My Mother Didn't Hug Me When I Was Young

"Come here and sit on my lap."

"Why, so you can hide your boner?"

"No, so I can make it there."

Wow, I can be slightly clever while drunk. Not bad. Granted I can also be very obnoxious, very irritating, very vomitous, and, above all, very horny. God damn. I apologize to everyone I hit on last night, everyone who had to put up with my loud appraisals of sexually attractive women, anyone who cleaned up my vomit, everyone who heard my rantings on why God is a dick, and whatever else I did that I'd rather not try to remember. Oh well. I guess it's good for the soul to get that wasted every now and then. But it sure as hell aint good for my suit. I lost my friggin' suit coat at a Holiday station store while angrily taking a shit in their bathroom at 7:00 in the morning. I liked that suit coat. I looked hot. After last night, I have a resolve not to drink again, which obviously will be lifted as soon as I get back to school, so you may get to hear of my further embarrassing adventures.

And don't let this tidbit fool you into thinking that I've been a non-stop party animal this past week and that's what's been preventing me from posting. No, I've mainly been really lame and sitting around. I never really had anything in particular to write. But there have been a few things on my mind since then, so here goes:

- How come certain cigarette brands have lesser Surgeon General warnings on them? Camel is able to get away with "May contain traces of Carbon Monoxide" and Marlboro only says "May cause complications in pregnancy" whereas Winstons have to say "This product is known to cause emphysema, lung cancer, birth defects, and contains traces of several hazardous chemicals". If you could pick to have a single warning rather than a laundry list, why wouldn't you? Most people are idiots and will think "Carbon Monoxide" is another term for "Unadulterated Awesome". Many people, men especially, are not pregnant. They'll figure cigarettes' only downside is having a retard baby, which they'd probably end up having anyway, and won't pay it no mind. I'll bet the cigarette companies pay off the Surgeon General in order to get the primo warning labels. On another note, what exactly does the Surgeon General do other than tell companies that they have to inform people that they suck? I'm sure he's just a glorified fortune cookie writer who sits back and rolls in the checks. Bastard.

- I usually don't make definitive statements about movies I don't like, but I'm willing to make an exception because I'm even more offended by this movie than by Polar Express: Everyone who even thinks of seeing the movie Racing Stripes is going to the deepest circle of hell where they will be raped in the ass by porcupines till the end of eternity. Racing Stripes is the devil. It's the worst in the way of Hollywood schlock with its god damned celebrity voiceovers and churned-out believe-in-yourself chase-your-dreams be-a-zebra script that has been floating around stuffy board-rooms since the dawn of time. Snoop Dogg... playing the voice of an actual dog??? That's so fucking clever, only some constipated 400 pound Hollywood exec who cheats on his plastic-surgery-addled wife could've come up with that! I really hate the concept of whatever it actors are out there at the time doing the voice of CGI farm animals. David Spade needs to be shot in the face with a rifle. As soon as I saw the intro to the preview for the first time, I said to myself "Whatever this is going to be, it'll be awful". And, as always, I was right, but it went six steps beyond being the worst movie ever made because of David Spade freestyling while playing the voice of a fly (Those wacky supporting characters! They're so wacky!) when it introduced the premise of the movie: A zebra wants to race, but there are people in the way trying to stop it. Luckily, Frankie Muniz is the voice, which can only mean that somehow, someway, this little guy will be able to follow his dreams, and maybe even learn a little something along the way. This is the kind of bullshit they try to pour down children's throats nowadays, which is really sad, because it will produce an entire generation of fuck-ups. It's depressing to see The Incredibles because it is so good and all other children's movies are so bad. I don't want to be around when the effects of Racing Stripes destroy our Mother Earth. Set fire to every last copy of this film right now or the sky will surely open up and the horsemen shall come from above to skewer us all with sickles.

- The OC just came out on DVD. If you say OC DVD quickly, it sounds like OCD and VD, both of which are diseases. Coincidence? Probably.

