If you see yourself amongst these people it might be time to change your beach going habits. (Thanks Mark & Bookfraud)
College Punk Throwing Football – Yeah, touchdown, asshole. Did you notice you just ran over my fucking beach towel? Or that you just kicked a cubic foot of fucking sand into my soda? Nice seventy dollar T-shirt. You like Abercrombe & Fitch? How about black & eye? That’s my own personal line and I’d be more than happy to introduce it to you one fist at a time. Sports are great but you don’t play golf on your grandmother’s bed do you? Yes…well, let me think of another analogy…no, fuck it. Just don’t throw a football anywhere near someone lying on the beach because the next person you hit with a football on the side of the head might not be an eighty year old lady with emphysema inhaling on an oxygen tank, it might be me and I won't just writhe around in the sand and spit phlegm and Polygrip up on you. I'll snap you in half like a chow mein noodle. So, if you cherish your future beer bong days you will take that fucking football to a vacant part of the beach now. Get it? Got it? Good.
Annoying Photographer – Did you just do an 8-ball of speed and drink a gallon of coffee? I swear to fucking God if you run by me one more time with those little plastic viewfinders jiggling and making that annoying clacking sound I’m going to strangle you with your camera strap. Would I like you to take a portrait of me and my friends? First of all I don’t have any friends. Second of all you already asked me three times and my answer is still no. Really, it’s only twenty dollars for a picture that’s as big as a postage stamp that I have to look at through a fucking ten cent piece of plastic to see? It would sound like a good deal to me if I were a fucking ant! Oh, that’s original fifteen high school kids stacked on top of each other in a pyramid. That’s a picture they’ll cherish threw their little viewfinders for the next week or two until it falls off their fucking key chains!
Sleazy Thong Guy – Sweet mother of Moses please tell me you’re not wearing a thong. For all that is holy I beg of you to wrap a towel around yourself. It looks like you have a dead rat and two Clementine tangerines stuffed in the front of that thing. What would possess you to wear something like that? You have bigger than average gut and nose hair that is so long a gerbil could swing on it like Tarzan. YOU ARE NOT SEXY! You are disgusting and so greasy I can almost hear the oil oozing from your pores. You have so much fucking cologne on that when you walked by my eyes watered like I had just diced a bag of onions. You need a full body waxing…except of course on your head which by the way is covered with what looks like something my neighbor’s cat barfed up. No! For God’s sake don’t bend over. Let the fat kid pick up his own Frisbee.
Red Fat Guy Drinking Beer and Fishing – Did you just walk out of the core of a nuclear reactor? You are by far the reddest mother fucker I’ve ever seen in my life. Have you ever heard of sunblock? Nice hat with lures all over it. Are you fishing in a swimming area? That’s not a marlin you’re reeling in; it’s a little fat kid. Have you ever heard a marlin cuss like that? See the blood pouring from the wound where the treble hook is lodged under his ribs? Maybe if you weren’t so fucking drunk you’d be able to tell the difference between a fish and a fat kid. Pabst Blue Ribbon? Why do I have the distinct feeling that this beer would never win a fucking blue ribbon in any contest? Maybe because it’s $8 a case and smells like cat urine. So pour out that beer and throw the fat kid back. Someone has to keep McDonald’s in business. And get rid of that bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. I can hear your arteries wheezing above the din of the breaking waves.
Little Brats and Doting Mothers– Oh look, your sweet children are feeding those fucking filthy seagulls French fries and they are dive bombing me and shitting all over my fucking beach towel. Do you think you could get them to stop? No, not after you take some pictures. Now! Oh, look little Bobby just yanked down his pants and is pissing on the sand. Let me get the camera. No, don’t get the camera. I’ve got a better idea. Take the little bastard to a toilet on the boardwalk. The spray from your kid’s piss speckled the novel I was reading. Bobby is not a cat and the beach is not his personal litter box. And another thing, I’m really sorry little Janie didn’t get her twelfth Jello Pudding Pop but she is screaming so loud that the lenses of my sunglasses just shattered. It’s not child abuse if you smack her ass and tell her to shut the fuck up. I appreciate your sensitivity in child rearing but a timeout isn’t going to work. There is no fucking corner to send her to. YOU”RE ON THE FUCKING BEACH! If need be get out the leg irons and duct tape and make sure those little brats don’t say or do anything. No, of course they can’t swim with the leg irons on…that’s the point isn’t it?
Hot Chick with a Dork – I hope to God that dork you're with was one of the original founders of Microsoft because if he isn’t there is something seriously amiss. I’m not Brad Pitt but the guy rubbing oil on your back looks like a partially shaved Spider monkey with glasses. You are a vision clad in tight swatches of polyester, with legs that are as long and smooth as a southern politician’s inaugural address speech but your sidekick looks like Don Knott’s fat twin brother. Am I missing something here? Personality makes up for a lot? It doesn’t make up for that much. This mother fucker has a deficit in ugly that can’t be made up with personality currency. And another thing, take that fucking tent down. No one uses a tent on the beach…oh, that’s not a tent pole? He’s just lying under his beach towel? Now I understand. Carry on…circus freak.
