I just started playing World of Warcraft...for real

I am not a rich man by any means. To be quite honest I make just enough to cover my rent, food, and unhealthy liquor obsession. It doesn’t leave much room for other expenses such as heat or toilet paper. That is why I had been feeling pretty left out recently because I can not purchase the game World of Warcraft (WoW). It is mostly because I don’t have the money to buy the game and pay its monthly dues, but also because I don’t own a computer, and I guess you kind of need one of those. Turns out that you really do need to have the game on your own computer as public libraries and coffee shops have explained to me ad nauseam that I cannot install it on theirs. So with a heavy heart I looked for another way to experience this growing culture and I found it. I have started playing WoW for real.

Now I don’t want to confuse this with Live Action Role Playing
or other variations thereof. I do something completely different and let me explain. What I typically end up doing is I will drive out to a very secluded area that is far from the bright lights of the city. Typically, I like to go deep into the woods where animals will be my only companions. With me I will bring all types of medieval clothing (from my days in the renaissance fair, don’t ask) and a lot of swords and weapons (those are from killing people who come on my property). Once I have taken the time to pack up all of my belongings I take drugs. I take a SHITLOAD of drugs. Recently, I have been using a combination of acid, ecstasy, mushrooms and the tranquilizers they use on small animals. I will take this combo and hike out into the woods for the day. You never know what type of adventure is going to happen. Just last week I fought an Ogre to the death and swam in a pool with freshwater mermaids. However, when I replay the day after I have come down it was more like I fought a tree for a half hour and then fell in a creek where a fish swam up my ass. That aside it is a magical adventure and I think that if you have some time you should join me. My name is Burticus and I rule the wooded glen.

GIVE ME BACK MY SON!!!

That is all.

That’s a badass tombstone

Over the past weekend a tragic event took place at a monster truck jam in Madison, Wisconsin. From the AP;

The Dane County Coroner says 41-year-old George Eisenhart Jr. of Chardon, Ohio, died after the accident on Saturday night in Madison. A witness tells the Wisconsin State Journal that Eisenhart walked out in front of one of the monster trucks just as it was about to pass by.

This is not a very positive story but I thought I would take a moment to share my thoughts. The first thing that I thought was that this is extremely sad. No one should have their life cut short so early and in such a freak way. The second thing I thought about was The Royal Tenenbaums and how after Gene Hackman passes away in the end they have a shot of his tombstone that reads;

Royal Tenenbaum died rescuing his family from a destroyed sinking battleship

Of course in the movie he had died from a heart attack but he wanted to have an epitaph that people would take note of. If George Eisenhart Jr. can take any solace from his untimely death, whilst watching the big monster truck jam in the sky, it is that he will most likely have one of the most badass graves of all time.

HERE LIES GEORGE EISENTHART JR.
KILLED BY A FUCKING MONSTER TRUCK
DIED DOING WHAT HE LOVED

Damn I love Friday

To show Friday how much it means to me I would like to write it a real sexy R and B jam sung by a group like Boyz II Men. You know it would start off real slow with maybe some synchronized thumb snapping. Then in comes a little piano a lot of base and a tiny bit of drums to start that slow sexy beat. The kind of music you make babies in the rain to. Anyways, you get the group to start humming in the background and you have the short fat guy in the group with glasses start laying down verbal sex. You know it’s kind of like he is telling a story about how he did Friday wrong and that he now realizes the error of his ways. Then it’s back up to a chorus with all the guys singing again. They all sing together and maybe awkward skinny guy taking it to some high notes with unintelligible jargon that sounds real dirty. Something like;

OOOOOhhhh BABAY OOOOH GIRL KNAw PULISSSSSSSE

After that comes the most important part to the song. This is when the quiet guy with the super deep voice comes in and just talks for a minute of song time while everybody claps their hands. He doesn’t really talk about anything in particular. Rather he just hypnotizes you with the depth of his voice and the constant use of the phrases “you know it’s true girl” and “take a moment to see what I am feeling.” After that you bring it back up for one more chorus and have the awkward guy take it to crazy heights and then fade out the same way you came in. BAM. Friday’s all moist and I just won a grammy.

Advice from Coach Finstock of Teen Wolf

There are three rules that I live by: never get less than twelve hours sleep; never play cards with a guy who has the same first name as a city; and never get involved with a woman with a tattoo of a dagger on her body. Now you stick to that, and everything else is cream cheese.

