Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Duel of the 'Mates

Can there be only one...?


Fritz said, "8. I love the fact that BOBI hasn't seen any of this."

Ok... so... yeah. Man, this is kinda awkward, huh? Like those scenes in the movies where the broken-up couple are forced to confront each other after a long absence or some such thing and neither of them knows what to say, but something simply must be said.

I took a one-ish day break from Blogland to cool my jets. I said some things that, while appearing innocent to me, were more than evidently hurtful (or something to that effect) to others.

This was never the intention of my blog. I like to make people laugh, ergo I try to create witty things whenever I am provided the impetus. Fritz provided me a list, so I ran with it and came up with (what I thought were) humorous replies. Unfortunately, this was at the same time that I was in a very poor mood because of another Blogging Incident, so my humor was somewhat darker, more cynical, and yes, more disrespectful than it might normally be.

I tried to offset this (even in my funk I knew I was going a bit too far) by declaring, once again, my mysoginism which should be well-known at this point. This facet of my personality, I thought, was clearly a facetious one. Yes, I am utterly befuddled by women and am absolutely certain that none of them would give me the time of day were they to meet me face-to-face, but I certainly don't hate them. For crying out loud, I think I might actually be "flirting" with Spinning Girl! (I've never been too clear on the subject. Sorry if I'm wrong, SG!) The label "mysoginist" is merely convenient and over-the-top; it describes my situation if it were warped, somehow. I thought it was funny.

So, to those of you who posted comments in anger, sadness, or whatever, saying you were negatively affected, I'm sorry. I believe it was:
Fritz: Your list was funny, I tried to do the same. I guess it wasn't, so I'm sorry for upsetting you.

Heather and Des: I'm sure you're wonderful mothers and I'm sorry for saying you took the "easy-out".

Spinning Girl: Because I don't know the precise problem, I'll just apologize for the entire post.

As Logtar said, I don't take myself seriously. Ever. This is closely related to one of Fritz's comments when she noted a lack of confidence.

A sheltered life with absolutely no exposure to women beyond a dance and the classroom, tossed in with an amazing (if I may say so) sense of humor and what I can only hope is at least a fraction of my dad's intellect has made me one lonely, bizarre fucker. Yet I try to have fun with that and make do as best I can. In my profile, it says, "I don't like mean people." This is still true; I try to avoid being mean as often as possible, but nobody's perfect. I was cranky and it must have slipped out.

So I'm sorry to everyone I have or even may have offended. I really do like girls; I'm just continuously frustrated by almost 22 years of "no play". When you're in a bad mood because of someone else, it generally passes on to whatever the topic at hand is. The topic was (after a fashion) women, and the fact that no women besides those in my family have ever had more than a passing interest in me plays with my feelings. It makes me feel like there's something wrong with me. I look around and see all sorts of people at all sorts of stages in relationships. Dane's been "power-dating" for a couple months now. But I just while the days away, trying to achieve something that, more and more, seems unachievable.

Being a fatass doesn't help, either.

Monday, August 29, 2005


Fritz posted some reasons concering why it is good to have a twat. I disagree with just about every one that I have read. I don't really have a bone to pick with her, I just thank God every day I'm a man and not a woman. Let's take a gander!

28. Having a twat lets me give my friends kisses and hugs, where having the other keeps men scared of showing affection.
-There is something wrong with showing affection, though I can't put my finger on it. It's akin to being weak.

29. Having one ensures a seat on a subway even if it's crowded
-Where does a fat man who is taller than most sit? Wherever he wants.

30. Having a twat makes bathing suits SO much more aesthetic.
-I never understood small or tight clothing. Gimme loose and baggy.

31. Tacos are a much healthier choice than wieners.
-But tacos make your shit liquid 99% more of the time.

32. All embryos start out with one; men just take more work to finish off in the womb.
-Another reason why men are harder workers than women.

33. Because pussy is really a great word for it.
-Yeah, pussy; a word describing both a body part and a temperamental animal that pays no attention to you, no matter how much love you give it.

34. Having one lets me pitch fits angrily against all that is evil in the world, and when people say, "What the hell is her problem?" I can just tell them, "I'm PMSing!!"
-Awesome. Instead of standing by your convictions, let's hide behind a bullshit excuse.

35. Twats keep women together in the long run--ensures hours of friendship with other people who 'get it'.
-Men regularly commiserate over getting kicked in the nuts, as women don't "get it".

36. You men are always trying to get back there eventually.
-Not all of us. There are, as I'm sure you are aware, men who have no intention of ever entering a twat again. They're called priests and homosexuals.

37. Georgia O'Keefe.
-She's not a reason, she's a person.

38. Totally being able to discredit the porno industry when a man falls to his knees when he sees it the first time and declares, "Wow."
-I've seen one and I did not say, "Wow". I said, "Ugh."

39. Love-making
-A penis is also necessary for two of the three kinds of love-making. (Lesbian, straight, gay)

40. Having one ensures that I will have a seat on a lifeboat of a sinking ship.
-I, for one, believe chivalry is dead. I'm going to do whatever the hell I can to get on that boat.

41. Having one means I have to be the strongest person in the world for my mate.

42. Having one means I have to be the strongest mother in the world to my children.
-No, that just means you're they're only mother.

43. Having one indicates I belong to the mysterious sex.
-Female friends have long confided in me their inability to understand men.

44. Having one compliments my big breasts and big hips--after all, you can't have nice breasts and ass if you don't have twat.
-Talk to the men who've had testicular cancer and have grown bitch tits.

45. That expression from Wayne's World:
"Twat? I cunt hear you. I have an ear infucktion"
-That doesn't make a good reason to have one. This is like saying it's good to have a cock because River Fenix said, "That's no chicken, that's a biiiig COCK!"

46. Toasting this while drinking:
"Here's to us ladies in our high heeled shoes
We take all your money and drink all your booze
We don't have a cherry, but that's no sin
We still have the boxes those cherries came in!"
-You haven't taken my money and never shall.