Monday, February 28, 2005
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Hunter and his Attorney
Hunter S. Thompson and his attorney Oscar Acosta. This photo was shown on the back cover of the Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Observations in Miniature: A Day at the Beach (Thanks Dave)
If you see yourself amongst these people at the beach it might be time to change your beach going ways.
Redneck Dad – Nice tan lines in the outline of a wife beater tank top. Do you mind paying attention to something other than the Nascar race on your portable television? Junior is out in the ocean floating in a cooler. Yep, there he goes over the horizon. No, Budweiser is not a food group. You must have been born without taste buds because that stuff tastes like the sweat rung out of a swami’s turban. Are you a science experiment gone bad? Because if I’m not mistaken you’re pregnant. You’re sitting in a lawn chair using your gut as a table with that 36 inch ham sub spread out on it. Oops, you dropped an olive in your belly button. And I beg of you when you finally do work your way up out of that industrial strength lawn chair pull up your fucking cut off blue jean shorts. The last thing I want to see is the plumber’s crack of what is perhaps the flattest ass I’ve ever seen in my life.
Wrinkled Sun Queen - It’s good you talked because you’re skin is so brown and wrinkled I thought you were a piece of drift wood and almost threw you on my fire. I’m sure you were something back before you baked yours skin like the crust of a tuna noodle casserole but now you look like the stick my dog just retrieved so stop winking at me. Do you really need that tin foil tanning thing under your neck? A Seagull flying overhead just dropped a pile of liquid shit on it and it went up in a poof of smoke when it hit. What do you think that thing is doing to your face? That’s it, smoke up, have another Virginia Slim, if you don’t get skin cancer you can always try for lung cancer. Everyone needs goals. No, I won’t rub tanning accelerator on your back. You’re skin is as dry as a prehistoric toilet paper and an errant ash from your cigarette might set you ablaze. And for God’s sake please stop fiddling with your bathing suit top I just caught a glimpse of one of your shriveled up tits and to my chagrin it looked like an over microwaved sweet potato.
Foreign Guy – Do you think your wife and daughters might be getting a little warm in those wool burkas? It’s about 90 degrees on the beach. Is that smoke coming out from under your wife’s burka? Is she smoking herring under there or has she begun to spontaneously combust? You’re a sadistic bastard foreign guy. You sit there and leer at women in bikinis while the females in your family sweat like Rush Limbaugh in a pastry shop. If they happen to glance at a guy in a bathing suit you curse under your breath in some language that sounds like a wounded dolphin begging for squid. What just fell out of your scraggily beard? Is that a Playgirl magazine? Because over here men that treat women like shit we generally suspect of hating them and of having some self loathing complex because of their repressed homosexuality. I’ve got an idea. If you don’t like the idea of women having the same rights as you go back to the sand box from which you were sprung. Really, we won’t miss you or your body odor. If you want to stay then move your fucking towel. You’re blocking my view of the hot babe in the thong and here’s a stick of deodorant. Get it? Got it? Good.
Big Lady Little Bikini - Okay, back up slowly and drop the slices of pizza. That’s it one at a time. Slowly. Keep your hands away from you mouth. That’s it. How did you get past beach security mam? I’m going to have to insist you bury yourself up to your neck in the sand. Yes, it’s the law. You’re so big that when you lie on your beach towel it looks like a washcloth. Is that a hard pretzel stuck between your rolls? Where is that little kid that was near you when you sat down? Do you hear those muffled cries for help? Dear God I hope you didn’t sit on him. Did a hermit crab take up residents in the cave that is your belly button? Because if I’m not mistaken I just saw an eyeball staring up at me from down there. You might not want to roll in the sand like that, it’s going to get stuck in your creases, get compacted, and when your toweling down a few years from now glassware might fall out. The next time you come to the beach please wear something a bit more sensible like a muumuu or a horse blanket with a head hole cut in it. I respect your desire to frolic in the sand and sun but could you move out of the way? I’m trying to see the ocean.
Lady Thong - Thong a long a ding dong. Yes, you are defying gravity. Newton is up in heaven with a boner. No, I can’t get up off my stomach at the moment…I have a cramp in my back? I dropped my wallet could you pick it up? Damn, I dropped it again. And again. And again…Let’s skip the small talk. How much will it cost me to remove your thong with my tongue? Ouch. Yes, you do hit hard. Your swimsuit isn’t constructed of enough material to make an eye patch for a squirrel. No, I’m not complaining. In fact I might trim a little off the sides if I were you. Are those breasts real? Because if you remove the nipples they'd look like something you might buy at a Tupperware party. No, I’m not complaining in fact I have an extensive Tupperware collection at home…hmm, this makes me look at Tupperware in a whole new light. I respect your desire to frolic in the sand and sun now could you please move directly in front of me? I don’t give a shit about the ocean.
