It is almost a New Year

It is the end of another year. End. Over. Fineto. I have to say I think this has been a shining year for your old pal Burt. I didn’t have any serious lawsuits to deal with, my portfolio remained strong and I had no serious brushes with any STD’s. All in all, it was a pretty good year.
Around this time of the year many different types of mediums will compile their best-of lists. This is a tremendous idea because who wants to work around the holidays? Not me. These lists are an easy way to get something done around this time with a marginal amount of effort. The problem is that I am even lazier than that. Therefore, I thought I would just share some of my New Year’s resolutions. And yes, I have more than one. I like to challenge myself.

Burt’s Resolutions

Get a little more sensitive about the environment. No more getting high on aerosol.

Try to work on remembering peoples names. I don’t care if you are the president.

Stop being so damned sexy all the time.

Finally write my opus. It’s a porno dealing with the rise and fall of the Ottoman empire set in an alternate universe where everyone has multiple genitals.

Eat more vegetables.

Stop blaming natural disasters on people. You have to admit there are some easy targets out there.

Stop calling people Jerkoff.

I know that list isn’t much to anyone else but it is something I am really want to strive for in 2009. I bet you think you have better resolutions than I do. Well what are they, Jerkoff?

Cup of Joe

I love coffee. I love it almost as much as I love whiskey. That’s why I really wanted some whiskey in my coffee this morning. That can pose a problem when you have to work. It can also prove to be a problem if you are not allowed to drink when you work. Surprisingly, most places that I work have a policy that restricts this type of behavior. For some reason they don’t want you to operate heavy machinery or interface with customers while under the influence. Does that make any sense?

T'was the night before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse (because mice hate Santa Cats);

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that Santa Cat soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of a cat with a bow tie danced in their heads;

And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap (kerchief = negligee),

Had just settled down for a long winter's nap (Santa Cat does not sleep…EVER),

When out on the lawn there arose such a meow,

I sprang from the bed to see what was this sound,

Away to the window I stumbled quite slow,

Tore open the shutters to see what was below,

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

What that describes I don’t even know,

When, what to my wondering eyes should spat,

But eight tiny reindeer and one Santa Cat,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. (or maybe Dom Deluise)

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

Now get Santa Cat all the presents in his paws!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

I saw a slight twinkle in Santa Cat’s eye,

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of toys, and Santa Cat too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing of each little paw and hoof.

As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,

Down the chimney Santa Cat came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur (duh), from his head to his paw,

And his bow tie and hat were all that I saw;

A bundle of toys he had flung on his tail,

And he looked like a peddler just opened his pail.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his whiskers how merry!

His cheeks were like regular cats, his nose like a cherry!

His awesome bow tie drawn up in a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly,

That shook, when he purred like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old cat,

And I laughed when I saw him, because I too am fat;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread (yet);

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his paw aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a meow,

And away they all flew like KAPOW!

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

"MEOOOOEOOWWWWWWWWWWWW."

The Legend of Santa Cat

Santa Cat was born in Santa’s workshop to a three legged cat named Florence. When he came out of the womb it was clear that he was special because his ears had been fused together to look like a little Santa hat. A Christmas miracle some would say. Santa, not one to ignore a sign, took a keen interest in the tiniest of the litter and like the great George Foreman he named this new child after himself. He also gave him a small little Santa cap of his own to cover his ears and a green bow tie made from elf clothes. It made him look really cute, nay adorable. Over time Santa Cat became the favorite of all of Santa’s cats and he was the only one ever allowed to ride with Santa in the sleigh. This pissed off the reindeer for some time. Especially Prancer, but he was kind of a jerk off anyways. Over time he made the reindeer see how valuable he was. For like Rudolph, Santa Cat proved extremely valuable in helping Santa deliver presents to all the boys and girls. If Santa was tired from all the cookies and milk Santa Cat would take over the deliveries. Another thing to note is that Santa Cat gains magical powers from drinking the tears of naughty children who Santa gives coal to. It is the secret to his everlasting life.

So kids, when you get tucked into bed at the end of the night make sure you keep those ears open. If you are lucky you may just hear Santa Cat purring as he helps Santa deliver your presents. If you aren’t lucky, you more than likely will feel the scratch of his tongue as he licks away the tears from your face because you just got a sack of coal.

The IM discussion

The weekend I had the pleasure of hanging with Ronnie the Greek and the Great Russini. As we were discussing the variety of things that keeps us distracted from our real jobs the subject of instant message conversations came up. The Great Russini likened instant messaging with RTG to having sex with a fat woman. Essentially, he made the connection that when you do something like that you may think it is a good idea, but then you look back and realize you just wasted a good amount of time that you will never get back. Basically, having an IM conversation with these two guys is like having sex with a fat woman, minus the heavy breathing.

They won’t make the cake?!?

These two inbred yokels inbred yokels named their child Adolf Hitler Campbell. That’s little Adolf in the picture above. They are now upset that a certain bakery will not put his name on his birthday cake. Here are some other things that I imagine also are upsetting these people this week;

Black people

The three R’s: Reading Riting and Rithmotic

Toothbrushes

Not being able to marry your cousin

Jimmy Johnson winning in NASCAR (faggot Californians)

Condoms

Pro-fo-lacktics

People who talk all fancy and think they is better cause they are book learned past grade 8

Jewish people

Rubix cubes

The Trans-Ams transmission

Indoor bathrooms

I think that they just need to take a little time and work on their anger management. Maybe even a new hobby or meditation could be the trick into leading a healthier happier existence.

Well of course he resisted

The other day my buddy Al Onion missed work to perform his civic duty of trying to avoid jury duty. Luckily, he was able to get out of it. Or was he? It turns out that the case in question was a police brutality incident that involved a 75 year old man. More specifically, it involved a 75 year old man that resisted arrest after his wife called the cops on him because he was watching a porno. The SF Chronicle has the article here . Some of the highlights from the article;

“The unusual case began when Raymond J. Miller, a retired city employee who served as a Municipal Railway superintendent and worked at the port, was sitting in an easy chair in the living room of his home on Texas Street, drinking and watching the movie the night of Jan. 7, 2006, according to witness testimony.”

“Four officers soon arrived at the Millers' home. Raymond Miller, wearing only shorts, continued to watch the movie and ignored the officers as they walked past him and spoke to his wife, who said she feared he would kill her at any time, authorities said.”

“Miller testified that his wife's accusations mystified him. He said he had simply invited her to watch a "sexually explicit" movie, but that "she decided she didn't like it."