Max Payne: As reviewed by this man

Do me a favor. Go see Max Payne right now or you are a total dooche. That was by far the greatest movie of all time. If it doesn’t win best everything at the Oscar’s this year I will fucking take my shirt off and fight some one right there. Don’t think I’ll do it? Fuck you! First off, Mark Walhberg is the fucking balls in this movie. He’s always wearing this sweet fucking leather trenchcoat and he is strapped to the fucking hilt with guns and all types of karate moves. So anyways, the movie starts with him trying to find somebody who knows where the people are that killed his wife. He is at this fucking queer rave party trying to get answers. He isn’t there to dance or listen to any of that faggot shit. He is there to get answers. He has all these broads all over him and he could totally fuck them if he wanted to but that isn’t his style. Plus he still wants to get the motherfuckers that killed his wife. Anyways, a bunch of shit happens and the cops think Mark is dirty, but he isn’t. He keeps trying to get answers but all these drug addicts are fucking dying and he can’t figure out why. I am not gonna ruin it but Mark eventually finds out what happens and then all fucking hell breaks loose. He gets like forty fucking guns and goes batshit on these fucking guys in one final shootout. Boom! Shotgun blasts two jerkoffs through an elevator. BAM! Makes a private security team into swiss cheese. Makes them look like fucking boy scouts. Mark is so fucking hard he doesn’t even wear a fucking bullet proof vest. Pansies wear bullet proof vests. I don’t want to ruin it but there are some great surprises in the end. Do me one more favor, and I am not asking, I’m telling. See this movie before everyone in America buys all the VHS copies from the video store.

There is a new sheriff in town

One of the companies that I work for was nice enough to take some time off from firing people and cutting costs to allow the employees to watch Obama’s inauguration. I have to say that it was a very moving moment for both America and humanity in general. I think that we are looking at a bright new future with this man as our leader. That being said, I definitely had some thoughts come into my head as I watched our 44th president deliver his speech.

Yo-Yo Ma. Seriously? You could have any band in the world come and play and you pick Yo-Yo Ma. I am not debating this man’s musical talent but if I had a choice I would have had Kool and the Gang come down and play “Celebration.”

Where is Guliani’s kid when you need him? You have a lot to learn Sasha and Malia Obama.

No reaction shots of Dubya? I just was waiting for them to swing the camera by him and he is playing a gameboy or wearing the glasses with open eyes drawn on them.

Fireworks. When I become president there are going to be a shitload of fireworks.

George Bush 1.0. Did you see him wearing the fur trapper hat? What the hell does he have under that thing anyways? I am sure that it was some gift from Gorbachev back in the 80’s but still a little too much. I would imagine that people with that type of money take their brain in to get it rewired once a year and the hat is a good way of concealing the scars.

It didn’t look like there were many snacks out there in the audience.

All in all it was a momentous event and I look forward to seeing Obama fulfill his duty as our president.

Demolition Man = Window to the Future?

Last night I was at home flipping through the channels when I came upon one of 1993’s biggest action films, Demolition Man. This movie gave us a look at what life will be like in San Angeles (Los Angeles) 60 years from now. It is a pretty fantastical imagination of what we can expect in our future. From having Taco Bells as every restaurant to using three sea shells as a means of cleaning up after going to the bathroom, this movie really made some bold predictions. The scary part is that they may be true.
At a certain point in the movie Simon Phoenix (Wesley Snipes) has broken out of the cryogenic lab where they freeze the prisoners. He was unfrozen for a parole hearing. I know it’s ridiculous but bear with me. In the next scene the police are trying to figure who would have broken out of the lab that day and they start going through the records of criminals that had parole hearings. Right before they get to Simon Phoenix the prisoner who had a hearing before him comes up on the list. It is Scott Peterson, the guy who killed his wife and unborn child, an all around piece of shit. At first I laughed at the coincidence and then I started to get scared.
What if Demolition Man can predict the future? What if all the things that this movie prophesizes will come true? If that is the case I had a few thoughts;

If there is a family that has the last name Phoenix and they name their child Simon and he happens to be a black child with blonde hair we might want to keep some tabs on him. Maybe try to work on some positive reinforcement and nature camps.

We are going to have to figure out how these sea shells work. I don’t want to be the guy who is still using toilet paper. I think that in the future you would get a lot of shit for that.

Get used to having diarrhea. If all the restaurants are Taco Bells this does not bode well for my anus.

I should get all of the swear words out of my system or risk getting fines every time I say something. Cock, fuck, shit, damn, horsefucker.

Finally, if we can’t bump uglies in the future because we have to wear stupid sex helmets I will most likely just kill myself.

Good God, I hope that Demolition Man is not a window to our future.

A whole new world

Now this is a great idea . So many times I have sat in my office (shitter) and thought about how much work I am exactly doing. Well somebody must have felt the same way because as I live and breathe it does exist. I also imagine that this is a popular item for people with eating disorders and obsessive compulsive behaviors (“I shoot for between 1 and 1.2 pounds per movement whether I am finished or not”). Anyways, my order is in the mail and I look forward to the maiden voyage. The only thing I am concerned about is whether or not there is a seat heater on it.

If I don't come home after this weekend

You will know it is because I lost my life hunting the Abominable Snowman. I venture in to the cold to seek this beast’s pelt. Of course, I will be doing so only with a hunting knife and my wilderness preparedness kit (jack daniels, fresh underwear, cheese flavored goldfish, and a copy of Adventures of Assman 8). Wish me luck but also wish the Snowman luck, he is going to need it.