Bermuda Beach Geezer - Hawaiian shirt, Bermuda shorts, Panama hat, slip on canvas geezer shoes, oversized blinder sunglasses, zinc oxide on nose, and black socks. Are you afraid that the sun will play connect the dots with your liver spots and turn you the shade of tobacco spit? For God’s sake take some off that thrift shop attire. Whoa, wait a minute put that shirt back on. You look like a plucked chicken that tried to take up weightlifting. Could you put out that five cent dog turd you’re trying to pass off as a cigar? The smoke from that thing just made a flock of seagulls drop from the sky. What the fuck do you think you’re going to find with that thirty foot long metal detector? Land mines? Napoleon’s Rolex? The Holy Grail? For God’s sake put that thing away it makes you look desperate. You’re eighty years old, enjoy your final days. I’m quite sure that with your pension, social security, 401 k, and veterans benefits you will be able to play all the golf you want and hit all the all-you-can-eat buffets you want before you run out of money and time. That’s it, toss that metal detector into the ocean. Don’t worry I’m pretty sure it’s biodegradable.
Redneck Dad – Nice tan lines in the outline of a wife beater tank top. Do you mind paying attention to something other than the Nascar race on your portable television? Junior is out in the ocean floating in a cooler. Yep, there he goes over the horizon. No, Budweiser is not a food group. You must have been born without taste buds because that stuff tastes like the sweat rung out of a swami’s turban. Are you a science experiment gone bad? Because if I’m not mistaken you’re pregnant. You’re sitting in a lawn chair using your gut as a table with that 36 inch ham sub spread out on it. Oops, you dropped an olive in your belly button. And I beg of you when you finally do work your way up out of that industrial strength lawn chair pull up your fucking cut off blue jean shorts. The last thing I want to see is the plumber’s crack of what is perhaps the flattest ass I’ve ever seen in my life.
Wrinkled Sun Queen - It’s good you talked because you’re skin is so brown and wrinkled I thought you were a piece of drift wood and almost threw you on my fire. I’m sure you were something back before you baked yours skin like the crust of a tuna noodle casserole but now you look like the stick my dog just retrieved so stop winking at me. Do you really need that tin foil tanning thing under your neck? A Seagull flying overhead just dropped a pile of liquid shit on it and it went up in a poof of smoke when it hit. What do you think that thing is doing to your face? That’s it, smoke up, have another Virginia Slim, if you don’t get skin cancer you can always try for lung cancer. Everyone needs goals. No, I won’t rub tanning accelerator on your back. You’re skin is as dry as a prehistoric toilet paper and an errant ash from your cigarette might set you ablaze. And for God’s sake please stop fiddling with your bathing suit top I just caught a glimpse of one of your shriveled up tits and to my chagrin it looked like an over microwaved sweet potato.
Foreign Guy – Do you think your wife and daughters might be getting a little warm in those wool burkas? It’s about 90 degrees on the beach. Is that smoke coming out from under your wife’s burka? Is she smoking herring under there or has she begun to spontaneously combust? You’re a sadistic bastard foreign guy. You sit there and leer at women in bikinis while the females in your family sweat like Rush Limbaugh in a pastry shop. If they happen to glance at a guy in a bathing suit you curse under your breath in some language that sounds like a wounded dolphin begging for squid. What just fell out of your scraggily beard? Is that a Playgirl magazine? Because over here men that treat women like shit we generally suspect of hating them and of having some self loathing complex because of their repressed homosexuality. I’ve got an idea. If you don’t like the idea of women having the same rights as you go back to the sand box from which you were sprung. Really, we won’t miss you or your body odor. If you want to stay then move your fucking towel. You’re blocking my view of the hot babe in the thong and here’s a stick of deodorant. Get it? Got it? Good.
Big Lady Little Bikini - Okay, back up slowly and drop the slices of pizza. That’s it one at a time. Slowly. Keep your hands away from you mouth. That’s it. How did you get past beach security mam? I’m going to have to insist you bury yourself up to your neck in the sand. Yes, it’s the law. You’re so big that when you lie on your beach towel it looks like a washcloth. Is that a hard pretzel stuck between your rolls? Where is that little kid that was near you when you sat down? Do you hear those muffled cries for help? Dear God I hope you didn’t sit on him. Did a hermit crab take up residents in the cave that is your belly button? Because if I’m not mistaken I just saw an eyeball staring up at me from down there. You might not want to roll in the sand like that, it’s going to get stuck in your creases, get compacted, and when your toweling down a few years from now glassware might fall out. The next time you come to the beach please wear something a bit more sensible like a muumuu or a horse blanket with a head hole cut in it. I respect your desire to frolic in the sand and sun but could you move out of the way? I’m trying to see the ocean.
Lady Thong - Thong a long a ding dong. Yes, you are defying gravity. Newton is up in heaven with a boner. No, I can’t get up off my stomach at the moment…I have a cramp in my back? I dropped my wallet could you pick it up? Damn, I dropped it again. And again. And again…Let’s skip the small talk. How much will it cost me to remove your thong with my tongue? Ouch. Yes, you do hit hard. Your swimsuit isn’t constructed of enough material to make an eye patch for a squirrel. No, I’m not complaining. In fact I might trim a little off the sides if I were you. Are those breasts real? Because if you remove the nipples they'd look like something you might buy at a Tupperware party. No, I’m not complaining in fact I have an extensive Tupperware collection at home…hmm, this makes me look at Tupperware in a whole new light. I respect your desire to frolic in the sand and sun now could you please move directly in front of me? I don’t give a shit about the ocean.