- This tsunami shit totally sucks. Hundreds of thousands of people are dead, and that's depressing. On top of that, those who live will have to deal with mass amounts of corpses, lack of any homes or property, and an insane devastation to their lives and families. Thank God the good old U.S. of A. is taking time away from its busy schedule of killing people in other countries to give a teensy bit of money in aid! I'll bet the survivors all get little care packages dropped from planes. Hey, is that a chocolate bar in there? Way to go! It really sucks that this little happy bit of news is tacked on to all the other fucked up shit going on in the world, but we don't have anyone to blame and yell at. This was a natural disaster. I'm used to things being the fault of a person or an institution an being able to think that if they were all assassinated the problems of the world would go away. but in this case I have no one in particular to hate, which means I can only hate the entire world, which I've doing for quite some time anyway. I was kind of hoping to have some positive things happen for once, but so long to that idea. Fuck the world.

- I saw someone with a "Jeb Bush 2008" bumper sticker on their Hummer. This fucking pisses me off to no end. This means, not only did these people not pay attention to all the fucked up shit Bush pulled in the last four years, no matter what he does in the next these closed-minded numb-nodes will attempt to continue the horrid dynasty again. People really are fucking idiots. It's amazing. Those three words on that bumper sticker represent generations of ignorance and stupidity for years to come. These people will never listen to reason, nor will they ever even think of changing their thoughts or actions. Pricks.

- Someone should invent Grab-'N-Go pea pods. I love pea pods and could totally see eating them as a snack. Seriously, make a healthy alternative to chips an shit available to kids, and with the right marketing and the proper anthropomorphic cartoon pea pod, they could be the next Pringles. Then maybe all these dumpy fat-ass children our nation is so fond of producing will be phased out and everyone will be attractive again. Because that's really all that matters anyway. Plus the Grab-'N-Go concept is very "in" today. Milk containers and other liquid receptacles have added grooves in the bottle to allow you to be able to hold their product. I tell you, drinks were so much more difficult to hold before these genius volume-reducing notches wormed their way onto my favorite beverage. It was literally impossible to grab anything in the world before Grab-'N-Go, and you couldn't even consider taking the product anywhere. Lord no. Everything had to be enjoyed alone in a chair with the palm of your hand placed precariously at the bottom. Life was hard, man.

I think that's all I have in me for now. I return to college soon, so I'll have lots more time to post and will probably go back to my desperate and whiny every-day posting schedule, because I'll be alone and sad. Boo hoo.

There's A Pun In Here Somewhere, I Just Know It

Oh boy! I remembered another thing I hate! That means I get to post something in my spiteful bitter blog! Joy!
I hate oxymorons! Yes sir! I guess not oxymorons so much as their misuse. I honestly cannot remember the last actual oxymoron I heard.

- "Compassionate conservative is an oxymoron!"

Well, technically, no it isn't. You god damned liberal hippys think you're so freakin' clever, don't you?

- "Microsoft Works"

Again, somebody's got a case of the "I think I'm so fucking funny!"s.

- "Awfully Nice"

That's not an oxymoron at all. "Aweful" means simply that it inspires awe. If you're in awe of someones niceness, then by definition it is "awfully nice", because awful doesn't mean strictly bad, you dumb cunts.

- "Pretty Ugly"

God damn, does anybody realize that words have more than one meaning? If the person were being referred to as being both pretty and ugly, sure, that's an oxymoron. But "pretty" in this sense just means very. Now go away.

- "Soft Porn"

Does "Porn" mean "Hard"? No. Go fuck yourselves.

- "Jumbo Shrimp"

I think this one gets me the most. It's the one used most often. When oxymorons are mentioned, people immedietly refer to "Oh, you mean like 'Jumbo Shrimp'". No, you fools! The reason the word "shrimp" is associated with small is because the animalia shrimp are small. Therefore, it is possible to have Jumbo Shrimp; they are simply bigger shrimp than usual. Simply because the norm for shrimp is to be small and that is where there the term originated does NOT MOTHER FUCKING MEAN THAT JUMBO SHRIMP IS AN IMPOSSIBILITY!!! AARGH!!!!

An oxymoron is defined as a "rhetorical figure in which incongruous or contradictory terms are combined". This does not mean that, because teachers are typically unpaid or that some people in the army ain't got all they marbles in they bag, the terms "wealthy professor" or "military intelligence" are oxymorons. It is not contradictory or incongruous for Microsoft to work; you just like to tell yourself it is because you think you're god damned hilarious. Not you, specifically, dear reader. I refer of course to the Common Man, the Everyman, Average Joe, and the like.

