October 20, 2011
All A-Twitter
I probably should have told you guys this awhile ago, but I've moved this bitch to Twitter, where I can crack jokes more fasterly. Have no fear, there will still be the occasional p-shop. @bonzozzy
March 3, 2011
Woolery's World
If someone ever makes a movie about me, I've got the soundtrack all figured out. I also know for the most part what kind of scene should be going on during each song. I'm sure that's a backwards way to do it, but whatever, the movie's about ME, motherfucker. One song I would definitely want in my movie would be Coma by Buckethead (Feat. Serj Tankian and Azam Ali). I tried to write the scene for that song as a screenplay, but I suck at that. So basically what I've written below is written in the style of if-books-were-read-to-music. Before you read on, click the link below to hear the song while you're reading. Otherwise you won't get the full effect. Cue the music: the music.
Darrell walks into the dark kitchen, not bothering to turn on the light. As he stares out the window, a flash of lightning illuminates his face. A thunderclap sounds and he instantly shifts his gaze to the freezer.
He is hungry.
Opening the freezer door, he removes a large object. On it is written “STATE FAIR CORN DOGS.” He hears a noise, unsure if it’s his stomach or the rolling thunder. He closes the freezer door and decides he doesn't care.
He is hungry.
Quickly through the flashes of lightning he scans the box for something, his eyes every bit as ravenous as the rest of his body. He pauses for a minute and a slight grin creeps onto his lips as his eyes devour what they’ve been looking for: 375. He sets the box gently on the counter and reaches toward the oven. His eyes, languid from their feast, are no longer needed…for now. His hands, exact and almost automatic in their movements, find their targets. Bake. Temp +. Start. As closes his eyes he inhales in anticipation, attempting to smell what would soon be his.
He is hungry.
Removing a baking sheet from the crowded drawer under the oven, he notes with little interest that he can still hear the thunder through the clatter of metal. On the baking sheet he places one corn dog. Then another.
He is hungry.
He opens the freezer again and his hands find a formless object. A bag. It is labeled “Ore-Ida Golden Crinkles.” A flash. A boom. His eyes jolt awake, their lust renewed. They scan the bag, voracious. They stop, then continue again. They return to the same spot yet again, refusing to settle for what they’ve found. They roam again, but still come to rest on their original destination: 450. He hears a sound like thunder and suddenly bullets hit the window. They rip through his body as he tries to maintain his grip on the bag.
He is hungry.
His shirt explodes with each shot, yet he remains standing. A bullet pierces his thigh. He begins to fall, slamming the bag on the counter under his hand as he tries to steady himself. His other leg is blown to pieces as bullets continue to pound through the window. All he knows is pain. And hunger. Such hunger. Such pain.
He is nothing.
He comes to in a warm room. His head pounds, his vision is foggy, yet still he feels the cool pillow beneath his head. As he lays there, dazed, he listens to the steady beep of the heart monitor. He looks for a nurse, but no one is around. Just the beeping. It bothered him at first, but as it continues it has grown to comfort him. Each note, a sign of life. He looks again for a nurse, but his vision is no better. He raises himself up to test his legs. They wobble, but he steadies himself against his bedside tray. He squints his eyes, trying to bring them into focus. As he stares ahead his vision begins to clear and he notices a familiar sight. His kitchen window, rain spattering incessantly. His feet find the bag of fries where his head laid just seconds ago. As he regains his senses, the beeping grows louder and he remembers.
He is hungry.
Darrell walks into the dark kitchen, not bothering to turn on the light. As he stares out the window, a flash of lightning illuminates his face. A thunderclap sounds and he instantly shifts his gaze to the freezer.
He is hungry.
Opening the freezer door, he removes a large object. On it is written “STATE FAIR CORN DOGS.” He hears a noise, unsure if it’s his stomach or the rolling thunder. He closes the freezer door and decides he doesn't care.
He is hungry.
Quickly through the flashes of lightning he scans the box for something, his eyes every bit as ravenous as the rest of his body. He pauses for a minute and a slight grin creeps onto his lips as his eyes devour what they’ve been looking for: 375. He sets the box gently on the counter and reaches toward the oven. His eyes, languid from their feast, are no longer needed…for now. His hands, exact and almost automatic in their movements, find their targets. Bake. Temp +. Start. As closes his eyes he inhales in anticipation, attempting to smell what would soon be his.
He is hungry.
Removing a baking sheet from the crowded drawer under the oven, he notes with little interest that he can still hear the thunder through the clatter of metal. On the baking sheet he places one corn dog. Then another.
He is hungry.
He opens the freezer again and his hands find a formless object. A bag. It is labeled “Ore-Ida Golden Crinkles.” A flash. A boom. His eyes jolt awake, their lust renewed. They scan the bag, voracious. They stop, then continue again. They return to the same spot yet again, refusing to settle for what they’ve found. They roam again, but still come to rest on their original destination: 450. He hears a sound like thunder and suddenly bullets hit the window. They rip through his body as he tries to maintain his grip on the bag.
He is hungry.
His shirt explodes with each shot, yet he remains standing. A bullet pierces his thigh. He begins to fall, slamming the bag on the counter under his hand as he tries to steady himself. His other leg is blown to pieces as bullets continue to pound through the window. All he knows is pain. And hunger. Such hunger. Such pain.
He is nothing.
He comes to in a warm room. His head pounds, his vision is foggy, yet still he feels the cool pillow beneath his head. As he lays there, dazed, he listens to the steady beep of the heart monitor. He looks for a nurse, but no one is around. Just the beeping. It bothered him at first, but as it continues it has grown to comfort him. Each note, a sign of life. He looks again for a nurse, but his vision is no better. He raises himself up to test his legs. They wobble, but he steadies himself against his bedside tray. He squints his eyes, trying to bring them into focus. As he stares ahead his vision begins to clear and he notices a familiar sight. His kitchen window, rain spattering incessantly. His feet find the bag of fries where his head laid just seconds ago. As he regains his senses, the beeping grows louder and he remembers.
He is hungry.
October 31, 2010
The Book of Jerome
It’s official: I am the world’s least desirable friend. Within the past couple of years, several of my closest friends have moved almost literally as far away from me as they could without leaving the country. In typical fashion, I’ve written a long overdue sendoff for the most recent McGillicutty evacuee, without whom I will probably devolve into some humorless douche who tells tasteful, appropriate jokes. You know the drill, I’m gonna miss you fuckers and all that.
1Yet again, the prophet appeared before the multitude.
2“Not you again…” they said unto him.
3“Lo,” the prophet said. “Tis I, come yet again to warn thee of the third Horseman of the Ablakalypse! Wouldst thou have me not?”
4“There’s a-fucking-nother one?” the crowd cried in disbelief. Several among them shit their pants at the mere notion.
5“Aye! Surely by now ye know the terror of the horsemen, each more horrid than the last, yet still more fearsome than the next. In fact, I’m not quite sure why thou still opteth to live in this place, but I digresseth. Lo, people!” the prophet lowered his voice as the crowd grew quieter, “feareth plenty, for I am here to warn thee of the one they call ‘The Jerome.’”
6The men began to whisper and the women chattered nervously.
7“We have heard this tale, old man” someone shouted dismissively from the crowd.
8“Aye,” cried another, “tis just a legend.”
9“FOOLS!” the prophet yelled. “My story hath yet but just begane, For the Jerome traveleth not alone. 10He rideth in tandem with his partner, the only yet Horsewoman of the Ablakalypse, the Laureaux!”
11The crowd stared at him incredulously. The prophet continued, “the Laureaux possesseth the ability to, no matter the obstacle, reach around it and get to the goal.”
12“REACH AROUND?!” came an anonymous female voice from the crowd.
13“Aye, reach around,” the prophet confirmed. 14“Thine only comfort is that these two, united by the unholy powers of the Ablakalypse itself, rideth atop a beast so mammoth, so massive, so grotesque, so undeniably gigantic that thou shall see it coming, shall hear its footsteps hours, nay, days before it arriveth, the Jereaux on its back, plumes of heavy smoke billowing from their mouths. This tank of a creature, whom they calleth ‘Frank,’ standeth fathoms wide by fathoms high, his chest larger than thy moons.”
15“Prophet,” the crowd replied, “our tunics runneth over with shite still. Why dost thou torture us so?”
16“Tell me, crowd, how dost thou expect to survive if I do not warn thee?” the prophet questioned.
17The crowd consulted each other. “Well, what if we shall outsmart the Jerome,” they replied.
18“But the Jerome is a genius…for he hath outsmarteth Charles Onions!” countered the prophet, his energy building. Stunned, the crowd met again.
19After a few seconds they responded, “Then we shall hurleth at him with all our might the weapon of our peoples, the flying disc,” they proposed, now confident of their impending victory.
20“BUT THE JEROME WILL CATCH THEM ALL!” The prophet’s voice increased tremendously in both pitch and volume. 21Though the people were scared, they could barely take him seriously for how ridiculous he sounded. “And he shall countereth with the weapon of HIS people, a ball of ivory, which he shall hurleth at thy shins.”
22“He couldn’t!” a woman exclaimed.
23“He wouldn’t!” a child shouted.
24“OHHHHHH, BUT HE SHALL!” the prophet prophesied. He continued, “though formidable in violence, the Jerome’s true power resteth in what he hath writ, for it is as they say, the pen is mightier than the sword.”
25The people asked unto him, “is that a euphemism for something?”
26And the prophet did reply, “What? Oh, no, I’ve never seen his weiner or anything if that’s what you mean.”
27Tired of all the nonsense, the eldest elder in the group stepped up. 28“Get on with it, prophet,” he said.
29“Lo, elder, none of this compares to the Jerome’s most vile tactic” the prophet continued.
30The crowd felt their bowels ready to explode. 31“What could it possibly be?” they cried in alarming unison.
32“The Jerome shall…” the prophet trailed off. He paused to gain strength, as if what he was about to say would exhaust him. “The Jerome shall stealeth thy clothes and he shall weareth them for eternities, lifetimes, ages! So long that thou shall forget thy even possessed thine own clothing!”
33Everyone present that day fainted. 34As they came to, they witnessed the prophet putting the final touches on a drawing in the sand. “People,” the prophet said as he pointed towards the ground in front of him, “come see thine end.” The crowd looked before them and saw:
35As they looked up, they were surprised to find the prophet still standing before them.
36“Lo!” the crowd cried. “Ye remain!”
