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|Friday, July 28th, 2006|
Never mind. My profile has mysteriously reappeared. I guess these guys are just idiots.
Well, apparently the fuckers that run MySpace aren't much for the first amendment, because I can see that my profile has already been deleted. No warning to me, no reason, just deleted.
So, FUCK THEM. I shall continue to use this forum to behave obnoxiously until such time as I can scrape up enough capital to start my own website, which, I might add, has been my goal all along.
So anyway... seeing as how I was just starting to amass a collection of acceptable people via myspace when "Tom" the ass-fondling douchebag decided he didn't like me making fun of his site and the people on it and musing about things like taking pictures of my asshole... if you would kindly direct individuals to this location, I would be most grateful, seeing as how I do not plan to waste any more time with the communist regime of selective censorship that is myspace.
Oh... and on the off chance that one of the new "friends" is somehow responsible for the deletion, I can only say that I truly hope your genital region is somehow mutilated in an extremely painful and humiliating way.
|Wednesday, June 14th, 2006|
|Okay... it's developing.
Okay people--I'm starting to mess with that myspace page. Check it out. Be my friend. Encourage others to be my friend. Prepare to be offended and disgusted with me and reference the journal portion to learn how to handle being offended.http://www.myspace.com/iamoxthemoron
Go there now! Oh, and don't take my failure to make you a friend personally--I'm just too lazy, so piss off.
|Tuesday, June 13th, 2006|
|TWICE IN ONE DAY??
Hopefully today doesn't evolve into a trifecta of stupidity!
By now everybody knows that Ben Roethlisberger (the QB for the Pittsburgh Steelers, for the non sports fans among you) decided yesterday morning to use his motorcycle to catapult himself through the windshield of a Chrysler New Yorker. We also know that he wasn't wearing a helmet.
Pennsylvania repealed a long-standing helmet law in September 2003, much to the delight of many motorcyclists. I, too, though not a biker, was pleased by this repeal. I hoped that it would expand to include a repeal of seatbelt laws, fireworks laws, and any other law imposed on me by the government to protect me from my own stupidity. Alas, 'twas not to be--but the helmet law was and continues to be non-existent in Pennsylvania.
So now that somebody high-profile has injured himself on a motorcycle while not wearing a helmet, leave it to the left-wing "we know what's best for you, stupid" rag I call the Philadelphia Inquirer to plaster "Quarterback's crash revives helmet debate" across the front page, along with a nice colorful chart showing how many more people are getting killed on bikes while not wearing helmets in PA.
First off, let's get something straight. I don't drive to the end of my block without a seatbelt. If I had a bike, you'd better believe I'd be in full leathers and a helmet at all times. Why? Because I choose to protect myself. If seatbelt laws were repealed, I'd still wear mine all the time. However, I think every person has the right to put his own stupid self at risk if he chooses to do so. You want to ride a bike without a helmet? Fine by me! If you get wrecked... we'll chalk it up to social darwinism. WHERE IS THE "DEBATE" ON THIS ISSUE?!
Now, for those who know me well--this will come as a HUGE surprise: I not only agree with Governor Rendell, who stands by the repeal of the helmet law, but DISAGREE with Republican challenger Lynn Swann, who is on record as favoring reinstatement of the helmet law.
GOVERNMENT: STOP FORCING LAWS ON US THAT PROTECT US FROM OURSELVES! Repeal seat belt laws, and fireworks laws, and all the other laws that imply that we're stupid sheep that can't think for ourselves or deal with the consequences of our actions. Granted... most people aren't able to do either, but these are the folks that will fall victim to the aforementioned social darwinism.
Oh, and while you're attaching riders to my suggested bills, why not retail small amounts of marijuana and tax it heavily. Do I smoke marijuana? No. But why the hell shouldn't people who want to smoke it be able to?? I can see it now: "LIQUORS and POT." "Winston Marijuana Cartons: $89.99" "Joe's Beer and Blunt." Let the state liquor control boards or equivalents regulate sales and taxation.
Argh... do I have to come up with all the good ideas?
|Trust me, there's a point I'll make.