47. Thongs looks so much better when you have a twat and not the alternative.
-Thongs never look good, period.

48. Mary Magdalene had one.
-Mary Magdalene was a whore.

49. Because of the twat, I can say, "I want to stay home and take care of my kids", and no one thinks any less of me.
-I think the stay-at-home mom is the biggest easy-out there is. Stay-at-home dads are the brave and noble ones. That's doing something different.

50. Madonna has one, and all people who have twats secretly want to be her.
-Madonna is an old, gap-toothed crusty bitch who can't sing. Why in God's name would anyone want to be her?

Ok, maybe I'm in a bit of a funky mood and I'm a misogynist. Can't help it; that's who I am. Sorry, Fritz.

Maybe tomorrow things'll be better.


Arzegako: The emotion felt for Spinning Girl, by B.O.B.I., for the kick-ass picture she made. I feel so loved, so appreciated, so... favored. Yeah, I know Dane was included, but he's not here now, baby. It's just the two of us.

He don't have to know.

In other news, Dane and I decided to cave and at the very least investimigate this brash new phenomenon occurring and transpiring at most local Burger Kings.
Ye guess verily... I spake of the Chicken Fries.

Not knowing what to expect, we placed our orders and gathered the usual and usually necessary liquid mastication catalysts.

After acquiring our drinks, we took our seats and opened our newly purchased fast-food adventure. What did we find? See for yourself:

While it is indeed the case that kwik-konsumption joints are not known for their sense of cuisine aesthetics, surely they could have done better than this.

Now the moment was come. It was time to "shit or get off the pot" as they say in my quaint hometown. We would have to taste and see if these breaded fowl... bars were anything close to what they were purported.

Dane elected to make the most of it, musing that since he had already paid for them he was, doggone it, going to enjoy them. I had less optimistic thoughts.
Also, to top the whole event off, the clincher as it were, the meal preparation staff had included in my meal a miniaturized bucket of sauce.
"Why not?" said the B.O.B.I. "Sauce can be good."
I'll leave my analysis in your capable hands with a captionless picture. After all, if a picture is worth a thousand words, what more can I say?

In summary: do not eat Chicken Fries. They aren't worth it. You have my permission to eat other "fried" chicken products, but do so at your own risk; I've had negative experiences (let's say "reverse food-processing incidents") with just about every restaurant out there. I swear I am only eating food that I, myself, have prepared from now on.

Oh, and Spinning Girl, I gotta thank you again; that picture is tits!

Coming relatively soon: more gum-droppity goodness from my somewhat-twisted head.

Friday, August 26, 2005

Interrogatory: Les Trois!?

Well! After reviewing the comments twice again, I have ascertained that Rowan, Heather and Michaela all wanted quizzes!

YOUR WISHES ARE THUS GRANTED! (I so wanted to be a djinn when I was little...)

1. In which martial arts movie would you most like to have a part? What part?

2. The Yeti has come down from the mountain. Do you
a. Take him back to the cottage for some eggnog.
b. Tell him the club burned down but there's a bowling alley.
c. Ask him what he'd like for dinner.
d. Give him the latest NHL news (assuming there is any).

3. Name a ska band that you do or would like to listen to.

4. Why is your best friend your best friend?

5. What would you do with $537.16?

1. Praying Mantises or Sea Urchins?

2. What comic-book hero's (who has not had a movie made yet and does not, now, have a movie in the making) movie would you most like to see? (Ex: X-Men, Spiderman, Wonder Woman, Flash, Superman, Batman: unacceptable)

3. Do you like it hot or cold when you sleep?

4. Don't you hate it when you burp after drinking pop (soda to you weirdos) and your mouth is closed so it blows out your nose and it burns like Hell? Don'tcha?

5. What is your favorite prepared dish?

1. What mythical creature which is not a unicorn would you most like for a pet?

2. Toboggan or inner-tube?

3. How do they get those pimento things in the olives? Is it by hand or something?

4. What planet would you definately not want to visit? What planet would be, "Oh, this is kind of OK to visit," visitable? (moons are acceptable, i.e., Titan)

5. Are men more attractive with little on or in tuxedos?

Thanks for the eager replies, I hope these are fun!

EDIT: Logtar posted the Podcast! Sorry I didn't notice it earlier, but he did a great job with my somewhat... odd demand.

EDIT[EDIT]: Another compatriot joins the ranks! WE SHALL OVERCOME!

In essence, not

This isn't my real next post, so don't worry; your quizzes cometh.

Just wanted to let you know that IT'S HERE!


Thursday, August 25, 2005

Interrogatory: Les Deux

Noticed a couple more requests from Phil and Logtar, who seems to have beat Danius and myself to the Podcast Punch. Nice! Also a quizzle from Spizzle Gizzirl.

Sorry, I'll stop.

And awwaaaaay we go!

1. How old were you when you first stayed away from home? What for?

2. Ostrich or emu?

3. What is your favorite drink? (not necessarily alcohol)

4. With whom would you rather hang out: Martin Sheen or Tim Curry?

5. You are condemned to one weekend at an empty prison for no good reason. Do you:
a. Construct your own make-shift Slip 'N Slide down Death Row.
b. Make a food Nativity in the Cafeteria.
c. Re-enact the meeting at Yalta in the Warden's Room with mannequins you found somewhere.
d. Create a "Suds-O-Rific" party in the shower room, complete with Ibiza-sponsored techno.

Oh, yeah, the gas station was out of Code Red... you do Dew the normal way?

1. A stranger gives you an old-fashioned pineapple grenade. What do you do with it?

2. What is your favorite holiday?

3. What is your least favorite commercial?

4. If you could drive any vehicle that had to be at least ten feet long, what would it be?

5. Which dictator (past or present) would you most like to be?

And Spinning Girl asked:
1.Tell me about an impulse that you have had to suppress.

Lately I have had to stop myself, on several occasions, from just going up to hot girls I see and trying to talk to them. I had a post about this a while back. It's an odd feeling.