37No sooner had the prophet finished his sentence than the ground rumbled beneath everyone’s feet. In the distance, an eclipsing shadow loomed. From atop the lumbering chestnut mass rose an endlessly thick stream of stanky smoke. 38And the prophet did shit his pants. 39The crowd, having witnessed the soiling of the prophet, shathed their pants a third time.
1Yet again, the prophet appeared before the multitude.
2“Not you again…” they said unto him.
3“Lo,” the prophet said. “Tis I, come yet again to warn thee of the third Horseman of the Ablakalypse! Wouldst thou have me not?”
4“There’s a-fucking-nother one?” the crowd cried in disbelief. Several among them shit their pants at the mere notion.
5“Aye! Surely by now ye know the terror of the horsemen, each more horrid than the last, yet still more fearsome than the next. In fact, I’m not quite sure why thou still opteth to live in this place, but I digresseth. Lo, people!” the prophet lowered his voice as the crowd grew quieter, “feareth plenty, for I am here to warn thee of the one they call ‘The Jerome.’”
6The men began to whisper and the women chattered nervously.
7“We have heard this tale, old man” someone shouted dismissively from the crowd.
8“Aye,” cried another, “tis just a legend.”
9“FOOLS!” the prophet yelled. “My story hath yet but just begane, For the Jerome traveleth not alone. 10He rideth in tandem with his partner, the only yet Horsewoman of the Ablakalypse, the Laureaux!”
11The crowd stared at him incredulously. The prophet continued, “the Laureaux possesseth the ability to, no matter the obstacle, reach around it and get to the goal.”
12“REACH AROUND?!” came an anonymous female voice from the crowd.
13“Aye, reach around,” the prophet confirmed. 14“Thine only comfort is that these two, united by the unholy powers of the Ablakalypse itself, rideth atop a beast so mammoth, so massive, so grotesque, so undeniably gigantic that thou shall see it coming, shall hear its footsteps hours, nay, days before it arriveth, the Jereaux on its back, plumes of heavy smoke billowing from their mouths. This tank of a creature, whom they calleth ‘Frank,’ standeth fathoms wide by fathoms high, his chest larger than thy moons.”
15“Prophet,” the crowd replied, “our tunics runneth over with shite still. Why dost thou torture us so?”
16“Tell me, crowd, how dost thou expect to survive if I do not warn thee?” the prophet questioned.
17The crowd consulted each other. “Well, what if we shall outsmart the Jerome,” they replied.
18“But the Jerome is a genius…for he hath outsmarteth Charles Onions!” countered the prophet, his energy building. Stunned, the crowd met again.
19After a few seconds they responded, “Then we shall hurleth at him with all our might the weapon of our peoples, the flying disc,” they proposed, now confident of their impending victory.
20“BUT THE JEROME WILL CATCH THEM ALL!” The prophet’s voice increased tremendously in both pitch and volume. 21Though the people were scared, they could barely take him seriously for how ridiculous he sounded. “And he shall countereth with the weapon of HIS people, a ball of ivory, which he shall hurleth at thy shins.”
22“He couldn’t!” a woman exclaimed.
23“He wouldn’t!” a child shouted.
24“OHHHHHH, BUT HE SHALL!” the prophet prophesied. He continued, “though formidable in violence, the Jerome’s true power resteth in what he hath writ, for it is as they say, the pen is mightier than the sword.”
25The people asked unto him, “is that a euphemism for something?”
26And the prophet did reply, “What? Oh, no, I’ve never seen his weiner or anything if that’s what you mean.”
27Tired of all the nonsense, the eldest elder in the group stepped up. 28“Get on with it, prophet,” he said.
29“Lo, elder, none of this compares to the Jerome’s most vile tactic” the prophet continued.
30The crowd felt their bowels ready to explode. 31“What could it possibly be?” they cried in alarming unison.
32“The Jerome shall…” the prophet trailed off. He paused to gain strength, as if what he was about to say would exhaust him. “The Jerome shall stealeth thy clothes and he shall weareth them for eternities, lifetimes, ages! So long that thou shall forget thy even possessed thine own clothing!”
33Everyone present that day fainted. 34As they came to, they witnessed the prophet putting the final touches on a drawing in the sand. “People,” the prophet said as he pointed towards the ground in front of him, “come see thine end.” The crowd looked before them and saw:
35As they looked up, they were surprised to find the prophet still standing before them.
36“Lo!” the crowd cried. “Ye remain!”
37No sooner had the prophet finished his sentence than the ground rumbled beneath everyone’s feet. In the distance, an eclipsing shadow loomed. From atop the lumbering chestnut mass rose an endlessly thick stream of stanky smoke. 38And the prophet did shit his pants. 39The crowd, having witnessed the soiling of the prophet, shathed their pants a third time.
October 13, 2010
ACL Awards 2010
Welcome, everyone, to the 3rd Annual Austin City Limits Awards Ceremony! I’m your host, F. McGillicutty. ACL took place in Austin this past weekend, and my lovely lady friend and I were in attendance for the 4th straight time (I didn't do awards for our first time). Sir Fats didn’t make it out this year, but I’ll assume it’s only because Weird Al wasn’t in the lineup. If you’re still reading this blog you know what’s about to happen, so without further fanfare, I present to you…the winners:
The Surprise of the Year Award for 2010 goes to The Sword. These guys, minus their chubby I-ain’t-got-time-to-stay-on-beat hipster drummer, look like Spinal Tap and sound like Black Sabbath from 30 years ago. (I originally typed “20 years ago”…holy shit I’m getting old…) My wife checked these guys out before we went to Austin, and I thought they sounded pretty aight. Come to find out, they fucking rock. The crowd, full of overweight misfits and middle-aged metalheads, rocked along with devil fingers hoisted nearly as high as their owners. Great show, great image, great band.
Runner-up: Nortec Collective Presents: Bostich + Fussible
Their write-up in the ACL program describes their style of music as “a fusion of Norteño…and Techno.” I don’t know how to explain it any better, but all you really need to know is that everyone at this show was dancing. Everyone. Except me. And this guy:
(In case you can’t tell, he’s being carried out of the park because he’s too drunk to stand up on his own. This was around 5:30 on the first night.)
Second Runner-up: M.I.A
I know M.I.A isn’t really a surprise artist per se, but we were about to pack up and leave right before she came on. We ended up staying for damn near the whole set, which was filled with gunshots, lasers, and plenty of volume.
The Kiss My Dick Award for 2010 goes to all the bands that performed on Sunday. We kinda wanted to see Dawes and Yeasayer, but we’d already seen the latter perform in Dallas, and just two bands ain’t reason enough to stand in the sun with a bunch of grumpy douchebags all day. Kiss it, Sunday. All of it.
Runner-up: The Strokes.
Insert Strokes CD, press play, save $180.
Second runner-up: Ryan Bingham
Ryan, your show was really good, but your forcefully over-graveled voice makes Sling Blade sound like Allison Krauss. Get real, guy.
The Most Likely to End Up In Hell award goes to me, for several reasons, but specifically for taking a picture of a young woman whose calves were wildly disproportionate in size. When I realized she had palsy, I deleted the picture. Shut up, I don’t want to talk about it (except to say that the difference in calf-size was tremendous and that she was pretty hot (aside from the tremendous difference in calf-size, I mean).
The “Alright, Guys, Surely We Can Figure Out a Way to Make a Rap Concert Sound Better Than This” Award goes to Ninjasonik. These guys were the effing worst and no amount of gimmicky lines (“Somebody’s gonna get prennant”) or even gimmickier remixes (“Do the Bartman”? Really?) could save their show. If you really want to know what they’re like live, step on a bass drum every second for 5 minutes and yell “NINJA FUCKIN’ SONIK WE ARE SONIC FUCKIN’ NINJAS” non-stop with one of your friends. Congratulations, you are now a sonic fuckin’ ninja.
The Funniest Artist Award goes to Dan Black. After getting the crowd to clap with the beat, he acted like every clap was affecting his body sexually. When he’d had his fun he muttered into the microphone, “Ooh ACL, you’s a bad bitch!” Also, every time he sang the line“Let my loneliness get blown away” from his smash-hit “Symphonies” he did the jerk-off motion with his hands. Classic comedy.
Runner Up: Mayer Hawthorne for recounting a story wherein one of his fans asked for an autograph and said “you’re Michael Buble, right?” So maybe his fan is really the funny one, but whatever. The crowd got a pretty good chuckle out of that one.
The Bands That Obviously Know What They’re Doing Awards for this year go to:
The Black Keys – We couldn’t really get close enough to feel like we were a part of the show, but we could hear them pretty well, and damn can these guys play. Just sit there, close your eyes, and listen.
Matt and Kim – These two really rocked the crowd. We were pretty far back, but their vibe carried halfway across the park. Really good stuff.
Miike Snow – Our first show of the weekend, and a great way to start.
Gogol goddamn Bordello – So much energy. I wish they had played more songs I knew (namely “American Wedding”), but you have got to see these crazy fuckers perform live. They could write an entire song about how much they hate my guts and I would love it.
The Unfortunately Small Crowd Award goes to Dan Black. Actually, it was a fortunately small crowd for us. My lady friend, who has a musical boner the size of an elphant for Dan Black, was able to get pretty close to the stage with minimal effort. I heard variations on the following conversation several times throughout the show:
Shirtless frat guy 1: “Who is this guy?"
Shirtless frat guy 2: “I dunno, but he’s really good!”
Shirtless frat guy 1: “Yeah! Beer and New Balance and shit!” *fist pound*
If Dan Black doesn’t have a bigger stage and a bigger crowd next year, you’re all assholes.
Runner-up: The Sword
The Sword rules and more people should know it.
And now, the moment you've all been waiting for. The award of all awards, the reason people attend ACL in the first place...drum roll, please...
And the winner of 2010's Maddest Hatter Award is this fuckin' guy:
Come on, buddy.
Well, that does it for 2010. I know I say this every year, but within the first 10 minutes of arriving at ACL, I swore to God I would never come back. The crowds were insane, the walk to the park was interminable, the heat was ridiculous even in October, but before the first night was even over I was planning on buying tickets for 2011. If you like music, road trips, cleavage, and overpriced beer, I strongly encourage you to attend next year’s festival. I’ve been 4 years running and it keeps getting better.
The Surprise of the Year Award for 2010 goes to The Sword. These guys, minus their chubby I-ain’t-got-time-to-stay-on-beat hipster drummer, look like Spinal Tap and sound like Black Sabbath from 30 years ago. (I originally typed “20 years ago”…holy shit I’m getting old…) My wife checked these guys out before we went to Austin, and I thought they sounded pretty aight. Come to find out, they fucking rock. The crowd, full of overweight misfits and middle-aged metalheads, rocked along with devil fingers hoisted nearly as high as their owners. Great show, great image, great band.