Bermuda Beach Geezer - Hawaiian shirt, Bermuda shorts, Panama hat, slip on canvas geezer shoes, oversized blinder sunglasses, zinc oxide on nose, and black socks. Are you afraid that the sun will play connect the dots with your liver spots and turn you the shade of tobacco spit? For God’s sake take some off that thrift shop attire. Whoa, wait a minute put that shirt back on. You look like a plucked chicken that tried to take up weightlifting. Could you put out that five cent dog turd you’re trying to pass off as a cigar? The smoke from that thing just made a flock of seagulls drop from the sky. What the fuck do you think you’re going to find with that thirty foot long metal detector? Land mines? Napoleon’s Rolex? The Holy Grail? For God’s sake put that thing away it makes you look desperate. You’re eighty years old, enjoy your final days. I’m quite sure that with your pension, social security, 401 k, and veterans benefits you will be able to play all the golf you want and hit all the all-you-can-eat buffets you want before you run out of money and time. That’s it, toss that metal detector into the ocean. Don’t worry I’m pretty sure it’s biodegradable.
Sunday, February 20, 2005
Goodbye Hunter RIP
Author Hunter S. Thompson Kills Himself
According to the AP Hunter S. Thompson commited suicide last night in his Aspen home. Thompson was 67 years old.
http://aolsvc.news.aol.com/celeb/article.adp?id=20050220234609990002
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/02/22/books/22appr.html?
According to the AP Hunter S. Thompson commited suicide last night in his Aspen home. Thompson was 67 years old.
http://aolsvc.news.aol.com/celeb/article.adp?id=20050220234609990002
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/02/22/books/22appr.html?
Friday, February 18, 2005
Observations in Miniature: People in the Grocery Store II
If you see yourself amongst these people it might be time to change your shopping habits.
Foreign Guy - You still don’t get American grocery stores do you? What’s in you cart? Unfiltered Camels , Pepsi, some weird vegetable that looks like a shrub, frozen king crab legs? What the Hell are you going to do? Go home and feed your pet llama and walrus? You’re eating like you’re shopping in the bazaar in Iran for God’s sake. Food isn’t rationed here. Just look at all the fat people. Go back and load up on frozen pizzas and processed meats. And let me direct you to the shaving section so you can trim that five foot long mountain goat beard and while we‘re at it we‘ll drop by the deodorant aisle. You smell like you’re aging Blue Cheese under your armpits.
Pet Fanatic - Twelve pounds of cat litter. Check. Two ten pound bags of bird seed. Check. A twenty pound bag of peanuts for the squirrels. Check. Thirty-seven cans of Fancy Feast. Check. One six ounce cup of yogurt. Check. Wait a second where the Hell is the people food? What the fuck are you going to eat? Do you corral kittens into pet carriers and beef them up like veal then slaughter them and eat them in a tangy a yogurt sauce? This is what I am forced to deduce from the paltry amount of human food in your cart. And what the fuck is that on your shoulder? Is that macaw shit? That’s cool you carry your pet bird around on your shoulder but you’d better go hose down after you’re done. And do you purposely fill your purse with cat litter? Because it looks like one of your babies drop a kibble bomb on your organizer. It’s great that you love animals but what separates us from them is our ability to use soap and take showers. Get it? There’s enough cat hair on your sweater to knit a hat, scarf, and mittens for your niece. Please take a lint brush to yourself before you go out in public again.
The Weeble Family - Choo Choo. Look out here comes the Weeble family wobbling down the aisle with their train of overflowing carts. Are you even looking at what you’re throwing into your cart? Do you really need a ten gallon jar of pickle relish? Buying in bulk is acceptable when you’re preparing for a family reunion or if you run an orphanage but for God’s sake there’s only four people in your family and although their combined weight is equal to that of a mid-size SUV they will certainly survive without a gross of Mrs. Paul’s fish sticks. And a request to all things holy please stay away from the snack cake aisle. I think your son just dove into a display of Little Debbie Snack Cakes. Yes, there he is I saw his chocolate covered face come up for a breath and then he dove back into a heap of Twinkies. Is he backstroking through a shelf full of moon pies? You’re family has a problem and it has nothing to do with their pituitary glands. You simply eat too fucking much. That’s why you’ve spent a third of your life at the grocery store, a third of your life eating, and a third of your life reading tabloid newspapers on your reinforced toilet. Put back the groceries in two of those carts and you’ll subsist quite well on the remaining cart for a month or two.
The Wanderer (thanks Lori)- Did you do the brown acid at Woodstock? I’m almost done with my shopping and I keep passing you going the wrong way and in addition to causing traffic jams, which you are largely oblivious to, you seem to be standing in front of every damn item I want to buy. You stand there with this perplexed look on your face reading every piece of fine print on a jar of spaghetti sauce. There’s nothing in there but tomatoes, some salt and garlic. You’re not reading the Odyssey for God’s sake. Keep moving. You’ve been here for two hours and how many things do you have in your cart? Two? Here’s an idea. It’s going to be radical and might takes some time to adjust to but why not make a FUCKING GROCERY LIST! That way you won’t be wandering around for hours. And fill your damn cart up so you don’t have to come back every day. Grocery shopping is not Chess, there is no complicated strategy, except to buy fucking groceries. Sound simple? It is. Carry on.
