Saturday, August 30, 2003 |
Despite the fact that I'm leaving for college tomorrow and have to be up and ready bright and early in the morning, I'm going to leave you with a post tonight so that my inbox won't get filled with "update your site, you fag!" and "I hate you, you suck! Why don't you update?!" I'm just kidding, I don't actually get any email from my readers. Haha. I'm just kidding again, I don't actually have any readers. Sometimes though I like to play pretend and I like to imagine that there are a couple of people out there whose lives, because of this site, have been made a little bit better. Or worse. I don't really care, I just like to think that I'm making some sort of difference.
In advance, I'd like to apologize for any lack of vigor that may been found here in the coming week. I can sense its coming already. It feels as though key portions of my brain are packed up, along with everything else. The only things left out right now are my two steaming, reaking retainers, soaking in Eferdent, and my katana, the legendary Bane of Simsbury. I may have mentioned my trusted sword before, and it might sound like I'm bragging, but I'm not. Just sharing. Everything else though is stuffed into the back of my mom's van, with my laptop on the very bottom no doubt. And I wouldn't be surprised if my mother was hidden away inside a box somewhere back there either, planning to stowaway into college and make sure that I don't talk to any girls that wear too much eye make up. She doesn't know that that's the exact reason I keep the katana around and don't need her help to keep Beelzebub's monstrous hordes at bay. However, I hear the college bound cadavers are slightly more wily, so just in case one of them gets their rotten skeletal jaws around my neck and I turn into a mindless zombie slave and end up killing one or more of you, I apologize in advance. I also would like to apologize for apologizing so much. Well, damn it, it seems I just apologized again. I'm sorry, I'm out of control. Fuck. Oh, sorry about that. Shit. Fuck. God damn it.
Don't fear though, as you may be detecting the fact that I really have nothing to talk about and am basically bullshitting my way to the end of this post, I'm sure that college will bring with it many antics and experiences that will provide plenty of material for future updates. For example, I just remembered that I forgot to buy any soap on a rope, so assuredly there will be some interesting stories to tell because of that. I've never had mind blowing anal sex before, or anal sex of any type mind blowing or not for that matter, so I imagine my fresh outlook will bring new life into a practically dead genre. Here's a quick preview- "I hate those fucking faggots." But that's all for now, I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise. Seriously though, I'm told that college is full of good and bizarre experiences by many people, and frankly, I believed them. That is always a bad idea since I often give too much credit to the opinions of strangers. But I certainly hope that I am right because, well... just imagine the alternative. Sometimes life hands you lemonade though, so you don't even have to make it yourself.
Well, let's just hope that the bookstore sells soap on a rope, or at the very least that my punching fist is readied.
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Thursday, August 28, 2003 |
Never let it be said that I’m not dedicated to your constant entertainment and edification, dear readers! I put a lot of effort into trying to be funny every time I update. Sometimes I even do research in order to make sure my jokes are based on authentic information, as if anybody actually cares. Other times, I discover oddities when I’m looking for the best prices on Kidz Bop CDs, as if there are actual things still considered “oddities” when compared to Kidz Bop CDs. But anyway, I thought I would show you some of the intense groundwork that goes into my routine process of teaching America how to laugh.
Aaron: Hey, help me out here. In this situation, “the curiosity got the best of me, like a giggling toddler with his fist up a goat’s rectum,” would the word “stuffed” or “crammed” best describe how exactly the child’s fist is up the bearded ruminant’s lower large intestine? (be witty please, I’m hopefully going to use this for the article [that last comment wasn’t supposed to make it to the final cut – ed {parenthetical phrases are pretty neat }])
Brandon: I’m sorry, could you repeat the question? I, uh, I forgot what you said while you were playing with the parentheses.
Aaron: Yeah, well, I’ve had a bunch of girls forget about me when I had to run to the bathroom to play with my parentheses after they said “hi” to me, so don’t worry about it. I think I’ll just go with crammed.
So there you go. Now let’s get on with it, please, before I make myself look even more pathetic, as if that’s even possible anymore. As if I could brutally murder this “as if” joke anymore. Seriously, it’s gotten to the point where it’s just like flossing a dead horse. As if floss- no, no I’ll control myself. Anyway, I think I could be a pretty good explorer. I mean, besides the fact that I enjoy crawling through knee deep swamps, emptying out the scorpions from my boots every morning, picking leeches out of my grundle, and think that machetes are totally sweet, I also just love finding things. Like this curiosity I came upon during a visit to the Amazon. The Amazon dot com, that is.
“An Anna Kournikova and Amazon.com Exclusive: This Shock Absorber sports bra was designed especially for Anna Kournikova, because only the ball should bounce. Available exclusively at Amazon.com, for a limited time. Visit our Anna Kournikova Boutique in Apparel”
Amazon.com sells bras specifically made for Anna Kournikova. As if she’s buying enough books to justify them practically giving her a complimentary, “thank you” bra. The only books Anna Kournikova’s reading are “How To More Blatantly Flash Your Panties At The Press Core” and … oh shit, I accidentally used an “as if” joke again. No…no, that wasn’t another one of the books Anna Kournikova is reading. You know, she's the pure, unadulterated definition of “publicity whore”. You think she's going to wear that bra? Fuck no! The only reason she gets press is because of her bouncing, and even then it's usually only in National Enquirer, one of those silly trusted news sources that present only the cold, hard facts. And judging from these pictures, along with selling Anna Kournikova pro model bras, and having a “boutique” devoted to the Russian tennis vixen, Amazon has also opened up an Anna Kournikova soft core porn gallery.
My search lead me to find that Amazon sells a wide variety of bras and lingerie, along with miscellaneous other types of clothing. Well, after about a half an hour or so of perusing the lingerie (in disgust, I assure you) and a quick trip to the bathroom, I got to thinking. Wasn’t Amazon.com originally a place where you could buy books online? Maybe I’ve just been away from the world of literature for too long and don’t know what a novel looks like anymore. Well, shit, if a pair of round, chubby, tanned tits inside a snug brassiere counts as good reading, then I think I’ll be joining a book club! I hope that new Harry Potter book is the first one we have to read, I heard it’s really big.
This sort of nonsense intrigues me (mostly because it involves breasts), so I read the summary of the bra. In Anna's words, "As an international tennis player, the right sport equipment helps me compete at my highest level.” Interesting. I’ve never played tennis, so I had no idea a player’s bra was an important piece of equipment. But I understand now that this bra will surely help Anna hit the ball harder, as long as she’s using one of her boobs. The article goes on to state, “and Adidas is relieved that the Shock Absorber Collection is launching this new product. Now no matter what new outfit they design for Anna, they know her new bra will work underneath it.” Yes. I am sure this is an issue the executives at Adidas were losing sleep over.
Executive 1: Hey, Bill, come look at this clip with me.
Bill: *walks over* Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn. Some days I am glad we sponsor her, great work making her latest outfit even smaller than the last. It’s amazing how similar fashion and incorrect sizing are when you are designing clothing for Anna Kournikova.
Executive 1: No, you idiot! Look at her chests!
Bill: Oh, I’m looking. Oh hell, yeah I’m looking.
Executive 1: I’m talking about performance here, you cockazoid. I think something’s going haywire with her bra!
Bill: Oh shit! Now that you mention it, I think so… Damn! No wonder she just missed that shot! Her damned bra’s batty!