I think the worst I've ever heard was a teacher talking about her organizational skills. "I'm so disorganized; it's an oxymoron that I'm a teacher." What?!? What the hell does that mean? That doesn't make a lick of sense! I could very easily make a tired and overdone joke here, but I like to think that I'm better than that. So I'm not going to.

Grr.

Sold Out For Jesus

My friend and I were discussing this. Just for now, forget everything you know about Jesus and Christianity. Block all knowledge on the subject from your mind. Now imagine that Christianity as a whole is in a prison setting, and that Jesus is the purveying 8-foot tall mad-dog rapist who instills order into everyone through unrelenting rules and constant rapings. You could quite easily use the same statements from born-agains in either situation.

"That's when I realized that being a good person and doing good things were not enough to get you into heaven. You need to have a close personal relationship with Jesus."

"Does the fact that you have sinned against God scare you? It should. You have actually angered Him by your sin. The Bible says his wrath abides on you, that you are an "enemy of God in your mind through wicked works."

"Let Jesus into your heart."

"I was lost; I was scared. I was suicidal. Then I became one with Jesus, and now I feel my life is whole."

"YEAH!!! JESUS!!!!! WOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

All of these are actual quotes, by the way, taken mainly from a little low-budget shit program known as Sold Out 4 Jesus, a youth-oriented program designed to make God cool again. Skateboarding and rock concerts are apparntly what Christianity is really all about, not those boring sermons and those touchy-feely priests. You could've fooled me. All the skateboarders on SO4J say they've "sold out big time" and that they've always got their minds on Jesus, which I guess explains why they so suck so much ass at skateboarding. All the girls are airheaded and salmonella-tanned, and all the guys look like the human race would look if we had to throw up into each others asses to procreate. Everyone talks about Jesus all the time, never his teachings or why he is good or any of that malarky. Simply "Jesus". Woo. The whole concept of youth indoctrination is really culty and creepy and based solely in the labels and not the concepts. All these guys are going to be coke addicts by age 19, and all these girls are going to be knocked up by age 16. I can almost guarentee it.

But wait! Stephen Baldwin is sold out for Jesus! That fabulous actor, the Jimmy Stewart of our generation (and the next!), is part of the revolution! Oh joyest of joys! Oh happy are we to bask in the glory that is Stephen Baldwin!

How come if people love Jesus so damn much, they also love The Passion Of The Christ, a movie based around the bloody and over-dramatic flogging, beating, humiliation and eventual fatal crucifixion of him? I don't hang up posters of Joe Strummer beaten into submission and dripping blood from every square inch of his body in my room. I don't want to see Jesus covered in flesh wounds and barbs. How does that make me love him more? I don't want to let that piece of roadkill into my heart now; he's like a friggin' horror film monster!

Whatever. It's too late for me anyway. I already found out I'm going to hell. Other online tests have told me different, and you know you should always trust an online test to tell you everything about yourself, but I trust this one in particular because it's called "The Way Of The Master", and you just can't argue with that. Apparantly God is a ninja now.

This post wasn't really about anything.

P.S. I have a counter now, so boo-yah.

Oh, You Mean Kick

You want to know what a horrid, gut-wrenching job is? Throwing away ice cream. It's like watching twenty of your best friends get killed in traffic, and then dragging the corpses one by one into the sewer. Or something. i don't know; I've never actually had to do that before. Maybe I should refrain from making analogies to things I know nothing about, but throwing away ice cream did suck. The power went out at the gas station for 27 hours, so all the ice cream went bad and melted, along with the milk and sandwhiches and shit. Besides being horrendous to have to throw all that delicious ice cream away, it's also fucking messy and gross. Like the corpses. So there.

Yeah, well. Anyways, that's not what this post is about. Oh no. You're in for a treat, and not an ice creamy treat, because it conjurs up bad mojo now.

My shit disappeared. I don't know if this has happened to anyone else, but I took a phantom shit today. There I was, in the gas station bathroom with the lights off due to the power outage, taking a shit. Upon completion, I turn around with the flashlight to take a look-see, you know, to make sure everything's square. But everything was most definitely not square, and I couldn't tell what other shape it would be, because there was nothing there. I felt it come out, and I heard the defining "plop", yet no result. To say the least, this frightened me. I figured I was sitting on the Bermuda Triangle, or that one of those holes from Sliders had appeared underneath my ass. Maybe the little fellah fell into the drain. I'm no physicist, but the physics of this happening seem unlikely.