2.You are about to have your last meal. What do you eat?

A pound and a half of tacos with extra sauce. If they're killing me, I'm leaving a present for those bastards.

3.Fill in the blanks: “If it hadn’t been for ___ , I would have ___ .

If it hadn't been for Ramen noodles, I would have lost weight earlier.

4.Cher. Discuss.

Cher used to occupy a pretty solid place in my musical heart when I was younger. This was about the two or three weeks when I discovered "I Got You, Babe" around age eleven point five. OF course, once my uncle, Tom, started talking about her lame video on a naval ship... well, that just sparked a sense of derision that has since been fueled by that "Do You Believe In Life After Love" or whatever the hell it's called. I was forced to listen to that so many times when it came out...

I hate that song.

She ought to just whip her package out and admit she's a man with a voice like that. It's ridiculous.

Wait, I retract that. That would be disgusting, and with all the other plastic surgeries "she's" had, it would undoubtedly be doubly so.

However, I still like "I Got You, Babe"... and I loved the "Stuck On You" reference to Cher and Frankie Muniz. That was awesome.

5.Name a place you will probably never visit, but want to; followed by a place you will probably never visit, and don’t want to.

I will probably never visit Warsaw, Poland, although my ancestry fairly begs for it. I say probably not, but maybe someday, I really hope...
As for a place I will probably not visit, that'd be The Congo. Hell, Africa in general. Way too hot, too much fighting and diseases are pretty much my mainstay reasons not to go.

Nice quiz! That was fun.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005


It would appear that the little quiz fad started by Pizzle and Shanshu has taken me not by storm, but by a karate explosion.

As always, I aim to ease and appease. In light of the fact that the new hosting service I signed up for isn't quite ready yet, (curse you, DNS...) I will devote my hard time, labor and this post to your Five Questions Under the Lamp.

Request #1: J-Man
1. When do you bathe/shower? Why?

2. Do you have any odd hobbies?

3. Group bunny or one-on-one, intimate jazz?

4. Bowl of cold macaroni down the shorts or live mackarel down the shirt?

5. When did you last cry? (if it's ok->) Why?

Request #2: Crystalpistol
1. How did you meet your husband?

2. Curds or whey? If both, why?

3. Which celebrity would you be and why?

4. You're going to a deserted island for no discernible purpose. What and who do you bring with EXCEPT creature comforts. (car, pillows, underwear: unacceptable)

5. What's your favorite Hair Band?

Request #3: Sagaciousagnostic
1. Would you rather live in Timbuktu or a remote village in Mongolia?

2. How did you make your best friend in life?

3. What (if any) instruments do you play? If none, why not?

4. Highlander 2 or Rocky 4?

5. What is your favorite vegetable? Why?

Request #4: Spinning Girl
1. Ya like red-heads?

2. How much wood could a woodchuck chuck given a brand-new chainsaw and protective eyewear?

3. Where do you go to "defragment"? (big supporter of the sweat closet, myself)

4. Have you ever watched a Cricket Match? Why or why not?

5. What was your first crush like?

Hope none of them are too personal. Glad you're all so interested! See you 'round and expect something fun from Dane and me soon.

Oh yeah, the rules:
1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below asking to be interviewed.
2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person's will be different.
3. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

EDIT: While we're still not under our own power, Dane should have an update for you concerning some small manner of silliness. We hope you enjoy it.

Monday, August 22, 2005


Shanshu asked:

1.What was the most embarrassing moment of your life?
Jeez... I think it would be second grade, reading time. I was caught cheating on a test and everybody was told to look at me for like five minutes. Learned me good, tell ya whut.

2.Who would win in a fight? Superman or Neo? Explain your answer.
Well, given no context I must devise two scenarios. "Real world" fight: Superman by several hundred thousand light years. "Matrix" (which is what I assume you were implying) is a tougher call. Superman's brain operates much, much faster than a human's brain, but Neo is The (or at least A) One. If Superman were granted "Super" status in the Matrix, Supes wins. If Superman is brought down to "human" norms by the "rules" and had to figure out how to fight Neo on his own terms, Neo would have an advantage for a few minutes.

3.Would you cut off your little toe for a chance at group bunny with models?
Hell yeah, not like I use the little fucker.
Would you cut off your buddy’s little toe for the chance?
Hell yeah, not like he uses the little fucker... Oh, what? I'd try to set him up, too. Geez...

4.Explain why you like or dislike strip clubs?
For whatever reason (perhaps my childhood in a very shielded environment, my mother's insistence that porn and the human body are "bad, bad, bad" and minimal exposure to close-up sexuality thus far) blatant sexuality and nudity make me very uncomfortable.

5.What is your favorite book?
The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe.
The point at which Aslan is slain is the only time I've cried myself to sleep over a book.

Thanks, Shan! That was cool. Anybody else feel like an interrogation?

1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below asking to be interviewed.
2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person's will be different.
3. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.


So after another hard night of work, Dane and I arrived home for some well-deserved R&R. Much to our chagrin, another whimsical article had been posted on Dane's homepage, MSN. This daring farce, this snippet of tripe dared to attempt to inform we former Intellectual Whores how to "Stop Being Her Buddy" or some such thing. What trash, what drivel!

Some of the advice sounded ridiculous at first... then we decided to try it out.
Ladies, how would you have liked it had we actually read and remembered to utilize this salient point of advice?

"Angle your body toward hers and point your feet and hands in her direction (to show you're deeply focused on her), and when you talk, look straight in her eyes for at least 4-5 seconds every few minutes."

Indeed, when attempted, the effect seems rather... off-putting.

Myself leaning towards you, hands and feet in your direction.


Dane leaning towards you, hands and feet in your direction.


Seriously... how well would that actually work?
The answer is quite simple: it wouldn't. This article is a veritable plethora of bad ideas. The only approach that would make any sort of logical sense would be to merely ask her out for dinner and some sex.

