So, I'm an outlandishly negative person. A contrarian of the highest order. So much so that I'm constantly finding ways to take whatever positive thoughts I have about myself (or compliments other people give me) and turn them into a rancid indictment of my inability to do just about anything. I'm sunny like that with mine.
At any rate, I happen to find most of these statements outrageously humorous and end up laughing at the heights I go to to hate myself. So, seeing as though you should probably hate me too (hey, it's worth a laugh here and there) I'm going to start sharing these statements in the hopes that you will find them as funny as I do and use them to batter your own self-esteem and that of the ones you love. Starting with this one from just last night:
"I gotta get a job soon. I'm losing so much weight being unemployed that its gonna be a bitch to hang myself when I'm skinny like this."
Hahaha...HIGH-larious right?! Keep looking out for more of these in the near future.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
The Assassination of Common Sense Pt. 6
Long time no bored to death, huh?
So, I'll just jump right into this: common sense must be some sort of rare degenerative mental disorder that only a few people in the world get the pleasure of being stricken with. I've long held true the cliché that "common sense ain't so common", but now it's time to put away polite little sayings and deal with the reality that most people are lucky to not drown themselves while attempting to drink bottled water. Don't believe me? Read on...
Bumper Stickers are Billboards of Idiocy
Today as I'm making the drive West on Main St. in lovely Evanston, I pull up at a stop light behind a woman in a Prius with a bumper sticker that reads "Abortion is child abuse". Immediately I want to ram her car into the Chicago river and dance maniacally around her watery grave, but not for the reason you may think.
Now we won't get into my personal feelings on abortion because they have nothing to do with this story and you don't give a damn anyway. Her little tag of opinion incontinence just made me wonder why the hell people feel like you want to have their personal beliefs vomited all over your brain while driving. Are you actively looking to argue with people? Are you actively looking for your tires to be slashed and/or have your car keyed? Why, oh glorious lord, why?!
Secondly, have you ever had your opinion changed by a bumper sticker? (If you have, please let me know so that I can stop calling you a friend of mine and begin to pepper your car with sticky flags of my opinions.) The answer to the question is no, of course you haven't. Anytime you've seen a bumper sticker that wasn't humor-oriented, you've either A) agreed with what it says and wondered why the person felt it necessary to put it on their car or B) really wanted to ram that person's car for thinking you give a shit about their dim-witted beliefs.
Bumper stickers are for egotistic, self-centered, nut jobs who think other people deserve to witness their amazing intellectual discoveries...or simply put, douchebags. Moving on...
Are You Asking Me to Stab You?
After my foray into the mind of a moron, I stop at Jewel in Skokie to pick up some crackers to go with my lunch. I walk in, meander over to the cracker aisle, and then scramble to pick up my jaw when I see the price of saltines. Seriously, an 8 Oz box of Nabisco saltine crackers was like 3.70 or some shit. The fuck? So, now I'm just standing in a row of crackers being pissed off about the price of a small box of saltines when I notice that the box next to the ones I'm looking at is 2.69. Fuckin' Score!
Then my jaw hits the floor again when I see that it is the same Nabisco crackers as the box I was losing my shit about...only the cheaper one is 16 Oz. This can't be right. So, I try to make sense of this using my Mississippi public school (read: shitty) math skills. Magically, no math known to man can explain to me why one product is priced higher than the exact same product while giving you 100% more in the cheaper item. "Fuck it" I say and make my way to the self checkout. Ah, the self checkout.
So, I get to the line and realize that there are three self checkout machines in the line that I'm in, but only two of them are being used. Meanwhile, there is a line from here to the mythical location of Iraqi WMDs for the two machines that are already in use. I take one look at the empty machine, while not leaving my place in line, and I see the huge symbol for "This shit ain't working" on the screen and go back to standing in line with the other normal people.
Ex: This shit ain't working sign
This little trick doesn't work for the chick in the Metallica jacket who gets in line behind me. She proceeds to look at all of us in the line as if we're from West Virginia (Hey, you're the one in the Metallica jacket asshole!) and promptly walks over to the broken machine. After staring at it for about 15 seconds she finally becomes familiar with the aforementioned sign. Realizing that she is the one from West Virginia, she gets back into the line.
Moments later, as the line has grown to include several other West Virginians at this point and I have moved up to the front of the line, I hear "Excuse me, sir" from a very effeminate male voice in the line "Are you going to use that machine right there?". I turn around to see a freckle-faced kinda man who looks a lot like his voice would indicate and before I can ask him "Are you asking me to stab you?" Metallica broad politely tells him that the machine is broken. This brings me to the point...WHY THE HELL WOULD ALL THESE PEOPLE BE STANDING HERE IF THERE WAS A OPEN, WORKING MACHINE RIGHT THERE YOU FUCKING DOUCHESTAIN!!!!