I'll admit that, for a twenty-something, I'm fairly unusual. Most people my age are flocking into the cities, diving headfirst into fast-paced, time consuming careers, living the ultimate in hip lifestyles, partying, you name it. Basically, the notable thing is what they're mostly NOT doing--getting married, having kids, and settling down into the quintessential suburban lifestyle very close to or in the same community they grew up in.
That IS what I'm doing--so sue me. No, I'm not the epitome of young hipness, and frankly I don't give a shit. Where once I was waking up at 9 p.m. and going to bed at 6 a.m., I now fall asleep on the couch by 9:30 p.m. and usually wake up on my own around 5:30 a.m. I've traded 2 a.m. drinking for 2 a.m. feedings. My house looks like all the other houses in my neighborhood and I am beholden to my mortgage company. I wouldn't trade it... so like I said, sue me. And frankly, I look at those people my age who are still trying to live their college days (nearly 10 years after the fact) and high school days (MORE than ten years after the fact) and just sort of shake my head. These types rank right up there with the big-haired, tight jeans-wearing 42 year old women who show up at Def Leppard concerts and pretend that 1) It's 1983 and 2) they're hot. Makes me want to puke (or take a lighter to their hair for shits and giggles).
In other words--I've grown the hell up.
I mention this only because the lifestyle I've chosen causes me to make one firm statement: Suburban particle-board castle dwellers bitch too much and need to shut their mouths and die. People in the suburbs seem to have a sense of entitlement that I don't understand. Each day, it seems, I pass another lovely meadow, forest, or field with a sign that reads something like:
"Coming Soon: The Reserve at Foxhunt Chase: Ostentatious 8,000 square foot luxury particle board boxes priced from the mid-900s."
For whatever reason, 700 of these "starter castles" (McMansion is cliche, so I avoid it), will be built in six months on a total of three acres, and people will line up overnight in Lexus SUVs for the privilege of waving their big peckers at the builders in hopes of purchasing one of these things. 2,000 square feet will be devoted to living, and the other 6,000 will be used for storing the owners' egos.
These people will move in and, within a month, will be showing up everywhere to demand everything. "My children keep playing in the street--how do you propose stopping this?" (Hmm... perhaps since you're too busy to parent them, you could ask your au pair to discipline the little bastards every now and then. Better yet, ship the turds to boarding school.) "There are trucks using the state highway that runs behind my house. The noise is ruining my hearing. Make them stop." When questioned about the stupidity of their demands, the response is always "I PAY TAXES." Sure you do... to the guy who put the gun to your head and forced you to buy this house next to the highway that's been there for thirty five years and the guy who has the gall to not fence the street off from your stupid kids.
What set it off is simple: There is a trend here for people to decide that the fire sirens in their town should be turned off, reduced, or otherwise altered so as to not affect their bucolic jumbo-mortgage lifestyle. To these people, I would like to say:
FUCK YOU. Yes, that's right, FUCK YOU.
You have some nerve bitching that a siren disturbed you at night, because when you hear that siren, there are people who VOLUNTEER to get out of bed and drive through the night to run into someone's burning house and perhaps keep the whole damned neighborhood from burning down. They do it in the dead of winter with a foot of snow on the ground. They might be dragging your dumbshit DUI kid out of that VW Jetta they were driving at 110 miles an hour and wrapped around a phone pole. If the siren wakes you up at night, mutter a thank you, and then shut the hell up and go back to sleep because you're not doing shit to help anybody.
Sure, they have pagers, but that's not the point I'm making here. The public needs to know that the emergency personnel are out there, working at all hours, to protect YOU.
To anyone who wants a siren silenced: When your 8,000 square foot tinderbox goes up in smoke, make sure you tell the volunteers who show up that the siren annoys you and your neighbors. I'm sure they'll understand and be so impressed by your honesty that they'll take a fire truck and push your Lexus into the garage so you can get some extra insurance money.
|Friday, June 9th, 2006|
Okay... so it's a dull day in the office and I'm up to my tits in paperwork. Got Barry White bumping on the Real Player... so why in the HELL is THIS song going through my head?