Executive 1: *sweating profusely* Oh man… we’re going to lose sponsorship deals left and right!
Bill: *Throwing papers and file cabinets around wildly* What are we going to do?! WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?! There’s going to be chaos in the streets! We’re going under for sure! Our ship is sunk!
Executive 1: We’re a clothing brand marketed and designed for athletes, not an ocean liner, you cockasaurus rex.
Bill: Well, we might not be an ocean liner, but we do have something in common with the Titanic!
Executive 1: Uh… like what?
Bill: We just hit a glacier! I love you, Jack!
Executive 1: Look, we can’t afford to spend our time and money making sure her outfit performs correctly to then have her bra work improperly! *Ahem* I love you too, Bill.
Bill: I know! Let’s just tell her to take the bra off!
Executive 1: *pants growing tighter* Genius, Bill! Simply genius. Consider yourself promoted to Executive 2!
Executive 2: Shwing!
Executive 1: Yeah, I know. I almost wish that bra of hers was broken more often.
I read a little bit about the shock absorbent bra and was wowed by the bizarre terms being thrown around. Apparently, now bras come with various amounts of shock absorption. I have gleaned that in the lingerie world this is referred to as an “impact level”. For example, it says “Anna's Impact Level is 3, but there are other options. Which Impact Level is right for you?” Oh, how I lament for you women of the world! I have been so under informed! I had no idea you were being pummeled in the breast with such regularity that it demanded bras to come with active force fields built in.
Maybe in the future, bras will have two hands attached to them as well that will punch and strangle anything that tries to come near your chest region. My girlfriend would be the first to buy one; in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was beta testing an early prototype model right now. It sure would explain these black eyes. Well, the curiosity got the best of me, like a giggling toddler with his fist crammed up a goat’s rectum, and using Amazon’s built in impact level discovery unit, I set out to find out which one of Anna Kournikova’s signature cup series would be best for me.
Well, I figured my cup size was probably in the A range (Shut up! I'm a late bloomer!!!), so at the most we were looking at an impact level of 2. However, I did not want to make the mistake of getting a bra with the wrong impact level and then have to face the black and blue consequences later! I’m sorry if you can’t empathize, but when I’ve got my leg snagged in a rail road tie and am staring at impending doom incarnate, a 260,000 pound diesel engine coming at me at 80 miles an hour, I don’t want to be thinking about what kind of job this thing is going to do to my boobs.
Unfortunately, I had some trouble understanding the icons. Some of them are fairly straightforward… like the second one is obviously being a ninja, the fourth one is quite obviously sexual intercourse, and the seventh seems to be sexual intercourse again, but this time in the reverse cowgirl position. That makes sense, there probably is a lot more impact involved in some western styled raw dawgin’ it. Icons six, nine, and ten look like various types of flying. I’d say six and ten are just your general, day to day, super hero type of flight, whereas nine has evil sorceresses in mind, given the severed head in the stick figure’s claws. Icon eight also applies to magical temptresses (again, make note of the dismembered head), but only to the earth-bound variety, which also explains the lower impact level. Five looks like something disgusting and I’d say three has to do with being crushed between two massive boulders, which I would have thought would warrant a higher impact level. But what do I know about bras? I just like it when they have flower patterns and frilly things on them. The last icon in question is number one, which I guess is somebody eating a cookie. If this is the case, the low impact level makes sense; however, if this were a chart determining delicious levels, that particular icon would be considerably farther up the scale.
The sad fact of the matter is though, while all these icons are a lot of fun, none of them depict “skateboarding”, “getting punched in the hooter”, or “obliterated by an oncoming train.” Thoughtless manufacturing that will no doubt alienate numerous potential customers. Perhaps these options will be available in next year’s models.
Can you imagine all of this came about from me looking for the price of Kidz Bop CDs? See, being lame can be fun, given enough imagination, but mostly given pictures of Anna Kournikova in a bra.
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Tuesday, August 26, 2003 |
Eat shit and die.
Okay, so now that I've got your attention, I have an announcement to make. From now on, you'll start to see two regular features around here, in addition to the random tripe we deliver hot and fresh every other day. The Idiot Box, which you've all grown accustomed to (whether you like it or not) will interchange on a random basis with Stick Stickly Correspondence! That's right, everyone's favorite host from Nickelodeon's Nick in the Afternoon has come to SLT in search of redemption by answering your questions. So, if you've got a burning question that you want answered (really, it can be anything at all), then send them to . Now, I turn you over to this edition of the Stick Stickly Correspondence.
Dear Stick Stickly,
Last night my girlfriend stuck a dildo up my ass. Only it wasn't a dildo - it was her penis. I can't believe I missed that! Anyway, being tied to the bed and all, I couldn't do much as she rode me numb. I love her, but her shit freaks me out. What the fuck am I gonna do?
Tom, SC
There's a reason man invented the ginsu knife, Tom. Chop it off.
Hey Stick Stickly!
My little brother used to watch you every day on Nickelodeon. When you disappeared, he hung himself. My parents won't cut him down, and now there's a huge stain on the carpet. How can I get it out?
Sincerely, Bethany
God gave you a tongue sweetie; use it.
Stickly!
Is there a natural way to get high?
Amy, CA
Sure; start sleeping your way to the top.
Mr. Stickly,
Call me One in the City of Eight Million Souls. I am a sophomore in Columbia College, and I think I may be suffering from chronic depression. I perceive that I do not have any friends, or as many as I feel I need, or want, or should have. I spend much of my time alone in my room, or walking around campus alone, or eating alone. It is fairly typical for me to find myself holed up in my room on a Friday or Saturday evening, even though I hope and wish for something to do, for someone to call.
I find it extremely difficult to talk to people or to make new friends, and as a result, I imagine that people do not like me. This leads to feelings of self-loathing, low self-esteem, and a need for acceptance. I no longer have much interest in doing anything, I have no real enthusiasm for life, I can't sleep at night, and I often have violent nightmares. I want to change, and people offer me advice like, "Go out and meet people!", "Have courage!", or "Join a club!" I would like to do all of these things, but I feel that my problems are intrinsic, and I don't believe that I can change my personality. Do you have any relief for me?
You're going to die alone. That help?
Hiya Stick.
I'm 14, but none the less I was wondering: when my wife is pregnant and asks me for sex, what am I going to tell her?
Thank you.
Anthony
Look deep into her eyes, hand her a vibrator, and say, "Here honey, do it yourself."
Dear Stickly,
While watching The Empire Strikes Back again, I paused the movie when I noticed something that I haven't given that much thought to before. At the battle of Hoth, after Luke's speeder crashes and he attacks an Imperial AT-AT. After he throws the thermal detonator inside the walker, he let go of the cable and falls to the ground. Now what troubles me is the height from which he falls - how come he didn't injured himself after such drop?
Darth Brandon, Sith Lord
I'd bet anything that the 'Eight Million Souls' guy knows.
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Saturday, August 23, 2003 |
You could probably call me something of a pessimist in regards to the fact that I've spent a fair share of my time this summer contemplating existence and wondering what the hell comes after this game called life. Usually, I'm not up for focusing on the more serious aspects of life, as oftentimes they can be downright depressing. And we all know what happens when you're depressed, right?
People die.