Runner-up: Nortec Collective Presents: Bostich + Fussible
Their write-up in the ACL program describes their style of music as “a fusion of Norteño…and Techno.” I don’t know how to explain it any better, but all you really need to know is that everyone at this show was dancing. Everyone. Except me. And this guy:
Second Runner-up: M.I.A
I know M.I.A isn’t really a surprise artist per se, but we were about to pack up and leave right before she came on. We ended up staying for damn near the whole set, which was filled with gunshots, lasers, and plenty of volume.
The Kiss My Dick Award for 2010 goes to all the bands that performed on Sunday. We kinda wanted to see Dawes and Yeasayer, but we’d already seen the latter perform in Dallas, and just two bands ain’t reason enough to stand in the sun with a bunch of grumpy douchebags all day. Kiss it, Sunday. All of it.
Runner-up: The Strokes.
Insert Strokes CD, press play, save $180.
Second runner-up: Ryan Bingham
Ryan, your show was really good, but your forcefully over-graveled voice makes Sling Blade sound like Allison Krauss. Get real, guy.
The Most Likely to End Up In Hell award goes to me, for several reasons, but specifically for taking a picture of a young woman whose calves were wildly disproportionate in size. When I realized she had palsy, I deleted the picture. Shut up, I don’t want to talk about it (except to say that the difference in calf-size was tremendous and that she was pretty hot (aside from the tremendous difference in calf-size, I mean).
The “Alright, Guys, Surely We Can Figure Out a Way to Make a Rap Concert Sound Better Than This” Award goes to Ninjasonik. These guys were the effing worst and no amount of gimmicky lines (“Somebody’s gonna get prennant”) or even gimmickier remixes (“Do the Bartman”? Really?) could save their show. If you really want to know what they’re like live, step on a bass drum every second for 5 minutes and yell “NINJA FUCKIN’ SONIK WE ARE SONIC FUCKIN’ NINJAS” non-stop with one of your friends. Congratulations, you are now a sonic fuckin’ ninja.
The Funniest Artist Award goes to Dan Black. After getting the crowd to clap with the beat, he acted like every clap was affecting his body sexually. When he’d had his fun he muttered into the microphone, “Ooh ACL, you’s a bad bitch!” Also, every time he sang the line“Let my loneliness get blown away” from his smash-hit “Symphonies” he did the jerk-off motion with his hands. Classic comedy.
Runner Up: Mayer Hawthorne for recounting a story wherein one of his fans asked for an autograph and said “you’re Michael Buble, right?” So maybe his fan is really the funny one, but whatever. The crowd got a pretty good chuckle out of that one.
The Bands That Obviously Know What They’re Doing Awards for this year go to:
The Black Keys – We couldn’t really get close enough to feel like we were a part of the show, but we could hear them pretty well, and damn can these guys play. Just sit there, close your eyes, and listen.
Matt and Kim – These two really rocked the crowd. We were pretty far back, but their vibe carried halfway across the park. Really good stuff.
Miike Snow – Our first show of the weekend, and a great way to start.
Gogol goddamn Bordello – So much energy. I wish they had played more songs I knew (namely “American Wedding”), but you have got to see these crazy fuckers perform live. They could write an entire song about how much they hate my guts and I would love it.
The Unfortunately Small Crowd Award goes to Dan Black. Actually, it was a fortunately small crowd for us. My lady friend, who has a musical boner the size of an elphant for Dan Black, was able to get pretty close to the stage with minimal effort. I heard variations on the following conversation several times throughout the show:
Shirtless frat guy 1: “Who is this guy?"
Shirtless frat guy 2: “I dunno, but he’s really good!”
Shirtless frat guy 1: “Yeah! Beer and New Balance and shit!” *fist pound*
If Dan Black doesn’t have a bigger stage and a bigger crowd next year, you’re all assholes.
Runner-up: The Sword
The Sword rules and more people should know it.
And now, the moment you've all been waiting for. The award of all awards, the reason people attend ACL in the first place...drum roll, please...
And the winner of 2010's Maddest Hatter Award is this fuckin' guy:
Come on, buddy.
Well, that does it for 2010. I know I say this every year, but within the first 10 minutes of arriving at ACL, I swore to God I would never come back. The crowds were insane, the walk to the park was interminable, the heat was ridiculous even in October, but before the first night was even over I was planning on buying tickets for 2011. If you like music, road trips, cleavage, and overpriced beer, I strongly encourage you to attend next year’s festival. I’ve been 4 years running and it keeps getting better.
August 17, 2010
D-R-A-M-A
Dear readers, if you still exist, you might have noticed I haven't posted in months. The reason is simple: I've written my first novel. It is being released in paperback this fall. This is the cover:
Harold awoke in a daze, his eyes opening slowly.
"Would you like pretzels, peanuts, or cookies, sir?"
"I'm sorry?" Harold mumbled, still not entirely sure someone was even speaking to him.
"Would you like pretzels, peanuts, or cookies, sir?"
"I'll have a water."
The stewardess, steady as ever, had seen this coming. She hesitated for only a moment, punctuating her annoyance. Her tone sharpened.
"I don't have that, sir, I have pretzels, peanuts, or cookies."
Harold's mind reeled. Time seemed to stop, though he couldn't shake the feeling that time was moving faster for everyone around him. No water, he thought. Jesus Christ, how long have I been asleep? He attempted to gather his confidence, but the look on his face gave him away. He was so completely lost.
Get it together, Harry. Tell the lady what you want.
"Pretzels, please."
He immediately and almost literally tried to pull the words back into his mouth as he furrowed his brow and silently asked himself: What the fuck are pretzels? Before he could even attempt to think of an answer to his own question, there was a flash of blue light mere inches from his face. Harold's world was upended again as he tried to differentiate left from right, up from down. He would have bet everything in his pockets that the pilot was doing barrel rolls.
"Sir?"
Until now, Harold was plunging from everything he knew into madness. This simple word, however, reached out over the ledge and grabbed his hand at the last possible second. He instantly snapped back to life despite his heart feeling like it was still falling. As he regained his equilibrium, the blue light came into focus. He turned toward it and was able to make out what appeared to be a small, blue bag with the word "Pretzels" on it. Underneath the package was a square, white napkin. Underneath that, a woman's hand. Harold was angry with himself, ashamed. He should have had his shit together at this point, but no water? What the hell?
"Ah, thank you," he replied with an embarrassed smile.
Ohh, that's right, Harold thought as he took his snack from the woman. Memories of pretzels past came flooding back. His reminiscing was cut short, however, as he heard a familiar phrase come from behind him. Familiar, but still, for all his efforts he couldn't quite place it. The phrase would come to haunt him for years. It was fainter now, like a haunting echo. A reminder of some terror from his past, but what, exactly? That free-fall sensation crept up on him again.
"Would you like pretzels, peanuts, or cookies, sir?"
He was brought back to his senses by the sound of a loud crunch. Looking down at his hands he could see he had a death grip on his pretzels, his subconscious's way of ensuring the waterfall of sweat pouring from his palms didn't send the pretzels crashing to the ground. Oh, goddammit, he thought as he gently brought his head back to rest on his seat. I wanted motherfucking cookies.
THE END
It is exactly one page long and has been reproduced in its entirety starting...NOW:
To my wife, who puts up with that goofy picture of me yelling way more than she should have to.
INTRODUCTION
On a recent flight from Dallas to Atlanta, I overheard the conversation on the following page. Everything inside quotation marks is exactly as it happened (for serious). Everything else is all in my head, though I'm pretty sure it was also in our protagonist's head.
CHAPTER 1
"Would you like pretzels, peanuts, or cookies, sir?"
"Would you like pretzels, peanuts, or cookies, sir?"
Harold awoke in a daze, his eyes opening slowly.
"Would you like pretzels, peanuts, or cookies, sir?"
"I'm sorry?" Harold mumbled, still not entirely sure someone was even speaking to him.
"Would you like pretzels, peanuts, or cookies, sir?"
"I'll have a water."
The stewardess, steady as ever, had seen this coming. She hesitated for only a moment, punctuating her annoyance. Her tone sharpened.
"I don't have that, sir, I have pretzels, peanuts, or cookies."
Harold's mind reeled. Time seemed to stop, though he couldn't shake the feeling that time was moving faster for everyone around him. No water, he thought. Jesus Christ, how long have I been asleep? He attempted to gather his confidence, but the look on his face gave him away. He was so completely lost.
Get it together, Harry. Tell the lady what you want.
"Pretzels, please."
He immediately and almost literally tried to pull the words back into his mouth as he furrowed his brow and silently asked himself: What the fuck are pretzels? Before he could even attempt to think of an answer to his own question, there was a flash of blue light mere inches from his face. Harold's world was upended again as he tried to differentiate left from right, up from down. He would have bet everything in his pockets that the pilot was doing barrel rolls.
"Sir?"
Until now, Harold was plunging from everything he knew into madness. This simple word, however, reached out over the ledge and grabbed his hand at the last possible second. He instantly snapped back to life despite his heart feeling like it was still falling. As he regained his equilibrium, the blue light came into focus. He turned toward it and was able to make out what appeared to be a small, blue bag with the word "Pretzels" on it. Underneath the package was a square, white napkin. Underneath that, a woman's hand. Harold was angry with himself, ashamed. He should have had his shit together at this point, but no water? What the hell?
"Ah, thank you," he replied with an embarrassed smile.
Ohh, that's right, Harold thought as he took his snack from the woman. Memories of pretzels past came flooding back. His reminiscing was cut short, however, as he heard a familiar phrase come from behind him. Familiar, but still, for all his efforts he couldn't quite place it. The phrase would come to haunt him for years. It was fainter now, like a haunting echo. A reminder of some terror from his past, but what, exactly? That free-fall sensation crept up on him again.
"Would you like pretzels, peanuts, or cookies, sir?"
He was brought back to his senses by the sound of a loud crunch. Looking down at his hands he could see he had a death grip on his pretzels, his subconscious's way of ensuring the waterfall of sweat pouring from his palms didn't send the pretzels crashing to the ground. Oh, goddammit, he thought as he gently brought his head back to rest on his seat. I wanted motherfucking cookies.