"Scared of People" by Dayglo Abortions
I'm scared of people really don't know why
I nearly shit my pants when they look me in the eye
I'm scared of people and I'm scared of you
I'm gonna go inside and shoot some glue
All this stress and all this strain
Is too much for my little brain
I'm insecure and paranoid
I'm gonna get killed and I don't know when
Okay... me talking again: Incidentally, if you're looking for an album that will piss off--well--everyone, I highly recommend "Feed us a Foetus" (Yes, with an O--they're fucking Canadian!!!) for this purpose. It's the little collection from whence the above ditty came.
|Tuesday, June 6th, 2006|
|Gee, look at the date.
So today is 6/6/06.
666--yeah, the number of "the Beast."
WHO GIVES A FUCK!? Every bible and prayer book I've ever looked at has a page 666. Every hymnal I've ever seen has a Hymn 666. YOU'RE OBSESSING OVER SOMETHING MORE TRIVIAL THAN NAVEL LINT!!!!!!!!
MOTHERS: HAVE YOUR BABIES TODAY AND NAME THEM DAMIEN! IT'S FUNNY! Hell, name them Lucifer for all I care--you'll raise them to be drooling, dependent, lazy, GREEDY little demons anyway.
Yeah... that's about it. In the words of Jim Morrison: "You're all a bunch of fucking idiots."
|Friday, June 2nd, 2006|
I decided to check out Myspace for shits and giggles. In my mind, I was under the impression that it is a pointless gathering place where teeny boppers and pedophiles exchange phone numbers and retarded people write retarded things about their retarded lives.
Of course, you can't do shit on myspace without first adding yourself to the list, so I reluctantly signed up in order to confirm my preconceived notions about the site.
For the most part, my preconceived notions were true, as they usually are. I did some sniffing around and punched in some names to see if losers and rejects I once knew turned out as horribly as I assumed they would, and learned that they did. There's something immensely satisfying about learning that the douchebag who gave you a hard time in school now flips burgers at McDonalds and lives in Mom and Dad's basement.
I also found quite a few of my loyal readers, and that gave me an idea.
There's nothing on my account. I have no need for a myspace account, so I'd like to create something that you, my readers, will find completely gauche, obnoxious, disgusting, rude, and stupid--along with anything else you can muster. If you're going to waste web space, after all, you may as well waste FREE web space, right!?
So, I'm turning to you... what should I do with my pointless myspace page? I eagerly await your responses!
...and I'll spare you the trouble: I'm already thinking "goatse." If you don't know what "goatse" is, you're probably better off not knowing. On the other hand, I'm not going to stop you from googling it and educating yourself, either--but you do this at your own risk, tubgirl! Muhehehehehehe...
|Thursday, June 1st, 2006|
|Did I speak too soon?
Yes, I know it's been nearly a month. The fact is, I have been enjoying a drastically changed outlook following an addition to my family, and it's been hard to get worked up over much of anything...
...until last night.
I was excited to hear that a show called "Gameshow Marathon" would premiere on CBS at 8, featuring a different "classic" game show each night. For the most part, I didn't give a crap--most of the shows were retarded anyway. Last night, though, tempted me, as they would be showing "The Price is Right!"
Loyal readers will recall that "TPIR" is a guilty pleasure I enjoy on days off from work and have come to associate with rest and relaxation. I tuned in expecting to see a slightly pumped up version of my favorite gameshow to enjoy on a hot spring evening and instead got "The Price is Right" with your host...
It takes a lot to silence me. When I saw Ricki Lake hosting "TPIR"... it was like I was fellating a blue whale. I couldn't speak for five minutes! Could they have found anyone more lame and annoying for this job? Yes... but I guess Fran Drescher has a shred of pride left.
But it got better... and by better, I mean "much, much worse."
Next we have Leslie Nielson, some blond retard named Brandee that I'd never heard of, the Ladies Man, and some woman that was on some lame-ass sitcom once bidding on prizes for charity. Ricki "the shithead" Lake spent more time blowing smoke up these peoples' assholes than actually playing the damned game! I think when an hour had passed, they played about 2 games and spun the big wheel once.
Whomever thought of this travesty should be dragged into the street and flogged--preferably by Bob Barker.
A note to the folks at CBS: If I wanted to see crap like this all night, I could shit on my TV and save forty bucks on cable TV.
|Monday, May 1st, 2006|
|I am a proud ASSHOLE!!!