"All of a sudden, she decided to call 911," he told the jury. "She had no reason to call police - I told her, 'If you don't want to watch it, it's up to you.' "


So the cops eventually have to subdue this guy with force which resulted in a broken arm. Fuck yeah they had to subdue him with force. This guy is at home trying to get a little wristy and his wife decides to bring the cops in to it. Lady, he asked you if you wanted to watch it with him. What is your problem? If someone is going to try and get in my way when I want to have a nice leisurely jerk they better come with a small army. They better be armed with the most sophisticated weaponry available on the planet to subdue me if I am catching a little time with Rosy Palms and her five sisters. This man should be awarded the full amount that he seeks, a new pair of shorts and an apology from the police department and governor.

That’s not how you rob a bank

Recently four young women tried to rob a bank using a tongue and cheek instruction manual off of the internet. You can read about these bright young pillars of the community here . Let’s just say that they weren’t that successful. However, it did give me some time to think about robbing banks and what I think makes a successful bank robber. You have to have a gimmick.

I started thinking about was how a gimmick is rarely used these days when one robs a bank. Sure, the movie Point Break inspired a generation of bank robbers into using costumes in order to pull off a heist but I think we have seen the creativity of that decline in recent time. The most recent person that I can think of that had an interesting calling card was either the guy who dressed up as an old lady or the guy who came to banks in bicycle gear (I think he was called the 10 speed bandit or something stupid like that). All that makes me think that it might be the time for someone with a new and even wackier plan to take this bank robbing business to the next level.

I want to rob banks in gigantic fruit costumes. Think about how sweet that would be. When you come into the bank people probably think that you work for some mattress place or the farmers market and then BAM! You pull out the gun and tell them to hand it all over. Those costumes are so big that you can just dump the money inside. Of course, running is going to be a problem but at that point you will probably have arranged for some sort of ride by now. The best part is that you could use different fruit for every job.

I bet the news would give you some name like the Fruit of the Loom gang or the Fruit Basket Bandit. Of course, sooner or later this is going to end because you get caught, feel you have made enough to justify retirement or you run out of gigantic fruit costumes. Even if you do get caught you could probably write a book about it between random rapings and knife fights. Any other ideas?

Oh soooooo sorry Stephanie

Inevitably in life we all deal with people who don’t associate with us in ways that we would appreciate. I learned long ago that people are going to deal with things differently and that one must remain calm. Take my neighbor Stephanie and her spandex wearing boyfriend that live below me. I don’t know his name but let’s go with douchebag. Anyways, Stephanie and Douchebag live on the floor below me in an apartment complex (my mansion is under renovation right now and I won’t move in until the fountains are finished). About a month ago I invited a couple of gentleman over to watch the Monday night football game at my place. I had been in the apartment for about three weeks and this was the first time that I had guests over to the house. At about seven pm I hear what sounds like some very angry buzzer ringing and door pounding outside my door. When I opened the door this is what I saw;

The conversation we had went like this;

ME: Oh hi, I am sorry are we being loud?

Megabitch: YES YOU ARE BEING LOUD BUT THAT”S NOT WHY I CAME UP….THERE IS ALSO STOMPING….STOMPING!!!

Me: Oh I am so very so….

Megabitch: (interrupting) LISTEN I KNOW THERE IS A FOOTBALL GAME ON TONIGHT BUT THIS HAS TO STOP. I MEAN THERE IS STOMPING.

ME: I’m sorry. Listen my name is Burt and I just moved in here. I am sorry we had to meet on these terms. What’s your name?

Megabitch: STEPHAAAANIE!!! (tapping feet)

ME: Okay Stephanie..well it was nice to meet you and I will make sure to try and keep it down.

Megabitch: YEAH WELL COULD YOU PLEASE DO SOMETHING ABOUT THE STOMPING (Still in my doorway)

Me: Okay Stephanie I will make sure that this doesn’t happen again.

Megabitch: WELL GOOD. (gives some sort of glare and walks back down the stairs)

So megabitch waddles her unhappy ass down stairs and I legitimately feel bad about getting off to such a rough start with my new neighbor. Then after a few more tall cans (Joe Montana’s = 16 oz cans) I started to think about the whole situation and I realized that there is no fucking way I should have apologized. It was 7 o’clock at night. If there was any stomping it wasn’t going to be consistent and she knew there was a football game on. Basically, I have boiled it down to the fact that she thinks she is in charge of how things run in this building and she likes things a certain way. Well Steph, if I can call you Steph, I have a feeling that if you want to come by and try to tell me how it is again it won’t be the same type of cordial situation. So you can take your high and mighty, passive aggressive note writing, spandex wearing emasculated boyfriend having, no fun tight ass attitude and save it for the lady who lives above me playing bongos at 8am in the morning on a Sunday. BIATCH.

Greatest Cube Ever

At one of my various places of employ I sit across from this wondorous workstation. It makes House Party 1 look like House Party 2.

My brother the zoologist

The other day I was sent an email with a picture that informed me of my brother’s current occupation. Yes, I have a brother. His name is Bernard Destruction (we call him Bernie). I am not saying that we aren’t close. We are very close. I just don’t really ask him about his job because I would assume that he is doing something that I wouldn’t want to hear about, like being a stripper or cleaning out the peep booths at adult video stores. Well it turns out that our friend the Real Magician found out that Bernie is working for an aquarium. This is my brother’s response to having his secret occupation revealed;

It was supposed to be a surprise asshole. I feel relieved that my darkest secret is out in the open now. When I say that I have to work on the weekends this is what im doing. It all started when I was listening to a Lynyrd Skynyrd album and drinking some Old Crow. I thought to myself, "I haven’t done anything exciting with my life." At that point I contacted an old friend of mine who specializes in artificial insemination of reptiles. He set me up with an alligator wrestler named John Saint Claire. If you’ve never met John before than let me tell you that you shouldn’t. John has killed over 97 species of animals, some so secret that he cant talk about them. John taught me that gators are sensitive creatures and that they just need compassion and a tender touch....That’s when he fisted the fucking thing and made it tap out. John has taught me so much and that is why I have decided to live on the edge every sat. and fist me some gator. If you guys want to fly down to lawsiana and see me in my prime contact me at gatorfister.edu or at 1800 428-3478 (Gat Fist). Gators are pussies btw.

143
Bernie

I am proud of you no matter what it is you do Bernster. Just remember to never tell me if you start hooking, because hooking takes your soul.

Wednesday sleeps with the fishes

You aren't going find Nemo down there asshole.

Had to post this picture

I performed a google image search for myself to see if anyone had painted an oil painting of me. What I found instead, besides the picture of a jockey riding a dolphin, was this amazing picture. It looks like the Indian version of Burt Reynolds. There is really no point I am trying to make other than to say it arouses me.

I want to be a giant Douche

The best part is that it is not as hard as one would think. Here are a few tips.

