka… I don’t want to be sober when my skin melts off.”

Unless there is some space-aged bunker underneath the church? Is that it? Giant blast doors and metal walls, deep within the bowels of Our Lady Of Tax-Free Judgement? Maybe the whole church’ll turn into a spaceship and fly away before the explosion? I highly doubt it. I think it’s just a bunch of God-fearing people learning that Nukes are even more fear-worthy and curling up underneath a pew while wishing they’d have fucked more people and done more drugs in their lifetime.

The whole thing reminds me of those old 1950′s cold-war public service videos they’d show school children. The Communists are going to attack, so get under your desk and you won’t be incinerated. Yeah, some good that’d do.

I’m not really that afraid of a nuclear attack on my city, my state, or even this COUNTRY, I am, however, deeply afraid of the mindset that went into that sign and it’s placement. Fear-mongering is what churches do best, and this could very well be just another way for them to control their congregation. Tell ‘em that there is the threat of a nuclear attack, and they’ll do whatever you say (sounds oddly similar to how we got involved in Iraq). Don’t buy into it, folks. The most deadly thing on this planet right now isn’t nuclear weapons, it’s organized religion.

Child safety? Sure, you could tell them to get under that desk, or you could tell them to avoid that molesting priest. Which one do you think is more likely to help them survive in this life? War? Almost every war is religious-based, because the major religions don’t get along. However, if we give them big-fuck weapons, things get ugly. Just look at all the turmoil in Israel.

You know what I think, I think we need a Religious Fallout Shelter. A place we can go to hide from the horrible shit caused by religion. A place for homosexuals to come and love each other without being judged and have “God Hates Faggots” signs crammed in their faces while they’re not bothering anyone. A place where a woman can come and rip a fetus out of her crotch so it doesn’t get born into a loveless household or shoved into an over-crowded orphanage with poor funding. A place where you can eat meat on fuckin’ Friday!

Obviously a place like this doesn’t exist yet, but I’m going to get to work on it, I promise. We’ll have our safety too my fellow hell-bound, douchebag sinners. Although, I’m sorry to say if we get nuked, we’re still going to be fucked. I mean… It’s a fuckin’ NUKE for Godsake!

Mission Baby: Aborted

A picture is worth a thousand words. And sometimes those words are just “WHAT THE FUCK?!” repeated over and over again.

In the past, I’ve talked about riding the form of public transportation commonly refered to as “The Bus”. For those of you who don’t ride the bus, and are wondering what it’s like, I’ll tell you. Riding the bus is somewhat similar to taking a big steel wool pad and repeatedly rubbing it across your scrotum. It’s excruciating and leaves you irritated and in a foul mood for the rest of the day.

The worst thing about the bus, however, is the other people that ride the bus. The bus is the one place in life where all the stereotypes and clichés you see on television and film are 100% hit-the-nail-on-the-head correct. Crazies and ugly people and religious whacko’s are out in full, just like on tv.

And I, having the shittiest shit luck of all shit lucks, attract these people like some kind of fucktard magnet. Unlike other areas in life, the crazies and idiots on the bus actually come up with interesting and creative ways to make me fuckin’ flustered and near-homicidal angry. And this story may very well take the fuckin’ cake.

I had a guy approach me on a bus the other day with a flyer. It had a picture on it and a few words I didn’t bother reading. I didn’t bother reading it because the picture actually paralyzed my eyes and forced them to stay focused in one place. The words were just an after thought to what lay before me. He held up this flyer in front of my face, and in a really serious tone, asked: “What do you think of THIS!?”

You know what the picture was? It was a picture of a fuckin’ ABORTED FETUS!!! Does that register in your head! It was a fetus! A FEE-TUSSSSS.

Now, it wasn’t gross or anything really bad. It wasn’t like it was a just-after shot, covered in blood and mucus, looking like a pasta sauce gone wrong. No, it wasn’t DURING the abortion. It wasn’t a picture of someone going up inside a girl with a coat hanger and repeatedly stab it in the head and tearing it out like a dead squirrel in a rain gutter.

It wasn’t anything bad like that, it was one of those glamour shot fetus photos that all the anti-abortion people use. Where it’s cleaned up, sitting on some nice little satin pillow or something. One of those beautifully shot, clear-cut picture. As if someone took the fetus out on the weekend down to ProEx and had it professionally done.

“Hmm, who’s getting photographed today? Oh, this little… fellow. Wow, ok… um… what kind of background would you like? Do you need any props?”

“Yeah, do you got a ruler?”

An artsy thing. Like someone spent hours on Adobe Photoshop working on the coloration so that it’s just right. Someone took PRIDE in this photo. They spent hours taking rolls of film, trying to find that perfect pose. “Alright, give me a pout!” Concerns on lighting and if it should be a panorama shot or a up-close on the face came into play. It wasn’t some half-assed abortion photo. Not for this guy.

But anyway, I digress.

This guy holds this photo up in front of me, and asks this question. Now, in case you’ve never had this experience, let me tell you something. Nothing PREPARES you for this. This isn’t something you expect to happen. Your brain doesn’t immediately recognize the situation and it sure as fuck doesn’t react well. In fact, if you’d like to know what it’s like, it’s sorta a dizzy feeling. Like you just got off the spinning Strawberry ride at the local carnival. You’re off-kilter and struggling to keep from falling over. Your head is still somewhere on the ride spinning. That feeling of losing complete control, that’s what it feels like to have a photo of a fetus randomly appear in front of your face on the way home. That’s the EXACT feeling.

The question is what really snapped me back into reality. “What do you think of THIS?!”

I looked at him and said: “Well, actually… he’s kinda cute!”

Which, apparently, was the WRONG answer. It didn’t take too long before I began to realize that I may die. This guy make actually make me the victim of a reallllllllly late term abortion myself. However, instead of getting angry, he goes into his anti-abortion tirade.

And it was one of those beautifully crafted, finely scripted rants. Nothing like I do, with horrible sentence structure and too much swearing. No, this was well-written. It was near-Shakespearean. An anti-fetus mauling soliloquy.