C'mon, don't be such a pussy.

Sunday, August 21, 2005

Hajimewa (JP)

Last night a bunch of guys came on over. We ordered pizza, relaxed and drank some beer. This was the first time I had ever consumed this classic "meal" of pizza and beer, and I must say I have reason to believe these two ingredients combine to form a powerful soporiphic and post-conscious hallucinogen. Not only did I get knocked out afterwards by this powerful mix, but I had a really fucked-up dream.

What's that, you say? You want to hear about it? Ok.

It starts back at my house which, incidentally, my mom is selling. Logically, we (my family and myself) were tearing it apart, moving everything around. It looked like ass. Couches being moved all over, rooms in the wrong place, etc. etc. I had to sleep on a chair in the bathroom or something. During this whole thing Jessica Alba and several people I couldn't identify were just "hanging out" in the living room like refugees. At several points in the dream I chat her up, trying to hit on her, but even in my Goddamn dream, I have to be realistic. She never really shows interest, but at least she was friendly. After moving the furniture around in the living room with the help of little green men, I finally take a breather, trying to talk to Jessica again. This is when I notice the little (and I mean little) man on the couch next to her. Somehow I know he's her brother and he is (forgive the term, please) retarded. He's drooling, he's got the Downs Syndrome face, everything.

And he wants to play.

I spend the next however long dodging stuffed animals weighing in excess of thirty pounds hurled at my cranium while Jessica laughs and muses about how cute it is to play with her brother. At this point I wander into the bathroom and try to go to sleep (yes, in my dream) when my sister wakes me up because two guys with whom I went to High School want to watch some porn. Well, ok. We get it going (I dunno why) and are grinning like adolescent idiots when my mom, grandmother, sisters, aunts, and the little lady next door want to come in to tear up the carpet. I respond in Japanese: "Hairanakute, kudasai! Ippun!" I think that's correct, anyway. I can't be bothered to look up the right conjugation because I'm in a hurry and it's a dream.

Finally, I wake up and start to wondering just what the motherfuck would make me come up with that. I say the pizza and beer, but if anybody out there knows any dream analysis, that might be fun to hear. Hell, it'd be fun to hear even if you haven't.

Oh, yeah, the "party" was pretty cool, too. Midnight showing of "Back to the Future" and bowling. Awesome-y.

Saturday, August 20, 2005


So for all you out there, wondering your little brains out, wonder no longer.
In its origins, my monacre was pronounced Beau-bee. Congratulations, Crystalpistol, you rock! The rest of you also rock, but she rocked the pronunciation cock. As a consolation prize, Spinning Girl, you get the "Hilarity Award" for "King Poopy Pants". I really like that, I do.

But enough about me! How about some semi-righteous pics of a couple people I hung out with last week and did absolutely nothing with? Whaddya say?

Yep, that's my crotch. I hang out with it regularly, but I try not to let it hang out too much.

Look! It's the return of "Sonja", the lovely lady who cooked us dinner! Hi, "Sonja"!

And golly-gee-willickers, it's my other roommate, Adam! He's not looking at the camera, the douchefuck! Shit on you, ya piece of cockamamy whale-ass!

Great googly Jesus H. Christ on a Klondike Bar! We're certainly not a lively bunch are we? Just a bunch of fucking lazy-ass good-for-nothing shitcocks!

Oh well. Tomorrow we're having a "party", so maybe that'll be a little more entertaining for you.

Oh, yeah, I know some of you take a gander at Dane's, and before those of you who take a gander at at Dane's and happen to be feminazis have a hissy fit, it's my poster in the background and I love it.

Friday, August 19, 2005

Confabulation Cache

Hey! Spinning Girl! Leave all your comments up here! It'll be easier for me to read!

Monkey sausages.

Deus Ex Pasta

As you may have noticed, there is a new picture adorning the right side of my screen.

Pointed out to me by Tolbs, The Great and Inimitable Flying Spaghetti Monster has swept aside all thought of former faith and now binds my soul in his tender, sauce-covered Noodly Appendage.

I read Tolbs's post and followed the links to the description of the work of the Prophet, Bobby Henderson.

Convert, my brethren! Read the sacred and One True Letter to the Kansas Board of Education! Revel in His Noodly Appendage and eat of the pasta! I thank Tolbs for leading me to the light, or at least the table. Thank you, Tolbs, for opening my mouth and helping me to experience noodly nirvana.

Become a Pastafarian and dress as a pirate! For as the Prophet spake, "...he becomes angry if we don't."

Go now and learn of the Holy Inverse Relationship Betwixt Global Warming and Pirates!
Take heed!

May the FSM be with you. RAmen.

Coming soon: WWFSMD bracelets!


10:58 pm: It's been eleven hours since I got up. Not too bad, no reason to be tired. However, the consumption of Olive Garden earlier has instilled in me a weariness only felt after a heaping plate of Italian goodnes. Yet I push on, consumed by my quest to read blogs and play with Photoshop.

12:25 am: Eyelids dropping. Time to check on the ol' roomie and see if he's still kicking. He is, and we kick it duo style for a little bit. Being tired starts to slow my faculties when I cannot summon the word "nebulous".

1:49 am: Now being thoroughly bushed, I recline and enjoy episode one of season five of "Buffy". It's good shit, but I have to rewind several times because my concentration is decidedly lacking.

3:02 am: I hunger. I've hungered since around midnight, actually, but I'm lazy. I walk to the store and pick up some burgers. They were delicious. Then I actually cooked some, and those were good, too.

4:36 am: The roomie enlists my services as Photoshop nooblet to start a header for his blog. It's incoming, don't worry. At least, it better be; it was a pain in the ass to make. The extra concentration needed to pull a decent Photoshop off takes its strain on me. Visions appear...

6:01 am: It's happened. The slaves have rebelled and are after my head. My reign as Shirt Pharaoh is ended! Yet I will not go without a fight; let loose the Bologna Badgers! Fire the Hamster Rockets and the Intercontinental Ballistic Cucumbers! If I go down I'm taking them with me! The shirt is mine! The shirt is mine!!