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Thursday, August 21, 2003 |
If there are two things our society has produced more than enough of they are advice and self help books. In fact, our society has become very adept at finding any good ideas and mass-producing them so that retailers can convince dimwits and young, stay at home mothers (is there even need for a distinction?) to keep shoveling them down their gaping maws until they puke. Fortunately, they’ll probably only dry heave a little since nobody really admits to eating these days. 54% of adults and over 25% of children in America are overweight yet everybody is dieting. “Let’s see… did I eat last week? No… the week before? Oh… I guess I’ll have a salad.” While at first this would seem to make sense, once you realize that if everybody really were dieting so many people wouldn’t still be overweight that fact becomes a little more ridiculous. This strange factoid leads me to the following, disturbing conclusions:
1. A great percentage of our population has an eating disorder, where they gain weight uncontrollably despite a healthy diet (meatball pizza) and exercise (using clicker).
2. A great percentage of our population has an eating disorder, where they continue to diet and lose weight even if they aren’t fat.
Corollary: Teenaged girls are dumb and insecure.
3. A great percentage of diets just don’t work.
4. A great percentage of people on diets take “dieting” to mean “eating less at meals but eating more Hershey’s bars with a side dish of a bacon double cheeseburger and fries whenever the hell I please.”
Corollary: Fat people are dumb and hungry.
However, this post is not about our society’s bulging waistline and I don’t particularly like fat people and teenaged girls enough to devote a whole post about them. Them and their spicy chicken wings bucket for two and their bottomed out self esteem and their triple XL elastic waistband sweatpants and their Derek Jeter and Johnny Depp and Cosmo Girl and “oh my God I’m having my period!” bullshit parades. This post is about advice and self-help books and how their grossly substantial number has proven to me just how helpless and partially retarded humanity at large is. I always had my theories, but those bumbling high society fools always doubted and mocked me! Some high society type lady once asked me, “Sir, where is your horse?” “Ma’am, it’s between my legs and you’re too fat to ride!” But don’t fret, Mom, I’m sure there’s a self-help book out there that can help you out.
Which brings me to the real purpose of this post (no kidding, I’m serious this time, folks), to aid you poor, confused bastards. One thing our culture is hopelessly addicted to, besides self-help books, is sex. And an unfortunate coincidence is that just as addicted to it as we are, are we bad it.
Well, that’s speaking only for the male, my, gender mostly. Just kidding guys, I was only trying to win over some femnazis so I could likewise win over their estrogen soaked hate mail in order to provide me something to write about. But I will admit, most guys suck at sex, barging right in and tearing the poor girl to ribbons (not literally, I mean, unless you’re into that sort of shit). However, an equal amount of girls suck at it as well, simply laying there expecting to get multiple orgasms just handed to them without any effort on their part and then acting like they’ve also earned the right to complain about it and sleep with the postman, the neighbors, your best friend, and finally, your best friend’s equally sexually frustrated wife. We all suck at sex. There, now that everybody’s good and pissed off at me, allow me to offer my advice on the subject given the fact that I am extremely experienced in that area (read: my girlfriend lets me kiss her sometimes. With tongue, once!).
So without further ado, I’d like to present you with several clueless fucks who need advice so badly that my suggestions are really the least of their problems.
Hey there Aaron,
Sometimes when I’m trying to do my sister up the rear, she won’t stop screaming at me to stop and that it hurts too bad. Well, I think it hurts too good, so what can I do to get her to shut the hell up?
Thanks,
Joe Oats
Let me tell you Joe, your problem is not that unheard of. The answer is simple, my incestuous friend. I’ve gotta believe that somewhere on that farm, ranch, double-wide, or forest bungalow that you’re living in you’ve got a chainsaw, hatchet, or at the very least an old shovel. The good Lord gave you opposable thumbs and the ability to utilize tools improperly, man, use them! Best of luck!
Hi Aaron, I hope you can help!
I’ve gone on a couple of dates with this guy and I really like him!! Finally, the other night, came time for the first kiss but then I noticed that he had a cold sore on his bottom lip!! I heard that having cold sores on and in your mouth means you have herpes and I don’t want herpes!!! But I really like this guy because I’ve never met anybody else who has cared so little about B.O.! So I kissed him anyway, but made sure to kiss around the cold sore so I wouldn’t catch herpes. I guess he liked it and told me nobody had ever kissed him like that before, but I’m still worried I might get herpes anyway! If my parents found out that I have herpes the next time they’re checking to make sure I haven’t given away my virginity yet they’d kill me!! Please help!!!
Signed,
Desperate Virgin with Strange Kissing Techniques!
Now, normally I’m very tolerant of people’s mistakes and silly questions because I realize they simply don’t know any better, but for the love of God, you couldn’t have fucked up any worse! I don’t know if you realize this but 1 in 5 people is infected with genital herpes and a whopping over 80% of the population has oral herpes! Infection is life long, extremely contagious, and marked by painful cold sores on and inside the mouth. 62% adolescent Americans of are infected with oral herpes and almost 90% of Americans aged 40 years and older have the blasted disease! It can be contracted through contact with an infected person’s saliva or by simply making contact with one of the sores! By kissing your filthy, diseased boyfriend you’ve doomed yourself to a life of oral herpes! The worst part is that now you’ll also go on to infect numerous other innocent, unsuspected people who would have been able to live happy, productive lives before you came along. Go ahead and try a cold sore cream, it won’t do you any good, you unfortunate, sickly harlot, you’ll only break out with another cold sore shortly. Your harebrained “kiss around the cold sore” technique not only sentenced yourself for a life time’s worth of fucked up lips but probably also made for a really lousy kiss. Are you going to try the same kind of method when presented with the opportunity to give this foul, plague-ridden boy a blowjob? Suck around the bloated, oozing pus bag maybe? Your idiocy disgusts me, and that was even before I realized you are a putrid, revolting strumpet!
Aaron,
I gotta tell you, I’m in a real fix. My cool friends from down the street and I love to play backyard wrestling. We hold these totally sweet tournaments on my friend’s awesome trampoline and we all have fab costumes, just like in real wrestling. The prize for the best wrestler is a far out NES cartridge, until we run out of those. I think we’re going to use Genesis cartridges after that, maybe SNES cartridges but I don’t think anybody actually wants to give those sweet babies up. I mean, who would want to risk giving away Shaq-Fu to somebody who could never appreciate its awesomeness? Anyway, my problem comes from my friends’ totally lame-o parents. My radical wrestling name is Accountant Spankula, and my zany trademark move is to grab my opponent, throw them over my knee, and spank them several times each time screaming, “PART OF THIS COMPLETE BREAKFAST”. That move is called The Hunky Dory Judo Spank and is announced by a keen, short poem I chant that goes like this: “It can’t be helped, it must be done, so down with your leotard and out with your bum.” I also use other nifty combinations of front side spanking and “attack from the rear” strategies. I’ve always thought my neat fighting style was original and that I was bringing something fresh to backyard wrestling. But a couple days ago my friend’s lame-o-rama mom told me that I certainly was bringing something fresh to backyard wrestling and in the back round I could hear his dad saying something about “fucking goddamn faggots.” Since then I haven’t been allowed to play backyard wrestling until I can agree to play “nicely”. I think that stinks! I sure would hate to not be able to play with my totally cool friends, Fart Dick, X 20 2000, The Red Haired Corned Beef and Cabbage Irish Leprechaun Man Fire Crotch, and Chocolate Apocalypse.