1) Switch from deodorant to Musk
2) Only buy Affliction shirts and pre torn jeans
3) Tons of pointy shoes
4) Grow hair then gel it….a lot.
5) Start listening to a lot of Kanye
6) Lease a car way out of my price range
7) Get rid of all casual clothes
8) Fancy gym membership
9) Tribal tattoo or, even better, a barbed wire tribal tattoo
10) Fancy silk underwear

If you have any other tips I would greatly appreciate them.

No words

My friend Al Onion sent this website over to me. There really is no way to explain it. Do me a favor. Take some time to go through the site and see what you think. The legend of Santa Cat is coming but in the meantime please treat yourself to this site.

Walk the plank you lilly liver

All up in the club

I think that is how you refer to the act of going to a club. This past Friday I was lucky enough to be invited to a party at a club downtown for Skinny Stewart’s birthday bash. I would rather not give you the name of the place but it had two stories and DJ’s on both levels!!! I know, sooooo awesome. So there are a few observations that I think are worth noting because I am not very familiar with clubs and I think that these things could help you understand whether or not you would like to go to them.

Music
This is probably the first thing you are going to notice about the place because you can hear it before you even get inside. If you like your music loud with a lot of base then you will be pleasantly surprised. It takes a while to get used to being deaf but if having conversations in sign language and having your ears bleed is your thing, then by all means check a club out.

Drinks
I am not going to lie. Your best bet would be to pound a flask of whiskey and then bank on stealing people’s drinks when they aren’t looking, these places are expensive. If you get caught you will get thrown out, and if you don’t get caught you will have free drinks. However, if you really do want to get kicked out try vomiting in a trash can.

Ambiance and Décor
This place looked like something out of that movie with Yennifer Lopez, The Cell. It looked like someone threw old blankets in the ceiling with track lighting. Another nice touch was the very modern furniture although you can’t sit on it unless you are paying for bottle service. I really wanted to sit on one of those circular couches. Frowny face.

Dance floor
Seriously, watch the fuck out. Do not try to cross the dance floor with any type of drink in hand. Dance Floors are like battle fields where full drinks go to die. You will be in a trance from looking at all the funny faces people make when they boogie and then BAM, ass hits your cocktail hand and there goes that mixed drink you worked so hard on stealing is gone forever.

Cool people
There are so many cool people at these places that if you are somewhat of a regular Joe like me you might be ashamed of how awesome these people are. When I walked by those guys with the polo shirts and ties on I knew I had made a mistake. I did not come with my jewelry and toolery in check. Also, I don’t own a pair of pointy dress shoes and the lack of gel in my hair was noticeable. I could feel the burning stares from the cool guys’ eyes.

I don’t know if any of this is helpful. I just thought that I would add a view from my perspective. Which is, if someone invites you to a club the best thing to do is to show up in a tshirt, shorts and flip flops, incredibly drunk with glowsticks in your hands, and no wallet. That way they won’t let you in and you can instead go to the strip club across the street.

SANTA CAT

Expect to hear a lot from this little guy in the coming weeks.

They should make No Holds Barred 2

At the pinnacle of Hulk Hogan’s career he graced the silver screen with a tour de force acting performance as the wrestler simply known as Rip in No Holds Barred. He literally does not have a last name in the movie. It is just Rip. Among other retarded things about this movie is the synopsis that is featured on IMDB;

Rip is the World Wrestling Federation champion who is faithful to his fans and the network he wrestles for. Brell, the new head of the World Television Network, wants Rip to wrestle for his network. Rip refuses and goes back to his normal life. Still looking for a way to raise ratings, Brell initiates a show called "The Battle of the Tough Guys", a violent brawling competition. A mysterious man, Zeus, wins the competition. This gets Brell to use him as an angle to get at Rip.

What the synopsis fails to mention is that Rips’s little brother in the movie tries to fight on "The Battle of the Tough Guys" and he gets his face beat in by Zeus. Not just his face but pretty much his entire body. He is laid up in his hospital bed when Rip comes to speak with him. It is a very tender moment with a lot of “brothers” and arm flexing. In my younger more formative years it made me a bit teary eyed. Wait, there was a point I was trying to make. Oh yes, they should make another one of these movies. However, I think we should go in a unique direction as far as second films go.

They should make this movie as a re-imagining not a sequel. This is the perfect way for this film to be made again. I mean how sweet was Batman Begins? Imagine, if you will, that the Hulkster is reprising his role as Rip. Only this time we could make him be at the back end of his career, just like in real life. He could once again be approached by this Brell character to fight in his new show. Rip will again decline the offer and say that he wants to go out on top. This is where the story takes a new turn.

After being rebuffed by Rip, Brell decides to extend the offer to Rip’s children played by his real life son and daughter. Nick Hogan will be taking over the role of Rip’s brother. Brooke will be playing the role of Zeus. You see, Brell will offer the two siblings contracts only if they fight each other in the very first fight. Of course they accept, and then Brooke obliterates Nick (obviously, She’s huge!) putting him into a coma just like the real life one his “friend” is in. We could even take out a chunk of his head. This sets the stage for a repeat of the emotional hospital scene in which Rip vows to seek revenge on the person that did this to his family.

The final scene of the movie will be a battle to the death between Hulk and Brooke. They will fight through a shopping mall and obliterate walls and store fronts in one of the most epic one on one battles in cinema history. They will fight all the way to the top floor where, at the same time, they each grab one another and fall down three stories in a double fatal power slam. The medic arrives and after checking and finding no pulse on either of them gets tears in his eyes and does one final three second count. 1….2….3….! Then they head to a shot of Nick still in the coma and then there is a three second count on the vitals 1…..2….3…. flatline!!! Fade to black.

Newsflash: People care about Swayze

I just thought I would share some interesting comments about the Patrick Swayze post that I received on Friday. Each comment was interesting in its own right. The first response was lighthearted and it also included this photo;

the fact that you were actually watching roadhouse shows that you are really in love with the dirty dancer.

c'mon admit it - it's ok

I liked this response. I thought that it made a lot of sense. Maybe I am in love with Patrick and I just don’t have the emotional maturity to admit it.

The second response I received was definitely someone from the Swayze fan club(SWAYZIACS?). This person dropped a little bit of knowledge and a threat to go with it;

Doubt it, pal! Patrick Swayze is a legit "black sash" in tai chi. His mother thought it would be a good idea to sign him up for martial arts as a child because he was a dancer and was teased and picked on quite a bit. As far as the scenario you put forth, if you pull out a switchblade in a club you deserve a severe ass wuppin' no question, "ogling some dancing floozy and then this guy who is about 5’2” with a gigantic feathered mane of hair comes up and tells you to knock it off. What the fuck? Of course I am going to pull out a weapon and tell this guy to piss off" and of course you should not be suprised when you get hurled out of that bar like a frisbee either for being an asshole.