I think it would be very, VERY funny if there were INS agents stationed along the "day without immigrants" parade asking for green cards. No proof of legal immigration? You're put on a bus to be shipped home.
Why bother with minutemen when the illegals march straight into your hands.
Besides... I have nothing against immigrants that come here legally.
|Thursday, April 27th, 2006|
I read today that Ford Motor Company is planning a reality show in which contestants will work with FoMoCo engineers to design a car--the winner will be put into production.
Hey Ford? Have you learned NOTHING from shows like American Idol? Even the WINNING contestant produces nothing but shit in the time following the win and disappears from the planet within a year.
Then again--this is the company that mass-produced the Edsel.....
|Monday, April 17th, 2006|
|Um, excuse me, but.....
We've all had our share of thoughts while on the can. Here's the one I just had:
There is any number of "excuses" (because face it, they're just that and hardly legitimate reasons) why gas prices keep going through the ceiling. Every week we're dealt a new reason--a blizzard in the Tropic of Cancer, a hurricane in Siberia, a butterfly farted in southwestern Indiana--why the speculators are "panicking" this week and driving up the cost of that precious crude.
My question is this: We can make artificial sweeteners, synthetic motor oils, pop-rocks, and t-shirts that change color with body heat. We can split atoms and cram tremendous computing power into a unit no bigger than a pin head.
So why, praytell, don't we make synthetic gasoline to power our vehicles and tell OPEC to eat shit?
I'm not seeking discussions of politics, lobbying, economics, or anything else here. It's just a question to ponder. All the miraculous things we've created as a human race, and when it comes to motor fuels, we still just set whatever comes out of the ground on fire.
The way I see it... we can accomplish two things. First: telling the oil barons to take their Rolls-Royce Silver Phantoms and drive them off cliffs, and creating a brand new industry that can create jobs for our own.
Am I the only person who thinks of this stuff?
Now I'll eat lunch and wait for the men in black suits to come and get me.
|Friday, April 14th, 2006|
|On a day off...
Had the day off today and started contemplating why a day off is so much more relaxing than your typical day off, such as occur for most on a Saturday. Granted, today is Good Friday in the Christian circles, so there were more people off than on the typical day of hooky... but, nonetheless, it was still just a nice thing.
So what makes a weekday off so nice?
First, go outside and notice how silent the world is. This occurs specifically so you realize that YOU are much smarter than the poor fuckers that went to work today. See how much world there is for you to enjoy without all those hard working suckers around to screw everything up and ruin your quiet? If you elect to travel (which I typically do not... because being behind the wheel on a day off would be as bad as making business calls...), you may do so with relative ease. You will likely encounter many decrepit old people--as they only venture out of the house when "young whipper-snappers" (read "anyone under 60") isn't around to bitch at them for doing 25 in a 50 zone with their left blinker on. Take advantage of the opportunity to terrify any old people you encounter--horns, fingers, shrieking, and passing on double yellow lines are all fine opportunities for draining what little color remains from the old bats' faces. Have a hearty laugh, wise one, for it is YOUR DAY OFF!! HUZZAH!
Anyway... on any given day off, there are a number of constants that you will encounter, all of which will remind you that you should be at work and are not, unlike the sorry bastards that went in. Who among us doesn't enjoy these:
1. Rolling out of bed two hours after you would normally have arrived at work and, instead of rushing for the bathroom, letting out a massive fart and shuffling toward the coffee maker.
2. Taking time to savor your coffee or other morning beverage while taking in some shitty mid-morning news magazine shows--at least until Springer and Maury come on.
3. Springer and Maury. Yeah baby... what day off would be complete without an hour or two spent sitting on your ass, still working on that coffee, and watching white trash throw chairs at each other or some ebonics-spouting witch and her 120-pound four-year-old who eats like a horse? (Hey, don't call me racist--I'm telling it exactly as I saw it this morning!)
4. The Price is Right. This is the grand-daddy, nay, the GODFATHER of "day off must sees!" It's been a fixture on CBS weekdays at 11:00 for lord-knows-how-long. Thank you, Bob Barker, for NEVER, EVER CHANGING THIS SHOW! It's just as I remember it when I was three or four--except I don't think they do the golf game anymore. Anyway... when The Price is Right comes on... you KNOW you're off work on a weekday... and the moment that theme music starts, your first thought is "HAHA FUCKERS!" to all the sorry people working and missing out on this quality programming! I could go on about The Price is Right, but that's a discussion unto itself.