THE END
April 1, 2010
The Raoul: A Pictorial
Recently Raoul posted a picture on facebook that was just too perfect. He was wearing simple clothing on a simple background with an object in is hand...all the elements needed for an easy Photoshop or nine. I racked my brain for a good while and came up with some pictures that at least made me laugh. I hope they do the same for you. Side note: At this point, if you know Raoul in real life and didn't know him to be "Raoul," well, I feel bad for you, son.
Here's the picture I started with:
The first step was to remove the phone to allow for other items. I had to do a little rebuilding of the clothing and the straps, but it turned out much better than I thought I was capable of (read: it was a totally awesome accident):
I call this one "Thundercats! Hoooooooooooooo(rah)":
Here we see the Raoul on the verge of making it rain:
And here we have the Raoul mid-bow just seconds before whipping your ass:
Speaking of ass-whippings, here's the Raoul partaking in a little rochambeau:
You think he was just born with those skills?:
Here's the Raoul in his most natural environment:
In case you didn't know, the Raoul has been in Hawaii for some time now. I imagine this is what he looks like most days:
And finally, I fucking KNEW it!
Alright, that's enough of that. Special thanks to:
-The hooker in the blow job picture. It took several days of photo-shoots to get that one right, but she was a good sport.
-Morgan Freeman for being.
-Raoul for giving me free reign to do whatever I wanted to that picture. A lesser man would object to being on the internet in a coconut bra.
-The hooker in the blow job picture. It took several days of photo-shoots to get that one right, but she was a good sport.
-Morgan Freeman for being.
-Raoul for giving me free reign to do whatever I wanted to that picture. A lesser man would object to being on the internet in a coconut bra.
March 8, 2010
U.S. Fuckin' A.: A Fairly Ridiculous and Somewhat Skewed Look at The United States of America's Olympic Performance History
If you know me, you know just how insane for America I am. You can see then how frustrating the world has been for me lately, given the increased competition among the world's superpowers. Even the most hardcore patriot has trouble finding areas in which the U.S. truly dominates the world anymore. I mean, it's old news that the U.S. has never lost a war ever and always wins wars always and it's not like the dollar is respected internationally like it once was. So how is a guy like me supposed to measure the success of his country without referencing money or war (support our troops)? Athletics you say? I can run with that.
Recently I Googled "olympic medal count by country" and was directed to this Wikipedia page. It's an impressive table, but I didn't feel it adequately portrayed the sheer dominance of America. Hell, all the other countries are even written in the same size font! At least bold America's results, for Christ's sake. Anyway, after I got done reading this obviously-made-by-a-Communist chart, I decided to run my own numbers. After a few minutes of data entry into Excel, some fascinating (if not obvious) stats began to surface. Now, I had originally intended to calculate some fairly complicated statistics on the data, but I keep forgetting to bring my TI-83 home from work. Instead I put a variety of Excel functions to work in order to illustrate my point and came up with the following Top 5 Winningest Nations lists (NOTE: The following lists are based on nations who have won at least 100 total medals in all the Olympics they've appeared in, because if you haven't won at least 100 at this point, why do you even bother showing up at the games anymore?):
Total Medals:
1. United States - 2548
2. Soviet Union - 1204
3. Great Britain - 737
4. France - 730
5. Germany - 719
That's right, the U.S. more than doubles the 2nd place nation, which doesn't even exist anymore. That means the U.S. more than triples its closest competition...and we're just getting started. Here's a further breakdown of those numbers:
Total Gold Medals:
1. United States - 1016
2. Soviet Union - 473
3. Germany - 233
4. Italy - 227
5. France - 218
Total Silver Medals:
1. United States - 824
2. Soviet Union - 376
3. Great Britain - 258
4. France - 239
5. Germany - 235
Total Bronze Medals:
1. United States - 708
2. Soviet Union - 355
3. France - 273
4. Great Britain - 263
5. Germany - 251
Does anyone else have an erection yet? Good. Now let's look at the average amount of medals won per nation per Olympic Games. These numbers are a little misleading because there are way more medals up for grabs during the Summer Olympics and there have been 5 more Summer Games than Winter Games. Still, the evidence is clear: America kicks serious ass. (NOTE: For this category I discarded the results for nations that were no longer in existence, because there's no way for their numbers to ever get worse, and that's not fair.)
Average Total Medals Won Per Olympic Games
1. United States - 55
2. Russia - 35
3. Germany - 30
4. China - 26
5. Great Britain - 16
And again, a breakdown of the domination:
Average Gold Medals Won Per Olympic Games
1. United States - 22
2. Russia - 12
3. China - 10
4. Germany - 10
5. Italy - 5
Average Silver Medals Won Per Olympic Games
1. United States - 18
2. Russia - 11
3. Germany - 10
4. China - 8
5. Great Britain - 5
Average Bronze Medals Won Per Olympic Games
1. United States - 15
2. Russia - 12
3. Germany - 10
4. China - 7
5. France - 6
Noticing a pattern? Now let's look at a breakdown of what percentage of total medals are Gold, Silver, and Bronze per nation.
% Gold Medals
1. China - 41%
2. United States - 40%
3. Italy - 36%
4. Norway - 36%
5. South Korea - 35%
Alright, so we can't win EVERYTHING, but 1%? Check with me in 2012 and we'll see what's up.
% Silver Medals
1. Spain - 43%
2. Bulgaria - 39%
3. Greece - 39%
4. Denmark - 37%
5. Belgium - 36%
OH NO WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPEN-oh wait...Silver? B.F.D.
% Bronze Medals
1. Ukraine - 49%
2. Poland - 45%
3. Romania - 40%
4. Austria - 39%
5. Denmark - 39%
The U.S. could not be found on this list because it was too busy trying to find a container big enough to hold all its Gold medals. It's still looking. Here now are some more interesting numbers that demonstrate the obvious:
Get this: The United States accounts for 19% of all Gold medals ever won. Put another way, nearly 1 out of every 5 Gold medals ever won in the Olympics belongs to an American.
...15% of Silver medals ever won.
...13% of Bronze medals ever won.
...16% of Total medals ever won.
Also, the U.S.'s Gold medals total (1,016) is 26 times the average amount of Gold medals won by other nations (39).
...Silver medals total (824) is 21 times the average amount of Silver medals won by other nations (39).
...Bronze medals total (708) is 17 times the average amount of Bronze medals won by other nations (41).
...Total medals total (2548) is 21 times the average amount of total medals won by other nations (119).
Some of you may be thinking "Sure, but America has more people than a lot of countries." Alright, Nancy, let's take a look at medal winnings per capita:
Total Medals:
1. Norway - 9.20E-05
2. Finland - 8.49E-05
3. Sweden - 6.47E-05
4. Hungary - 4.64E-05
5. Switzerland - 3.96E-05
Gold Medals:
1. Norway - 3.31E-05
2. Finland - 2.65E-05
3. Sweden - 2.03E-05
4. Hungary - 1.59E-05
5. Switzerland - 1.14E-05
Silver Medals:
1. Norway - 3.17E-05
2. Finland - 2.65E-05
3. Sweden - 2.07E-05
4. Hungary - 1.43E-05
5. Switzerland - 1.38E-05
Bronze Medals:
1. Finland - 3.19E-05
2. Norway - 2.72E-05
3. Sweden - 2.37E-05
4. Hungary - 1.63E-05
5. Switzerland - 1.44E-05
*Ahem* Moving on...
Some of the last things I considered were "What if the USSR was still in existence?" and "What if I counted all of the different variations of Germany as one nation?" Would either of them measure up to America? *scoff* See for yourself:
From this table we can see a few things:
1. Germans sure are athletic for a bunch of white men (by "men" I'm referring also to German women, because, come on...)
2. If the USSR was as good at existing as it was at the Olympics, the world would be a redder place.
3. The Germans really love finishing in 3rd place.
4. Even giving other nations the benefit of the doubt, the U.S. still destroys the competition.
Well, that's all the real stats for this monstrous post. If you'd like to see just how ridiculous this got, you can download the original spreadsheet here (NOTE: If you actually look at this thing, you should know that I estimated the population of East and West Germany by taking the population of Germany and dividing it in half because the logic in that is flawless. For the population of Czechoslovakia, I combined the current populations of Slovakia and The Czech Republic. Can you tell the difference? I didn't think so.). Also, I'd like to personally apologize to Sir Fats. I know he only comes here for the pictures, but I spent more time on this spreadsheet than I care to divulge and, frankly, the numbers say it better than Photoshop can.
BONUS SECTION
Holy Shit (Or "Things I Discovered While Writing This Blog"):
Recently I Googled "olympic medal count by country" and was directed to this Wikipedia page. It's an impressive table, but I didn't feel it adequately portrayed the sheer dominance of America. Hell, all the other countries are even written in the same size font! At least bold America's results, for Christ's sake. Anyway, after I got done reading this obviously-made-by-a-Communist chart, I decided to run my own numbers. After a few minutes of data entry into Excel, some fascinating (if not obvious) stats began to surface. Now, I had originally intended to calculate some fairly complicated statistics on the data, but I keep forgetting to bring my TI-83 home from work. Instead I put a variety of Excel functions to work in order to illustrate my point and came up with the following Top 5 Winningest Nations lists (NOTE: The following lists are based on nations who have won at least 100 total medals in all the Olympics they've appeared in, because if you haven't won at least 100 at this point, why do you even bother showing up at the games anymore?):
Total Medals:
1. United States - 2548
2. Soviet Union - 1204
3. Great Britain - 737
4. France - 730
5. Germany - 719
That's right, the U.S. more than doubles the 2nd place nation, which doesn't even exist anymore. That means the U.S. more than triples its closest competition...and we're just getting started. Here's a further breakdown of those numbers:
Total Gold Medals:
1. United States - 1016
2. Soviet Union - 473
3. Germany - 233
4. Italy - 227
5. France - 218
Total Silver Medals:
1. United States - 824
2. Soviet Union - 376
3. Great Britain - 258
4. France - 239
5. Germany - 235
Total Bronze Medals:
1. United States - 708
2. Soviet Union - 355
3. France - 273
4. Great Britain - 263
5. Germany - 251
Does anyone else have an erection yet? Good. Now let's look at the average amount of medals won per nation per Olympic Games. These numbers are a little misleading because there are way more medals up for grabs during the Summer Olympics and there have been 5 more Summer Games than Winter Games. Still, the evidence is clear: America kicks serious ass. (NOTE: For this category I discarded the results for nations that were no longer in existence, because there's no way for their numbers to ever get worse, and that's not fair.)