Angry Cashier - Hi, how are you? Nothing. Why were you talking to the lady in front of me but now you won’t even talk to me? Did you just punch a hole through my box of Nutrigrain? Your anger is misplaced. I’m not “the man.” In fact I never even met “the man,” so please don’t throw my eggs. In case you haven’t noticed they don’t bounce. No, I don’t mind bagging my own groceries. Do you mind if I go out in the parking lot and let the air out of your tires? I don’t care if you’re a bitch on your own time but you work in a service industry and are paid to pretend you like me so we can complete our transaction in peace. So unclench the fists, lose the frown. That’s it. Feel better? No? Well, then fucking pretend.
Foreign Guy - You still don’t get American grocery stores do you? What’s in you cart? Unfiltered Camels , Pepsi, some weird vegetable that looks like a shrub, frozen king crab legs? What the Hell are you going to do? Go home and feed your pet llama and walrus? You’re eating like you’re shopping in the bazaar in Iran for God’s sake. Food isn’t rationed here. Just look at all the fat people. Go back and load up on frozen pizzas and processed meats. And let me direct you to the shaving section so you can trim that five foot long mountain goat beard and while we‘re at it we‘ll drop by the deodorant aisle. You smell like you’re aging Blue Cheese under your armpits.
Pet Fanatic - Twelve pounds of cat litter. Check. Two ten pound bags of bird seed. Check. A twenty pound bag of peanuts for the squirrels. Check. Thirty-seven cans of Fancy Feast. Check. One six ounce cup of yogurt. Check. Wait a second where the Hell is the people food? What the fuck are you going to eat? Do you corral kittens into pet carriers and beef them up like veal then slaughter them and eat them in a tangy a yogurt sauce? This is what I am forced to deduce from the paltry amount of human food in your cart. And what the fuck is that on your shoulder? Is that macaw shit? That’s cool you carry your pet bird around on your shoulder but you’d better go hose down after you’re done. And do you purposely fill your purse with cat litter? Because it looks like one of your babies drop a kibble bomb on your organizer. It’s great that you love animals but what separates us from them is our ability to use soap and take showers. Get it? There’s enough cat hair on your sweater to knit a hat, scarf, and mittens for your niece. Please take a lint brush to yourself before you go out in public again.
The Weeble Family - Choo Choo. Look out here comes the Weeble family wobbling down the aisle with their train of overflowing carts. Are you even looking at what you’re throwing into your cart? Do you really need a ten gallon jar of pickle relish? Buying in bulk is acceptable when you’re preparing for a family reunion or if you run an orphanage but for God’s sake there’s only four people in your family and although their combined weight is equal to that of a mid-size SUV they will certainly survive without a gross of Mrs. Paul’s fish sticks. And a request to all things holy please stay away from the snack cake aisle. I think your son just dove into a display of Little Debbie Snack Cakes. Yes, there he is I saw his chocolate covered face come up for a breath and then he dove back into a heap of Twinkies. Is he backstroking through a shelf full of moon pies? You’re family has a problem and it has nothing to do with their pituitary glands. You simply eat too fucking much. That’s why you’ve spent a third of your life at the grocery store, a third of your life eating, and a third of your life reading tabloid newspapers on your reinforced toilet. Put back the groceries in two of those carts and you’ll subsist quite well on the remaining cart for a month or two.
The Wanderer (thanks Lori)- Did you do the brown acid at Woodstock? I’m almost done with my shopping and I keep passing you going the wrong way and in addition to causing traffic jams, which you are largely oblivious to, you seem to be standing in front of every damn item I want to buy. You stand there with this perplexed look on your face reading every piece of fine print on a jar of spaghetti sauce. There’s nothing in there but tomatoes, some salt and garlic. You’re not reading the Odyssey for God’s sake. Keep moving. You’ve been here for two hours and how many things do you have in your cart? Two? Here’s an idea. It’s going to be radical and might takes some time to adjust to but why not make a FUCKING GROCERY LIST! That way you won’t be wandering around for hours. And fill your damn cart up so you don’t have to come back every day. Grocery shopping is not Chess, there is no complicated strategy, except to buy fucking groceries. Sound simple? It is. Carry on.
Angry Cashier - Hi, how are you? Nothing. Why were you talking to the lady in front of me but now you won’t even talk to me? Did you just punch a hole through my box of Nutrigrain? Your anger is misplaced. I’m not “the man.” In fact I never even met “the man,” so please don’t throw my eggs. In case you haven’t noticed they don’t bounce. No, I don’t mind bagging my own groceries. Do you mind if I go out in the parking lot and let the air out of your tires? I don’t care if you’re a bitch on your own time but you work in a service industry and are paid to pretend you like me so we can complete our transaction in peace. So unclench the fists, lose the frown. That’s it. Feel better? No? Well, then fucking pretend.
Oh no W not again
"If you see a train wreck coming, you ought to be saying, what are you going to do about it, Mr. Congressman, or Madam Congressman?"
Actual George W. Bush quote, Detroit, February, 2005
From Rolling Stone
Actual George W. Bush quote, Detroit, February, 2005
From Rolling Stone
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Monday, February 14, 2005
Observations in Miniature: People in the Grocery Store
If you see yourself amongst these people it might be time to change your shopping habits.