After about a five minute, obviously rehearsed schpeal about why abortion is evil and God hates (really, God hates? I thought judgemental attitudes weren’t His style? Guess I misunderstood ‘Thou Shalt Not Judge’)people who get abortions. He looked at me again, and in that same serious tone repeated the question: “What do you think of this NOW?!”

“…you know something. You got me. You absolutely got me. That’s all it took, that five minute lesson on why it’s evil. It completely changed my opinion that has been formulated from years of thinking and looking at multiple sides of everything involved in the topic. Your five minutes of true, Holy education have undid years of blasphemous pro-abortion thoughts that have been deeply rooted in my obviously crooked brain. Thank you for enlightening me with your hate-fueled, ignorant bullshit opinion speech. It’s truly changed my life. And by changed my life, I mean ‘Stripped me of all logic and turned me into a God-fearing, judgemental prick who shows aborted fetus photos to people on public transportation’ ”

That’s what I would have said, if I wasn’t a nice guy. Instead, I simply got the fuck off the bus. 20 blocks short of my stop, but fuck it, I can wait for the next bus. I don’t care if it’s below-zero out. I’d rather freeze to death than have to deal with that asshole for one more minute.

Listen, I’m pro-abortion. I’m not afraid to admit that. I could go on about why I’m pro-abortion, bring up all my thoughts on the topic. But that isn’t what this is about. This isn’t about that debate. I don’t want to get sixty comments about how it’s a human life and it’s evil and all that. That’s not what this is. This is about the anti-abortion people that pull shit like this.

You can be anti-abortion, that’s fine. It doesn’t make you a bad person, just don’t be such a douchebag about it. Don’t show pictures of aborted fetus’ as if that’s going to change people’s minds on it. It isn’t. It’s just going to piss people off, and it’s also going to disgust people who have nothing to do with abortions to begin with. Innocent people just walking to the 7-11 to buy some gum don’t need to see Mr. Ruler-Fetus on their way home.

It’s annoying, it’s rude, and most importantly: It’s ineffective. No one changes their opinion based on a photo on a sign. If that was the case, opinions wouldn’t be worth shit. If you really think simple shock-and-awe is going to change someones whole life philosophy, it wasn’t a solid life philosophy to begin with. Their will was weak, and they’re not worth recruiting to your side.

Listen, I’ve never gotten a girl pregnant. I’ve never given someone an abortion. I don’t even KNOW anyone that’s aborted a baby. I’m not the enemy here. There is no reason to subject me to that fuckin’ photo when I’m trying to get home from my job. I’m tired, I’m cranky, I want to go home. And I’d like to go home without that shit shoved down my throat.

Here’s the thing, anti-abortion protest-with-sick-pictures people. If that’s how you want to play it, I’m going to be forced to play it too. If you’re going to show me aborted fetus’ when I’m in public, than I’ll pick something I consider important and find sick pictures of THAT and shove them in YOUR face on the bus. I’ll take a picture of a total idiot piece-of-shit useless human being living in a trailer park with her 12 shitlings, all fat and missing teeth and uneducated and useless to society. I’ll take them and I’ll shove them in YOUR face and make YOU sick to your stomach.

No, actually, I won’t. Because I have class and dignity (sorta). I can’t even figure out how to end this fuckin’ blog I’m so pissed. I want to un-see that stupid picture of the fetus. Not because it’s awaken me to how disgusting abortion is, but just that it was something that shouldn’t be flaunted like that. So, in a desperate attempt to clean my mind, I’ll end this blog with a happy picture. Something to keep me from going fuck-mental.

Here you go. Have a great day!

Keeping The Streets Safe? (aka Condumb)

Someone’s littering the streets of Minneapolis with rubbers.

So let’s talk about that. It’s something, that at first, doesn’t seem like a great topic of conversation. It’s just something you chuckle about then move on. I mean, that is if you’re not fuggin’ me.

Allow me to give you the details that brought me to this assumption in the first place. A few weeks ago, before snow came and covered everything, I went for a walk. Seems innocent enough. I can’t possibly come across condoms on a walk, can I? Unless I took a walk through a pharmacy. Which I did not. I was just walking down the street. And this wasn’t even in the city, this was out in the outskirts of the city where I live.

And there it was. Right at the bus stop. A condom. Not a USED condom, mind you. No one was running around having Fuck-Fest 2009. It was a condom in a wrapper, unopened. And somehow, that’s even more disturbing to me.

And, just to ease your curiosity, it was indeed a Magnum condom. Magnum, for those of you who aren’t sexperts, is a condom made for a guy who needs “A little more”. Which is fantastic, I guess. I understand that. Safety is important, even for those packing 12 inches of man-sausage. But these things are ridiculous. If you’ve ever seen one, it’s a lot more than “a little more”. Seriously, I can understand a few extra inches, but this thing’s like three feet long. I could fit my whole lower body in one and use it as a wet suit. Not that I’ve TRIED to fit my whole lower body in it. Although now that I mention it…

Anyway, I didn’t pay it too much mind. Mainly because if I did focus on it for too long, I’d probably have had a brain hemorrhage. And bleeding from my brain isn’t something I actively seek on a day to day basis. I try to avoid the things that’ll do that kind of thing to me. Like random condoms in the streets. And Vin Diesel movies.

I kept walking. Cutting off the main street and into a residential area. Walking down the street, a few blocks later, a ways away from my cock-sheet discovery, guess what I found? That’s right: Another condom. In it’s wrapper. Lying on the ground, as if someone was leaving a trail. Perhaps to find their way back home? Like Hansel And Gretel, only without being eaten by a witch.

…On second thought, perhaps that’s exactly what this was…

I was thinking about it. Did someone spring a leak in a bag or something and start dropping random condoms on their way home? It’s a possibility I guess. But wait, this one was a totally different condom. It wasn’t a magnum, wasn’t even the same brand. Different condom entirely.