Average Total Medals Won Per Olympic Games
1. United States - 55
2. Russia - 35
3. Germany - 30
4. China - 26
5. Great Britain - 16
And again, a breakdown of the domination:
Average Gold Medals Won Per Olympic Games
1. United States - 22
2. Russia - 12
3. China - 10
4. Germany - 10
5. Italy - 5
Average Silver Medals Won Per Olympic Games
1. United States - 18
2. Russia - 11
3. Germany - 10
4. China - 8
5. Great Britain - 5
Average Bronze Medals Won Per Olympic Games
1. United States - 15
2. Russia - 12
3. Germany - 10
4. China - 7
5. France - 6
Noticing a pattern? Now let's look at a breakdown of what percentage of total medals are Gold, Silver, and Bronze per nation.
% Gold Medals
1. China - 41%
2. United States - 40%
3. Italy - 36%
4. Norway - 36%
5. South Korea - 35%
Alright, so we can't win EVERYTHING, but 1%? Check with me in 2012 and we'll see what's up.
% Silver Medals
1. Spain - 43%
2. Bulgaria - 39%
3. Greece - 39%
4. Denmark - 37%
5. Belgium - 36%
OH NO WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPEN-oh wait...Silver? B.F.D.
% Bronze Medals
1. Ukraine - 49%
2. Poland - 45%
3. Romania - 40%
4. Austria - 39%
5. Denmark - 39%
The U.S. could not be found on this list because it was too busy trying to find a container big enough to hold all its Gold medals. It's still looking. Here now are some more interesting numbers that demonstrate the obvious:
Get this: The United States accounts for 19% of all Gold medals ever won. Put another way, nearly 1 out of every 5 Gold medals ever won in the Olympics belongs to an American.
...15% of Silver medals ever won.
...13% of Bronze medals ever won.
...16% of Total medals ever won.
Also, the U.S.'s Gold medals total (1,016) is 26 times the average amount of Gold medals won by other nations (39).
...Silver medals total (824) is 21 times the average amount of Silver medals won by other nations (39).
...Bronze medals total (708) is 17 times the average amount of Bronze medals won by other nations (41).
...Total medals total (2548) is 21 times the average amount of total medals won by other nations (119).
Total Medals:
1. Norway - 9.20E-05
2. Finland - 8.49E-05
3. Sweden - 6.47E-05
4. Hungary - 4.64E-05
5. Switzerland - 3.96E-05
Gold Medals:
1. Norway - 3.31E-05
2. Finland - 2.65E-05
3. Sweden - 2.03E-05
4. Hungary - 1.59E-05
5. Switzerland - 1.14E-05
Silver Medals:
1. Norway - 3.17E-05
2. Finland - 2.65E-05
3. Sweden - 2.07E-05
4. Hungary - 1.43E-05
5. Switzerland - 1.38E-05
Bronze Medals:
1. Finland - 3.19E-05
2. Norway - 2.72E-05
3. Sweden - 2.37E-05
4. Hungary - 1.63E-05
5. Switzerland - 1.44E-05
*Ahem* Moving on...
Some of the last things I considered were "What if the USSR was still in existence?" and "What if I counted all of the different variations of Germany as one nation?" Would either of them measure up to America? *scoff* See for yourself:
| Nation | # Games | G | S | B | T | G/T | S/T | B/T |
| United States | 46 | 1016 | 824 | 708 | 2548 | .3987 | .3234 | .2779 |
| All Soviet Team | 30 | 702 | 613 | 669 | 1984 | .3538 | .3090 | .3372 |
| All German Team | 41 | 528 | 542 | 548 | 1618 | .3263 | .3350 | .3387 |
From this table we can see a few things:
1. Germans sure are athletic for a bunch of white men (by "men" I'm referring also to German women, because, come on...)
2. If the USSR was as good at existing as it was at the Olympics, the world would be a redder place.
3. The Germans really love finishing in 3rd place.
4. Even giving other nations the benefit of the doubt, the U.S. still destroys the competition.
Well, that's all the real stats for this monstrous post. If you'd like to see just how ridiculous this got, you can download the original spreadsheet here (NOTE: If you actually look at this thing, you should know that I estimated the population of East and West Germany by taking the population of Germany and dividing it in half because the logic in that is flawless. For the population of Czechoslovakia, I combined the current populations of Slovakia and The Czech Republic. Can you tell the difference? I didn't think so.). Also, I'd like to personally apologize to Sir Fats. I know he only comes here for the pictures, but I spent more time on this spreadsheet than I care to divulge and, frankly, the numbers say it better than Photoshop can.
BONUS SECTION
Holy Shit (Or "Things I Discovered While Writing This Blog"):
- Japan has 1/3 the population of the United States, but all of Japan could fit inside Montana.
- Only 3 nations have competed in all 47 Olympics: France, Great Britain, and Switzerland.
- Originally I calculated the population of the USSR as simply twice Russia's population as a joke and got 283,854,594. Then I added up the populations of all the current nations that used to be a part of the USSR and got 285,230,673, which is remarkably close when you consider I was estimating hundreds of millions of people.
- I cannot spell "Bulgaria" correctly on the first try, ever.
- If there's ever another draft, fuck Canada, I'm moving to Norway.
February 19, 2010
Pick-Up Schmucks
I seem to get hit on by guys quite a bit. Context clues lead me to conclude a few different things. First, and this I take as a compliment, apparently I look gay. Second, I must look relatively easy. Third, I’m not completely repulsive in terms of appearance. You might think it’s weird that I get hit on specifically by guys, but when you consider the passiveness of straight women, the wedding ring on my finger, and the fact that I frequent gay bars, it’s not so unusual…usually.
It can definitely be flattering to be hit on. I’m not sexually interested in men, but who doesn’t like to be told “I find you attractive”? In most cases I can just say something like “Ahh, thanks. I’m straight, so you’re probably better off spending your time on another guy…sorry.”
I used to humor people, but on one occasion someone bought me a shot, found out I was married, and then insulted my wife, which resulted in me uncharacteristically threatening to beat the shit out of him. Now though, a quick “thanks, but no thanks” usually does the trick.
However, every now and again I have no idea how to react to a situation. Someone either says something ridiculously weird or goes way over the top. For example, “I love the taste of your hair” is a little weird and something like “I want to fuck you right where you are standing” is a little strong. I haven’t actually heard those exact lines, but once you hear the stories below, you'll see how those would be appreciated.
One time I was walking my dog. A man who looked and sounded EXACTLY like Amante Kabundi (that’s for all zero of you that went to high school with me) pulled up in a pimped-out, silver Dodge Magnum. He slowed to a stop as he neared me and rolled down his window. This is how that went:
Amante Lookalike: Do I get to get walked next?
Fuckmurder McGillicutty: Excuse me?
AL: Can I be next?
FM: What?
AL: Do I get to get walked next?
FM: Um, if you...want to???
AL: Do I get to get walked next?
FM: What???
AL: Nevermind, baby.
And then he drove off. I don’t even know if it was a pickup line. Maybe he really needed to be walked. This probably happened a year ago and I still haven’t figured it out. I mean, hell, I answered his fucking question with what at the time seemed like a quick way to disarm him, but in retrospect was probably the answer that was most likely to result in me winding up on the business end of some dude’s butthole…but then he asked it again. If any of you figures out what this guy wanted, please let me know. It’s been bothering me for awhile now.
Then recently as I was, incidentally, walking the dogs at night, a car crept up to me with its windows down. Coming to a complete stop in the middle of the road, the driver said quickly “vant koompani?” I did my damnedest to ignore him and just kept on walking down the sidewalk. Apparently he thought I was playing coy, because he sped off, turned around, and drove by a second time, but I picked up the pace and got back inside before he had a chance to lay his smooth, Russian mumble on me again. I could maybe understand if I was walking down the street with my pants around my ankles, but I had my dogs with me. Suppose I did vant koompani. What would I do with the dogs? How do I know he’s not into beastiality and he's just using me to get to my animals? The scariest part about this guy was that I’d be willing to bet he was using that line because it’s actually worked before. Who are these people?
Then, get this, a few weeks ago I was at a gay bar. Some dude said to me “If I had to fuck your wife to be able to fuck you, I would.” I didn’t know what else to do but laugh. Just so we’re clear, “If I had to fuck your wife…” are the words least likely to get you laid by me, next to “It’s good to see you, son.”
But this guy didn’t stop. No, he proceeded to drunk at me “My dad is Irish and my mom is Brazilian so I really like guys with red facial hair and green eyes…I think it’s really hot.” Then he stared suggestively at me.
Some of you might have never seen me, so for the sake of the story I need to include a brief physical description of myself here: I have red facial hair and green eyes.
From context clues I gathered that this joker might as well have been staring suggestively at his father. I don’t have anything to say about this that could make it any more hilarious/disturbing, so I’ll just ask you to read it again and let it simmer in your brain for a minute. This is, without a doubt, the worst pickup line I have ever heard. If you’ve heard worse, I’d love for you to share. Bad pickup lines are goddamn entertaining (at least I hope, considering that was the premise around which I based this entire post).
!!!BONUS PICKUP LINE!!!: one time my wife was dancing at a bar and some joker got all up in her business and said “Damn, girl…you built like a soap dish!” First person to decipher that one gets $50.*
*No they don’t.
It can definitely be flattering to be hit on. I’m not sexually interested in men, but who doesn’t like to be told “I find you attractive”? In most cases I can just say something like “Ahh, thanks. I’m straight, so you’re probably better off spending your time on another guy…sorry.”
I used to humor people, but on one occasion someone bought me a shot, found out I was married, and then insulted my wife, which resulted in me uncharacteristically threatening to beat the shit out of him. Now though, a quick “thanks, but no thanks” usually does the trick.
However, every now and again I have no idea how to react to a situation. Someone either says something ridiculously weird or goes way over the top. For example, “I love the taste of your hair” is a little weird and something like “I want to fuck you right where you are standing” is a little strong. I haven’t actually heard those exact lines, but once you hear the stories below, you'll see how those would be appreciated.
One time I was walking my dog. A man who looked and sounded EXACTLY like Amante Kabundi (that’s for all zero of you that went to high school with me) pulled up in a pimped-out, silver Dodge Magnum. He slowed to a stop as he neared me and rolled down his window. This is how that went:
Amante Lookalike: Do I get to get walked next?
Fuckmurder McGillicutty: Excuse me?
AL: Can I be next?
FM: What?
AL: Do I get to get walked next?
FM: Um, if you...want to???
AL: Do I get to get walked next?
FM: What???
AL: Nevermind, baby.