I am not sure if this person is joking or not, but they definitely know their Swayze. I had no idea he participated in some fruity martial art that I have never heard of. You learn something new every day.

The final message I received really has me thinking. If anyone can explain to me what this means I will give you a cookie.

Go back go sucking dicks in prison, you lying shit eater.

Sure….sounds good?

I would have knocked Swayze out

I was watching Roadhouse the other night and one scene in particular really made me think about Swayze and his cooling techniques that he employs throughout the film. Swayze’s character Daulton definitely has a nuanced manner of dealing with people that are disruptive at the bar. He employs the Mantra “BE NICE” in dealing with customers that are having a little too much fun. Basically, he wants his bouncers to try and diffuse the issue without violence so that the attitude in the bar makes one feel safe. With that being said I think that he is not particularly fair to one of the patrons in the beginning of the film.

The particular scene that I am speaking about is Swayze’s first night on the job. He has laid out the ground rules to the employees of what he expects and often repeats his “BE NICE” theory of handling things. The night starts off pretty standard but as the drinking increases so does the rowdiness. One chesty patron decides that the band isn’t enough to entertain the crowd and takes it upon herself to add a little spice to the evening. She gets up on a table and starts dancing to the delight of many and they disapproval of one, Swayze. So PS looks at one of the bouncers and tells him to get her down. Well that’s not happening because one particularly drunk dude with an awesome Hawaiian shirt on does not want this party to stop (why should he?). He throws the one bouncer out of the way and goes back to enjoying the show. Well Swayze has seen enough and goes over to diffuse the situation. By “diffuse the situation” I mean he goes over and gets the guy to pull a knife on him before throwing this dude’s head through a table. This is then followed by a tremendously intense hair whip. In the movie this seems like a pretty reasonable action to be taken by Swayze but I actually have a big problem with what this whole situation. Hear me out for a second.

This bar, the Double Deuce, has been a shithole for years. It is a bar where the band has to play behind chicken wire and the waitresses are selling drugs to the patrons. Swayze expects that his first night on the job people are just going to learn a whole new way to get drunk at their favorite bar. If I am going to a bar with sawdust on the floor I am expecting for all types of crazy shit to happen. Also, I am at least bringing some type of rudimentary weapon in case somebody thinks that I may be a little harsh with my criticism of the band or I have been looking at their woman too long. So imagine that you are in cool Hawaiian shirt guy’s shoes. You are in a bar ogling some dancing floozy and then this guy who is about 5’2” with a gigantic feathered mane of hair comes up and tells you to knock it off. What the fuck? Of course I am going to pull out a weapon and tell this guy to piss off. The one notable exception is that I would have not gotten my head thrown through a table. I would have taken it to the floor and painted his face with my fists of justice. All I need is a line better than the guy at the end who explains that he used to fuck guys like Swayze in prison.

I am thinking about getting a new scar

I have scars all over my body. They tell many stories. There is the large diamond shaped scar on my back that was the result of a megalodon bite. I fell asleep one time under water and one of those damn things bit me. It was completely my fault. I have a scar on my knee from when I tore my ACL in the first mile of the New York City Marathon. It’s much bigger than the normal ACL repair because I decided to finish that god damned race. I am still on a list to get robot knees.

These scars and many others allow me to tell war stories and have visual evidence to provide. It also makes for a very sexy conversation with women. Do you remember that scene in Lethal Weapon where Mel Gibson and Renee Russo compare scars until they are almost naked and then they do it? Yeah, that happens to me all the time. It usually gets pretty hot and heavy when I show my penis scar. Nothing sexy about that though. I just tried to jump a barb wired fence when I was drunk and naked. It was not because I had some crazy sex marathon.

I guess the point I am trying to make is that scars are pretty sweet and badass. My problem is that all of my scars are neatly hidden under my clothes. That’s why I want to get a scar where everyone will notice. The first thought is my face but I figure that people will think I am trying to copy Scarface. You know, because I am down with the hip hop culture and I sell copious amounts of cocaine. I don’t want to do that because BD is his own person. I want a scar that is original. I want a scar across my neck.

Is there someone out there that could make a nice long scar across my neck without killing me? It will have to be really big and crooked looking. The reason for that is I already have a story to go along with it. It would go something like this;

Oh yeah you noticed that. I am a little self conscious about it….okay yeah I will tell you how it happened. I am the last highlander. That movie is based on my life although I would have asked for someone a little bit taller than Christopher Lambert. Anyhoo, the only way that the other immortals could kill me was by chopping off my head. They got pretty close but I managed to fend them off with my karate skills and ninja stars. Yeah that was about 500 years ago….so I have had this thing for a while. What? What’s that you say? Take of all my clothes and show you the rest of my scars. I guesss……

I am pretty sure that’s how it would happen.

What if it was the other way around?

Torri, is that you?

Occasionally I like to take the posts that I write for the blog and post them on craigslist’s Rants and Raves section. If you are not familiar this is a forum where people can spew illiterate racism, post pictures of their penises and sometimes write something that actually has some value. Among the greatest I have read was from a gentleman looking for henchmen
and another who wrote about the shortcomings of shaving his ass crack . In general it is a pretty wide open forum. So you can imagine my shock when after writing articles and posting them people write some pretty interesting stuff to me.
Here is one of my favorites;

In regards to the A small dream post;
I couldn't think of anything more appropriate than having a shit factory named after you. With all the shitty stories you've been writing, you are more than qualified. You've got my vote.

Obviously, this person is not a very big fan. This is pretty typical of the constructive criticism that I get from the people of craigslist. However, I wanted to take the time to focus on one of the more recent comments that I received. Last week I posted my findings on Torri Spelling syndrome and apparently I hit a nerve. Here is what the person who read my findings had to say;


1. it's Tori, not Torri.

2. you seem jealous of those of us that have connections because of our parents. your parents are failures, and the sooner you acknowledge this, the better off you will be.

3. 90210 was on-air for 10 seasons; clearly they (including Tori Spelling) knew how to act, otherwise losers such as yourself would not have tuned in weekly, let alone for 10 years.

4. you have too much time on your hands. get a hobby, loser.

When I read this I immediately came to one and only one conclusion. This comment is from Torri herself. No way is there anyone on this entire earth that cares enough about Torri Spelling to write those things, no one. I can imagine her sitting down and thinking that she just nailed me with her numbered responses. “Oh man I got him,” she would think to herself as the gap between her breasts grows noticeably larger and her eyes protrude further from her skull. Then she would grow the wings of Satan and disappear into the depths of hell to rule the demons for all eternity. Yep, I am pretty sure that’s exactly what happened.