Now something’s wrong. Two totally different condoms within ten minutes, several blocks away from each other? I’m beginning to wonder. Is there some kind of prophylactic fairy running around, tossing condoms around like pixie dust (with spermicide)?

Or maybe there was a parade! Yes! A penis parade! Oh joy! Men dressed as the Trojan Man riding giant paper-mache penis floats around the streets of Minneapolis, tossing condoms and candy off to the onlookers. Boys and… more boys lining the streets, scooping the free stuff off the ground. A fun, festive celebration of NOT getting people pregnant. Sounds like a blast to me!

But now my mind is in over-drive. The Antimony-Laced Toy Hamster is on his wheel, and kickin’ everything into high gear. My brain is now completely devoted to thinking about condoms in the streets. Things are about to get ugly.

Why the fuck is it only condoms? Why aren’t other forms of sexual protection being left lying around? It’s always rubbers you find. Never do you find a female condom, diaphragm or IUD lying around in the gutters. Just once I’d like to see a vasectomy on the sidewalk.

On second thought, we can go ahead and skip that last one. That’d just be awkward.

Are people leaving them on the streets on purpose? As part of some “Safety First” pro-birth control initiative. Are they expecting people to start picking these up and USING them?! Surely that’s not a wise decision. I mean, condoms are plenty safe, but not after being run over by SUVs all day.

Is someone MISSING these condoms!? Maybe they fell out of people’s wallets while they were reaching for something else. Maybe some guy is about to get his rocks off, and as he reaches into his pocket to get Ol’ Trusty out, he finds it gone! What a pity! Maybe these two condoms are about to result in two unsafe sexual encounters. STDs. AIDs. Or even worse: CHILDREN! OH THE HORROR! What if two people just got pregnant because these condoms are lying around on the ground!

Perhaps they’ll go looking for their lil’ lost buddies? Sure, why not. Put up signs:

Missing: One Condom.

Goes by “Ribbed For Her Pleasure”. Strawberry flavored, lubricated. Very friendly, likes children. If found, please call 555-1084 as soon as possible. Foreplay is almost over…

What happened if I tried to return one of the condoms to their owner, and they had to say: “Sorry, this one isn’t mine. Look at me, do you really think I need a Magnum? Mine was the one with the reservoir tip… OH SLIPPY! WHERE ARE YOU?!”

Reservoir tip. You know what those are for? Apparently, they ease the “pressure” of the climax so that the condom doesn’t burst. Reservoir is a bit of a weird word to use for “lil’ bubble on the end”, don’t you think? Reservoir makes me think of farming. As if they don’t want the condom to burst and have semen contaminate the ground water. This, of course, leads me to picture Half-Corn, Half-Fetus stalks growing in fields across Minnesota. Which, of course, leads me to wondering if that’d make Popcorn considered a form of abortion. This, of course, leads me to think I need to be institutionalized for my own safety.

Anyway, back to my original train of thought. What if there was an accident?! What if a condom truck was on it’s way to deliver condoms to the store, and it crashed! They collected most of the cargo, and delievered it to stores. But it was all damaged. Can we trust that?! Oh shit! What if HUNDREDS of ruined condoms are being sold all across my great state. Resulting in HUNDREDS of unwanted children?! OH DEAR GOD! We have ourselves a full-blown (heehee “Blown”) epidemic on our hands (…er, penis’…).

That’s it. Time to call in the National Guard. We need to round up all the condoms purchased on that day from stores within a twenty-block radius. Call in the army on this one. We need to start knocking on every door and investigating the condition of everyone’s protection!

“Sir, we have a reason to believe YOUR condoms may have been involved in an accident. And if we don’t double check, they may be involved in another one…”

Or what if this is some kind of sign from above? Maybe I’m wrong! Maybe there is a Heaven. And a God. And he’s looking down at all the humans and thinking: “Well, I certainly can’t have anymore of these fuckheads walking about, I need to take action!” And action he did take. Condoms, raining down from the Heavens. Divine Intervention. Since you can’t keep it in your pants, and no one wants you to reproduce, the holy father had it blizzard happys during the night.

All of this went through my melon as I continued my walk. Then my brain went in a different direction. It began to get happy. The worry went away, as I began to picture a condom-snow from above. I was half expecting to see huge piles of flavored, lubricated, extra-strength condoms lying along the streets. Plowed up by emergency road crews. Kids, in the frontyards of houses, making Condom-Men. Or Condom-Angels. Or having Condom-Ball fights. I’m dreaming of a rubber Christmas!

On my way back home, I began wondering if I should do the whole state a favor and pick these things up. Just so no one else stumbles upon them and goes into a spiral of different emotions like I had just gone through. Granted, I don’t think anyone else would have thought about the stuff I had thought about. Because, well, I’m a fuckin’ weird, sick nutcase. And most people are sane enough to go “Hmm, a condom… and another condom… anyway…”. But not I. Not I at all.

But if I stopped to pick them up, someone might see. And now I look like some weird pervert. As if I was on a Easter-Condom hunt, and was finding the last few that were hidden.

In retrospect, I kinda wish I would have just stayed in the fucking house.

Google Me! Chapter One

WordPress provides a stats page. For those of you USING wordpress, you already KNOW this. However, those readers who don’t use it, might not know. That’s why I mentioned it. This is the shittiest beginning to a blog on FiS yet. I’m actually proud of that…

Anyway, back to the point. In that stats page, they provide a list of word and phrases that are put into search engines that bring up your blog as one of the results. It’s interesting. And it has provided me with countless funny things to discuss. Well, not countless. 12. 12 funny things to discuss.

Now, ultimately I can figure out HOW these got to my site. It’s just a matter of applying keywords and finding them within the 50+ blogs on FiS. However, this is still amusing to look at. Who knows, perhaps this can be another recurring section that I don’t use in the blog. Let’s get started.

1 ) “wierd cocks” – I can only assume this was directed to my “Weird Things Found On eBay” blog that was about Cocks. That’s not really the concern here. The real concern is: Someone SEARCHED FOR THAT?! Something is amiss. Even if, EVEN IF, they were talking about weird chickens (which I highly doubt they are), that’s still a bit bizarre to me. I’m going to go on the assumption though that they’re really talking about weird penis’ and just (like me) couldn’t figure out what the fuck the plural to “penis” is.