-Peter “Accountant Spankula” Fontay
Michael, if I may call you that, backyard wrestling might be fun but there’s nothing fun or funny about homosexual antics. I realize that seeing your young friends’ bulging prepubescent packages through their spandex costumes might get you a little excited about using your hands in an inappropriate manner, but you need to remember that your hands were made for punching people’s faces, not spanking people’s bottoms. Well, until you’re grown up and meet a nice girl, in which case you're not going to need anybody to remind you that your hands are for punching a whole freakin' lot, but let’s not jump the gun here. Oh, and by the way, did you say real wrestling? There is such a thing? Get out of town!
Dear Aaron,
Six months ago I met a great guy and we really hit it off. We started going out and got serious, but I wasn’t worried about a long-term commitment with him. By all accounts he was the perfect guy. He’s a youth group minister, really handy around the house, and a very gentle and sweet lover. He always shows me and my daughter respect and caring, and I admit, I think I’m falling in love! But then last week after we put my daughter in front of a Blues Clues video and snuck off to the bedroom something horrible happened! While we were having sex, his penis fell off inside of my vagina! He screamed in terror, as did I, and we both set to trying to dig it out pronto! But the further we stuffed our fingers inside of me, the further we drove his penis inside, until there was no reaching it! It wasn’t until after we realized this that we turned around and noticed that my daughter had left the TV room to see what the commotion was about and found us both naked, and Harvey missing a penis with both his hands crammed up my crotch past his wrists. We explained to her that he was just looking for his car keys at the time, and for now she’s been quiet about it but she hasn’t eaten anything in days! I never imagined a 14 year old girl could be so unpredictable! Meanwhile, to try to fix the problem of having a penis buried inside of my thorax, I’ve been gagging myself daily, hoping that it had made its way into my stomach so that I could just puke it out and return it to Harvey. So far, I’ve had no luck. As you can see, I’m up to my cervix in problems, any advice?
Sincerely,
Seriously fucked in Iowa
LOL!
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Tuesday, August 19, 2003 |
Because I have no friends....the Idiot Box, 8/19-8/22
Tuesday
7:00, PBS - Yoga for the Rest of Us: From the producers of 'Play Piano in a Flash' comes this tantalizing special that'll demonstrate the proper way to keep your thighs looking great. Learning how to suck your own dick without killing yourself available through an individual donation made by viewers like you.
7:00, VH1 - I Love the 70's: Hey kids, wanna know the real reason why your mom speaks with a stutter?
8:00, AMC - Planet of the Apes: What would have made this film a true delight? Apes on horseback in an open corn field throwing their feces at each other.
8:00, NBC - Shania Twain Up!: After watching this concert, she isn't going to be the only thing that's up. If you catch my drift. Which you probably don't. Because you're naive and I'm unfunny. NEXT!
8:00, Disney - The Cheetah Girls: If you don't believe that Disney has become the UPN for the teeny bopper generation, then look no further than this flick starring four sisters and a white girl. Remember, fondling yourself while watching this will get you arrested. Sick bastard.
9:00, TLC - Were You Thinking?: Also known as my Freshman year of college.
Wednesday
2:00, VH1 - Totally Gay: Leave it to VH1 to make taking it in the ass trendy.
6:00, History - The Fifties: Journey back to a time where women understood that they belonged either in the kitchen or on their knees.
7:30, MTV - Newlyweds: Nick and Jessica: Give their marriage a year. After that, he's back to guest appearances on Lizzie McGuire and she's baring all for Maxim. One can only hope, right?
8:00, Bravo - To Be Announced: This could be anything, right? I mean, it could even be porn. Then again, seeing as how it follows and proceeds "The West Wing," I shouldn't expect much more than Rob Lowe eating a Snickers bar while flipping through the latest issue of Pre-Teen Vogue.
9:00, HBO - Sex and the City: I don't think I'm the first to think that this show should be banned from the air for attempting to give women rebellious ideas concerning their place in society. Our equals...come on.
9:00, E! - Celebrity Yearbook: I can see the superlatives now; Most likely to marry their spouse's offspring: Woody Allen.
10:00, TBS - Red Water: It's "Jaws" meets "La Bamba" with a dash of "Beach Blanket Bingo" thrown in for kicks.
Thursday
7:00, PBS - Donna Dewberry's Painting Extravaganza: Does anybody under the age of 67 really watch these programs?
8:00, ABC - All ABC Bloopers: If there is one thing that you can count on after death it's that Dick Clark will still be alive and hosting these.
9:00, A&E - Columbo Cries Wolf: With a name like 'Columbo' I'm betting that's not the only thing he cries.
9:00, Sci/Fi - Urban Legend: Teen slasher flicks are only good for two things - bare breasts and seeing those kids from the 'Creek get strung up on a meat hook. Unfortunately, this is cable TV, and the most you're going to see is Joshua Jackson with his shirt off.
10:00, NBC - ER: The first half of tonight's episode is great. The witticism's tossed out by Romano, classic. Watch if you want to see a bunch of doctors get verbally abused.
10:00, Spike - Ren & Stimpy: Could someone clarify for me how long these two have been fags? I mean, homosexual?
11:00, HBO - Real Sex: Teaching pathetic losers like you that there's more to having an orgasm than beating off with your right hand. Hosted by Shelly Duvall.
11:00, History - Sex in Wars: America's explanation on why the French only lasted 10 minutes during World War II. Hint: see above.
Friday
7:00, HBO - Kung Pow: Enter the Fist: Stupidest movie ever. On the flipside, I almost pissed myself because I was laughing so hard. Give it a whirl for your soul's sake.
7:30, ABC - NFL Preseason Football: Pats v. Eagles. Your ass, our foot. Don't let the door hit you on the way out.
8:00, AMC - Halloween 4: Michael Myers returns, again, and will continue to do so until..
10:00, AMC - Halloween 5: ...where he gets his ass handed to him by none other than the Great Pumpkin! Linus would be proud.
8:00, TCM - It Happened One Night: No Johnny, cherry juice did not just come out of your girlfriend's vagina. Guess what time of the month it is (editors note: the verdict is still out on whether that was funny or not).
9:00, TLC - While You Were Out: The Learning Channel examines what your roommate does when you're at class. Tonight, Tom learns the hard way that conditioner isn't the only thing in that bottle of Head and Shoulders.
10:00, Sci/Fi - Scare Tactics: Maybe it's because I'm an asshole, but there's nothing funnier at this time tonight than seeing people piss themselves at the sight of a "possessed" 5 year old.
Remember to watch responsibly.
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Sunday, August 17, 2003 |
Of course, the events of the night I got into a car accident (see my previous post) got me to thinking and I disappeared into the wonderful world of make believe, imagining what it would be like if all cops were as uptight about water guns as those two charming fellows and how things would be if there was some sort of Anti-Water Pistol Mandate in place. I’m sure it would be a stipulation to the Anti-Fun of All Kinds Act, and if it isn’t you can bet that I’ll be marching down to town hall and demanding an answer from the mayor as to why nothing has been down about all this water squirting tomfoolery hootenanny.
*Begin Fantasy*
A squad car is driving down a quiet cul-de-sac, looking for escaped violent psychopaths from the local insane asylum which exploded when the on duty guard accidentally dropped a Krispy Kreme into the furnace, causing a cataclysmic chemical reaction of sugar and lard. Suddenly, the officer in the passenger’s side notices something is amiss.
Officer Mean: *pointing to two kids running around in a yard, chasing each other with squirt guns* Hey Sarge, what do you suppose that is those kids have?