Bachelor Shopper– Chunky Steak & Potato Soup, Quaker Made Sandwich Steaks, Oscar Mayer Bacon, Frank’s RedHot hot sauce, Cheese Whiz, Wonder Bread, Ball Park Franks, Cheetos, Jiff. Can you say heart attack? No wonder you’re skin is the shade of a dead dolphin. What are you going to do with that bunt cake have a personal tea party? Put that the fuck down and go get some fruit and vegetables. Have you ever heard of fiber? Are you trying to get prostate cancer? No, bacon is not a food group. Are you following Fat Albert’s recommended nutritional guidelines? No wonder men die younger than women. Here’s a clue. The reason your sweat smells like bologna, your BP is 190 over 210, and your depressed is because you’re ingesting enough chemicals, fat and sodium to fell a rhino. Respect yourself. Put down the king sized container of sour cream dip and pick up a container of yogurt. That’s it. Feel that strange sensation in your heart? That’s blood actually working its way through your arteries.
Frantic Snow Storm Shopper – Are you running a home for wayward boys? No? It’s just you, your husband and two children. Then why the fuck did you just buy seven loaves of bread, eight cartons of eggs, and five gallons of milk? Do you subsist solely on French Toast? No? In case you just rolled out of a time machine let me let you in on a little secret. No one in the United States has died of starvation in the last fifty years because they were snowed in. You’re being greedy. A snow storm is not a nuclear holocaust you will be able to emerge from your living room bunker within the next day or two. So, if you really need it buy one loaf of bread, one carton of eggs and one gallon of milk and leave some for other people like me. My grocery shopping day just happens to fall the day before the big ½ inch of projected snowfall and I really am out of groceries. Thank-you for being so courteous.
Coupon Cocksucker – What’s in that briefcase stacked on top of your overflowing cart of groceries? Oh dear God you have coupons wrapped like one hundred dollar bills and they are filling the entire briefcase. I’m trapped in line. There are two people lined up behind me. I’ll be here until the next Super Bowl. What? You say you’re thrifty. No, you’re just annoying. You bought 32 gallons of orange juice and saved fifty cents? I’m relieved you won’t be getting scurvy but if you buy the store brand you will save even more and I won’t have to wait for eons behind you in the checkout line. Let’s be logical and break this down. Coupons, for the most part, entice you to buy shit you wouldn’t have bought in the first place. It’s a marketing ploy. Oh, here’s a coupon for Grandma Remmy’s fried cow testicles. I’d never normally eat them but they’re on sale so I bought six jars. Do you get it? You’re not really saving money! You’re spending money on shit you don’t need because there is a coupon for it! So, have we learned our economic lesson for the day? Good, because since you opened your briefcase of coupons Haley’s Comet just flew by again.
Senior Shoppers – It’s nice to get out of the retirement village and shuffle around during the busiest store hours of the shopping day isn’t it? I have only one question for you. What the fuck were you doing all day long while I was at work! You can’t tell me that bingo and shuffle board took eight hours. Did you just stand and line at the deli for ten minutes hemming and hawing over buying one piece of fucking lunch meat? What are you going to do with that? Slice it up four ways and have a dinner party? Here’s a clue. Buy several pieces of lunch meat then you won’t have to come back to the grocery store every day and won’t be in my way every time I try to push my cart down an aisle. And to the old men specifically, stop fucking flirting with the checkout girls you’re wasting my time and theirs. I don’t give a fuck what Twilight Zone episode you live in you are not going to get to check your rejuvenated Viagra wood out on that eighteen year old checkout girl. Are we clear? Good. Now get in your cart. I’ll push you out to your fifty foot long Cadillac.
Oblivious Mother with Kid in Cart – Hello, earth to mother. Does little Satan want another box of Oreo Cookies dipped in chocolate? Is that what he’s whining about? I have an idea MOVE YOUR FUCKING CART! You don’t need to park sideways across the cracker and cookie aisle. There’s something going on outside that microcosm that is your world and it’s called me trying to get my cart past you so I can get done with my shopping. And another thing. After you get done pulling Hell child off the candy rack in the checkout line, which takes a good ten or fifteen minutes to wrench the Snickers bars and M&M’s from his fists, don’t write a fucking check. Wake up. No one uses checks anymore. Get a fucking check card because inevitably there will be a problem with your check and I will be waiting behind you as the beast that has sprung form your loins sticks his tongue out at me and screams like a cat with its tale caught in a garbage disposal. You’re right my hair is thinning but my patience are wearing even thinner so if you want to be around to see Beelzebub graduate from prison boot camp I suggest you use cash next time.
