Now that election season is over we can finally yank all those stupid political yard signs. Sigh of relief. But, being the earth-humping, new age hippie that I am, I’m concerned by the tremendous amount of potential waste being generated here. The optimist inside me assumes that someone has a plan to collect and recycle them, rather than toss them on top of a landfill pile. I won’t hold my breath…
Just in case the decision makers aren’t as forward thinking as I’m assuming they are, I’ve constructed a short list of recycling plans that should be considered by your community.
Here’s a few ways we could Make Constructive use of Political Yard Signs:
Build a Retirement Community for Ex-Presidential Hopefuls
Ex-presidential hopefuls deserve to retire comfortably too. I think it would be a nice gesture to have them put up in an apartment community constructed entirely out of yard signs. Sounds green to me? Let’s see how much you love your planet — seeing that you’ve all had enthusiastic eco-plans built into your campaigns. Oh, and no frivolous misuse of tax dollars allowed. We’ll provide whatever amenities you’d like, ex-hopefuls, so long as it can be constructed out of yard signs. A swimming pool you say? Maybe we can figure something out using the plastic ones. Enjoy your golden years Al Gore, but keep your hands off the in-home nurses.
Build a Bitchin’ Croquet Course
My vote goes to a Croquet course. A very, very big one. I’m thinking we might need to zone a piece of land the size of Connecticut to really make this happen. Create more jobs? Done and done! We can even have the course run through the retirement community. I’m sure Mitt is a real knocker at it already.
Olympic Hurdler Training Facility
Bring home the gold young U.S. Olympians, but stop wasting money on all of that high-tech training equipment. Am I the only one that saw Rocky? The Italian Stallion kept it modest. Punch a rack of beef, screw the heavy bag. Political yard signs would make great hurdles for our Olympic track and field hopefuls. Chop, chop, chop, Romney! Chop, chop, chop, Obama! Chop, chop, chop, Gary Johnson! Sounds kind of fun, doesn’t it? Equestrian facilities should also be considered for sign shipments.
Feed them to Goats
Are goats a naturally occurring animal? I’m starting to wonder if they were produced by a lab technician somewhere in the remote Nevada desert. Goats will eat anything short of rocket fuel. Why pass on millions of pounds of potential livestock feed? I say shred all of the signs and ship them off to goat farms. We eat steroid-injected beef supposedly, why not bullshit-injected goat?
Nudist Colony Fencing
I think a large shipment of signs should be distributed to nudist colonies for privacy reinforcement measures. Not for the sake of the colonists of course, but for the sake of everyone else passing by. It seems like all of the people that I don’t want to see walking around in the buff are the folks that love showing off their sag and jigglies the most. Please, embrace clothing! Hearing the term “birthday suit” brings a hot burp to the top of my neck.
Wind Energy Overhaul
Here’s another idea that I’m surprised no one else has considered yet. Experts are always spatting back and forth about how to create more green energy jobs, but the enormous cost and infrastructure required always seems to settle the debate prematurely. Why don’t we just pass out a couple million yard signs to jobless folks and have them fan the turbines? With that much man power, those propellers would be spinning like a ceiling fan. Low cost, high efficiency. I think we might be on to something…
Let’s all raise our glasses together and toast to the end of the campaign trail. Cheers! And remember, there’s no problem that can’t be solved without a little bit of ingenuity…
I’m looking forward to hearing your ideas!
- Woman has political yard signs stolen, receives postcard explanation from thief (cinewsnow.com)
- Don’t forget to recycle political yard signs (vindy.com)
- Political yard sign set on fire (wtvr.com)
I know it’s premature to be talking about things I’m thankful for, but dammit, I’m glad the pagans hijacked Halloween back in the day. Those earth-humping heathens knew how to party. Can you imagine what a shitty party it would’ve been if they hadn’t invented Halloween? No free candy, no blood and guts, no slutty zombies… scratch me off the guest list.
Ok, I might have confused the facts. One thing I know for sure: every kid in the U.S. is itchin’ to hit the streets with their killer costumes in pursuit of free candy. Halloween is the biggest, baddest holiday bash on the calendar for those little squirrels. Don’t ruin it for them by being a douche bag.
Here’s a few tips to avoid a toilet paper job from the neighborhood kids:
Turn your light on
Unless you live in an apartment or your car, there’s no reason for your porch light to be off on Halloween. Go out right now and spend twenty dollars on some candy for the little gremlins, cheap skate. People did it for you, now keep the enchantment alive. If I find out your lights were off on Halloween I’m gonna wash your windows with peanut butter…
Don’t pass out dumb stuff
Do not pass out anything other than candy. This isn’t an advertising opportunity for your local church or business. Getting a pamphlet in the pillow case is about as lame as it gets. The only thing dumber than a flier is a handful of pennies. Do the kids a favor — put those pennies in your gas tank and drive your lazy ass to the nearest grocery store. Rule of thumb: If it doesn’t give you a sugar-buzz, don’t put it in the bag.