Damn these opposable thumbs

Why did I have to be born with opposable thumbs? What did I do to deserve this kind of horrible fate? Frankly, I do not know. I find myself wondering how much easier my life would be if I didn’t have these damn things. People would look upon me with sad eyes and offer to help me eat cereal or pen a letter in calligraphy. You may question why I would like to limit myself physically like this and the answer is that I am extremely lazy. I would gladly give up the use of my thumbs to have more things done for me by others. When people would ask if I could help them move I would just shake my head and look down at my hands saying something like, “(sigggghhhh)…..I wish I could help you, if I only had opposable thumbs.” Then I would look away like I was going to cry or have a nervous breakdown. That way people would think that I really wanted to help them but due to my physical limitations I could not. In reality I could totally grab some stuff if I really wanted to, but they don’t know that. Yes, I have looked into surgery and that is not an option. I am still waiting for someone to come up with a formula to render my thumbs useless, but for now I can only dream.

A small dream

Over this past week I have taken some time to look at our recent election and to think about the results of some of the propositions that were on the bill. I don’t want to get into a political discussion but I am disappointed and saddened to see that proposition 8 had passed and I am not sure if it was a good or bad thing that the prostitution proposition didn’t. Do we want prostitutes roaming the streets without fear of retribution for the sale of sex? That would depend entirely on how I was feeling at that time, but for the most part it is probably a good idea that we didn’t pass that one. Sooner or later it would be like that place in the movie Sin City where hookers run the streets and deliver their own sexy brand of street justice. That is beside the point though. The proposition outcome that intrigued me the most was whether or not to name the waste management plant after W.
Allow me to clarify for a moment. This proposition did not intrigue me because I wanted to see ole’ W embarrassed or vindicated by the results of this vote or that I thought it was an important issue. I really could give a shit. What piqued my interest is that someone could easily put this up for a vote. It amazed me that someone could get this measure on the ballot. It seems almost silly. At the same time it looks like a golden opportunity for yours truly. I want that Waste Disposal plant named after me.
Now I may not be a former president of the United States or owner of the Texas Rangers but I have done some pretty sweet stuff in my day. There are countless adventures and world records that I could use to bolster my resume for this honor. The people who came up with this proposition obviously wanted to name it after W. as an insult for the ineptitude that is often discussed about his presidency. For me, it would be a tremendous honor to have anything named after myself even if it is a waste disposal plant. I can see it now.

Now here’s the plan. I am sure that somebody out there has the experience needed to get the ball rolling on this thing (I am looking at you Ronnie). Let’s get a grass roots campaign going for yours truly. Once it is on the ballot there is no way I am going to lose this thing. So please, any help would be awesome. I have one small dream. Let’s try to make it a reality.

Oh happy day

I have been hit with a tremendous wave of joy. MAD TV is being cancelled. I cannot explain to you the amount of hate that I have for this show. It is HORRIBLE. This show consists of skits that go on far longer than they should and are poorly thought out in the first place. Oh my god, that guy is dressed up like a big kid!!! Wait his names Stewart? Hahahahah. Look at the rosy cheeks. Oh man he isn’t going to listen to his mom!!! HAHAHHAAHAHA. Hilarious. Pardon my sarcasm but I find this show to make me dumber and lower my sperm count. I thought I would set up a list of things I would rather do than watch MAD TV. Here goes;

Anything

This picture has consumed me

I have been staring at this picture for the last few weeks. It is on my desktop and I made a wallet sized version to look at when I am on the run. This picture is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. When I examine this picture I find myself contemplating the cosmos and the small role that we as humans play in this gigantic universe. This picture makes me think of the cosmic relation we have to all living beings. It also makes me think about dog toupees.
Why do more dogs not wear toupees? Look at this little guy. His level of sophistication has jumped leaps and bounds due to the simple application of a hairpiece. I almost would imagine that this dog could engage you in witty conversation about how to tie a Windsor knot and what brandies are the best after dinner treat. We could talk about foreign diplomacy and the impact that the gold rush had on Americans migration to California. However, I think we could easily segue from serious discussions into the best place to take a shit that people will step in and what another dog’s ass can tell you about them. We have much to learn from one another this chap and I. I just really hope that the toupee gives him the power to talk.

Torri Spelling Syndrome

My friend Catfish sent me this picture today with a question. The question was what is wrong with this picture (click on the photo if you need a better look)? The first thing that jumps out at me are those clothes. TACKY!!! The second thing that I noticed is the tasteless combination of accessories. That bag with those shoes? YUCKKKKKK!!! However, the most starling thing about this photo is the young woman in the middle. I am trying not to be mean here, but just because you are tall it does not necessarily mean that you are a model. Patrick Ewing is gigantic but you don’t see him modeling during fashion week in Paris. This young lady isn’t a gargoyle but this has to be about one of the worst “fashion” shots I have ever seen. It could possibly be the way that she is standing or the goofy hat that makes her not the most photogenic of subjects, or this could be part of something much bigger. You see, I have been hard at work on a theory for some years now and I feel this picture may be the thing I have had missing from my argument. If anything this picture lend ethos to my theory;

The Torri Spelling Syndrome
In our world we have many people who are afforded advantages in life based solely on their family ties. Whether it is getting a job with the same company that ones parents work for or getting into a school based on the alumni status of relatives, your bloodlines can act as the extra edge needed to advance in life. Nowhere is this more prevalent than it is in the entertainment industry. Much like Torri Spelling, this young lady is probably far less qualified than other people who auditioned for the job at hand, but I would bet good money that she is closely related to the person that decided to run this ad. That is the fundamental principle of TSS. TSS is the theory that people who are in positions of control will ignore the usual standards to allow their loved ones to participate when they obviously shouldn’t. This was most blatantly abused by late producer Aaron Spelling casting his daughter Torri in Beverly Hills 90210. Take a good look at the cast and see if it adds up. Now take an even deeper look into the acting on that show and remember that in a show filled with stiff acting performances hers were by far the worst (although I will admit that the “Donna Martin Graduates” episode was a tour de force performance). There will always be less than qualified people thrust into the world of entertainment because they have connections within the business.

This is a monumental day for the TSS theory. With more empirical evidence such as this we are getting closer to finally connecting all the dots of TSS. This picture for TSS would be on par with an evolutionary biologist finding the missing link. This is a most spectacular find.