8:17 am: Beyond sleep, beyond wakefulness, I pass into the next phase of existance... SPAM.


Hm. I would've put it much, much lower.

I am worth $1,799,390 on

Thursday, August 18, 2005

Good Fuggin' GAWD

Be it known that this "weblog" is a nest, a haven, a centre for misogynistic thought. Having accepted this fact, you won't be surprised or terribly mispleased at what I am about to say.

Women, you are fuggin' gross. Just the fact that you don't leap into hysterics every four weeks for that "special time" speaks volumes of your ability to deal with, nay, thrive under conditions that would make me curl up and weep as a babe.

What brings this sudden attack on? A video I, I admit willingly, watched.
See it here. Not only is this "educational" little flick an attack on my cinematic sensibilities, and here I speak of general acting, cinematogrophy, voice syncing... but I digress. This video depicts in detail one of the most disturbing images I've ever had the misfortune of seeing.
A bloody pad.

Regarding the movie itself, this was just a crock of shit. Who deals with life issues like that? I can't vouch for anybody else, but I, raised in my Ivory Tower slash shell, deigned not to ask anyone but, instead, read about it in my books. Perhaps that's why I'm still incredibly uncomfortable around any nearby manifestation of sex or sexiness, but that's my own problem which I may or may not deal with before I'm middle-aged. The point is this: at both times during my "sexucation", once in an anatomy text, once in that horrifying video, I found myself paralyzed; bound, as it were, by utter disgust and revulsion. Yet I have had to deal with this gut-wrenching phenomenon... never.

On a side note, the father's performance was unbelievable and the pace of the entire thing was ridiculous. Were I that dad, I'd leave the room the minute I heard the word, "period". To quote Tolbs, the guy basically said, "Yeah, they leak blood. It's fucking awesome. You should see it." What man deals with menstruation so cavalierly and in such a... banal manner? And the actors say the same phrases five or six times! Who was this educating? Girls with Downs Syndrome?

How can you women, being members (I assume) of the human race and subject to the same relative sensibilities and palates as the rest of us, not flip your lids when you leak fucking life-essence for five straight days!?

It's un-fucking-natural is what it is.


"The Wisdom of Crowds (2004, Full title: The Wisdom of Crowds: Why the Many Are Smarter Than the Few and How Collective Wisdom Shapes Business, Economies, Societies and Nations) is a book written by James Surowiecki..."

What a crock! In stark opposition to this nutball's ideals, I'm going to strive be vulgar and offensive for this post. Fuck you James Surowiecki! Anybody who believes the many know better than the few has never sat in on a town council meeting. Or any council meeting. Or a meeting. Some of the dumbest decisions ever made were made by groups, contrary to smarter advisement by singular sources. I don't have to prove myself here, we've all heard a bundle of examples from our parents and other associates.

Anybody who's ever been in a crowd knows that this simple, grammatically poor statement is true: Person smart, people stupid. It was proven somewhere, forgive me if I don't look it up (maybe you can do the work for me?), that three people in a crowd can utterly control what it will do. Charge left? No problem. Disband? Easy as cake. Get angry and destroy something... or someone? Absolutely.

So take your mob mentality and shove it, James Surowiecki. I march to my own drum and nothing you say will change it.

Fuck you.

EDIT: Had to post this, thanks to Jersey Girl, and I didn't want to waste the "newness" of the post.
Your word is SHIT. You are laid back and relaxed,
and most people like you. You don't especially
want to stand out from the crowd, you are
pretty happy with your lot.

Which Swear (Curse) Word Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

Maybe I can be political, too


At the request of mine Supervisor, The Great, Powerful and Grandiose Over-seer, Factotum and Poo-bah, Barr has commanded, I have information discharges and requests.

Firstly: DES! Where are you!? Barr really liked your comment a while back! Return! Come back! Rendrez-vous! Recrudesce! Back that ass up!

Secondly, and Crystalpistol has beaten me to the punch on this, how do all you in internet land pronounce "B.O.B.I."?
Barr and I have gotten into a bite-sized argument about it, so we need your help.
Just ring in with your opinion, we'll have operators standing by all night. And remember, call now and recieve your membership gift, a small wooden horse inscribed with a quote from the great Ellen DeGeneres, for a mere $13.84 donation. So please, pick up that rotary phone and give us a call.

Do it for the chilluns.


What the...

I guess SEGA has decided to cash in on any fame "God of War" garnered and is releasing a title called "Spartan: Total Warrior". This is obviously based upon the historical fact that the Spartans were well-known for their battle prowess. As a basis for a game, they could do worse.

But listen here, kiddies. Before you run off and celebrate your recently-acquired "Spartiate" license, there's a few things you should know.

Sparta was not known, like some of Greece, *cough*Athens*cough* for democracy. It was an oligarchy and at times a tyrannical kingship. Yay, civic pride!

Sparta is the basis for all the homosexual myth regarding Greece. The word "patron" was perverted here from "father" to sponsor by older men taking a younger under their wing and "educatiing them in the ways of the world." Yyyeaaahhh....

Sparta, favoring the homosexual side of life, treated women like dirt and frequently sold them for as little. Granted, there were no women's rights anywhere at that point in history, but Sparta was bad compared to anywhere.

Spartan boys were enlisted in the army a few years before puberty. They were forced to be completely comfortable with nude men (the homosexual thing, plus a little kiddy porn) and were rarely allowed to go home. Can anyone say, "State robots"?

They played sports nekkid for God's sake. Who does that? I mean, seriously...

So, once again, before you go grab yourself a copy of Spartan: Total Warrior and proclaim yourself a vessel of Greek Destruction, remember what it meant to be a Spartiate: gay, mindless, and brutal. Yay!