Sally Wheatgrass (AKA the Overdone Vegetarian lady) - No, don’t stand up in the back of your cart; your pencil thin legs might go right through the grating. Is there any meat in that cart underneath all that foliage? No, soy nuggets are not a mammal. If it didn’t have a tail it doesn’t qualify. You won’t eat anything with milk or eggs in it because it’s murder? Oh, right I forgot I watched an episode of Beasts on the Savannah last week and they showed a loaf of Wonder Bread running from a pack of hyenas. Okay, you’ve taken this hippie Hindu reincarnation shit too far and it’s abundantly clear from your anemic complexion and spindly limbs that you need the advice of a doctor. As an unlicensed physician I recommend ingesting 10 cc’s of lard, preferably hydrogenated beef fat, and to wrap yourself in ten pounds of cooked bacon and olive loaf overnight. Thos canines in your mouth are there for a reason and it is not to viciously tear at lettuce leaves. Your ancestors’ brains grew because they were able to gradually consume more protein, thus improving their hunting skills and their intellectual capacity for preparing meat in tangy sauces. Get it Sally Wheatgrass? Good. Now, join hands with Colonel Sanders and repeat after me: Protein is not my enemy. It is my friend. If the Hindus are right and I did just eat my dead uncle's soul in that bucket of KFC then so what? He tasted like chicken and will come back as something else very soon.
Bachelor Shopper– Chunky Steak & Potato Soup, Quaker Made Sandwich Steaks, Oscar Mayer Bacon, Frank’s RedHot hot sauce, Cheese Whiz, Wonder Bread, Ball Park Franks, Cheetos, Jiff. Can you say heart attack? No wonder you’re skin is the shade of a dead dolphin. What are you going to do with that bunt cake have a personal tea party? Put that the fuck down and go get some fruit and vegetables. Have you ever heard of fiber? Are you trying to get prostate cancer? No, bacon is not a food group. Are you following Fat Albert’s recommended nutritional guidelines? No wonder men die younger than women. Here’s a clue. The reason your sweat smells like bologna, your BP is 190 over 210, and your depressed is because you’re ingesting enough chemicals, fat and sodium to fell a rhino. Respect yourself. Put down the king sized container of sour cream dip and pick up a container of yogurt. That’s it. Feel that strange sensation in your heart? That’s blood actually working its way through your arteries.
Frantic Snow Storm Shopper – Are you running a home for wayward boys? No? It’s just you, your husband and two children. Then why the fuck did you just buy seven loaves of bread, eight cartons of eggs, and five gallons of milk? Do you subsist solely on French Toast? No? In case you just rolled out of a time machine let me let you in on a little secret. No one in the United States has died of starvation in the last fifty years because they were snowed in. You’re being greedy. A snow storm is not a nuclear holocaust you will be able to emerge from your living room bunker within the next day or two. So, if you really need it buy one loaf of bread, one carton of eggs and one gallon of milk and leave some for other people like me. My grocery shopping day just happens to fall the day before the big ½ inch of projected snowfall and I really am out of groceries. Thank-you for being so courteous.
Coupon Cocksucker – What’s in that briefcase stacked on top of your overflowing cart of groceries? Oh dear God you have coupons wrapped like one hundred dollar bills and they are filling the entire briefcase. I’m trapped in line. There are two people lined up behind me. I’ll be here until the next Super Bowl. What? You say you’re thrifty. No, you’re just annoying. You bought 32 gallons of orange juice and saved fifty cents? I’m relieved you won’t be getting scurvy but if you buy the store brand you will save even more and I won’t have to wait for eons behind you in the checkout line. Let’s be logical and break this down. Coupons, for the most part, entice you to buy shit you wouldn’t have bought in the first place. It’s a marketing ploy. Oh, here’s a coupon for Grandma Remmy’s fried cow testicles. I’d never normally eat them but they’re on sale so I bought six jars. Do you get it? You’re not really saving money! You’re spending money on shit you don’t need because there is a coupon for it! So, have we learned our economic lesson for the day? Good, because since you opened your briefcase of coupons Haley’s Comet just flew by again.
Senior Shoppers – It’s nice to get out of the retirement village and shuffle around during the busiest store hours of the shopping day isn’t it? I have only one question for you. What the fuck were you doing all day long while I was at work! You can’t tell me that bingo and shuffle board took eight hours. Did you just stand and line at the deli for ten minutes hemming and hawing over buying one piece of fucking lunch meat? What are you going to do with that? Slice it up four ways and have a dinner party? Here’s a clue. Buy several pieces of lunch meat then you won’t have to come back to the grocery store every day and won’t be in my way every time I try to push my cart down an aisle. And to the old men specifically, stop fucking flirting with the checkout girls you’re wasting my time and theirs. I don’t give a fuck what Twilight Zone episode you live in you are not going to get to check your rejuvenated Viagra wood out on that eighteen year old checkout girl. Are we clear? Good. Now get in your cart. I’ll push you out to your fifty foot long Cadillac.
Oblivious Mother with Kid in Cart – Hello, earth to mother. Does little Satan want another box of Oreo Cookies dipped in chocolate? Is that what he’s whining about? I have an idea MOVE YOUR FUCKING CART! You don’t need to park sideways across the cracker and cookie aisle. There’s something going on outside that microcosm that is your world and it’s called me trying to get my cart past you so I can get done with my shopping. And another thing. After you get done pulling Hell child off the candy rack in the checkout line, which takes a good ten or fifteen minutes to wrench the Snickers bars and M&M’s from his fists, don’t write a fucking check. Wake up. No one uses checks anymore. Get a fucking check card because inevitably there will be a problem with your check and I will be waiting behind you as the beast that has sprung form your loins sticks his tongue out at me and screams like a cat with its tale caught in a garbage disposal. You’re right my hair is thinning but my patience are wearing even thinner so if you want to be around to see Beelzebub graduate from prison boot camp I suggest you use cash next time.