Why must there always be some asshole in the line who figures everyone else is an idiot and only he/she has a working brain? No matter where you go, Albert Einstein's inbred cousin is always there to show you that he is an even bigger dumb ass than you thought God could ever grace the planet with. I wonder if that person goes home and rants to everyone about his inability to deduce much the same way that I rant about his propensity for making me want to beat them with a frozen ham?
Beware, these people live among you.
So, I'll just jump right into this: common sense must be some sort of rare degenerative mental disorder that only a few people in the world get the pleasure of being stricken with. I've long held true the cliché that "common sense ain't so common", but now it's time to put away polite little sayings and deal with the reality that most people are lucky to not drown themselves while attempting to drink bottled water. Don't believe me? Read on...
Bumper Stickers are Billboards of Idiocy
Today as I'm making the drive West on Main St. in lovely Evanston, I pull up at a stop light behind a woman in a Prius with a bumper sticker that reads "Abortion is child abuse". Immediately I want to ram her car into the Chicago river and dance maniacally around her watery grave, but not for the reason you may think.
Now we won't get into my personal feelings on abortion because they have nothing to do with this story and you don't give a damn anyway. Her little tag of opinion incontinence just made me wonder why the hell people feel like you want to have their personal beliefs vomited all over your brain while driving. Are you actively looking to argue with people? Are you actively looking for your tires to be slashed and/or have your car keyed? Why, oh glorious lord, why?!
Secondly, have you ever had your opinion changed by a bumper sticker? (If you have, please let me know so that I can stop calling you a friend of mine and begin to pepper your car with sticky flags of my opinions.) The answer to the question is no, of course you haven't. Anytime you've seen a bumper sticker that wasn't humor-oriented, you've either A) agreed with what it says and wondered why the person felt it necessary to put it on their car or B) really wanted to ram that person's car for thinking you give a shit about their dim-witted beliefs.
Bumper stickers are for egotistic, self-centered, nut jobs who think other people deserve to witness their amazing intellectual discoveries...or simply put, douchebags. Moving on...
Are You Asking Me to Stab You?
After my foray into the mind of a moron, I stop at Jewel in Skokie to pick up some crackers to go with my lunch. I walk in, meander over to the cracker aisle, and then scramble to pick up my jaw when I see the price of saltines. Seriously, an 8 Oz box of Nabisco saltine crackers was like 3.70 or some shit. The fuck? So, now I'm just standing in a row of crackers being pissed off about the price of a small box of saltines when I notice that the box next to the ones I'm looking at is 2.69. Fuckin' Score!
Then my jaw hits the floor again when I see that it is the same Nabisco crackers as the box I was losing my shit about...only the cheaper one is 16 Oz. This can't be right. So, I try to make sense of this using my Mississippi public school (read: shitty) math skills. Magically, no math known to man can explain to me why one product is priced higher than the exact same product while giving you 100% more in the cheaper item. "Fuck it" I say and make my way to the self checkout. Ah, the self checkout.
So, I get to the line and realize that there are three self checkout machines in the line that I'm in, but only two of them are being used. Meanwhile, there is a line from here to the mythical location of Iraqi WMDs for the two machines that are already in use. I take one look at the empty machine, while not leaving my place in line, and I see the huge symbol for "This shit ain't working" on the screen and go back to standing in line with the other normal people.
Ex: This shit ain't working sign
This little trick doesn't work for the chick in the Metallica jacket who gets in line behind me. She proceeds to look at all of us in the line as if we're from West Virginia (Hey, you're the one in the Metallica jacket asshole!) and promptly walks over to the broken machine. After staring at it for about 15 seconds she finally becomes familiar with the aforementioned sign. Realizing that she is the one from West Virginia, she gets back into the line.
Moments later, as the line has grown to include several other West Virginians at this point and I have moved up to the front of the line, I hear "Excuse me, sir" from a very effeminate male voice in the line "Are you going to use that machine right there?". I turn around to see a freckle-faced kinda man who looks a lot like his voice would indicate and before I can ask him "Are you asking me to stab you?" Metallica broad politely tells him that the machine is broken. This brings me to the point...WHY THE HELL WOULD ALL THESE PEOPLE BE STANDING HERE IF THERE WAS A OPEN, WORKING MACHINE RIGHT THERE YOU FUCKING DOUCHESTAIN!!!!
Why must there always be some asshole in the line who figures everyone else is an idiot and only he/she has a working brain? No matter where you go, Albert Einstein's inbred cousin is always there to show you that he is an even bigger dumb ass than you thought God could ever grace the planet with. I wonder if that person goes home and rants to everyone about his inability to deduce much the same way that I rant about his propensity for making me want to beat them with a frozen ham?