The real confusion came when I actually typed this statement (spelled CORRECTLY, in my case) into Google. I guess it’s actually a pretty hot topic on the interwebs.

Of course, it was mostly twisted porn sites, and since I don’t want my computer to explode, I only looked at the preview google provides. One paragraph under one of the links caught my eye. It was from a “Cruising for Sex” website. Probably a classy joint. Anyway, this is what the preview says:

“I am constantly amazed at the extreme variations of the human penis. Like from a 2 inch beer can to a 12 inch cigar. So I thought we could document…”

Alright, let me stop you there. I’m troubled by the statement “I am CONSTANTLY amazed…” For those of you who don’t know, “Constantly” basically means a lot of times. That means she (or he?) have seen quite a few cocks, and they have been varied in size, shape, consistancy, what-have-you. And apparently, it’s AMAZING! Wow, amazing. Not impressive. Not interesting. FUCKING AMAZING! You know what’s amazing: That this person doesn’t have AIDs. That’s fuckin’ amazing.

2 Inch Beer Can Penis? I can’t even begin to imagine what that would look like. Does it have a tab at the top to open it? Or do you mean the shape and width? Because that’s called a “Chode”. A penis that is wider than it is long. Consider that your English lesson for the day. Use that in conversation today, and win extra credit points. More if you use it in conversation with your boss, parents, or priest.

Ultimately, this first one was scary, but it can only get worse from here…

2 ) “adult toys made from stuff around the home” - Sure, I can see why this would be searched for. In today’s fucked economy, you have to save money where you can. And costly vibrators just take up too much of your savings accounts. And by you, I mean YER MOM. WHAT?! Oh yeah. BOO-YAH!

Anyway, I understand why it was searched for. However, I’m curious as to WHY the fuck that’d bring up MY blog in the search engines. I’m also curious as to what kinds of ideas they’d come up with if I searched for it. But I’m not going to. Because I don’t want to be black listed by the Government for having “How To Make A Butt Plug Out Of A Kitchen Sponge And Some Wood Polish”.

3 ) “Funny family version of the 9 circles of hell” – This one was probably directed towards my blog about the 9 Circles Of Taco Hell.

But the beginning of that statement concerns me. “Funny family version”. Because, as you all know, nothing is more funny than eternal suffering in horrible, unimaginably painful and gory ways. Family fun version? Perhaps they have their guts ripped out for eternity while wearing silly hats?

4 ) “fat guy in towel” – This stems back to an old blog I wrote that just happened to have a picture of an old, fat guy naked with a towel. You can look at that delightful picture Here.

But, eh, why are people searching for that? I hope that’s not some fetish or something that I’m not privy too. And I hope if it is, I can remain ignorant to it. Wait, I suppose that’s too late now isn’t it… dammit. What has been learned cannot be unlearned. Unless I beat myself in the head repeatadly with this homemade double donger.

5 ) “strange places to ride an exersise bike” – How about: Anywhere that isn’t home or a gym?

Why would you even need to search for this, just use your imagination. Go ride an excercise (exersise not being a word and all) bike at a Neo-Nazi rally. Or maybe in the morgue down at the local hospital. Here’s an idea: Ride one in the middle of the freeway. And when that semi crushes both you and your bike, you’ll be dead. And you’ll deserve it, you weird-o…

6 ) “sex pokemon fuck” – Just… no fuckin’ comment.

7 ) “fat man masterbating at work” – Why do these people doing all this sick crap always have to be fat? Why is it that scrawny shits like me are always left out of strange fetishes? That’s just not right. Why can’t scrawny guys masterbate at work?!

8 ) “i hate you negative shit” – So this is what it’s come to? “I Hate You” and “Negative Shit“. I don’t like to consider this blog negative. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. This is a blog about love and positive light. That is, if you take love and positive light and cram it straight up your ass.

9 ) “funny tiny cock story” – First of all “Funny” is not needed here. Just “tiny cock story” will bring up the same results. I mean, is there any OTHER kind of tiny cock story than funny ones?

But wait. Tiny cock. Weird Cock. And they all get directed here? What the fuck are you implying, Google?!?!

10 ) “vegetable butt plug suggestion” – I’d suggest Zucchini. They are a good length, width, and have two sides with different sizes. Not to mention, they’re nice and firm. You wanted a suggestion, really creepy google search user. There it is. Now please, don’t ever do anything ever again…

11 ) “ebay big cocks” – Another one directed at that eBay blog, I guess. But, who is looking for “big cocks” on eBay? That’s really a bad place to look for them. Try Craigslist. They tend to have tons of that kind of shit floating around there.

And the last one is possibly the worst. Because it’s just flat-out fucking odd. I don’t know how it directed people here, nor how the hell someone came up with this statement, but here it is:

12 ) “Giant mother farts on tiny child” – Wow. Just… wow. I don’t even want to know, do I.

Fuck, who am I kidding, of course I do!

Luckily, it didn’t bring up any actual story of a huge woman farting on an infant. However, it brought up LOADS of websites about farting, and farting related things. And I mean LOADS. It’s astonishing how many websites there are dedicated to farting. It actually just aids in my losing faith in humanity. There are more fart websites than ones that contain actual information…

Alright, that sums it up. If you’re new to the site, I guess that’s pretty much the best way to sum up my website. It’s a site about tiny cocks, farting, and MacGyver-style sex toys.

Sounds about right.

‘Tis The Season (For Mental Anguish)

Ah yes, Christmas. A season for giving. For spending time with those you love as you reflect on the year and pay tribute to all the wonders the world can provide. A season to enjoy the beauty of white snow as it dusts the world outside. A season to eat, drink and be merry.

Oh who the fuck am I kidding. FUCK Christmas. And fuck Christmas music! I have no idea who the hell thought that “All Christmas Music-All The Time” radio stations during the winter were a good idea, but that person should be dragged out into the streets and have his head stomped in by a stampede of angry mall Santa’s.