Kick rocks you busy body

The other day I was catching the bus home because my helicopter was out of service and the limo has been having break problems. I jumped on a very empty bus and took a seat somewhat close to the front of the bus. The bus had gone a few blocks when an older woman and her husband sat down next to me. The first thing that I realized was that I could already smell this woman before she could sit down next to me. She had that smell that was a mix of extremely potent perfumes, some sort of ancient baby powder, and a strange alcoholic stench, no doubt, to mask the embalming fluid. The second thing I noticed was this track suit clad, broach wearing mummy’s hands tapping me on my shoulders. After I took of my ear phones this is how the conversation went;

OLD LADY: Braaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnsssss (gurgle gurgle)

No I am kidding, but she did almost look like a Zombie. It was more like this;

OLD LADY: Excuse me but do you have some toilet paper? I just shit myself. This type of thing usually happens when you die. The body releases the remaining bowels.

Kidding again. For cereal this is how things happened.

OLD LADY: Excuse me, but what do you think you are doing?

REAL HOT SEXY GUY (me): Riding the bus mam.

OLD LADY: These seats are meant for seniors and people with disabilities.

RHSG: (looking around the empty bus) Yes I am aware of that. The second that someone comes in that needs this seat I will gladly get up and give it to them. Is that okay?

OLD LADY: You really should not be sitting down in this seat right now. That is a very rude thing you are doing.

RSHG: MAM! I AM GOING TO SIT HERE UNTIL SOMEONE WHO DESERVES THIS SEAT WALKS ON THE BUS. THEN I WILL MOVE AND LET THAT PERSON HAVE THIS SEAT! IS THAT OKAY WITH YOU?

At this point two things happened. The ladies husband agreed with me that this was a fair sounding deal. That, and the lady went into what I can only describe as a seizure or shock because for the remainder of time I sat in that seat she seemed to be convulsing and making a lot of “Humph” and “Pshaw” noises (it may have been her body turning back on again). Yes, I eventually got up out of the seat to let someone sit down much to the dismay of my new friend. When I got of the bus it looked like she had calmed herself down.
Now I want this to be clear. I have a very healthy respect for past generations. I just have no patience for busy bodies. Could she have waited until the bus crowded up to see what kind of move I made? I think so. But no, she couldn’t, because this old hag doesn’t have anything better to do in her life than explain to people how to live theirs. Therefore I would like to offer her a little advice.

Please try to wash all of that perfume, makeup, and death off of yourself. You are scaring the children and making dogs and cats go apeshit.

You sir, are a retard

The young gentleman above used to be the backup center for the University of Texas Longhorn football team. I say “used to” because he is part of the continuing trend of young people getting in trouble as a result of putting a little too much of their personal lives on facebook. In this case our fat, pimply faced, penis haired young friend wrote this in regards to Obama becoming the next president;

"all the hunters gather up, we have a #$%&er in the whitehouse"

Obviously our mongoloid pal is not the sharpest tool in the shed. This mouth breather is not alone though. Just this past week a young cheerleader from the Fackin PATriots was relieved of her duties due to pictures she put up on facebook that show a young gentleman of the intoxicated variety after he had been cheifed with swastikas all over him. I also remember the story from a few months back when a young man who was on trial for manslaughter (drunk driving) had his sentenced increased because of pictures and comments he put up on facebook that showed he was less than remorseful about the whole situation. The question I have is when will people learn?

Nowadays if you think that there won’t be repercussions for what you post on your own personal sites you have another thing coming. I constantly think of pictures that I could have posted from my past on the web that could come back to haunt me when I finally do get arrested for a nationally televised crime. I would not like the mangina pictures of myself with three basketball player sized trannies at a bobbing for apples competition during the love parade when this inevitable headline hits the papers;

LOCAL AREA MAN BREAKS INTO ZOO AND FIGHTS HIPPO TO THE DEATH

I claim lavender homie (Tons of Gang signs)

Besides watching a lot of soft core porn on HBO I really like to watch shows about gangs and prisons. Don’t ask me if there is a connection because there is and it’s frighteningly perverted. The one show in particular is Gangland, the show that has the sound of a man screaming like he has just been stabbed before they show each vignette (gwaaaaahhh). Gangland is great because it shows a lot about how gangs have been formed across the United States and how they have come to have the traditions and rivalries that they do. It made me start to think of getting my own gang together. You may think it is easy but there are many components to having a successful gang, and you need to think long and hard about the type of stuff needed to succeed in this “thug life.” That is why I have decided on a few items that I think lend credibility to my burgeoning gang and the way we “roll.”

Colors
The color that you wear is an important step to creating a gang identity. These colors are a visual symbol of who you represent on the streets. The problem that I have with gang colors is that most gangs go with the tired colors of blue or red. Basically, a few people decided on these colors and then everybody copied them. Of course, there are gangs like the Latin kings who go with black and gold but fuck them because they are pussies. I have noticed that there are many colors to choose from that people have not picked yet. I have decided to go with lavender for two reasons. One, it is a sissy color to some but it won’t look so sissy after I just gut stabbed you for calling me a fag. Two, nobody rocks lavender and I think that we could probably get a good bulk deal on bandanas and outerwear if we pick that color.

Turf
Right now I think I will keep the turf to the block I live on. There are no gangs that currently run on this street and I think I could set up a nice little base of operations. Besides I am lazy and I always like to be close to home in case I have to take a shit.

Rackets
My gang is going to be into all the usual stuff. We will deal drugs, extort, claim protection fees, and all other types of “ill Shit.” The one thing this gang is going to do is step outside of the box in our operations. I think that we will be the first gang to deal with the black market sales of puppies and kittens. This is an opportunity to stake claim in an illegal activity that some may deem a little too pussyish(?) for a gang. I tell you people will be fighting hard to get in on that racket, but by the time they do we will have the whole town on lockdown.

Signs
Now this is a tough one. Stacking signs is an important skill for all gangs to have. It’s a form of silent communication and also a really cool thing to do when dancing. The problem is that you can’t have signs until you have something to sign about. Which brings me to my final category for now.

Gang name
I am still at a loss for what I want to do about this one. Do I try to claim a street name or area code in my gang name? Do I add a title like Lords or God’s? Dare I even try to claim a name of ethnic implications? After much thought I realized that I want a gang that is an equal opportunity employer. That’s why I am going to go away from convention and call my gang the Fighting Gentlemen.

We will be having a meet and greet 40oz luncheon coming up in the next couple of weeks. Please be prepared to explain a little bit about yourself and what types of “shit” you are into. It would help if you could bring a police record and credit report.

Do you hate Wednesday too?