I'd like everyone to read "Expatiate", so I'll keep it brief. Dane and The J-Man have awoken in me a brotherly love not often felt. My heart goes out to these two fine men. I know not what they know, but I know pain and their weblogs are decidedly oozing with copious amounts of that bitter currency. To continue the metaphor, their pounds sterling are my rupees, but can we not all purchase something? Surely, I have not loved and lost, nor even loved, but I have at least window-shopped and settled on a cheap trinket or two.

Suitably lost? Fine. J-Man had his heart broken, as did Dane. I feel bad for them, as my "Bros before Hos" mentality (my sense of camaraderie), and my misogyny would have me do. Women, you're wonderful to look at, but most of you are a pain in the ass to talk to and more than any man should have to put up with. Then you pull this shit. It's not fair and it's not right and it's not humane, dammit.


There are so many things that are commonly accepted as toast-toppers. There's butter, there's margarine, there's grape, raspberry, strawberry, and blackberry jellies or jams. There's marmalade. There's cinnamon and sugar and whole pieces of fruit.
There exists, somewhere, a goofy bastard who put rhubarb on his toast. Why? Oh, why did you feel the need, sir, to garnish your bonny burnt breakfast bread with something as horrifying and unappealing as rhubarf?

Be that as it may, I have not come forward to contend with or hold forth on the merits of preparing pastries with strange and uncommon flora.

Nay, I pose this question to you: Why is cheese not an accepted toast-topper?
Before you respond, HOLD FAST! I do not mean Cream Cheese! I'm talking full-on, fully-loaded Cheddar, Swiss, Gouda, Brie, what-have-you!


I mean, why not?

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

Sentimental Tabulation

For whatever reason I'm feeling a little emotional right now.

A little emotional, a little honest. A little too honest, you might say.

This is just going to be a quick "shout out", as it were, to someone very special to me.
This is someone who left me almost five years ago. That's a startling number to me; I can't believe it's been so long, although sometimes it feels like decades.

This person is my dad. I think about him every day and I can't imagine what I wouldn't do to have another day with him. It doesn't matter where it would be or what we'd be doing. I'd go anywhere and do anything if I could talk to him for another little while.

I guess you might wonder what sparked this. Well, I have a small, stuffed Oscar the Grouch that he gave me when I was two weeks old. I've slept with it next to my head for every night for 21 years and 8 months.

I know it's not Father's Day, but if your dad loves you, give him a call tonight and tell him you're sorry for all the dumb shit you pulled and that you're glad he's your dad.

That's what I'd say.


Before I make one of the truest statements ever to grace this Hellhole of Heaven's Inspiration, this Lofty Peak of Muck and Drudgery, let me first apologize for the quality at certain points in the upcoming presentation. I had a choice to make and I made it. Rather than opt for clarity, I chose to make it visible to the naked eye. That is, the image could have been crisp and clean, but it would have made a protovirus squint. Now then...

There is something wrong with me.

On a lighter note, parents, I guarantee five viewings of this before bed, nightly, will derail any sexual thoughts your children will have. Ever.

EDIT: It seems I've been tagged. Tch, whatev. Fine, my list:
Bedroom Talk by Starting Line
How romantic is it to say, "I'm gonna tear your ass up like we just got married and you're all mine now," for a "lurve" song? Fuck you, that's love, dammit.

Time to Waste by Alkaline Trio
Just really good sounding. Really damn good sound.

Bleed by Alkaline Trio

Memory by Shinedown
Double ditto, and I'm making a Final Fantasy video for it. I love this song.

Banana Phone by Raffi
Several minutes tall of pure AWESOME.

I dunno who to tag; I seem to have wandered off the playground.

Friday, August 12, 2005


Bullshit! The Pepsi generation may find itself aligned with the Judeo-Christian belief structure, but remember this, all you innocents in Internet Land! The Jews and Christians have either been responsible for or taken part in many terrible wars throughout history! There has been bloodshed over the carbonated beverage known as "Pepsi"!

But fear not! There is yet one leader who preaches peace and means it! Give your praise, thanks, and sugared waters to Buddha! Buddha Dharama says, "Embrace your fellow man, seek Nirvana (annihilation), and seek both through the wonderfully crisp taste of Coca-Cola!"

The authenticity of Jesus Christ's Pepsi addiction cannot be vouched for here, but recent diggings in deepest India, far under the Indus River Valley, have unearthed a treasure trove of ancient Coke urns. The Buddha developed his charming girth, his cheerful chunk not through the indulgence of the world around him, but merely by ingesting large amounts of Coke, as well he should have! More than 68% of Coke drinkers world-wide have reported "Nirvana-like" feeling after drinking nothing but Coca-Cola for over sixty-three straight hours!

This photo was recently taken in honor of the dig's findings.

Stone cans are hastily being chiseled to adjust millions of statues all over the world.

Save the whales.


In a recent "Premiere" magazine article, it was printed that the Vice President of some department of Coca-Cola Industries, most likely the Advertising VP or some such, had signed off on funding a short film based on Chaucer's "A Clerk's Tale".

Of course, Coke being what it is, product placement was a must. After several interesting changes, including the addition of the phrase, "coke-nun", the title settled upon was "A Coke's Tale". At the end of the article, the VP was quoted as saying, "Chaucer was a genius. He would have loved Coke."

Let that sink in for a moment.

Chaucer was a genius, ergo, he would have loved Coke.

I wonder which super-brand of sugar water other men of history would have sated their thirst with...

Thursday, August 11, 2005

Alces alces

The magnificent Alaskan Elk, those members of the Alces alces family native to the area cordoned off by Homo Sapiens Sapiens (the human part of the Homo Sapiens family) known as "Alaska".

What is truly known of these great creatures? In point of fact, very little has been recorded. Much like the equally as enigmatic Sasquatch, Bigfoot, Yeti, and Al Sharpton, the Alaskan Elk has remained elusive in almost all attempts to study it. Sketchy photos have been taken and poor notes have been scribbled by post-grad students attempting to justify university and government spending. Yet to this day, human knowledge holds little on the subject of the Elk of Alaska.