And then he drove off. I don’t even know if it was a pickup line. Maybe he really needed to be walked. This probably happened a year ago and I still haven’t figured it out. I mean, hell, I answered his fucking question with what at the time seemed like a quick way to disarm him, but in retrospect was probably the answer that was most likely to result in me winding up on the business end of some dude’s butthole…but then he asked it again. If any of you figures out what this guy wanted, please let me know. It’s been bothering me for awhile now.
Then recently as I was, incidentally, walking the dogs at night, a car crept up to me with its windows down. Coming to a complete stop in the middle of the road, the driver said quickly “vant koompani?” I did my damnedest to ignore him and just kept on walking down the sidewalk. Apparently he thought I was playing coy, because he sped off, turned around, and drove by a second time, but I picked up the pace and got back inside before he had a chance to lay his smooth, Russian mumble on me again. I could maybe understand if I was walking down the street with my pants around my ankles, but I had my dogs with me. Suppose I did vant koompani. What would I do with the dogs? How do I know he’s not into beastiality and he's just using me to get to my animals? The scariest part about this guy was that I’d be willing to bet he was using that line because it’s actually worked before. Who are these people?
Then, get this, a few weeks ago I was at a gay bar. Some dude said to me “If I had to fuck your wife to be able to fuck you, I would.” I didn’t know what else to do but laugh. Just so we’re clear, “If I had to fuck your wife…” are the words least likely to get you laid by me, next to “It’s good to see you, son.”
But this guy didn’t stop. No, he proceeded to drunk at me “My dad is Irish and my mom is Brazilian so I really like guys with red facial hair and green eyes…I think it’s really hot.” Then he stared suggestively at me.
Some of you might have never seen me, so for the sake of the story I need to include a brief physical description of myself here: I have red facial hair and green eyes.
From context clues I gathered that this joker might as well have been staring suggestively at his father. I don’t have anything to say about this that could make it any more hilarious/disturbing, so I’ll just ask you to read it again and let it simmer in your brain for a minute. This is, without a doubt, the worst pickup line I have ever heard. If you’ve heard worse, I’d love for you to share. Bad pickup lines are goddamn entertaining (at least I hope, considering that was the premise around which I based this entire post).
!!!BONUS PICKUP LINE!!!: one time my wife was dancing at a bar and some joker got all up in her business and said “Damn, girl…you built like a soap dish!” First person to decipher that one gets $50.*
*No they don’t.
February 8, 2010
Bucket List: The Third
Let’s all just forget that I haven’t posted anything in several months and move on, ok? Frequenters of my blog might recall a little ol’ thing we around here like to call the bucket list. Well it’s back, baby. Despite Raoul living it up in Hawaii (seriously…he’s getting paid to blow things up, drink beer, and go to the beach), we put our heads together yet again and realized there is still so much to accomplish before we die. We've compiled our third list of stuff to do before we suck the bucket below. At this point you should know the drill, but in case you’ve slept since my last bucket list, here are the rules: I’m odd, Raoul is even, and Morgan Freeman is fucking evil.
1. Suck the poison out.
2. Escape from prison.
3. Swallow something whole.
4. Earn more nicknames than anyone.
5. Learn to tell time without using a watch.
6. Hang low.
7. Spell “bourgeoisie” correctly without having to look it up. Dammit.
8. Throw a dart through someone’s ear.
9. Masturbate outside.
10. Perform an exorcism.
11. Create my own flag.
12. Armwrestle an albino.
13. Wear someone’s name out.
14. Put someone in their place (see #12)
15. Start a mosh pit in a grocery store.
16. Audibly scoff at a jury’s verdict.
17. Revel in someone’s glory (preferably mine).
18.Commit perjury.
19. Feel the burn.
20. Find a hooker to change my diaper.
21. Make a comeback.
22. Navigate using only the stars.
23. Swing it to the drums.
24. Own a compound.
25. Swing it to guitar.
26. Get stationed in Area 51.
27. Swing it to the bass in the back of my car.
28. Own a hyperbaric chamber.
29. Finish my voodoo training.
30. Take over Hollywood.
31. Stick to someone else’s guns.
32. Get a Purple Heart. (possible, given Raoul is now a Marine)
33. Throw a ball back.
34. Kill a human. (also possible)
35. Complete my manifesto.
36. Score 300 on the USMC PFT. (that's short for the United States Marine Corps Physical Fitness Test. "I bet I can do it," you might say. "Doubtful," I would counter. To get a perfect score of 300, you've got to do 20 pull-ups (sorry ladies), 100 crunches within 2 minutes, run 3 miles in under 18 minutes, and eat an entire cake in 3 seconds. *snicker*)
37. Yell “show us your tits” somewhere.
38. Remember that other thing I wanted to put on my bucket list.
1. Suck the poison out.
2. Escape from prison.
3. Swallow something whole.
4. Earn more nicknames than anyone.
5. Learn to tell time without using a watch.
6. Hang low.
7. Spell “bourgeoisie” correctly without having to look it up. Dammit.
8. Throw a dart through someone’s ear.
9. Masturbate outside.
10. Perform an exorcism.
11. Create my own flag.
12. Armwrestle an albino.
13. Wear someone’s name out.
14. Put someone in their place (see #12)
15. Start a mosh pit in a grocery store.
16. Audibly scoff at a jury’s verdict.
17. Revel in someone’s glory (preferably mine).
18.
19. Feel the burn.
20. Find a hooker to change my diaper.
21. Make a comeback.
22. Navigate using only the stars.
23. Swing it to the drums.
24. Own a compound.
25. Swing it to guitar.
26. Get stationed in Area 51.
27. Swing it to the bass in the back of my car.
28. Own a hyperbaric chamber.
29. Finish my voodoo training.
30. Take over Hollywood.
31. Stick to someone else’s guns.
32. Get a Purple Heart. (possible, given Raoul is now a Marine)
33. Throw a ball back.
34. Kill a human. (also possible)
35. Complete my manifesto.
36. Score 300 on the USMC PFT. (that's short for the United States Marine Corps Physical Fitness Test. "I bet I can do it," you might say. "Doubtful," I would counter. To get a perfect score of 300, you've got to do 20 pull-ups (sorry ladies), 100 crunches within 2 minutes, run 3 miles in under 18 minutes, and eat an entire cake in 3 seconds. *snicker*)
37. Yell “show us your tits” somewhere.
38. Remember that other thing I wanted to put on my bucket list.
October 20, 2009
P.S., I Love You – Part 2
Alright, everyone. It’s time for the thrilling conclusion to last month’s Photoshop cliffhanger. Actually, before we get into that I feel I should let you know that I screwed the pooch on last month’s entry. I forgot I submitted an entry into the “Awesome Ways to Quit Your Job” Photoshop contest. This one was actually before the patriotism one. My deepest apologies for cocking up the chronology of this thing. God, I’m such a fucking asshole. Anyway, here was my entry for that one:
I liked it and it got a little love on the forums so even though it did not place, I was pleased.
Click here to see all of the finalists.
Now it’s time to hop back in the time machine and warp through some continuum or whatever right past the Patriotism contest. That should bring us to the “Worst Possible Time to Get an Erection” contest. I’m a little ashamed to admit how much time I spent thinking about this one. A good amount of the entries showed a fundamental misunderstanding of male anatomy, but the ones that looked somewhat realistic were awesome. None of mine placed, but here they are anyway:
For those of you that don’t know, that last one comes from a gameshow where you have to stand in the same shape as the hole in the wall. The wall moves slowly toward you, so if you aren’t making the right shape, you’ll get knocked into water or something like that. It’d be bad enough to get knocked off of a stage because of your boner, but can you imagine trying to hide a boner in a jumpsuit? As a side note, if you haven’t seen this, you should. It’s pretty SFW, as if Sir Fats even cares.
Click here to see all of the finalists.
The next contest was “Movie Plots That Could Have Been Solved in Minutes.” I did 2 entries for this one, both of which I was really proud of. I was actually surprised this one hadn’t been done by the time I submitted it, but it got 6th place and was used as the banner ad for the article on the front page. It’s always awesome to see something you’ve created get any kind of exposure, even if the viewers have no idea who I am. Here it is:
I also did this one:
Don’t worry, there’s no shame in Googling “John Kimble” if you don’t get the joke at first. I’ll wait.
Click here to see all of the finalists.
Got it? Good. That was a really late entry and as you can see it didn’t make the finals, but it’s probably one of my favorite shops I’ve done.
And now, at long last, we come to the conclusion of this interminable clip show. The most recent contest I entered was “If Sarcasm Ruled the World.” Here are my two entries:
After the stop sign one got 4th place, I decided to take a break and give other people a chance to not win anything. Actually, I just have not had any decent ideas for the last few contests, but I’m not worried. You see, ideas are like orgasms, they come in spurts. So what if I don’t have any orgasms for a month or so? If the world knows what’s good for it, it will brace itself for the impending Photoshop bukkake I’m about to unleash all over its face. Too much? You better believe it.
Click here to see all of the finalists.
Thanks for putting up with my posting some older stuff that I've done. Some of those creations took WAY more time than you would think and I wanted to share them with someone. Who better than the unsuspecting victims loyal readers of my blog?
October 5, 2009
ACL Awards 2009
If any of you have read my blog for at least a year, you’ll remember that last year I gave out awards for the annual Austin City Limits music festival. Well, it’s that time again as I attended my third straight ACL this past weekend. In case you didn’t know (I’m looking disapprovingly at you, Sir Fats), ACL and South by Southwest are NOT the same thing. They are roughly 6 months apart, take place in entirely different parts of town, and attract acts of varying popularity (though they are all musical...I think…Bjork performed at ACL 2 years ago and I would classify that more as an audio interpretation of a really confusing nightmare). In the days leading up to ACL 2009, my only concern was getting to see Flogging Molly whilst drunk. After that, I would be happy to just see 4 or 5 shows a day. My wife and I managed to make all that happen and we ended up having a really great weekend after getting off to a slow start. Don’t worry. I’m not going to bore you with my minute by minute schedule. I know you’re just here for the awards and the scenery, so without further ado…
The Surprise of the Year Award this year goes to The Felice Brothers who were one of my top 3 favorite acts of the weekend. The amount of time I spend listening to them will increase dramatically now that I’ve actually heard of them. Their performance certainly didn’t feel like it was a 1:15 pm show.
Runners-up:
Phoenix – I hadn’t had much exposure at all to this band before ACL, but they kept the whole crowd rocking throughout their entire performance. They also had probably the most humble lead singer of any band, who proclaimed they had never performed in front of a crowd of that size and said “thank you” about a brazillion times.