Hump Day my ass! Right? Am I right or what? As referenced by the post below and the old picture above there is little love lost between myself and Wednesday. I find it to be a day that brings little to the table. It's kind of like the person that comes to a party and sits by the dip the whole time leering at people explaining why they don't drink because of the carbs. It's a lot like that game Crossfire or condoms, it's useless. That is why I implore all 8 people who read this blog to send me their own interpretation on days of the week and how they feel about them. If you are feeling artistic or feeling yourself why not try to send something over to burtdestruction@gmail.com. Basically, if you submit anything it is going up on the site. Well, anything except for cock pics. Let's try to save those for craigslist.

Thought I forgot about you?

Not a chance you piece of shit. Someday, somehow, I will hunt you down and end you.

Everytime it rains...

I think of Prince and this Deep Thought from Jack Handy;

“If a kid asks where rain comes from, I think a cute thing to tell him is "God is crying." And if he asks why God is crying, another cute thing to tell him is "Probably because of something you did."”

Robocop on a unicorn? Finally, some real art!

Fuck Andy Warhol. Fuck Michelangelo. Fuck performance pieces. Fuck beat poetry. Fuck Dali. Fuck all art students. Fuck neo anything. And a big fuck you to the Mona Lisa.

I have finally seen the highest form of art that has ever been produced. The combination of genres and the composition of these pieces is truly amazing. A small group of the greatest artists of all time have displayed some of their work on flickr. This new, and most excellent type of art can be seen here . The only thing that I think can top this would be oil paintings of all the action stars of the 80’s screaming in their most notable movies. That and nude sculptures of me pleasuring myself.

My belt broke this weekend

No, it wasn’t because I am too fat. The belt just broke because of horrible craftsmanship. At first I thought it may have broken due to my Herculean strength but then I studied the belt and noticed the poor use of epoxy on the belts attachment. I guess I am not really going anywhere with this post other than to say that belts are pretty important, and besides suspenders they are really one of the only devices that holds peoples pants up. I don’t consider shoelaces an acceptable belt, it moves around way too much. That’s why this whole incident got me using my thinking box. Since suspender should only be worn by gigantic fat men, stylish gay newspaper editors and butlers I am not able to wear such a pants holding device. That is why I am going to come up with something better than a belt, something much better than suspenders. I think I am going to have magnets implanted in my skin and sewn into every pair of pants and shorts that I have. Take that belt industry!!!

R.I.P. Dolemite

Yesterday we were faced with the tragic loss of one the world’s greatest performers, Rudy Ray Moore, Dolemite himself. If you have not had the chance to see Mr. Moore in the golden age of his career as the street wise pimp you should be ashamed of yourself. Words cannot express the prose that this man spoke in, his undeniable sex appeal and the way he brought the character to life. I think that perhaps the best way to honor a man such as Rudy Ray would be to let him say something himself. Dolemite would say;

Man, move over and let me pass 'fore they have be to pullin' these Hush Puppies out your mothafuckin' ass!

You no-business, born-insecure, jock-jawed motha-FUCKA!

That rat soup eatin', insecure, honky mutha fucka!

Detective: Now, I know you think you're smart, see, cause you got all them flashy clothes, you got that big car there, you got all them black bitches working for you.
Dolemite: You forgot about the white ones.

You will be missed Disco Godfather, you will be missed.

Excuse me sir, did you shit your pants?

This weekend I had the pleasure of visiting beautiful Delores Park in the Mission District on a fantastically sunny day to watch the red bull soap box races. Due to the fact that it was such a nice day out I decided to treat myself to a couple of cold fresh beers. The cold beers tasted great but because of my child sized bladder I had to make more than a few trips to one of the many porta potty stations all over the park. When I first went up to the lines for the toilet I noticed that one stall did not have a line in front of it. A nice older gentleman who looked to be accompanied by an escort explained that someone had jumped into the stall about ten minutes ago and was not coming out. You have to feel for someone in a situation like that. I reasoned to myself that he must have some case of explosive diarrhea or he was doing drugs in the toilet. Either way he was in there for a reason.
You can imagine my surprise when I returned to the same area about a half hour later and our friend was still in the toilet. Although, people had now begun to bang on the stall door and were trying to force the door open. Not until a half an hour later with the cops finally at the door did any response come from inside. He finally emerged after an officer came to the door with what looked like running pants for him to put on, which leads me to why I wrote about this incident in the first place.
If you are going to be stuck in a porto potty there better be one hell of a goddamned good reason that you could stay in a bucket of filth that long. Obviously, this guy must have shit his pants and he didn’t want to come out until the party was over. I began to think of other possible reasons that could compel one to stay in a place like that for so long. Here is what I came up with at the time;

He is high as fuck on drugs and the tight space and smell of that porto water were the only things that helped him stay calm.

Someone at the races had him marked for death and he had to hide in the john until he was able to get a police escort out of the area.

This person has a fetish for doodie and was getting his rocks off doing a little poo play.

Our friend may have had too much to drink and he wanted to take a nap without being bothered.

Or ……SHIT HIS PANTS AND STAYED WITH HIS POO PANTS ON IN THAT PORTO POTTY FOR AN HOUR AND A HALF WHILE EVERYBODY KNOCKED ON THE DOOR UNTIL THE COPS CAME WITH A CLEAN PAIR OF SHORTS FOR HIM UNTIL HE WALKED OUT OF THE THING LIKE NOTHING HAD HAPPENED WITH A LOOK LIKE “WHAT THE FUCK ARE ALL OF YOU LOOKING AT”!!!

Working on the weekends

Things have been tight around the Destruction household lately. Like I have said in the past I do a lot of different jobs to make ends meet during the week. I do just enough to have the essentials necessary for the type of lifestyle I live. You know, food, clothes, a roof over my head, porn, beer, slip n slides and oil paintings of myself, normal stuff. Yet, I find myself sitting there on the weekend with little money to go out and treat myself to a nice dinner or to catch a musical (musical = Stripclub). That’s why I have decided that I would like to start working on the weekends for a while. Now I don’t want a job that is going to take up the whole weekend and I want a job that I would enjoy doing. That’s why I have decided to become a male stripper.

I am going to become one of those male strippers that come to the house during a batchelorette or grandmothers tea party. I feel like my talent for acting and showmanship would not be utilized as effectively in the strip club environment. This is not to say that I don’t have the dancing skills needed to be a club performer. I am a fucking tremendous dancer. I just feel that the art of coming to a party where only a few people know you are going to be performing really adds to the excitement. Plus, I have a awesome idea to spice up the mundane practicum’s that have plagued this job.

For far too long male strippers have been relegated to using the same boring costumes and acts whenever they enter a situation of sexiness. Whether it’s the policeman sent over because of the noise complaints or the plumber that’s here to “fix some pipes,” it has all grown old and tired. That’s why I think that I am going to do so well as a stripper who does house calls. I am going to show up as and explorer.