Rumor persists, however, and in the absence of pure, reasoned fact, we must turn to hearsay. Ancient trappers of the 1800s long believed the first descriptions of the Elk to be, to quote the vernacular, "horseshit." Indeed, the most agreed upon physical description of these supposed animals still baffles the mind. They resemble the tame, docile deer of the southern continental states, yet are rumored to be anywhere from twenty to sixty feet tall. In place of the antlers of a buck deer, gleaming metal constructs which were unidentifiable to early settlers have since been described as warped Buicks. Many eye-witnesses have come forward to give testimony with varying accounts. Some have said the Elk is carnivorous, with venomous fangs and incisors. Others claim the Elk is a true omnivore, shoveling everything anything in its way into its gaping maw. Still others tell almost fantastic tales, saying the Elk breathes fire and has a bifurcated tail, much like the all-too-real Satan, or Shaitan to our Muslim friends. Our Jewish friends still deny the existence of a devil and a hell, but what do they know? Also, as a note to our other pagan friends of lower Africa and Asia: Mulooktu the Lion Eater and the Grave Spirit of the Land of Wind and Ghosts, but I digress.

Other "experts" on the Elk phenomenon have produced what they claim is unedited pictoral evidence of the elks' mating habits. If there are children in the room, it may be a good time to sit them down and explain the facts of life as they are laid out here.

A far-from-fierce moment, to be sure. Nevertheless, this picture is one of only a few that have captured this primal example of nature. In the years to come, perhaps we will come to further understand it and its ways.

Wednesday, August 10, 2005


The most amazing conversation occurred last night. I will try to reproduce it to the best of my abilities. I assure you this is entirely factual, no bullshit. The setting is thus: a young woman with whom I had had dinner several weeks ago and had not called until last night and me on the phone.
B.O.B.I.: No offense, but you really take a long time to return a call.
Y.W.W.W.I.H.H.D.S.W.A.: Yeah, well... I was kinda nervous about calling you.
B.O.B.I.: Why?
Y.W...: Well, because it seemed like you wanted to date, and I don't want to date you.
B.O.B.I.: That's ok, I'm really grateful for your honesty; that's really refreshing.
(conversation continues)

And I am grateful. That was the clearest message any woman has ever given me. I wish every woman could be that direct. Granted, she could have played that card slightly sooner, yet my point remains; directness is favored over "letting things go" and beating about the bush and all that nonsense. I wish every girl would just say "No" instead of playing the Friendship card or dodging dates or just fading away slowly by not calling. All the other situations leave, to my male mind, a glimmer of hope. But this young woman with her decisive stance told me straight out, "No." There is no hope, I will not be dating her. It's clear-cut and painless.

Women of the world, why can't the rest of you be like that?

Alan Rickman is a suave, debonaire, swarthy fellow who can sweep you off your feet. Yes, you, in the third row, six seats in. With the hat.

By the by, what would you like me to talk about next? I'm offering you, the readers, to leave a comment that will direct my incredible cognitive and writing skills. The first one to leave an interesting topic will be the winner and will be acknowledged as such in the consequent post.

Tuesday, August 09, 2005


This is a small bit of advice from a man who knows nothing. I have never "had" a girlfriend, never been on a date, never kissed a girl, never held a girl's hand.
I think my sexual history should be fairly obvious at this point. Be that as it may, I am still a member of the human male population and as such I share the tastes and foibles of my brothers. There has been an issue plaguing many of us for years now. I'm sure others have stepped forward to speak, others who are, without a doubt, much more qualified than I am to hold forth on this matter. Nonetheless, I can remain silent no longer.

Although I have had no experience with women whatsoever, I know what I like and what I don't. And what I don't like is this: women have been lying to us for years now. I am not speaking of the verbal, garden variety of lies; no, I speak of a more subtle type.

You guessed it: push-up bras.

This is false advertising at its worst. I have not, myself, encountered that sinking feeling that arises when it is time to "copulate", as it were, and it turns out that your partner is not exactly what she was three seconds ago. Yet the fact remains that many men have, even some I know personally. This has got to stop! You women out there are raising expectations and hopes, much like artificial market inflation! Then, when it's time to cut 'er loose and sell, it all comes crashing down, literally and figuratively.

You know who you are, you P.U.B.U.s! (Push-Up Bra Users) We men of the world (or at least some of us) want a stop put to this heinous crime once and for all!

Our slogan shall be, "No Copulation Without (Accurate) Representation!" That's right. The next time some guy sweeps you off your feet, or buys you two cheap drinks, or whatever the hell you bitches fall for these days and brings you home, if he finds out he's been had, you can bet your sorry ass you're only getting one or two romps in the hay! No threesies! And very little foreplay!

Honestly, it would be like us all stuffing three socks down our pants before going out. Who does that? It's not fair. Women definitely wouldn't put up with it, and men shouldn't have to put up with this shit.

Solidarity, brothers. Less sex until you know what you're getting.

I'll be here, in my room. Hiding from women.

Some more.

Monday, August 08, 2005


Saturday, August 06, 2005


Head on over to Dane's place for more information on our Super Happy-Go-Lucky Adventure of Mythic Proportions and Rest Stop Tomfoolery.

As we noted earlier, we had been planning on going to Wizard World: Chicago for some time. It was probably in March when definite plans were made. However, and I believe this to be the correct terminology, a "financially retarded ass bucket" royally screwed us out of our weekend. Therefore, I bring this story to you on Saturday afternoon and not Monday evening as I had hoped.

The good news is that we took plenty of pictures and crammed roughly three and a half days of events and living into about twenty three hours. What follows is a chronicling of those events with my own special spin on them.

It all started Thursday night, when Dane and I prepared to set out on our Mystic Journey, indeed, a venture never attempted by we two before. Of course, this required a gathering of wills and the summoning of vascular fortitude... we had to look cool for this.