Someone has been turning it on here at work. I don’t know who, but someone is doing it. At least I hope so. I hope the radio hasn’t gone sentient. That could be it. This could all be part of the first part of the robot takeover. First, they take over your entertainment mediums and drown out your sanity with Christmas cheer. It’s the same six songs, just sang by different people. Over and over and over.

Seriously, I’ve had so much jolly blown up my ass that if they took an x-ray they’d probably find tinsel in my colon. So much joy is being crammed into my head via my ear ducts, that I’m convinced it’s replacing more relevant information. I don’t know if a brain can reach capacity, but Christmas music has now replaced the names of my family and loved ones. All three of them. Do I have a mom? I don’t know, but I do know that I saw her kissing Santa at some point. Or did I? FUCK.

Let’s discuss that song, shall we? “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”. I don’t know if you’ve ever actually paid attention to that song, but something is amiss here. It starts out bizarre, but innocent enough. I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus. Alright, weird, but that’s alright. It then leads to hugging. Alright, hugging and kissing. That’s a somewhat sweet sentiment I guess. Maybe she has a thing for fat, old guys? That’s her business, not mine. However, the onlooker slowly takes on a voyeuristic view of this whole scene. And then it takes a turn for the worst.

Wouldn’t it be something if daddy found out mommy was kissing Santa Claus. Oh snap! We got us a fuckin’ Jerry Springer moment brewing now. Nothing says Christmas cheer quite like flying chairs. The image of a drunk daddy getting his ass kicked by a bigger, stronger Santa Claus while mommy yells and looks on with terror. It’s really starting to sound like the holiday season, ain’t it? Now, I’d assume that this “Santa Claus” is actually daddy in a costume. If not, Mommy has some ‘splainin’ to do.

But then it gets creepier. The next line actually goes like this: “I saw mommy TOUCHING Santa Claus. And he was touching mommy back.”. HOLY CRAP?! Where is this going?! It’s starting to sound like one of those grocery store love novels! If the song starts over-using the words “pulsating” and “throbbing” I’m going to be forced to kill myself. “I saw Mommy doing something to Santa that involved beads and two of his reindeer”. But hey, the song comes to an end just then. They’re going to spare me the details, I guess.

But don’t fret, more Christmas music is about to pour out of the speakers and straight into my fuckin’ head-holes. One of my managers at work was making fun of one of the songs earlier today. Apparently, the word “Joy” was being used… quite a bit. And he had to point it out. And my co-workers response was: “Well, at least it’s not White Christmas again”.

Not five seconds later, what words floated through the air? Why yes: “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas”. FUCK! Are you KIDDING ME?! That shit actually HAPPENED. This is a true story. At least I think it is. Because shortly after that happened, my brain actually killed itself. I lost everything. A total slate-clean wipe. All my information I’ve stored up about my own identity, erased. I forgot my name. I forgot where I lived. And for a second, I actually forgot how to keep my bowels from emptying. It was, without a doubt, the scariest moment in my entire life. Even scarier than that time I saw mommy blowing Santa Claus.

Good, “White Christmas” is over. Next is… WHITE CHRISTMAS?! AHHHHHH! At this point my hand was gripping my box cutter. I don’t remember pulling it out of my pocket, or even bringing out the blade, but it was out, and it was held to my own wrist in anticipation for the moment I finally snap and finish myself off. What a terrible song anyway. A white Christmas? Sure, that’s cute in theory, but I live in Minnesota. I’d like a fuckin’ green Christmas. With 75 degree weather, sun, maybe a nice breeze. I’m tired of white. Everything’s white. I’ve got plenty of white. Well, I guess really it’s more of a “Gray Christmas” because all the car exhaust has turned the snow into something just short of a living entity. I’m actually starting to get convinced this song may be racially motivated! That’s how much time I’ve had to think about it. I need professional help at this point. Like an assassin!

But it just keeps getting worse. At one point, a song by Alvin and the Chipmunks came on. Because, as you all know, people actually listen to that. It’s a serious thing. People apparently think it’s music. It’s a freak accident! One day, in a studio, someone accidentally slipped and hit a button on the production console, and the voices turned high pitched.

“OH FUCK that’s AWFUL oh man what happe…. we could market this…”

And market it they have. CDs, a cartoon show, and a terrible movie (TWO terrible movies. “Squeakual”. Someone needs to be given a wedgie for that one. And by wedgie, I mean vasectomy so they don’t reproduce.). And somehow, it was taken seriously enough to be added to the docket of horror that’s being blasted at me from every side.

How can it possibly get worse? It can’t. It just can’t. Not in this dimension. They’d have to get an alien race to travel into our time-space and bring some crazy alien Christmas music, something SO full of “cheer” that it actually causes our eyes to erupt out of our heads like ping-pong balls out of the vagina of some USO Showgirl. That’s the only way this could possibly get worse.

That, or they could put on Mariah Carey’s Christmas music. At least six times a day, I have to hear that lunatic spew her nonsense at me. At this point, I’ve completely abandoned any hope of a future. She not only recorded one song, apparently she has a whole Christmas album. How does something like that exist? It’s basically proof there is no God, but there is indeed a Satan. And he’s Mariah Carey’s producer.

I’m actually now looking forward to Christmas. Me, Mr. Sin Season is actually looking forward to Christmas. Just because it means the END of Christmas music for the year.

It’s seriously the only holiday that does this. A radio station that plays an entire month of Christmas music and nothing but Christmas music. You don’t hear a station present you with “All Monster-Mash, All-October” Halloween music. If you did, there would be riots in the streets. It’d be like “Thriller”, only with Molotov Cocktails and 2×4′s with nails sticking out of them.