Now, those who know me know that I am a poo connoisseur. Not by choice, but by birth. Name a shit syndrome and I've probably experienced it. I've had farts, sharts, bombasts, the machine gun, Montezuma's revenge, revenge of Montezuma's revenge, diarreha, anal piss, chunk-style, the proverbial baseball, Achy-Breaky-Fart, the slam dunk, cannonballs, whole pieces of carrot emerging, the pancake batter, the Kieth Richards Surprise, Ass Hiroshima, moody, presumptious, disagreeable, the marathon, the sprint, over-the-bowlisms, petrification, the Squeegee, the two-fer, the mood-ring, the Stealth Assassin, the ol' over-the-river-and-through-the-woods-to-grandmothers-house-we-go, malted-milk balls, St. Patty's Day Surprise, anal menstruation, the Howie Long, the wood chipper, the chamelion, fried rice, tapioca, chow mein, the assneurism, the thorny toad, and the ever elusive rattlesnake-caught-in-an-updraft. (I've thankfully never had a pink sock, but I'll bet anything that's how I die.) I am like the Shaft of shit, muthafucka. But never have I had one escape on me. Does this happen? Am I alone on this? Or am I imagining things? I don't know about you, but I'm very scared.

Oh, and fuck the word "Carbys".

Buns Buns Buns Buns

As you could probably tell, I haven't been updating much. Here's my reasoning: I'm not as bored. Well, yes I am, but when I am my internet coincidentally decided not to work. This of course implies that inanimate objects and conceptual happenstance have the ability to think and make decisions for themselves, which is not seeming like such a bad theory lately, as everything seems to be against me. My god damned smoke detector has been fucking beeping on and off for a few weeks now and I can't figure out how to shut the fucking thing up.

But that's not worth being discussed today, because today was the first day of my new job. That's right, folks: I work. I used to work at an old folks home, serving the folkles they's food and telling them to shut up before we beat them into doing what we want. Now, I work at a gas station! Yay! And what a joy it has been. It's only been my first day, and already an immaculate sense of overwhelming pride has rushed over me. Today was stock day, where all the new shipments come in and we need to inventory, price, and shelve each individual item. Talk about baptism by fire, baby! Learning the reg as you frantically figure out where the Mike and Ike's go is like a chariot race in your pants, and it's a tie. As the line of people rises to two, four, eight, the pressure builds like a volcano and the magnanimous joy rises like napalm evicting itself from your colon while being thrown from a moving truck. The convenience store is a magical place. Where the hungover serve the currently drunk, then proceed to get drunk themselves after work as congragulations for getting through the day. Where an old woman can feel good after being carded, and a young woman can feel angry after the very same thing. Where coworkers share not only their interesting cat and fatigue stories, but also the pictures of hot women and 50 Cent they downloaded to their headset cell phone. Where puppies not only adorn the mousepads in the back office, but the calendars and the silly work-related quips on the wall. Where the bathroom key is a butter knife, on account of the last person to use it breaking the key off in the door handle. Where a gift from the heavens reveals itself as a bag of black licorice that rips open while stocking. Yes, as Dr. Pepper coursed through my already caffiene soaked veins, I realized that waking up at 5 and working until 3 is not rally so bad, especially considering what my bladder must be going through. For lunch, I microwaved a leftover hamburger, polished off with Dr. Pepper, Ho-Hos, and more Dr. Pepper. But really, I was feasting on progress and dignity. People of all ages, races, colors, creeds, ideals and heights (but not diets) entered the store to procure the items necessary for the day ahead, and I was the one to provide them with these necessities. I made an old kindly mans day by smiling. He actually told me I made his day, and this made my day that I had made his day. Days were made that day; days were made. Finally being a man on the inside, I was able to determine that the bathroom does not contain a two-way mirror in which shop owners watch me do my naked pre-piss ritualistic dancing in front of it, and that I need not flick off the potential peeper behind the glass. Ah, finally I may dance in peace, rather than in pees.

All in all, a good, long, hard day was had. Now I just have to do more of them. I'm sure my tone will change by the end of the week.