!!! (pronounced “chkchkchk”) – These guys know how to move a crowd (physically, not emotionally…or bowelly)
This year’s Perfect Timing Award goes to this guy for making me second guess my stance on the existence of ghosts:
I swear to you that photo is not altered in any way.
The Kiss My Dick Award for this year goes to Salt Lick Barbeque. More like DICK Lick Barbeque, right? Or Salt DICK Barbeque, yeah? Or maybe BALL SICK FARTONYOU seriously guys who’s with me???
$7 for a pulled pork sandwich is fine. $7 for a large spoonful of completely dry pork topped with cabbage and two tiny squirts of BBQ sauce is Kiss My Dickable.
Runner-up: Some stupid asshole in line at the port-o-potties. While waiting in line Saturday for my turn to piss, the guy a few people up from me went into the stall and forgot to lock the door. So, on the exterior door handle was a giant green circle, which usually means “come on in!” But in this instance, since probably 30 people saw him go in there, everyone remained in line…except for one stupid asshole. This woman, maybe 25, crossed the no-man’s land between where the line starts and the stench begins and before she could even finish “HEY IS THERE ANYONE IN THIS ONE?” she had ripped the door open, which prompted everyone in line to issue a rousing “WHOA, SOMEONE’S IN THERE!” This girl knew that. She had to know that. She was standing right next to me. There were 4 or 5 people in front of her waiting for the same stall. Now, I had consumed a beer or two at this point, but for whatever reason I felt it necessary to say to her “Yeah, that’s why there are lines.” She walked up to me, did something nonsensical with her hands (ask me next time you see me and I’ll show you) and said “I GET IT.” Luckily, the lines had my back. The guy next to me says to her “But, do you really?” Anyway, fuck that woman.
The “Seriously, Do All Rap Concerts Sound Like This?" Award for this year goes to Mos Def. Not only did Mos Def show up 30 minutes late for his concert that was scheduled to last only 1 hour, but he proceeded to beat seemingly randomly on drums and freestyle the entire time. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe those were his songs. But I’ve heard Mos Def before, and he is fucking brilliant. This show, however, was annoyingly boring.
The Funniest Artist Award this year goes to Dave King of Flogging Molly. I had originally typed out the reasons why, but this was really one of those “you had to be there” things. Trust me, he was way funnier than anyone else. I was drunk at the time, but for some reason I got a good kick out of him telling the audience, "Come on Austin, give us those fingers." Damn near everyone obliged.
Runner-up: The male lead singer of !!!, who claimed that every time he said “goddammit,” the band’s drummer smiled (and boy did he). He must have said “goddammit” about 100 times. He also borrowed an umbrella from a fan and a line from the Talking Heads when he said “You may ask yourself, this is not my fucking umbrella, goddammit!” It doesn’t make sense, but neither do most Talking Heads songs.
The Bands That Obviously Know What They’re Doing Awards go to:
The B-52s – Sure, I spent most of the time just waiting for Love Shack and Rock Lobster, but they were way more energetic than I expected them to be. I’ve never seen so many middle-aged people dancing in my life.
White Lies – the last show we saw of the whole festival. Yes, we left early, but damn if this wasn’t a good note to end on.
Flogging Molly – Drunken jigs were being danced all over the damn place. Even if you don’t typically like their music, you should go to one of their shows and drink your fool head off. If you don’t have a good time, I hate you.
Black Joe Lewis & the Honeybears – If you took James Brown and Sly and the Family Stone, put them in a jar, and shook it up, the result would be Black Joe Lewis & the Honeybears. Seriously energetic, soulful performance. The only knock on them would be their horn “solos” that started off promising and never really went anywhere.
The first ever Unfortunately Small Crowd Award goes to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs who put on a damn good show that truly exceeded my expectations. You see, Kings of Leon were playing at the same time as this show, so most of the festival crowd was clear across the park when the Yeah Yeah Yeahs went on stage. Until this weekend, my only real exposure to them was playing “Maps” in Rock Band, a song I wasn’t real crazy about, but they sure are fun to watch live. And I’m not at all attracted to her, but I think having sex with lead singer Karen O would be the loudest and most awesomely disorienting seizuregasm ever. I’d also be afraid of where she’d try to stick the microphone, but I'd probably just go along with it.
The Weirdest Freak Out Award goes to my festival partner (my wife), whose wristband was on so tight that the universe was collapsing on itself, to hear her tell it.
The Shittiest Performance Award goes to K’Naan. K’Naan was actually awesome, but he had the misfortune of performing at the stage closest to the toilets. See what I did there? With that award title? That, my friends, is a little play on words that maybe leaves you confused for a bit, but explains it in due time, all while making you question the very essence of your being.
The Band I’m Least Likely to Continue Listening To After ACL Award goes to Them Crooked Vultures. There’s no denying the talent that makes up this group. Shit, one quarter of my favorite band of all time is in it! That being said, we saw their entire show and for whatever reason, I just wasn’t feeling it. Dave Grohl on the drums live is a sight to see, though.
And now for the crowning achievement of the entire weekend and what I hope becomes a recurring award for many years…The Most Likely to Lay Himself at My Feet, Rub His Breasts, and Accidentally Run His Knuckles Across My Shin While Fixing His Hair Award goes to this guy:
Thank you for invading my personal space. It was the realest experience I’ve had in awhile.
Well, folks, that’s pretty much a wrap for this year’s festival. The weather and the seemingly ridiculous amount of people made me seriously question whether or not I would attend again, but hell if my wife and I didn’t leave the festival already talking about buying tickets for next year. ACL 2010 or bust!
The Surprise of the Year Award this year goes to The Felice Brothers who were one of my top 3 favorite acts of the weekend. The amount of time I spend listening to them will increase dramatically now that I’ve actually heard of them. Their performance certainly didn’t feel like it was a 1:15 pm show.
Runners-up:
Phoenix – I hadn’t had much exposure at all to this band before ACL, but they kept the whole crowd rocking throughout their entire performance. They also had probably the most humble lead singer of any band, who proclaimed they had never performed in front of a crowd of that size and said “thank you” about a brazillion times.
!!! (pronounced “chkchkchk”) – These guys know how to move a crowd (physically, not emotionally…or bowelly)
This year’s Perfect Timing Award goes to this guy for making me second guess my stance on the existence of ghosts:
I swear to you that photo is not altered in any way.
The Kiss My Dick Award for this year goes to Salt Lick Barbeque. More like DICK Lick Barbeque, right? Or Salt DICK Barbeque, yeah? Or maybe BALL SICK FARTONYOU seriously guys who’s with me???
$7 for a pulled pork sandwich is fine. $7 for a large spoonful of completely dry pork topped with cabbage and two tiny squirts of BBQ sauce is Kiss My Dickable.
Runner-up: Some stupid asshole in line at the port-o-potties. While waiting in line Saturday for my turn to piss, the guy a few people up from me went into the stall and forgot to lock the door. So, on the exterior door handle was a giant green circle, which usually means “come on in!” But in this instance, since probably 30 people saw him go in there, everyone remained in line…except for one stupid asshole. This woman, maybe 25, crossed the no-man’s land between where the line starts and the stench begins and before she could even finish “HEY IS THERE ANYONE IN THIS ONE?” she had ripped the door open, which prompted everyone in line to issue a rousing “WHOA, SOMEONE’S IN THERE!” This girl knew that. She had to know that. She was standing right next to me. There were 4 or 5 people in front of her waiting for the same stall. Now, I had consumed a beer or two at this point, but for whatever reason I felt it necessary to say to her “Yeah, that’s why there are lines.” She walked up to me, did something nonsensical with her hands (ask me next time you see me and I’ll show you) and said “I GET IT.” Luckily, the lines had my back. The guy next to me says to her “But, do you really?” Anyway, fuck that woman.
The “Seriously, Do All Rap Concerts Sound Like This?" Award for this year goes to Mos Def. Not only did Mos Def show up 30 minutes late for his concert that was scheduled to last only 1 hour, but he proceeded to beat seemingly randomly on drums and freestyle the entire time. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe those were his songs. But I’ve heard Mos Def before, and he is fucking brilliant. This show, however, was annoyingly boring.
Runner-up: The male lead singer of !!!, who claimed that every time he said “goddammit,” the band’s drummer smiled (and boy did he). He must have said “goddammit” about 100 times. He also borrowed an umbrella from a fan and a line from the Talking Heads when he said “You may ask yourself, this is not my fucking umbrella, goddammit!” It doesn’t make sense, but neither do most Talking Heads songs.
The Bands That Obviously Know What They’re Doing Awards go to:
The B-52s – Sure, I spent most of the time just waiting for Love Shack and Rock Lobster, but they were way more energetic than I expected them to be. I’ve never seen so many middle-aged people dancing in my life.
White Lies – the last show we saw of the whole festival. Yes, we left early, but damn if this wasn’t a good note to end on.
Flogging Molly – Drunken jigs were being danced all over the damn place. Even if you don’t typically like their music, you should go to one of their shows and drink your fool head off. If you don’t have a good time, I hate you.
Black Joe Lewis & the Honeybears – If you took James Brown and Sly and the Family Stone, put them in a jar, and shook it up, the result would be Black Joe Lewis & the Honeybears. Seriously energetic, soulful performance. The only knock on them would be their horn “solos” that started off promising and never really went anywhere.
The first ever Unfortunately Small Crowd Award goes to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs who put on a damn good show that truly exceeded my expectations. You see, Kings of Leon were playing at the same time as this show, so most of the festival crowd was clear across the park when the Yeah Yeah Yeahs went on stage. Until this weekend, my only real exposure to them was playing “Maps” in Rock Band, a song I wasn’t real crazy about, but they sure are fun to watch live. And I’m not at all attracted to her, but I think having sex with lead singer Karen O would be the loudest and most awesomely disorienting seizuregasm ever. I’d also be afraid of where she’d try to stick the microphone, but I'd probably just go along with it.
The Weirdest Freak Out Award goes to my festival partner (my wife), whose wristband was on so tight that the universe was collapsing on itself, to hear her tell it.
The Shittiest Performance Award goes to K’Naan. K’Naan was actually awesome, but he had the misfortune of performing at the stage closest to the toilets. See what I did there? With that award title? That, my friends, is a little play on words that maybe leaves you confused for a bit, but explains it in due time, all while making you question the very essence of your being.
The Band I’m Least Likely to Continue Listening To After ACL Award goes to Them Crooked Vultures. There’s no denying the talent that makes up this group. Shit, one quarter of my favorite band of all time is in it! That being said, we saw their entire show and for whatever reason, I just wasn’t feeling it. Dave Grohl on the drums live is a sight to see, though.