And you can’t escape it. Don’t think you’re safe. You’ll have to leave your house at some point. It’s in every department store. It’s playing in every car. It’s coming out of fucking Christmas cards. IT’S IN THE FUCKING CARDS!!! We actually invented cards, tiny pieces of fuck-paper, that have little, tiny radios in them that cause music to spew out of the card when you open it. As if I was disappointed enough when money didn’t fall out, now you’ve got Frosty the Snow-bastard hitting me straight in the face. Fuck you!

I know what I’m going to get. I’m going to get the “BA HUMBUG, Bob” response. Everyone’s going to get on me for not getting into the spirit of the Holidays. The spirit, as I understand it, is that of a dead sales rep from Macy’s. It’s a consumerism holiday, and I’m piss-broke. So fuck your spirit of Christmas. Fuck him right in his frosty white ass.

The music keeps coming. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer? Wow, that song teaches me a lot. Like bigotry. The other reindeer wouldn’t let him play ANY of their reindeer games, did you know that! That, and they gave him his own special “Red Nosed Only” drinking fountains! Those mother fuckers. The poor dude was handed a birth defect, and those pieces of crap won’t let him play games. GAMES?! Happy Holidays. But guess what, by the end of the song: They like him. Because they found out he can do a job they don’t want to do. That’s right. And apparently, he works cheap. So all of the sudden it’s ok to let him in. Of course, now Blitzen is going off on some rant about how Rudolph “Took his job”. It never ends! If I was Rudolph, I’d go Sigfried and Roy’s white tiger on their asses, and start tearing out throats. He’s seeing red, but it has nothing to do with that nose…

“All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth.”

That one sentence. That ONE fucking sentence, has done me in. It’s actually caused the pot to boil over. The most flat-out stupid song ever fuckin’ written. I can’t even rant about it, because I’m afraid if I think too much about it, my head will actually roll off my shoulders.

Can’t any other holidays get a song? Just ONE. Perhaps a nice Ramadan song? “All I Want For Ramadan is the Infidels Heads”? Or here’s one: “I’m Dreaming Of A Black Kwanzaa”.

I understand what Christmas music is supposed to do. It’s supposed to put you in the spirit of Christmas. But you don’t need to be in that spirit in mid-November, do you? You and I both have other shit to do, we don’t have time to be thinking about bounds of holly and peace on Earth and useless things like that. Here’s an idea: Keep the Christmas music to Christmas. And let the REST of the music have the other 364 days of the year. Just a thought. Of course, Christmas isn’t just one day anymore. It’s about three months. So I guess I’m lucky this shit doesn’t start in fuckin’ August!

Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m going to go lay down. And probably ACTUALLY dream of a white Christmas.

The Big 5-0 (In Hindsight…)

It’s been 22 years and some change since I popped out of my mum’s uterus and onto this cold, dark blue-green ball of crap.

Today marks a milestone. A fictional one I invented just for myself, but fuck you it’s a milestone now! That’s right: This is the 50th blog. 50 times now I’ve managed to sit down, type up a bunch of really angry shit, and not have to be commited to an institution.

I’m going to attempt a little retrospective of all the shit that’s gone down. Really, this whole thing is just an example of a miracle. A miracle that I have yet to murder someone. A minor miracle, perhaps. But it’s still a miracle. This little collection of rants to keep me stable has hopefully been amusing in the last few months, and as long as someone laughs, it’s worth the time. Well, sorta. I guess. Not really, but I have nothing better to do.

This whole thing started on Facebook. Where I, much like the rest of the mindless lemmings that occupy the collective that calls itself the “World Wide Web”, have gone to waste time that could be spent doing something more productive. Like putting paper clips together to make a chain, for example. I managed to load up the “Notes” section with various levels of rants. Some funny, some dead serious, some just about shit that happened that day.

You’ll notice in May, a series of blogs appeared. That’s when I realized some of them were kinda funny. So I stripped the ones off Facebook people had laughed at, and slapped them on a blog site. A blog site I hoped to fill with funny blogs and build a little website for myself. This, as you can see by the next few months: Didn’t happen overnight. I did an average of ONE blog a month for the following few months. Things moved slow.

Eventually, I was letting someone read the blogs, and their positive reaction sparked something in me. I began to feel that writing it may be worthwhile. Not having readers sorta leaves you unmotivated to write stuff that drains this much out of you, ya know?

So, in the last few months, I’ve managed to churn out quite a few blogs. Most of which make me look like a narcissistic, over-zealous, out of control douchebag. But fuck if they’re not somewhat funny.

The development of a blog roll helped actually get me readers. Which to me, is a huge-fuck-shock. People are willinging reading this crap?! That’s simply astonishing. That seriously baffles me. Why… fuckin’ WHY do you put yourself through it. Other than the fact half these opinions probably make you wish you could bitch-slap someone through means of email, it’s just a bunch of angry jibberish anyway! Ok, occasionally I stumble upon a point, but most of the time it’s just me complaining about shit that’s barely relevant to you or to ME even! It’s not even well-written most of the time. Perhaps the occasional “LOL” justifies it, but probably fuckin’ NOT!

You know what “Funny In Shadows” is supposed to mean? It’s a representation of me as a person. I use comedy as a coping mechanism. To keep me from doing serious harm to society. The world is loaded to the brim with total, undiluted shit. And it’s difficult for someone like me to deal with. So, I crack jokes about anything and everything. I find humor in dark places, and use it to get by. Hence, being funny in the shadows.

Has it been fun? Certainly. I enjoy doing this, and someday hope to take this to the stage. I’ve only done stand up four times on stage, but have written for many years. Some of this stuff is material I wrote for the stage, while other stuff is either on-the-fly ranting, or brought up during the day and molded into something tangible to put up here. Either way, anything that’s funny here has a chance of being refined and puked out into a microphone in front of a room full of drunks who don’t give a damn what I have to say. This is the hobby I choose for myself! Ain’t it fuckin’ glorius.