5. Lunch. Okay... so The Price is Right takes you up to lunch time... and you realize that you haven't even bathed yet. This is a fact that is easily forgotten as you dive into a bag of potato chips. Hey, it's a vegetable.
6. You finally get around to bathing at about 1 p.m. and realize that if you were at work now, you'd be more than halfway through the day now. For one moment, a feeling of guilt crosses your mind... you'd be almost done now if you'd gone to work... should you have wasted that personal day? You then promptly smack yourself in the face for being such a douchebag and continue with your slacking.
7. By 2:00, you're left with soap operas on TV. Crap. There's the Internet... BORING! So, the only thing left to do is plant yourself somewhere comfortable, beer readily available, and take yourself up to dinner time. At that point, it's like any other day... you're home, and you know that it'll be business as usual tomorrow.
But hey... it was worth it--especially if you bid better on the showcases than the stupid shits that got on the show.
|Thursday, April 13th, 2006|
|A few random pet peeves... you'll probably get pissed at me.
Sometimes things just come to a head--you know how it gets. Let me put it to you this way:
When it comes to spelling, punctuation, and grammar, I am a proud, elitist, perfectionist prick.
I attribute this entirely to my high school English teacher, who is best described as "super old-school" in terms of how things were taught and how mistakes were... um... "recognized." He's the best damned teacher I ever had. He was rumored to shred your ten-page paper in front of you because you wrote "to" where you meant to say "too." The sick little bastard within me is terribly disappointed to have never seen this. Needless to say, my fear of public humiliation instilled in me a huge respect for the English language and its proper use that continues to the present day.
This morning I attended a meeting where a mental landslide began for me. Someone stood up and announced that this was the "150-year anniversary" of the organization. I clenched my bowels tightly, as misuse of the word "anniversary" is a huge pet peeve of mine. The word "anniversary" is derived from the latin "annum," meaning "year." Therefore, to say "150-year anniversary" is redundant (and gay.) Just say "150th anniversary." See? Fewer words mean you're conserving valuable air for the rest of us! The other one is "Oh, it's Jack and Jill's three-month anniversary today." GOD DAMMIT! You can't have a month anniversary for the same reason... "anni" indicates a YEAR. Just say "Jack and Jill got together three months ago today."
Here are some other major pet peeves that will likely cause everyone to go "hey, asshole!" at some point.
I could care less. A-HA! GOTCHA! It's "I COULDN'T care less" because if you could care less, then why don't you?
Number one is you're vs. your. Your not going to the store... YOU'RE going to the store. YOU ARE GOING. ARRRRRRGH! You're going to your house.
Number two (appropriately enough) is "to, two, too." Just think Dead Kennedys... "Too drunk to fuck."
Number three: "Would've, could've, should've." It's a contraction for "would have," etc. It isn't "would of, could of....."
I could go on... but I'm too lazy to continue, and you're probably already pissed, which means my work here is done.
In conclusion... PENIS!
|Friday, March 24th, 2006|
|Random Thought re: 80's music
What is it about the song "I Want Your Sex" that is so freaking appealing?
Is it the fact that I (and most of my loyal readers) were young enough when it came out that it was "dirty" and that appeal hasn't worn off in the nearly 20 ensuing years?
Is it that ever-present sound resembling two people in shiny latex jumpsuits fondling each other that continues throughout the song? (You know the one I mean... that squeaky thing...)
Gotta love "Big 80s" on Sirius. The four surviving original MTV VJ's are the DJ's--and it's so easy to sit at work listening and suddenly be six or seven years old again? Suddenly it makes sense why our parents loved oldies so much.
That's it for the random thought, other than to say this may be the only time you may ever see me indicate "Current Music" given its current relevance to the topic...
|Wednesday, March 22nd, 2006|
|Friday, March 10th, 2006|
I have decided to begin a conversation. I would like everyone to contemplate, for a moment, feces.
Once you have contemplated feces, please share your thoughts. Participation is mandatory.