Next, we were on our way. Down Interstate 35 we drove, faster and faster, eager to pick out one last piece of equipment, Dane's camera, from his parents' house. Once acquired, we set out along I-90 towards our destination. For almost three hours we drove restlessly, citing such diverse and controversy-filled matters as the lyrics to "Fuck 'Er Gently" and how to pretend you're running really, really fast along the road by pumping your arms up and down, sprinter style, while driving 70+ miles an hour.

Despite our intellectually charged conversations, we were forced to put it all on hold when nature came calling. We awaited as best we could a rest stop, a gas station, for God's sake, there has to be something out here! At last, in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere, an exit bearing the words "gas - food" appeared. With a squeal of delight (or maybe it was the tires) we pulled off and wound our way to the dingiest, most solitary-looking BP I've seen. Nobody was there except for the attendant, who was busying herself with emptying the trash. We stepped in to procure the necessary foodstuffs to sustain ourselves a while longer, such as Mountain Dew, cereal bars, and near-frozen gas station sangwiches. Sparing nary a glance backward, we sped back onto the interstate and resumed our flight eastward, toward the golden horizon and the geeky goodness awaiting us.

With a little something something in our bellies, we resumed our drive with yet more conversation obviously worthy of primetime television. For instance, we touched upon how screwy women really are, why they must be so screwy, and those really screwy people on Love Line (great show). For brief moments, I admit, we allowed ourselves baser methods of communication, such as cussing out our financially retarded ass bucket of a roommate, yet this merely led to civilised discussion of the origin and treatment of "swear words" in general. Yet as time drew on, nature began her siren call again, and not of hunger. No, this was the result of the previous nature's call.

As we cast about for a "rest stop" sign, we began to grow frantic. Ah, there! "Rest stop, exit 44" or some such thing. We didn't bother to remember exactly what number, so for the next fifteen minutes we grunted and strained and held onto our crotches in a mockery of masturbatory urges.

I gotta piss, dammit! Where the motherfuck is the rest stop!?

Finally, it appeared and we burnt an inch off of my tires pulling in. It was a quaint, average rest stop, although somewhat cleaner than most. It must be those Wisconsin folk, the Wisconsinians... Wisconsins... Wisconsinites... whatever. Anyhow, we left none the worse for wear and continued toward Chicago and glory.

About this time I remembered that we both had fucking cameras and it was getting light enough to use them effectively. There was an amazing sunrise with scudded clouds to our left, so we grabbed that sumbitch right straight.

Once we started nearing Chicago, our pulses quickened and we began giggling like sissy girls. Unfortunately, the road signs are about as clear in Chicago as in the Twin Cities. Somehow we missed a turn somewhere and ended up cruising around the airport for a short while. We managed to figure it all out rather quickly, though, and we headed back in the right direction in no time. Not ten minutes later, we were outside the Grand Entrance of the Geek Mecca.

We stared as long as traffic would permit and then began to solidify a plan to park. With minimal difficulties and only ten minutes of unnecessary driving, we found a garage and hustled ourselves over to the Hyatt, where our "hook-up" was waiting.

This is where we might have stayed, had it not been for Fuckmook. Ah, well. Perhaps next year.

Next, we found our Primary Dealer and Comic Generalissimo, Mike. This man is a pimp; he gets us discounts on comics all the time, and now he hooks us up with near-free dealer passes. How kick-ass is that?

After helping out Mike with some labeling and upkeep, it was out to the general floor area to scope out the situation.

We would look at art, comics, mutants, hot chicks and every other manner of cool shit you can think of that would be at a comicon.

At one point, we talked with someone whom I can only assume to be an adult film star slah model. Dane had a better time with her than I did.

There were also a bunch of really great costumes walking around. Check out and see if you can discern, despite my shitty photography, who's who!

Woops, sorry about that one! Musta gotten away from me, hehehehe.

There were also bad costumes.

And good merch!

That last is all the stuff we either grabbed (it was free) or had to pay for. It was all well worth it.

I even got to meet some great people and... things.

Marc Silvestri is a fucking pimp. This guy was so cool to everybody, even the motherfucker who had him sign roughly twenty comics in a row. He even maintained the patience after that to do some poses with Dane and I. He makes truly excellent comics, and he's fun! I LOVE YOU, MARC!

This guy didn't say much, but he was still a great guy.

Greg Rucka, another comic pimp. He insisted on us telling him how to sign our comics since we had bought them. I asked for a cyclopean smiley face (it was O.M.A.C. #1) and he asked if I wanted it to have a spectacle. I, of course, said, "Yes, please!" Fucking awesome cat.

Nobody knew what it was, but it was awesome. Glad to have met it.

That last one is The Scarecrow costume from Batman: Begins, if you can't tell. I tried talking to him, but he just stood there. Nevertheless, a worthwhile experience!

When the day had ended, however, it was time to go home. To return to the hearth and heart and say goodbye. The trip back sucked many much, and I shan't speak much of it here. Suffice to say we wailed and gnashed our teeth that Dipshit McFuckstick had screwed us out of a hotel and had condemned us to over 28.5 hours awake walking and driving.

However, it was all worth it when Dane and I look at our pieces de resitance, two wonderful paintings done by a very young man named Stuart Grayger. This man is fucking going places, I know it.

So that concludes my accelerating account of Wizard World. I wanted to write more on it, but the intro sapped my eloquence. Besides, "a picture is worth a thousand words" and all that.

I bet you're all fucking jealous now, huh?

EDIT: As Dane reminds me I did, in fact, meet Greg Horn, an all-around cool guy just like Rucka and Silvestri. I feel horrible about neglecting to mention him and also because I didn't start pointing to stuff until after I met him. Oh well, next year I'm totally getting a picture with him. He was a great guy with cool stories and great art. If I didn't already have a shit-ton of pictures up, I'd post it, but for now suffice to say that it's a full body of Master Chief with some Popcorn Flood on his leg and Plasma Rifle shots passing him. It's fucking awesome at 11x14" and I'm totally getting it framed with my Grayger work.