With that said, recently the activity has picked up here. I’ve gotten a lot of hits and readers, and a little random publicity as well. My last blog, about homeless people sparked another blogger to write a blog that seems completely dedicated to what I had to say. If you want to see what I’m talking about, check it out Here. Cristina Cordova apparently liked what I had to say. And thank her for it. Even if it proved one thing: When an opinion is stated on the Interwebs, assholes will crawl on up outta the fuggin’ woodwork and piss and moan and bitch about what you had to say. Sometimes they won’t even READ what you said and bitch about it anyway. Staggering level of douchebaggery. More so when they bitch about things I wasn’t even talking about. But hey, that’s what the interwebs is, and I’m hollerin’ about shit I’m ignorant to just as they are. Only I’m fuckin’ funnier.

The other obvious crossover came at the expensive of not only my tastebuds and stomach, but perhaps my sanity as well. It also happened to be the most-read and most talked about blog I’ve written yet. I’m of course talking about Chapter 2 in the Vegemite Saga. When I finished writing that blog, I actually didn’t think it was that funny. I thought it was mediocre at best. I wasn’t happy with it, really. You could say it “left a bad taste in my mouth”. Ha ha. However, it got rave reviews, and I guess that’s something.

One thing I’ve done little of since starting, is talked about actual stories in my life. I don’t lead an exciting life, so very few stories do I have. However, the few I’ve come across have really seemed popular. Perhaps I’ll have to go out and suffer more so I can have entertaining shit to whine about. I’ll die for your amusement. How very Christ-like of me. Except for the me being a douchebag thing. Perhaps the most popular of my stories was this one, which is about everyone’s favorite subject: POOPIE!

Now, some of the humor in here is obviously from a dark place. I use sarcasm (ZOMG really?!?!), and a lot of tongue-in-cheek jokes. Such as the fact that in this blog, it really sounds like I’m asking people to hurt kids. I do not, in any way, actually condone the abuse of children. Now, beating the fuckballs out of adults? I’m a-okay with that. In fact, if a dude mouths off on his 18th birthday, feel free to kick him straight in the spine. Twice! Just make sure he’s really 18 first. If you have to check ID, do so.

Also, in this blog I actually started things out by saying “Hitler Did Something Right”. Now, don’t think I like Hitler. I don’t. I’m 100% on the “Hitler was a douche” bandwagon. I have nothing more to say on that matter. Just wanted to make my Jew buddies clear on that. Hitler = Bad. Jews = Awesome. Ok? Ok…

Did you also notice I actually suggested kicking a women in the uterus in this blog? Yeah, uh… don’t actually do that. That’s just not cool. I was being facetious. In fact, if anyone kicks a woman in the uterus, I’m gonna have to kill you. Women deserve better than that. After all guys, they’re smarter than us. Way the fuck better than us too. Now ladies, don’t get ahead of me, you’re doing all you can to catch up in the “shithead” race that is life. And I’m proud of you, really. Way to fight for equality by also fucking up sometimes. It does make us feel a little better about being useless sacks of testosterone.

I’ve written various blogs about news stories too, in a desperate attempt to be topical. I’ve taken shots at NASA, Global Warming, something about some big-ass kid playing football? Granted, you don’t care about these stories, and neither do I. But at least it’s funny to whine about!

I’ve also attempted several recurring segments in the short time I’ve done this. Pretty much none of which have reaccured. Like my Weird Things Found On eBay and Complaint Department pieces. I do, however, have things planned for both of these in the future. Once I get my computer back, the eBay one should return. And I have list of minor things to complain about for the CD as well. So, shut the fuck up and WAIT, dammit.

I’ve managed to write down a pretty decent list of things that I’d like to cover in the next 50 blogs. Various ideas and things that’ll eventually be up here. I’ll also continue to search for weird products, such as the Subtle Butt, High-Heeled Sneakers, or the Krispy Kreme Bacon Cheeseburger. And will continue to find bizarre stories, like this delightful one about a Food Processor. I’ve got a few new segment ideas as well, so I can have more non-recurring recurring things to whine about. Fun shit.

Looking over the blog, I guess I gotta talk about my blog roll as well. I love you all (‘cept the Friggin’ Loon for the whole “Sending me fuckin’ vegemite” thing! I want my soul back, dammit!). The first two real peeps I’ve had on here were Oma over at Blurt and the dood who’s over there Shoutin’ from the damn abyss , you two have been faithful readers since I really started working on promoting this place, and I’m happy for it. Of course, I also kinda hate you guys. Seriously. But it’s good hate, not hate hate. Ok? Ok. And of course there is the possible red-headed love of my life and maybe future Miss Counter Culture Clown Shiny, the Unabridged Girl . You still make this bitter, cynical asshole smile sometimes. Oh yeah, the rest of you are cool too I guess. But you gotta lot of catching up to do before I love you more than these four (yes, that includes “teh loon”.)

Also, Alex, I know you’re reading this inbetween nerd-treks to the fuggin’ WoW website, but I suppose I owe you a bit too. For being the only one to find the ChocoRat blog as funny as I do. The only one. Fuck it, that’s damn funny bloggin’ boi. However, I do owe you a major ass punting for being party to stumbling upon the whole Muskrat thing. Fuckin’ hell, my life would be better knowing that that didn’t exist. I.O.U. one mentally-crippling fact that’ll leave you weeping like that did to me. You’ll get it someday.

But hey, this fuckin’ thing has gone on a bit too long now, so it’s time to let it slide. Just know that some crazy shit is still there, I’m never dry when it comes to things to bitch about. I promise to attempt to maybe try to keep it up sorta. And if you guys keep reading, fuckin’ good for you. I’d love it if you promoted. Tell your friends. Pimp me like a Blog-whore. I want readers dammit!

Either way people, thanks for an interesting first 50. And here’s to maybe… 6 more before I snap and call it quits. Naw, I’ll stick around. See ya’ll at the 100th Aniversary! I’ll probably be blogging from prison at that point. Or hell. I bet they use dial-up in hell. And AOL. Fuck, that’s gonna suck…Anyway, thanks. Seriously. Thanks. I do appreciate it.

Now go do something productive, fuckers!

Will Blog For Food

Growing up, I was in a pretty small family. It was just me and that bag lady that pulled me out of the dumpster. Yeah, she was a good mommy. Taught me important things like how to make a rain-hat out of a newspaper. Things you can use in life.