Sgt. Slaughter: What…where? HOLY FUCK! THOSE ARE WATER GUNS!
Officer Mean: Water g- FUCK!
Sgt. Slaughter: Yeah I know! Fuck is right! No shit, fuck! Fuck, that’s what I said! Fuckin’ A.
The sirens start blaring and the police car proceeds to do 6 donuts in the empty street before crashing into a mailbox. The two children who were playing with water guns stand motionless in the yard, staring in total awe. Both cops stumble out of the smoldering squad car and rush over to the kids, waving their batons over their heads.
Sgt. Slaughter: *batting little Johnny’s head with his nightstick* What the hell do you think you’re doing, punk?! Huh?! *Hits him again across the face*
Officer Mean: I can’t get a straight answer out of this guy! *Beats little Billy relentlessly about the ribs and kneecaps*
Daddy: *running out to see why two policemen are brutally killing his children* Hey! Hey! What’s going on here!
Sgt. Slaughter: I’m sorry you had to see this, sir, but your two sons were using water guns.
Daddy: …Oh no.
Officer Mean: *a tear slowly rolls down his face* Ya just hate to see stuff like this.
Sgt. Slaughter: I’m sorry, sir, but it’s the law.
Daddy: Oh, I know. I know it is. Do what you have to do. I can’t believe I didn’t know this was going on! How awful! My own two sons… hardened criminals!
Sgt. Slaughter: *trying to get a pair of handcuffs on little Johnny but having a good deal of difficulty* Blast it! These abominable cuffs!
Daddy: *picking up one of the water guns, examining it* Heh heh… abominable cuffs? What the hell is that? Some kind of Yeti?
Sgt. Slaughter: No, these handcuffs are always getting stuck, it’s such a pain.
Daddy: *musing* Although commonly considered destructive and bloodthirsty, the Abominable Cuff is actually a kind, gentle creature. They typically reside in tundra like climates, making their dens in snowdrifts and rocky caverns. They have a thick coat of white fur to protect them from the elements. The Abominable Cuff preferably lives on the sparse amounts of vegetation in its habitat but will at times eat meat if needed, but even then only of the Taco Bell variety, which is generally only ground up dirt and earthworm paste anyway.
Sgt. Slaughter: *kneeing Daddy in the back and cuffing him* That’s it, sir.
Daddy: Hey, hey now! I was just kidding around! I’m sorry!
Sgt. Slaughter: Oh, don’t worry about it, sir. But I was going to arrest you anyway because you had that water gun in your hand.
A news team shows up to do a story on the shocking tale of two children corrupted by fast cars, hard drugs, and squirt guns. Daddy and Sgt. Slaughter pose for a picture, smiling, while Daddy says, “Remember kids, policemen are your friends!” He then hits his head against the roof while being roughly shoved into the squad car and sits down next to the bloody, beaten bodies of his two children. Sgt. Slaughter and Officer Mean get into the car and drive away. As they are pulling away from the destroyed mailbox they parked on top of, Officer Mean rolls down the window and looks at the camera saying, “Just doing our job to keep these neighborhoods safe. We won’t rest until all of the water gun toting villains are put somewhere with a thick lock around it.” He then beams a refreshing smile and holds up a package of Mentos while giving a thumbs up. The car drives away and in the back round a lunatic in a blood stained straight jacket, holding a butcher knife in his teeth, runs across several lawns and into the woods.
Oh, and for the record, Brandon beat Austin 5 to 3. It's officially official. Since it was so exciting... well, at least more exciting than usual and that's really all I have these days, you might see more of these posting challenges in the future. This is something we can do anywhere at anytime, and don't think that's not the plan.
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Friday, August 15, 2003 |
"Save Some of That For The Sequel"
I've accepted Brandon's challenge to writing a superior post. Now, don't take that as: "I've written a post for the battle." The comment merely meant: "I accept the challenge, I shall write a post." See, I would have a post, but I just can't write these days, there's some sort of block...I talked to a friend of mine, and determined the cause.
Madskillz1218: hey whats^
IamtheHatchman: not much my fine fellow, but I have a small problem!
Madskillz1218: whats your problem?
IamtheHatchman: a lot of people ask me that...
Madskillz1218: not those problems, those are a different story, I'm talking about the one you mentioned before
IamtheHatchman: ah, of course, well you see my friend, I've been challenged to writing a small article for a humor website, and I just can't write it out...I can't get ideas, see, there's something there, a writer's block if you will...
Madskillz1218: Well what do you think it is? are you thinking about somethin else instead? girls? family problems?
IamtheHatchman: I'm embarassed to admit it, joe...will you tell anyone what it is if I tell you?
Madskillz1218: no man, I'm here for you, spill it
IamtheHatchman: I can't write updates on time because I just can't stop thinking about Star Wars! I'll tell aaron I'm putting up a post tonight, but the readers will be lucky to see it by Tuesday...
Well, I got past the block, I don't know how, but I defeated it. Moving on to the more relevant material. You readers truly are lucky that you can view this, the state of Connecticut is in an uproar. More places than Connecticut have been affected actually, power grids are failing left and right, leaving people without electricity, and those air-conditioner-using bastards can't drain the world of its natural resources anymore! By that, I mean they can't keep cool. And we can't have that! What the cause of the problem is has yet to be discovered, although there are several theories floating around...
1. The first theory seems the most probable. As you all know, a recall election is going on in California, convienently enough, California is unaffected. And as even more of you know, Arnold Schwarzenegger is running for governor. You see, he and his fellow machines have banded together and shut down the power grids. Since Arnold led this little escapade, he will release that information at a politically strategious time. Mainly, a few weeks before election. He will then tell all affected parties that he must first win the election if they want their power back, but they must submit to his rule, regardless of where they live. He will have control of much of the eastern U.S. Therefore, he will have control of the West and the East, and draw his reign of mechanical terror inland, slowly taking over the entire western continent.
2. Theory two, although not any less believable, takes a considerable more amount of creative thinking on the part of political figures. The idea is that Senator Lieberman has finally tested his Deathstar, A.K.A what we had once thought was the moon. He used the massive death ray on a light setting, just powerful enough to knock out a power station. The reports have come in that the station was "struck by lightning" and even though he has force lighting, it can't go from the Death Star to our planet Earth...but a planet destroying laser could. And to the common people of Earth, a laser and lightning probably look pretty similar. I have one question for Emperor Palpatine: Whatchoo gonna do? Whatchoo gonna do when the Jedi come for you? Senator, Senator, whatchoo gonna do?
3. The last theory is that a large group of flaming liberal anti-Bush activists knocked the power out in an attempt to get a "recall election" for the president so that Lieberman can take power legitimately, instead of destroying Washington with the Death Star. Once Lieberman wins the election, he will use the Death Star to keep the citizens of not only the United States in line, but the world as we know it. Obviously, all three theories lead to plots of world domination. We can only hope that Lieberman and Arnold do not band together, for then the perfunctory rule of horror and trepidation would only be more dangerous.
As you can all see, the situation in the Northeast is grim at best. So America, remember, there comes a time when we heed a certain call, when the world must come together as one, there are people dying, and it's time to lend a hand to life, their greatest gift of all. We can't go on pretending day by day that someone, somewhere will soon make a change. We are all a part of Gods great big family and the truth, you know, love is all we need. Heal the world, make it a better place. Michael Jackson says it best, folks, he also says that "Sharing your bed with a child is the most beautiful thing a person can do in this world."