DO IT NOW....!
|Thursday, March 9th, 2006|
|It's almost time!
I thoroughly enjoy this time of year, seeing that I live in an area that causes me to think the four seasons are Freezing, Cold, Chilly, and Hotter than Satan's Shit. I have literally seen snow piles melted away by an 85-degree day in a place not far from here.
Anyway--last night and this morning I began to get the first hints that "Cold-as-shit" season is coming to an end. I smelled "that smell" that happens during the first moments of a rain fall. You know the one. I heard birds twittering in a nearby tree. I actually used the word "twittering" in a sentence. It's almost time to roll down the windows in the car.
HISSING SEASON IS NEARLY HERE!
Some of you are already aware of the immense pleasure I derive from hissing at people as I drive by them, whether they be walking, sitting, biking, whatever. Today's installment is to educate you on the delights of "Drive By Hissing" in the hopes that you, too, will come to enjoy a most satisfying experience!
You are probably asking yourself "So, what is it about hissing that's so great?" My answer is simple: Shut the hell up and stop asking yourself stupid questions. Read on and you're going to find out.
First, you must know how to perform a drive-by hissing. This is an easy process. Simply make sure that your window is rolled down all the way and watch for pedestrians/bikers/people who are within sight and sound of your car. As you pass, lean out the window and emit a loud, steady "SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS." Then glance in your rear-view mirror and savor the confusion and chaos left in your wake. Optimum locations for drive-by hissings are straight roads with few or no stop signs/lights and a posted speed limit of 25-35 mph. Sidewalks and an abundance of homes and/or businesses are likely places for potential victims to gather. Of utmost importance is remaining safety-minded. As tempting as it may seem to drive up on the sidewalk and mow the urchins down before crashing through the front window of the local McDonalds, you must bear in mind that OLD PEOPLE have been awarded driver licenses for this purpose and you must be considerate of their rights.
The delight in hissing comes from the confusion that most people show when victimized. The majority of people will simply stare blankly at you. However, there is a variety of other possible reactions. I will address some of the more common instances here, along with the proper course of action that you, the hisser, should take in response.
In some cases, the victim will shout something in response. Simply display a toothy grin at these individuals if it is safe to do so, or continue driving if already past the victim.
Some victims will choose to flip you off. This is a clear statement that the victim has no clue what the fuck just happened and lacks the mental power to do anything more creative. Simply chuckle to yourself and keep moving, since any other reaction would likely be lost on this type of victim.
There are other reactions you may encounter as well. You must be prepared for creativity in how you respond to various reactions.
Now before you drive off on a festival of hissing, do bear in mind the following notes: Do not perform a hissing while stopped, as this will likely enable the victim to chuck something into your car or approach your vehicle. If this is news to you, I would suggest you make sure you remember how to use a toilet, as well.
Equally stupid would be to perform a drive by hissing at someone in another vehicle. This would give the person in the other vehicle too much time to think of a response, which eliminates confusion on their part and, consequently, detracts from the pleasure you derive. That, and people are freaking crazy... best to be able to leave them in the dust.
|Wednesday, March 1st, 2006|
|First of an occasional series....
Cliches are a damned nuisance. Granted, some are just there. We all use them at one point or another. However, there is a certain breed of cliche that is neither a creative analogy nor a clever phrase; it's just fucking annoying and overused. These are cliches that should never have become cliches and need to go away NOW.
Today's offender: "Blazing Fast"
Karl Marx said "Religion is the opiate of the masses." The only reason he said this about religion is because television had not yet been invented. Lately, while taking in my daily dose (along with "beer," the "opiate of my rage"), I've noticed that every freaking telecommunications company out there is touting its high-speed internet service as "Blazing Fast." This is a stupid phrase to begin with--are your servers on fire? Will lightning shoot out of my modem and french-fry my nuts when I connect to your freaking service? I didn't think so.
Say "very fast." Say "good and fast." Say "really fast." These are all phrases that normal people who aren't total douchebags say on a regular basis. I want to identify the biggest offender so I can take a "blazing fast" walk to its corporate headquarters and take a "blazing fast" shit on their "blazing fast" servers.
Next week, "Pre-owned," or "I'm too pretentious and debt-laden to settle for an ordinary "used" item."