Beware, these people live among you.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
About that writing everyday thing...
So, a very selfish and rude storm came through last evening and derailed my latest attempt to actually be productive. I got a few posts in the works and as soon as I can get to a friendlier computer (i.e. one not located at my job) I will continue to provide you with the latest high-brow ranting that I can come up with. To be continued...
Monday, August 4, 2008
Erin Andrews Needs To Eat A Sammich
I've finally had it. For years I've had to endure a multitude of my fellow male counterparts get all hot under and bothered over women that I just don't see th point in. Julia Roberts, Eva Longoria, Sarah Jessica Parker (my bad only women think this German sheppard with boobs is hot) and a slew of other MILDLY attractive, bone-thin spectacles of bulimia have all been shoved down my throat as the end all be all in the female form. Well, I call bullshit. Julia Roberts looks like a horse. Eva Longoria looks like Michael Jackson with a better make-up crew and we've already discussed Sarah Jessica "get me my slippers pooch" Parker.
The one thing most of these anorexia anonymous members (not just the ones listed) have in common is that they are super skinny. I don't need a chick that's built like Buffie the Body (how many bees stung her ass to make it swell that large?), but give a brova something. Gimmie a Jessica Biel, a Beyonce, a 1993 Janet Jackson...something that reminds me that the person I'm cuddled up with is actually a woman.
Being thin is a wonderful thing. It shows that you care about your appearance, that you live a healthy lifestyle, that the word buffet doesn't give you an orgasm complete with an 'Exorcist' style head spin. At some point we have to draw the line between what is healthy looking and what is a 'Save the Children' commercial. Jessica Alba looks healthy and fit; the Olsen twins look like they've been in a concentration camp since 'Full House' off the air.
Which brings me to the namesake of this post; Erin Andrews. I understand that compared to the Linda Cohen's and Chris McKendry's at ESPN, Erin Andrews looks like a fine portrait of a woman. Let's not get carried away though. Erin Andrews is a cute woman, but she has the body of an Ethiopian. I know, I know "But she has huge breasts!" If you tape two apples to a pencil they are no doubt going to look larger than if you placed those same apples on a Ford F-350; if you follow my logic. I would go into the discussion about how much of a shame it is that her great on camera skills get over shadowed by her on camera "talents", but that would be a lie because besides being (slightly) more attractive than the average female covering sports she ain't got much else to offer. Linda Cohen and Chris McKendry, while not being the most attractive women on the planet, know their sports and know how to report on sports in a fashion that makes you forget their women and focus on the quality of the job they are doing. How novel...
The point of this all isn't to bash other men's personal preferences or to attempt to diminish the accomplishments of Erin Andrews' life (she works for fucking ESPN...thats more than I can say for my life's achievements); it is to illustrate two points. Point one: don't let your media outlets tell you what is attractive and what isn't. If you're going to let someone decide what your opinion is please don't let it be the media and please let that opinion focus on a subject that matters a little more that T & A. Point two: Erin Andrews needs to eat a sammich.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
The Words Escape Me
So, For the past couple of months I've been trying to write what every asshole with an ounce of writing ability dreams of writing...the great American novel. The only problem is life keeps getting in the way. I haven't written much yet and what I have written I wouldn't show to a blind man. *Sighs heavily...stares lustily at fading dreams*
Seeing as I have this canvas of a blog to spew randomness and hatred-filled rants upon, I have decided to use it. I'm going to have to get back into the habit of writing on a daily basis if I ever want to even come close to getting anything done with this double-stuffed shit sandwich of a book I'm currently (not) working on. Don't expect much from this endeavor. I'm essentially going to just sit down here at my desk every night and type about whatever comes into my head until I feel some sort of inspiration to write something meaningful (read: something to make me money). Unlike my past attempts to blog on a regular basis, this attempt is one I actually give a drunken nun fart about. Expect anger, expect discontent, expect bullshit, expect humor, expect despair, expect me.
Now that the bitching is done I got some non-writing to do...
Seeing as I have this canvas of a blog to spew randomness and hatred-filled rants upon, I have decided to use it. I'm going to have to get back into the habit of writing on a daily basis if I ever want to even come close to getting anything done with this double-stuffed shit sandwich of a book I'm currently (not) working on. Don't expect much from this endeavor. I'm essentially going to just sit down here at my desk every night and type about whatever comes into my head until I feel some sort of inspiration to write something meaningful (read: something to make me money). Unlike my past attempts to blog on a regular basis, this attempt is one I actually give a drunken nun fart about. Expect anger, expect discontent, expect bullshit, expect humor, expect despair, expect me.
Now that the bitching is done I got some non-writing to do...
Sunday, April 20, 2008
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