But enough about my main boy Michael. With this I take my leave of you, fine readers. I hope you have enjoyed my little plunge into the world of writing for a humor site. Goodnight America: Count Nefarious, signing off.
-Count Nefarious
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Wednesday, August 13, 2003 |
Nothing's worse than having a girl that your into waste away 45 minutes of your life by PMSing her way through a conversation. I mean, honestly, we're talking over AIM for Christ's sake; how was I supposed to know that, out of the other 30 days of the month, her body chose today to have a board shoved up her ass? Better yet, it ended up costing me hours of valuable sleep, leaving me with very few options. They looked like this:
Choice A) Spiting her by going back to the bend of the hand, courtesy of the naked pictures of my ex. Bootylicious.
Choice B) Seeing what happens after covering my sisters hands in Googon and screaming, "Spider in your mouth!"
Choice C) Channel surfing until I went unconscious.
As you may have guessed, I chose C. My right hand has probably logged enough hours this summer to last two life times, and my parents hid the Googon from me. I'm completely puzzled with that one. Anyway, while scrounging for something to watch I landed upon Snow White: A Tale of Terror. Now, terror is not something I'd normally associate with Snow White. 230 pound single white female with an outset of facial hair, that's terror. Seven dwarves and a fair skinned maiden scurrying about in the forest, more like the beginnings of a mass orgy. Needless to say, my curiosity was peaked, and I figured I'd give it a looksee.
The flick stars Sigourney Weaver, Sam Neil, and the blonde chick from Freddy v. Jason. As I only caught the last 30 minutes of this thing, I had to try and piece it together. From what I gathered, Neil spends his time hanging upside down on a cross while the rest of the movie passes him by. Religious symbol or uncommon ceiling fixture? You decide. Weaver, on the other hand, basically plays the Blair witch who is obsessed with her looks. Considering she turns into a hag half way through, she's either a hypocrite or the brother's Grimm really got a kick out of seeing kids hose down the sheets before bedtime. As for Blondie, well, she's actually a brunette here, named Lilly. I'm assuming that Lilly is her nickname, because the only way they'd forgo calling her Snow White would be if a girl wrote the screenplay.
Fortunately for me, the only part of the movie I could remember when I woke up this morning was the infamous "apple scene." For all of you underprivileged out there, the evil queen ends up using magic to transform herself into an old woman, then proceeds to coerce our fair maiden (Lilly) into eating an apple that, big shocker here, is poisoned. Okay, I can deal with the fact that apples are an ideal choice of food in a woman's diet. They're sweet, juicy, and fat free. Wow...it's a wonder the queen didn't just offer her a dick to suck. Anyway, I don't understand what went through Lilly's head here. When something offers me an apple that makes the Crypt Keeper look like Teddy Ruxpin, I push her into the fucking stream. I can forgive her for not doing the latter, since she is a woman and probably lacks the strength needed to give that crone the old heave ho, but common sense, come on. Don't stand there and talk about how it's such a coincidence that you're the only two chicks for miles in the middle of the forest. Run away, or hell, call the 7 Outcasts (Dwarves wouldn't be politically correct) to come rough the hag up a bit.
Maybe I'm giving the female species too much credit. Whether their life is in danger or they're engaged in sex, I assumed they did more than just remain still and shout.
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Monday, August 11, 2003 |
If you're like me, and I know I sure as hell am, you think getting in a car accident ranks up there with listening to a shirtless hobo beat a rusted water tank with a monkey wrench for nine hours straight and then having your insurance rates multiply like salmon in the mating season. Somewhere near car accidents rank the police, who I have always held in a low opinion but now that its their damn fault my insurance rates have gone up exponentially I hold them in an especially low opinion. So there. Bleh. Also, while I’m at it, guy who’s car I hit, fuck you and I wish I had been going considerably faster and was driving something covered in spikes and burning magma.
I suppose from the opening paragraph you can sort of get the impression that I was in an at-fault car accident recently. Similarly, you probably can get the impression that I am now filled with rage at my fellow motorists and in particular, the police. Granted, they didn’t make me get in the accident but I’d sure like to blame them if that’s all right with you. Some people might say things like, “It was your own fault, you were careless” and “That wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been drinking malt liquor until you were blind.” To this I respond “shut up” in addition to “I hope your Eddie Bauer Ford Explorer with tinted windows and neon lights vaporizes after driving into the back of an exploding dildo delivery truck.” As anybody out there knows, I despise making sweeping generalizations, which is why I can safely say that all of the police on the face of the planet are mini-despots consumed by the illusion of their own power and should be herded off into an active volcano which we would then launch into the sun and detonate with nuclear missiles.
Perhaps some of my assumptions regarding police officers are a little extreme, but my previous experiences with them and their ridiculous “law enforcement” has led me to believe all cops operate based on the following algorithms:
- Teenagers are dangerous to society, especially the skateboarding variety; getting rid of all teenagers and skateboarders would be far too difficult, instead, rid your local neighborhood of fun in general thus sending teenagers elsewhere to spread their infectious cancerous ideas of “enjoying life” and “going to the mall.”
- If somebody isn’t doing something wrong, make up a rule so that they are.
- Like teenagers, all black people must be stopped. They are powerful, so be sure to shoot liberally.
- Thunder thighs are fashionable.
- If a criminal walks up to your police cruiser, presses triangle and starts driving away by pressing R1, while activating the vigilante missions by pressing triangle again, drag him out of the car and shoot him, sending him to jail and taking all of his weapons away, but not before saying things like “GET DOWN,” “GET THAT GUY,” and “Ooooh, you’re dead, meat boy.”
- Donut.
Now I don't want to sound like one of those whiny old-timers who sit around and moan while various appendages come loose and fall off, but when I was young the police officers were nice, caring people who protected you from evil things like skateboarders, minority groups, and a Dunkin Donuts sold out of bear claws with a smile. Hell, even if you got caught speeding they would only give you a warning if you cried hard enough. But I guess those days are over. People didn’t take too well to the “nice guy” approach to the law. The law has to be a firm backhand slap. Now, if we stray one mile over the speed limit, they’ll use a redhot cattle prod to tattoo our speed on our testicles so that we’ll never forget the mistake and any time we think about speeding in the future, the sensational burning from our loins will be a painful reminder. Also, every time you have to stuff your left nut back into the sac I’m sure you’ll remember why we don’t fuck with the law. They’ll lock us in the “Strong Arm of the Law Closet of Fun” which consists of an abandoned refrigerator full of rocks with illegal things written on them, such as “murder,” “rape,” and “buying the last bear claw”. The “Strong Arm of the Law Closet of Fun” will then be kicked down a flight of stairs and we will then be expected to recite the punishment for every crime ever (including the laws in Atlantis) under the threat of being drafted to the military in the “Operation: Imperialism Closet of Fun”. Unfortunately, if you aren’t army material that particular closet of fun has the nasty tendency to combust or find itself at the bottom of the ocean.