I am going to knock on the door in a full head to toe safari outfit. I plan to look something like this gentleman here;

When someone answers the door I will politely ask, in an English accent, to be invited in to take a look at the house. “You see,” I will say, “I apologize for intruding upon your party but I have been searching far and wide for a very special treasure that has eluded me for years and I think that this house may contain the answers.” At this point I think I will have captivated the crowd enough that someone will eventually ask me exactly what it is I have been searching for. That’s when I pull out the boombox with C&C Music Factory’s Everybody Dance Now cued up and tell them “the treasure I have been searching for is some hot female snatch that is ready to ogle my grinding man meat.” I expect an eruption of chaos and excitement as these ladies begin to make it rain with 20’s. Let me know what you think.

We need a new type of debate

Thank god that was the final debate last night. I have a hard time watching the debates because I feel like we are seeing the person trying to put forward the best image of themselves as possible while sugarcoating their beliefs and ideals. Of course this is going to happen, but I just wanted you to know. I need people to hear my feelings because I am insecure and if I don’t express myself I get upset that nobody knows how I feel and that leads to me soaking in a bubble bath and crying my eyes out while I drink Nyquil, but I digress. The problem is that in America today we value much more than just a message or an image. We need to see actual results in action. That is why I have a plan to get rid of debates in general and to institute what I call Physical Challenges.

These physical challenges will be a series of mental, physical, and emotional tests that each candidate must go through before a live audience. Now I haven’t really narrowed these down yet but I think that if I could throw out a few ideas maybe we could start brainstorming or start a think group, whatever. Here are my initial thoughts;

Have the first challenge actually be a physical challenge from the show Double Dare. I recommend that is be one where they have the bucket on their head and they have to fill it by squeezing juice out of something, hopefully oversized foam fruit.

Wild bird calling.

Have the contestants play a game of darts. Each candidate has to have three alcoholic drinks of their choice throughout the game.

Swimsuit competition.

Each candidate will be shown a series of pictures in the same order while attached to a heart rate monitor. These pictures will be very sexy, but of both a hetero and homo sexual nature. Maybe even some kinky animal stuff?

Freestyle rap battle

The candidates must each play a game of Pictionary with their family. It would be a really great look at the family dynamic and how much pressure the candidates put on their children for failing.

Hidden talent.

The candidates must be locked in a room with a crazy left wing or right wing activist who has just smoked a pretty large amount of rock cocaine and try to see how long they can talk to them before the security has to come in.

Log rolling.


Each contestant will have to do both the American Gladiator “Eliminator” and “the Crag” from guts. This part of the competition will be timed.

That’s all I have for now. I think that if we could find a way to make all of these events have a relevant scoring system this could really work. In the event of a tie we will have the candidates square off in some type of cage fight with an assortment of weapons and wild animals in the cage. All of the representatives of government must dress up like they are in Mad Max and the referee will be Tina Turner. As always, I am open to suggestions.

Wednesday tip

Always wipe twice.

RED WINE

No, I am not talking about the song by UB40. I am talking about sweet red wine, the nectar of the gods. As evidenced by yesterday’s post I am none to thrilled with Monday’s as of late and I needed a pick me up. Well guess who was there for me when I truly needed someone. That’s right, red wine. You happen to be delicious when poured into spaghetti sauce. You also happen to be delicious when I pour you down my throat. I don’t give a flying boner if you stain my teeth and clothing. I just like you for you. That’s why I would like to address this letter to red wine so that the whole world can see my feelings.

Dear Red Wine.

Let’s make babies and fly away to the south of France and live in small château for the rest of our days. We could take long horseback rides across the sweeping countryside and pretend to become cheese connoisseurs. I would massage your back and you could massage my stomach. I long for the time when I will feel your embrace and whisper sweet nothings into your ear as we watch the sun dip into the ocean whilst aboard my gigantic pleasure yacht.

Sexually yours,
Burt

Maybe we could try to repackage this Monday

I have noticed that over the years companies have learned to rebrand themselves in ways that serve the company interests. A few notable examples would be;

Bringing Jack back to the Jack n the Box commercials

KFC making the colonel a wise cracking hip-hop snowboarding chicken hawker and then changing him back to the folksy old racist grandpa

Mountain Dew branding itself the extreme soda (but aren’t all sodas extreme?)

Anyways, I think that these types of changes brought the companies back to a notoriety that they had long since lost. You see, I don’t think that any one respects Mondays anymore. And why would you? They stink. Ever since that movie Office Space came out and the line “a case of the Mondays” was uttered people have associated Monday’s, already a horrible day at this point, as an almost terminal type of disease. That’s why I think it would help if why tried to repackage Monday as a newer and hipper weekday. From now on I think that we should call Monday, HJandcheeseburgersday. Hopefully, we could get some fast food companies to sponsor it so that every Monday you can go and get a cheep cheeseburger with which you can enjoy your HJ to. I am open to ideas though.

JOOSE!!!!!!

The other week I was lucky enough to hang out with my friend Catfish. I was already balls deep in some Mickey’s so Catfish went down to the store to get some supplies. Upon returning from the store I noticed that he had gotten something besides the usual 40 oz of malt liquor. He instead got the energy enhanced, 24 ounce malt liquor JOOSE. I think it tastes like gasoline mixed with tangerine juice. Catfish thinks it tastes like assholes. Here is how one company insider defines it;

JOOSE has been described by Terry Kester, VP of United Brands Co., as "a little bit of mango, a little bit of papaya and a little bit of lightning."

Now I don’t know about you but I have never tried to drink lightning. You know, because it could fucking kill you. I think that Terry is obviously trying promote the product as an edgy no nonsense type of brand for the serious malt liquor drinker. JOOSE also has its own catch phrase for when people drink it. Wikipedia has this in its definition;

In the popular lexicon drinking a JOOSE is described as "getting on the grid."

Getting on the grid indeed. Let me tell you something. I “got on the grid” and was not very impressed. Now maybe that is because I have not taken the time to try all four JOOSE flavors. I must be missing out because the feedback from fans of JOOSE on the website is extremely positive. Here is one comment from one of many satisfied customers;

Josh, Beaverton, OR 9/25/08
JOOSE has changed my life! All of a sudden the sun is brighter, the grass is greener, girls look better, and I can stay up for days straight! Portland, Oregon hasn’t been the same since you have invaded our town. Drink JOOSE! For we…are JOOSECORE!

With a review like that and many other ones here , I think I might just have to change my mind about never drinking a JOOSE again. I also encourage all ten people who read this blog to weigh in on how things were when you “got on the grid.” Also, please let me know if anyone dies from drinking it. That lightning taste still has me freaked out.