And now for the crowning achievement of the entire weekend and what I hope becomes a recurring award for many years…The Most Likely to Lay Himself at My Feet, Rub His Breasts, and Accidentally Run His Knuckles Across My Shin While Fixing His Hair Award goes to this guy:
Thank you for invading my personal space. It was the realest experience I’ve had in awhile.
Well, folks, that’s pretty much a wrap for this year’s festival. The weather and the seemingly ridiculous amount of people made me seriously question whether or not I would attend again, but hell if my wife and I didn’t leave the festival already talking about buying tickets for next year. ACL 2010 or bust!
September 22, 2009
P.S., I Love You – Part 1
I have a confession. I’ve been making other people laugh. But don’t worry, baby. It didn’t mean anything. In fact, I don’t even remember their names. Wait, yes I do. It was Cracked.com. If you know me, you’ve probably heard me talked about Cracked.com an unhealthy amount of times. And if you’re mad about my lack of posting over basically the entire summer, you can blame it all on Cracked’s weekly Photoshop contests. That and Tetris, actually. So basically what happens each week is this: Cracked’s Editor starts a forum thread with a theme for the week, and it’s up to the readers to submit their best entry. At the end of the week, winners are chosen by I-have-no-idea-who and posted as an article on the homepage. Only 1st place wins anything, but there are usually 20 pages worth of entries, so to make the final 15 or 20 (the number of finalists varies) feels pretty damn good. Since I know most of you don’t spend any time on Cracked.com (shame, shame), I decided to share my Photoshop entries with both of you here. Here’s what I’ve been doing all this time:
A year ago one of the themes was “Campaign Ads if the Legal Voting Age Was Six.” Here are my two entries:
I know this was way before I failed to update my blog frequently, but there’s a reason I’m showing you these. The second one actually made it to the finals! 20th place, but still. Actually, I thought the first one was funnier, but as long as one of my entries made it, who gives a shit's fuck, right?
Click here to see all of the finalists.
After this contest, I was hooked. I submitted entries whenever I thought of a good idea, but I spent most of the next several months making an image and then deleting it at the last second. A few months ago, though, I got brave and started submitting more regularly. The week before July 4th, the theme was “Ill-conceived Patriotic Displays.” I submitted another couple of entries for this one:
The RealDoll entry actually ended up in third, the highest I’ve placed ever. I felt really good about that entry, but goddamn if the winner wasn’t one of the best entries I’ve seen in any of the contests.
Click here to see all of the finalists.
The next contest I entered was “Inventions We Badly Need at the Office (or Workplace).” If you’re reading this blog at work (I’m lookin’ at you, Sir Fats), this should be right up your alley. Here are my two entries:
Neither of them were finalists, but I still really enjoyed making both of them. Also, they got a good amount of love from some people in the forum, so I'm happy.
Click here to see all the finalists.
Well, I know we just got started, but this took way longer than I thought it would to track everything down, so that's it for now. Oh, and sorry I just posted the internet version of a clip-show, but at least there's something to look forward to!
A year ago one of the themes was “Campaign Ads if the Legal Voting Age Was Six.” Here are my two entries:
I know this was way before I failed to update my blog frequently, but there’s a reason I’m showing you these. The second one actually made it to the finals! 20th place, but still. Actually, I thought the first one was funnier, but as long as one of my entries made it, who gives a shit's fuck, right?
Click here to see all of the finalists.
After this contest, I was hooked. I submitted entries whenever I thought of a good idea, but I spent most of the next several months making an image and then deleting it at the last second. A few months ago, though, I got brave and started submitting more regularly. The week before July 4th, the theme was “Ill-conceived Patriotic Displays.” I submitted another couple of entries for this one:
The RealDoll entry actually ended up in third, the highest I’ve placed ever. I felt really good about that entry, but goddamn if the winner wasn’t one of the best entries I’ve seen in any of the contests.
Click here to see all of the finalists.
The next contest I entered was “Inventions We Badly Need at the Office (or Workplace).” If you’re reading this blog at work (I’m lookin’ at you, Sir Fats), this should be right up your alley. Here are my two entries:
Neither of them were finalists, but I still really enjoyed making both of them. Also, they got a good amount of love from some people in the forum, so I'm happy.
Click here to see all the finalists.
Well, I know we just got started, but this took way longer than I thought it would to track everything down, so that's it for now. Oh, and sorry I just posted the internet version of a clip-show, but at least there's something to look forward to!
August 2, 2009
The Book of Gregori
Well, another of my friends moved away, so apparently God hates me. Either that or I’m such a dick that people don’t even want to be in the same state as me…and this is a huge fucking state. This time it was Xander, who you also might recognize from previous posts in this blog. Xander has gone on to a better place. No, he's not dead (I think...I haven't talked to him in a couple of days), he's just moved to his paradise. His absence for me means less tennis, less drinking, less ultimate, less cricket, and a serious dearth of me getting to slap him in the face. Again I’m really damn late on this, but below is another send-off straight from the pages of the Ablakalyptical Bible.
1And again the prophet appeared unto them.
2“Where the hell did you go?” they asked of him, in unison.
3“LO!” cried the prophet. “There is no time for explanation, for soon cometh yet another Horseman of the Ablakalypse…Der Xander!”
“Der Xander?” they questioned. 4“What manner of creature is this?”
5“Lo,” whispered the prophet, “The Xander is a foul beast what dons the sandals of Jesus and stands some 8 feet tall, his hair eternally mussed and filthy, for he bathes not. His gigantic frame alloweth him to withstand the mighty force of a whirlwind. On his arms he bears markings what resembleth each century he hath spent imprisoned within the center of the earth. 6That number is 6. 7He freedeth himself and now stumbleth across the land, drunken and surrounded by his army of massive canines. From his pockets he pulleth an endless supply of darts, which he zingeth with impeccable accuracy. On his back resteth a barrel of ale that cannot be emptied, no matter how frequently one sups from the bunghole. In his right hand he wieldeth the Hammer of Thor, with which he slayeth his enemies by whacking them about the head.”
8“Lo!” the people gasped. “Der Xander hath conquered the Norse god of thunder???”
“What? Oh, nay,” said the prophet. “The Hammer of Thor is but a tennis racket…”
“Oh,” the people said flatly.
“…BUT IT IS WICKED AND INDESTRUCTIBLE!!!” shouted the prophet. “He payeth no regard for human life, for…” the prophet trailed off.
“For what?” the crowd beseeched him.
9“For he rideth his dual-wheeled chariot in the middle of thy path!” said the prophet.
10The crowd gasped. “NO!” cried a crowd member. “Surely not!” explained another.
11“I tell you no lie, but ye shall have warning when he appraocheth. When thou heareth the horrid hiss of ‘yassuh,’ cleaneth the shite from thy drawers and escapeth posthaste” said the prophet. “And finally,” the prophet started.
12“There’s more?” the crowd interrupted.
“Lo,” continued the prophet, “perhaps the most heinous and grievous thing about this towering monster…” the prophet quieted.
“Tell us!” pleaded the crowd. “We must know!”
13The prophet continued in a hushed voice and more gravely than ever before, “Der Xander weareth his sunglasses at night.”
14At this, the women fainted and the men wailed.
15“It cannot be!” the eldest of the crowd shouted maniacally.
16“Lo! Tis true! SEE FOR YOURSELVES!”
17The prophet dropped to his knees and again scrawled an image in the sand:
18The crowd raised their heads to find the prophet had yet again disappeared. From afar they heard the faintest cry: “Yaaaaasssssssssuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh............YYYYYYYAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHH...” the chant grew louder.
17And the people, having just recovered from their previous defecation, did shit themselves once more.
Best of luck in Colorado, you goddamn hippie.
1And again the prophet appeared unto them.
2“Where the hell did you go?” they asked of him, in unison.
3“LO!” cried the prophet. “There is no time for explanation, for soon cometh yet another Horseman of the Ablakalypse…Der Xander!”
“Der Xander?” they questioned. 4“What manner of creature is this?”
5“Lo,” whispered the prophet, “The Xander is a foul beast what dons the sandals of Jesus and stands some 8 feet tall, his hair eternally mussed and filthy, for he bathes not. His gigantic frame alloweth him to withstand the mighty force of a whirlwind. On his arms he bears markings what resembleth each century he hath spent imprisoned within the center of the earth. 6That number is 6. 7He freedeth himself and now stumbleth across the land, drunken and surrounded by his army of massive canines. From his pockets he pulleth an endless supply of darts, which he zingeth with impeccable accuracy. On his back resteth a barrel of ale that cannot be emptied, no matter how frequently one sups from the bunghole. In his right hand he wieldeth the Hammer of Thor, with which he slayeth his enemies by whacking them about the head.”
8“Lo!” the people gasped. “Der Xander hath conquered the Norse god of thunder???”
“What? Oh, nay,” said the prophet. “The Hammer of Thor is but a tennis racket…”
“Oh,” the people said flatly.
“…BUT IT IS WICKED AND INDESTRUCTIBLE!!!” shouted the prophet. “He payeth no regard for human life, for…” the prophet trailed off.
“For what?” the crowd beseeched him.
9“For he rideth his dual-wheeled chariot in the middle of thy path!” said the prophet.
10The crowd gasped. “NO!” cried a crowd member. “Surely not!” explained another.
11“I tell you no lie, but ye shall have warning when he appraocheth. When thou heareth the horrid hiss of ‘yassuh,’ cleaneth the shite from thy drawers and escapeth posthaste” said the prophet. “And finally,” the prophet started.
12“There’s more?” the crowd interrupted.
“Lo,” continued the prophet, “perhaps the most heinous and grievous thing about this towering monster…” the prophet quieted.
“Tell us!” pleaded the crowd. “We must know!”
13The prophet continued in a hushed voice and more gravely than ever before, “Der Xander weareth his sunglasses at night.”
14At this, the women fainted and the men wailed.
15“It cannot be!” the eldest of the crowd shouted maniacally.
16“Lo! Tis true! SEE FOR YOURSELVES!”
17The prophet dropped to his knees and again scrawled an image in the sand:
18The crowd raised their heads to find the prophet had yet again disappeared. From afar they heard the faintest cry: “Yaaaaasssssssssuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh............YYYYYYYAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHH...” the chant grew louder.
17And the people, having just recovered from their previous defecation, did shit themselves once more.
Best of luck in Colorado, you goddamn hippie.
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