Sally Wheatgrass (AKA the Overdone Vegetarian lady) - No, don’t stand up in the back of your cart; your pencil thin legs might go right through the grating. Is there any meat in that cart underneath all that foliage? No, soy nuggets are not a mammal. If it didn’t have a tail it doesn’t qualify. You won’t eat anything with milk or eggs in it because it’s murder? Oh, right I forgot I watched an episode of Beasts on the Savannah last week and they showed a loaf of Wonder Bread running from a pack of hyenas. Okay, you’ve taken this hippie Hindu reincarnation shit too far and it’s abundantly clear from your anemic complexion and spindly limbs that you need the advice of a doctor. As an unlicensed physician I recommend ingesting 10 cc’s of lard, preferably hydrogenated beef fat, and to wrap yourself in ten pounds of cooked bacon and olive loaf overnight. Thos canines in your mouth are there for a reason and it is not to viciously tear at lettuce leaves. Your ancestors’ brains grew because they were able to gradually consume more protein, thus improving their hunting skills and their intellectual capacity for preparing meat in tangy sauces. Get it Sally Wheatgrass? Good. Now, join hands with Colonel Sanders and repeat after me: Protein is not my enemy. It is my friend. If the Hindus are right and I did just eat my dead uncle's soul in that bucket of KFC then so what? He tasted like chicken and will come back as something else very soon.
Friday, February 11, 2005
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
AMENDMENT I
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.
I read a disturbing article in USA Today by Greg Toppo entitled: U.S. students say press freedoms go too far. The article stated that in a survey of 112,003 high school students surveyed that 'One in three U.S. high school students say the press ought to be more restricted, and even more say the government should approve newspaper stories before readers see them.'
The article goes on to say that, 'The findings aren't surprising to Jack Dvorak, director of the High School Journalism Institute at Indiana University in Bloomington. "Even professional journalists are often unaware of a lot of the freedoms that might be associated with the First Amendment," he says.
The survey "confirms what a lot of people who are interested in this area have known for a long time," he says: Kids aren't learning enough about the First Amendment in history, civics or English classes. It also tracks closely with recent findings of adults' attitudes.
"It's part of our Constitution, so this should be part of a formal education," says Dvorak, who has worked with student journalists since 1968.
Ah, the bliss of ignorance as doctrined by the Bush adminstration. If people were better informed and not manipulated by conservative framing would the election have been as close as it was? I seriously doubt it. As the state of US public education continues to dwindle so does the collective awareness of our rights as its citizens. Educate yourselves. Don't count on the Bush administration to educate you or one day you will wake up and there will be an amendment to the 1st amendement. They will claim it was introduced to protect you and if you don't know any better you will believe it until you are thrown in jail for writing on your blog that George W. Bush is a cock sucker.
What I found encouraging was that 51% of these kids say that newspapers 'should be able to publish freely.' This is a mandate for the future of this country, much more so than the 'mandate' George W. Bush's claimed after this election. Ignorance breeds ignorance and the resulting lineage is an incestuous family tree that needs to be chopped down. Stay educated. Stay free.
For the full article go to: http://www.usatoday.com/news/education/2005-01-30-students-press_x.htm
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.
I read a disturbing article in USA Today by Greg Toppo entitled: U.S. students say press freedoms go too far. The article stated that in a survey of 112,003 high school students surveyed that 'One in three U.S. high school students say the press ought to be more restricted, and even more say the government should approve newspaper stories before readers see them.'
The article goes on to say that, 'The findings aren't surprising to Jack Dvorak, director of the High School Journalism Institute at Indiana University in Bloomington. "Even professional journalists are often unaware of a lot of the freedoms that might be associated with the First Amendment," he says.
The survey "confirms what a lot of people who are interested in this area have known for a long time," he says: Kids aren't learning enough about the First Amendment in history, civics or English classes. It also tracks closely with recent findings of adults' attitudes.
"It's part of our Constitution, so this should be part of a formal education," says Dvorak, who has worked with student journalists since 1968.
Ah, the bliss of ignorance as doctrined by the Bush adminstration. If people were better informed and not manipulated by conservative framing would the election have been as close as it was? I seriously doubt it. As the state of US public education continues to dwindle so does the collective awareness of our rights as its citizens. Educate yourselves. Don't count on the Bush administration to educate you or one day you will wake up and there will be an amendment to the 1st amendement. They will claim it was introduced to protect you and if you don't know any better you will believe it until you are thrown in jail for writing on your blog that George W. Bush is a cock sucker.
What I found encouraging was that 51% of these kids say that newspapers 'should be able to publish freely.' This is a mandate for the future of this country, much more so than the 'mandate' George W. Bush's claimed after this election. Ignorance breeds ignorance and the resulting lineage is an incestuous family tree that needs to be chopped down. Stay educated. Stay free.
For the full article go to: http://www.usatoday.com/news/education/2005-01-30-students-press_x.htm
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