You might be saying that my hatred for the police is a little unfounded. Hell, I’m not in jail. It’s not like the police were the ones responsible for the fact that my backside is being torn asunder every night by a hulking black man who is often mistaken for a Kodiak bear. I mean, I do that because I want to, not because I committed some crime and got thrown in jail. My problem with the police isn’t even really that they submitted an accident report or anything like that, I understand that that’s their job. While I suppose, clubbing teenagers about the head is their job as well, I like to think that’s not officially in the job description so that I can justify hating them for that. But they didn’t hit me, that’s not my problem with them. I think the fact that I’m white saved me from that particular form of law enforcement. The night of the accident, instead of asking me what happened and if anybody was hurt, they asked the other driver and all of the questions directed at me were about the squirt guns in my car. No joke. None.
Officer Dick: Good evening.
Aaron: Hello, hold on one second, let me get my insurance information.
Officer Dick: *shining his flashlight haphazardly in all directions making it look like he’s inspecting the car* What’s up with the gun in the back seat?
Aaron: *shocked* Gun?! Uh, what?
Officer Dick: Yeah, right there in the back seat. Looks like you tried to cover it up with a shirt or something. Are you trying to hide something?
I looked into the back seat to find the gun, wondering how a gun got in my car without my knowing. I wasn’t really worried, mostly just pissed off that somebody had put a gun in my car without telling me. I mean, it’s not everyday you get a free gun, that would be totally sweet. Upon looking around bewildered for a few seconds I discovered the culprit. It was a neon green water pistol partially obscured by a t-shirt.
Aaron: *in complete disbelief* You mean that? That’s just a water gun.
Officer Dick: I see…hm.
Aaron: Do you want to see it? I can take it out for you if you want.
Officer Dick: *terrified* No! Oh…no, it’s fine.
Looking back on it, I honestly do think that the cop thought I was going to shoot him. Granted, even if I had it was only a water gun and would have been pretty funny (wakka-wakka), but he seemed generally concerned. I don’t know, maybe these were some of those new “salt based” police officers the town bought when they got all of those unmarked police cars and can only function in arid temperatures.
I handed the cop my insurance information, registration, and license and then the other cop who had been whispering into the other driver’s ear how he was going to make sure I’d rot in jail for the rest of my days sauntered over.
Officer Ass: Okay, can you tell me in your own words what… *noticing a water gun* what’s with the gun?
Aaron: *sighing* What? That one right there? *pointing to the previously discussed water gun*
Officer Ass: No, that one over there. *shines flashlight at a gun near the driver’s seat*
Officer Dick: There’s another one down there. *shines flashlight at the floor in the back*
Officer Ass: What’s going on with all these guns, sir?
Officer Dick: Yeah, what’s the deal here?
Aaron: They’re just water guns!
Officer Ass: Oh yeah?
Aaron: Yes! Here, do you want to see them to make sure? I can take them out for you.
Officers Dick and Ass: *in unison* NO! Oh, no. Nope.
Aaron: I don’t even think there’s any water in them!
Officer Dick: Yeah, but why do you have them in your car?
Aaron: Oh… my class played assassins this spring and…
Officer Ass: *extremely angry* But school ended 4 months ago!
Aaron: *realizing that school only ended 2 and a half months ago but not saying anything* I know… but I just never took them out.
Officer Dick: *in utter disbelief* Never took them out?!
Aaron: I didn’t think it would be a big deal to have them!
Officer Ass: Yeah, that’s right. You didn’t think.
Officer Dick: Mm hm.
Okay, so maybe it was a little silly that I had squirt guns all over my car. However, I would like to think that it was sillier that these two cops couldn’t find anything else wrong with my car other than my 3 neon colored “guns” that don’t even resemble real guns in the least, but look more like day glow yellow ostrich eggs with handles. Well… one of them looks like a day glow yellow ostrich egg with a handle. The other one is more of a neon green ostrich egg, and then there’s also a bright orange ostrich egg. But nevertheless, these things are obviously not lethal weapons and I’m fairly certain there isn’t a law forbidding the ownership of squirt guns, or even having said squirt guns in your car. It really bothered me that they refused to even acknowledge the fact that they were in fact, water guns, not guns. Italics around the word “guns” implies that bullets come out and that people die because of them, not that water drips out and people might get their shirt a little damp if you had the patience to pump the gun 40 thousand times. I guess I should feel pretty gangster for packing so much heat, but I’ll be damned, if I’m going to be a gangster I wish it would be a little more authentic. I mean, where are the bitch slappings? Where are the TEK-9s? The random shootings, gold fronts, wave caps, and bling bling flashy flashy? And all the while they were drilling me about my guns, those bastards looked right past the mutilated corpse that the t-shirt was covering up. Well, at least I had thought that they had looked past it.
Officer Ass: Okay, here’s your license, registration, and insurance card.
Aaron: Thank you.
Officer Ass: *pretending to walk away but then turning around very deliberately* Oh yeah, and you might want to get rid of those guns.
Aaron: I’ll be sure to do that.
Officer Ass: *again, pretending to walk away and then turning around* Oh, one last thing. You probably want to get that cadaver in the back seat taken care of; it’s going to start to stink. Have a good evening.
I still don’t understand exactly what their problem with my water guns was. It was dark outside though, so maybe they thought I was black.
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Friday, August 08, 2003 |
The following best illustrates why I haven't written anything new lately. My mind seems to be stuck in one place.
freestyledFool (11:28:32 PM): I was just thinking
J517 (11:28:44 PM): ....ok
freestyledFool (11:29:04 PM): Imagine if they replaced all the voices of the stormtroopers in A New Hope with the clonetroopers from Attack of the Clones
J517 (11:29:38 PM): ....ok
freestyledFool (11:29:58 PM): ...Sound pretty weird eh?
J517 (11:30:09 PM): ....ur falling into the pit again
freestyledFool (11:30:43 PM): Obi-Wan almost fell into a pit in The Phantom Menace
J517 (11:30:55 PM): .....
freestyledFool (11:31:48 PM): ...Save me =(
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Wednesday, August 06, 2003 |
First of all, I’d like to apologize for not updating in almost a week. But I mean, it’s not really my fault since my last two posts were so fanfuckingtastic that they were worth more than a normal post. Also, it’s sort of your fault since you all never comment on our posts so we have no idea that you have actually read anything, which usually makes me say, “Well, maybe I’ll give them a couple more days to read it.” Also, because of this, I often find myself saying, “I hate those fuckers.” But don’t feel too bad, because it’s Brandon’s fault too. I mean, he could have posted too but he was too busy playing Peek and Poke with Darth Somebody in Jedi Outcast and cutting all of the toes out of his sisters’ socks because she’s slowly taking control of his house away from him. By the way, I believe that she’s only 10. But that’s a difficult age. I mean, I suppose I can understand his excuses, they’re extremely valid, however, in these trying times we have to stay strong and get past certain petty vengeances. But good luck with the dark side and “hide the lightsaber”, Brando.
The boomerang is quite possibly the stupidest creation to ever grace mankind. There are numerous terrible aspects of the boomerang, which I will be sure to cover in depth. If there is something I know that you know I can do, it’s talk for a really long time about anything at all. Thank you, thank you. …Oh wait, that’s not a good thing. Jerks.
Encyclopedia dot com describes a boomerang as a “special form of throwing stick, used mainly by the aborigines of Australia. Other forms of throwing sticks were used by the peoples of ancient Egypt, Ethiopia, and India and by the indigenous peoples of the SW United States. The boomerang is sickle-shaped with arms slightly curved in opposite directions as in a propeller. The trajectory of a boomerang is usually an arc, but in some cases it is a full circle. The boomerang of the Australian aborigines (from whom the name is derived) is made in two types. The smaller boomerang, 12 to 30 in. (30 to 75 cm) long, is used only for sport and is thrown so that it returns to the thrower. The larger war boomerang is 24 to 36 in. (60 to 90 cm) long and does not return; it is used for hunting and warfare.” I presume you already knew all those sorts of information, but I was just looking up to take up ridiculous amounts of space in order to discourage readers.