This blog is about homeless people, and I couldn’t think of a better opener than that old line. That joke went over really awkward when I used it a few years ago on stage, but it’s still fuckin’ funny to me. If it’s not funny to you: Don’t laugh, like I care.

Anyway, I was thinking, with the weather all shit-tastic, how much it would suck total ass to be homeless during this time of year. I mean, I’m sure it pretty much sucks to be homeless year-round, but during the winter it’s just an extra layer of suck on top of a suck layer cake.

This whole train of thought sent me into a spiral of weird thoughts about, as George Carlin would call them, the houseless. At first I started wondering if homeless people were a myth. Yeah, I see them on the streets and all, but something is off: the signs! Sure, I understand where they get the cardboard. Any dumpster behind any business is bound to have cardboard to make the signs out of on any given day. But what about the markers?! Ever thought about that! Are there really THAT MANY markers being thrown away that still work? Enough that they’re easy for homeless people to find? Do you think a homeless person has gone searching for a marker only to find one. Then, with a smile on their face, they open the cap and start to write: And the motherfuckin’ thing is outta ink?! Wouldn’t that just suck?

Or maybe there is a community marker. One marker they stole from someone long ago that is passed from one homeless person to the other. A sign-making place under a busy overpass.

This is the shit I think of that makes me not quite fit in with society… but fuck if it isn’t interesting to think about.

(Side Note: “Hungry Like The Wolf” just came on the radio. Fucking AWESOME. That’s right: Duran Duran rules. That really has nothing to do with this blog… Maybe homeless people are hungry like the wolf? There, I tied it into the blog. Now… let’s get back to this.)

I’m tired of the way people TREAT the homeless in this country. I always hear it: “Psh, I’m not going to give him any money, he’s just going to spend it all on booze.”

Well what the fuck do you WANT him to do with it, invest in the stock market?! Sure, he’ll just mosey on into Wells Fargo: “Yes, I’d like to put 3 dollars, 22 cents, and… a gum wrapper into Microsoft stocks!”.

People dog them for drinking, but think about the risk involved in getting drunk on the streets. You think it blows having a hangover and you HAVE a house. Imagine what level of suckage being hungover AND sleeping in a box reaches. Holy fuck. Let these people have a drink. If they’re willing to risk it, why the fuck not.

Then they continue their bitching: “They need to get a fuckin’ job!” Fuck you. What is the guy supposed to do, he’s wearing a trashbag for pants! Most companies probably won’t even give you the application if you show up like that! It’s pretty simple: Once homeless, it’s kinda hard to get UNhomeless. It’s sad, but it’s true.

Ever noticed their seem to be way more male hobos than female? I mean, I know they are out there, but it does seem to be a male-dominated society. All I’m sayin’ is, ladies, if you want true equality…

I’m pretty sure it’s a male-driven thing because of how stupid men are. We suck ass at being humble. Things like pride, and the fact we’re fucking dumb as shit, get’s in the way. We don’t want to accept help building a fuckin’ entertainment center from Wal-Mart let alone to with paying our bills.

That isn’t to say that homeless people are stupid. Usually it’s quite the opposite. They’re survival experts. They know how to get through the winters and all that. They’re not stupid. A lot of people can bitch about them being useless and in the way, but the fact remains: If your sorry ass was homeless Mr-Holier-Than-Thou, you wouldn’t survive three fuckin’ hours. “OHHHHH I don’t have enough money for a LATTE!”

It’s fuckin’ embarassing how we treat our homeless. We treat them like we treat any group of people we can’t make money off of. It’s always been a curiosity to me when people start whining about illegal immigrants stealing our jobs, then turn around and go on tirades about homeless people not HAVING jobs. Immigrants can’t take your jobs, but homeless people can? That’s strange. It would seem it has nothing to do with what is being taken (“your jobs”) but with WHO is doing the taking (brown people). Immigrants are pretty much homeless people too. They have just as little of an identity according to our government as “American Born” homeless people. If all of our homeless people in this country were Mexican, we probably wouldn’t tell them to get a job. Amazing double standard if you ask me.

One of my favorite things people go off on in regards to the homeless is their food choices. They look at bums grabbing food out of the garbage and scream: “EWWW! He took half a McDonald’s hamburger out of the trash! That’s disgusting!” You know what’s funny, that was my same reaction when I found out you bought the burger in the first place: “EWWWW! You paid MONEY for a McDonald’s hamburger?! That’s disgusting!”

And did it ever occur to you that if your wasteful ass wasn’t tossing away half your food on a daily basis, that wouldn’t be a problem?! Why the fuck SHOULDN’T they eat that food if they really want it. At least they have learned to appreciate what little food they have, instead of tossing it aside because they don’t like it. What do we do, we’ll actually throw an entire burger away because it’s not to our liking: “Take this back, it has PICKLES on it when I CLEARLY said no pickles!”. Wow, you picky piece of shit. Do you think homeless people pull a sandwhich out of the trash: “Hmm… shit, it’s got bologna on it, I hate bologna, I’m going to put this back…” No! They fuckin’ shut up and eat it, because they appreciate the food they get. This is the reason other countries hate us: We’re wasteful and arrogant about it. Fuck us!

But don’t worry, this isn’t going to be a problem for long. The government is waging a “War on Homelessness”. WOOPIE! They’re all saved. That’s what we do with a problem that we can’t think of a logical solution to, we fight a “WAR!” against it. That’s what today’s culture understands. If it’s being fought against in a war, it’s gotta be a legitimate problem. I’m shocked we haven’t just started BOMBING the homeless. That’s usually the best solution we come up with when it comes down to things we fight “Wars” against.

It’s a pity that they’re there, it really is. It’s a difficult problem, and it’s one that would require a ton of empathy and selfless hard work to solve. And unfortunately we’re shit outta that stuff. But it’s alright, eventually global warming will come and kill off all the homeless. Now global warming, THERE is a problem!