Rich People Club

Has anyone noticed the rash of Millionaires and Billionaires that have committed suicide lately? It seems that every other day CNN of FOX has a news story that talks about how some rich guy killed himself because he was losing considerable amounts of money in our current financial crisis. It seems that this is the only way that these people think they can get out. What. The. Fuck.
Seriously, you would rather kill yourself than face the possibility of getting rid of the house in Aspen and giving up on the idea of building that gigantic new garage to house all your vintage cars. It really makes me question what it is that the loss of money means to people like this. Would all the other rich people make fun of you? Does the air not smell as sweet when you dip below the Billion Net worth mark? I keep trying to think of a way to explain what is happening and after careful thought I could only come up with one theory. Rich people have a secret club.
When you get to a certain level of affluence you become eligible to join the rich person club. Most likely, the headquarters for this club is located on some uninhabited island or is some type of ice fortress. At this place all the rich people have exotic animals that man has never seen, this includes dinosaurs, bigfoots and unicorns. Everyone has access to UFO’s to fly into space. You can eat ice cream for breakfast and have eggs for dinner. I would also imagine that there are no rules and plenty of servants to go around, most likely some sort of monkey butler. Seriously, there has to be something like that because you wouldn’t kill yourself for being less rich. Right?

Greatest insult of all time?

I get into shit with people all the time. Why? Because I am an ornery old cuss that’s why! Whether it’s arguing about the price of stamps or waiting in line for a public restroom disagreements are bound to come up. When one tends to get in these situations it helps to have insults to punctuate the point that is being made. They also add fuel to the fire if you want the disagreement to venture into fisticuffs (I usually do because of my unhealthy bloodlust). This morning I was reading a very informative article from Joe Eskenazi of SFweekly that talks about the rise of douchebag as a major derogatory term in the lexicon of American insults. However, he takes it one step further and drops this knowledge nugget about his findings on international insults that carry some serious weight. His findings are as follows;

Yet among those who study profanity for a living, the douchebag is kid stuff. Reinhold Aman of Cotati publishes Maledicta “the international journal of verbal aggression.” He rattles off a series of curses that knock the vinegar out of douchebag:
“I shit in the beard if your father” (Persia); “Your mother’s milk is camel piss” (the Arab world); “Your parents have diseased genitals” (Ghana); and “I fuck the soul of your dead mother” (Serbian Gypsies). He hesitates before revealing the most vile, horrific curse he’s ever come across, a lament from Hungary’s peasantry: “Oh God, stop slapping me with your cock all covered with shit from fucking Jesus.”


Now THAT is an insult. To think that for years I have been using words like dipshit, fuckhole, and pederass to get under peoples skin. This article has opened a whole new world to me. I feel like I have a new wind beneath my wings upon which I can fly into the verbally abusive skies much higher than ever before.

Fan Mail

I received the following email and picture in regards to the post It is almost a New Year from last week;

My resolution is to stop reading your posts.

p.s. Don't worry about challenging yourself... you're "challenged" enough already!


Ohhh BURN!!

Top Trend of 2009: Body Slams

It is a new year my friends and I can’t be more excited. A new year means that we have a clean slate in front of us. Out with the old and in with the new, or so they say. I can safely say that this year’s trends have not had any time to establish themselves but I have a pretty good idea what some of them might be. If you will humor me here are some trends I see happening in 2009;

Old people doing drugs
This past year the talk centered on Senior citizens and their foray into new types of activities like playing the Wii and not shitting themselves in public. It is only a matter of time before these old timers become wise to another type of fad that has swept the youth culture of America, DRUGS! It makes perfect sense. Here are a bunch of people with tons of time on their hands and the disposable income to maintain that type of habit. I would get used to seeing a bunch of bleary eyed blue hairs checking out the latest Pixar film for the fifth time while decimating the popcorn supply at your local theatre. The scariest thing is that they already have tons of access to meds and with a little creativity and sharing our older generations will be flying high in ’09.

Backwards hats
I don’t know when this phenomenon died but it is surely up for resurrection in ’09. The style of late is to barely wear the hat on your head at all. Well, I am wearing my hat backwards right now and it looks dope. I am also contemplating that keeping the tags on the hat may make a comeback in conjunction with the backward style.

Sweatpants
They are going to become the new dress casual at work places across the country.

Sandwiches
I really feel that this might be the year for sandwiches to top burritos as the go to lunch time or dinner grind. Burritos are delicious but they have enjoyed their time in the sun for far too long. I base most of this argument on the fact that I have found Ike's Place , which has the greatest sandwiches I have ever eaten in my life. Sorry burrito.

Body Slams
This is my top trend for ’09. Over the years the body slam has become a lost art. It is a devastating way to end any argument and the hurt that it throws down is palpable. I just know that in regards to body slams I will be THE trend setter this year.
Having a problem settling the bill with friends?
BODY SLAM
Still trying to lose that extra 10 pounds you have been talking about for a while?
BODY SLAM
Don’t want to pay your bills?
BODY SLAM
Sick and tired of that douchebag at the office who walks around with an air of superiority because they think that they run the place?
TOP ROPE BODY SLAM!

You get the point.

Let me know what you think your trends for 09’ will be.

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