First of all, I’d like to point out where boomerangs were originally used- Australia, Egypt, Ethiopia, India, and Southwest America. These are all desert environments with no trees and huge stretches of flat ground. There is a reason why boomerangs thrived here, besides the fact that aboriginal people are generally stupid and find enjoyment in throwing shit, but also because there is no way you can possibly throw a boomerang if there are any obstacles around higher than 6 feet or so. However, in the end you might wish that there were, otherwise the boomerang is going to end up hitting you. Boomerangs act a lot like lightning, they are attracted to the tallest nearby object. That’s the only way I can explain why they used to come back to the aborigines, but ends up flying into the trees by my house or on top of the roof of the house. Yes, that’s right, I have a damn boomerang. Well, that is, I did before it went rocketing deep into the woods and I refused to retrieve it. I’m sorry, but no boomerang is worth getting poison ivy up to my grundle. I've had that happen on a few occassions before, and people start to say things behind your back when all of your pants are stained because there is a rash covering your pubic region that weeps a yellow ooze. People can be so cold. It would have been pretty easy to find it though, because it cut through all the vegetation along the way.
Which is something I noticed, by the way. Even though boomerangs aren’t terribly sharp they do a very efficient job of slicing and dicing anything that comes in their path. I noticed this after a few throws where it starting curving back to me, searing through the trees along the edge of the yard on its way. Determined to not get killed by a boomerang, I hit the dirt and after some time, I decided it had probably sought out somebody else’s neck and got up to inspect the situation. The boomerang was of course, in the woods. After several expletives, I think the boomerang understood my point and stranded itself on the roof the next time I threw it.
However, this was a better alternative to it actually doing what it’s supposed to and ending up bisecting my face. But I guess that’s why the Australian war boomerang was made to not come back because actually bisecting people’s faces was its purpose, and not just an incidental side effect.
While I’m on the topic of stupid novelty items, I think it’s appropriate to bring up strudel. You know the strudel that I speak of, that delicious pastry made with fruit or cheese wrapped up inside flaky sheets of bread coated in sugar and frosting. I know you’ve seen them on the counter of the bakery and oooh; they always look so scrumptious. And yet, looks can be deceiving. However, not in this case… I don’t really know what those italics were doing there.
Strudel is not all delectable sweet things on top of other savory luscious things, though. Actually… that’s wrong. That is exactly what strudel is, but that doesn’t keep it from being impossibly difficult to eat! The worst part is that it gives off the illusion of being a fragile baked good, barely held together by melted sugar when in fact, you would be lucky to get through one of them with a well sharpened chain saw. Or miter saw if that’s your cutting device of choice, I don’t really care; it’s a matter of preference. However, I might recommend using a table saw instead if you want that sort of control, because with a miter saw you’re going to hack up that poor little strudel pretty good and I personally don’t like eating my pastry with 45 degree angles and corners cut all into it.
I have come to this conclusion based on my dinner tonight. While sniffing around for nourishment that was easily accessible and didn’t involve the use of me burning myself, or as less inept people call it, “the oven”, I came across some left over strudel. Boy, did it look savory. So I put a huge slab of it on my plate and took out a fork, figuring I was more than prepared to pack this stuff down my gaping maw. I soon found out that it wasn’t possible to cut strudel with a fork, so I went over to the drawer and picked up a butter knife. There just was no way the strudel would fuck with a butter knife. But lo! The strudel was more resilient than I anticipated! I soon grew tired of hacking desperately at the pastry and found it harder than cutting through bone. …Not… that I would know… what cutting through bone is like… uh… I was simply at a loss for a better comparison… Although I’m fairly certain I might have to resort to bone cutting if you don’t get off my case! Yeah, see, nobody fucks with a butter knife. Unless of course you’re a strudel, but that would be a little silly, don’t you think? Finally, it came down to the steak knife.
It is a cold day in hell when you have to cut through strudel with a steak knife.
Another interesting property of strudel is its ability to grow exponentially in size after it hits your stomach. Like most rich and sugary treats, strudel seems to expand almost instantly only after you have consumed too much of it to begin with. Somebody should track down the inventor of strudel and have him develop secret weapons for the US military. I imagine you could assassinate plenty of mustache-clad despots with an innocent looking strudel. Nobody can say “no” to fine pastry. And then of course once they swallow it they’ll explode. And being the tyrant rulers of barbarous countries that they are, the press and general public will probably chalk it up to the fact that they didn’t sacrifice enough young children to the alligator gods.
Perhaps it’s a chemical reaction with water that causes the strudel to expand. If this is the case, we could get rid of all those thousands of nuclear missile silos pointed at each other and replace them with strudel silos, where the moisture levels would be kept at zero, but then when they are launched at the target, their casing will spring apart and the strudel will explode in the air, burying the city, military base, or entire third world country in a tasty treat. I’m sure there are worse ways to die.
Also, peanut butter strudel = not tasty. Despite what basic logic tells us, putting two good tasting things together does not necessarily make a great tasting conglomerate. In fact, most often it seems that quite the opposite occurs. I might add that I had similar results with the peanut butter vagina (patent pending).
And while I’m posting and all, I figure I might as well get this out of the way. Angelina Jolie is a massive slut and a human vacuum and I find that she leaves a bad taste in my mouth. But I guess that’s probably just some residual Billy Bob Thorton.
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Aaron's
List
Film: Garden State
Game: Spitting mad amounts of it, yo
Music: Pixies- Velouria
Text: REAL Ultimate Power The Official Ninja Book- Robert Hamburger
Activity: Taking it easy on the daily
Anticipating: Birthday 2004!
Brandon's
List
Film: Waking Ned Devine
Game: Super Mario World
Music: Fooled By April- Nice To See You
Text: Apocalypse Wow!
Activity: Getting things squared away
Anticipating: Year 3
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believes that the older you get the more jaded
you become, which causes you to need to be
increasingly ridiculous just to entertain
yourself. That said, he's invented over 200
masturbation techniques and can play a mean
spoon.
is a complete mystery; guised in shadow at all
times. But that's only because he doesn't shave
very often. Word has it he's into graphic
design, but nobody knows for sure because I
don't think he actually even writes for this
site. |
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| Number
of Posts Mentioning...
Killing: 74
"fuck": 58
Homosexuality: 55
Masturbation: 47
Genital Disease/Disfigurement: 31
Star Wars: 18
Horsies: 10
Burning Magma/Lava: 6
Spiders: 6
Blogger Bashing: 5
Menstruation: 4
PBS: 3
Killing With Swords: 3
"frooglepoopillion": 2
Total Posts: 100
Note: This is a
fairly rough count, which only counts once for
each post, no matter how many times a single
post might mention one of the above mentioned
topics. So really, we are far more pathetic than
these counters might lead you to believe. Hard
to fathom, yes, I know.
Also: Brandon
explains the menstruation with, "I think it
hits you harder as you grow up. You realize that
whenever you get pissed at a chick, it's usually
'cause of that." He then proceeded to
exclaim, "WOW. God dammit, man," at
something disgusting that I said.
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