No pictures, please
Let me refresh your memory in case you forgot. The goal on Halloween night is to hit as many porches as possible within a two hour span. Don’t waste valuable minutes looking for yourPolaroid camera. I doubt you have a wall of fame dedicated to trick-or-treaters anyways. You have ten seconds to put the candy in the bag. Go.
Don’t embrace the Trick
Look, I get it. Halloween is all about celebrating blood and gore, but don’t bother with all the antics. Most of the kids that show up aren’t strong enough to carry their own candy, yet alone fend off a violent chainsaw attack. Don’t be that guy that embraces the Trick part of Trick or Treat. Don’t you get it? It’s a rhetorical question. They aren’t asking for one or the other, it’s just a way to get you to open the door. If you don’t heed my advice, you might be pawning off that chainsaw to pay for your post-holiday nasal reconstructive surgery.
Bonus Section: The “Don’t-Buy” Candy List
Be mindful of what kind of candy you pass out. Kids have a very keen palette. They’re experts in the field, and they know what they like and don’t like. Don’t pass out the following:
- Whoppers – I don’t even know what these things are. But, if I had to guess I’d say they were mothballs covered with chocolate.
- Raisinettes – Here’s another one I don’t get. Why do candy companies think they can put chocolate on anything and make it taste good? A raisin, last I checked, is a shriveled grape. Why not chocolate-covered shoe laces? These things look and taste like rabbit pellets.
- Mound/Almond Joy Bars – You should feel like a nut when you buy this crap. I don’t know why they were even invented. Apparently some desperate candy-chemist thought coconuts tasted better with chocolate on them. Newsflash: nothing makes a coconut palatable. That man should have been fired and deported.
- Marshmallow Candies – Another candy invention gone wrong. I don’t think these things even decompose. There are probably millions of them – still in the wrapper – buried in landfills across the U.S. I think they should change the name from Peeps to Poops.
- Popcorn Balls – Popcorn is cool at the movie theater, but not that cool when it’s shaped into a ball, held together with Elmer’s Glue. Wtf were they thinking? One positive thing about them is that they make awesome projectiles. I wouldn’t recommend passing them out if your house has windows.
I hope I was able to provide some closure for last year’s unfortunate toilet-papering incident. Pass out jumbo-sized candy bars — the bigger the better. Think like a kid. Don’t be a Halloweiner this year, or it might happen again.
P.S. I hope a zombie eats your face off, Pat Robertson.
-Happy Halloween Bitchers!
- 10 Candy Tumblrs to Fix Your Sweet Tooth (mashable.com)
- Top 5 Picks For ‘Best Halloween Candy’ (wycd.cbslocal.com)
- What Candy You Give Out For Halloween, Says A Lot About You (1019litefm.cbslocal.com)
- The Real Halloween Horror: Trick or Treat Candy’s Bitter Human Toll (dailyfinance.com)
It dawned on me the other day that sustaining an audience through weekly, incessant ranting might not be a good long-term concept. Not that I don’t enjoy bashing trends, or whining about trivial stuff, but it gets old — even for me. Does this mean the end of My Right to Bitch? Yeah right. I think it’s just time to add a few more ingredients to the salad bowl and mix things up a bit. I have too much to talk about that doesn’t revolve around pissing and moaning all the time – at least that’s what my therapist says.
Speaking of expensive health services, I visited my chiropractor today for the first time in a few months. All of this blogging has become a real pain in the neck (pun intended). Sitting for extended periods of time does a real number on the body, so I decided to pop in for a much needed re-alignment.
If you’re not familiar with what Chiropractic is, let me break it down for you…
The Chiropractic Experience
In a nutshell, Chiropractic is basically the science of twisting bones and joints in ways that they weren’t intended to move. Each visit brings a sampling of medical wrestling techniques designed to measure your tolerance for pain, as well as how easily you cry.
When visiting a clinic for the first time, the same initial protocol takes place as with any other doctor. You’ll typically spend a half-hour filling out a phone book-sized stack of forms highlighting your aches and pains. After that, prepare to spend another half-hour waiting in a room full of other decrepit people, anxiously listening to cries of agony coming from the occupied rooms. Don’t run.
Right before you’re about to fall asleep, the doctor will call you in for spinal x-rays. After the pictures are developed, they are then placed on a lighted board, which makes it easier for them to point out the problem areas, as well as the faint outline of your crotchal region. From there a diagnosis is made, and the real fun begins shortly after.
There are several procedures throughout the visit. The first set of bone manipulations begin with the patient laying face down on a table that’s supported by impact springs. The springs are meant to absorb the large amounts of force being driven into your spine from a defenseless position. Climbing aboard and riding the table of death to the horizontal position is the only fun part. After the elevator ride, the patient then grasps the “oh shit” bars below, while the doctor proceeds with a series of pile driver-like moves, causing your spine to briefly meet with the inside of your sternum.
Sternum: “Well hello there, Spine!”
Spine: “Gotta run. I’ll drop by next week.”
High Velocity Maneuvers
Some practices use adjustment techniques called High Velocity (movements), which look and feel similar to what Steven Seagal does to the bad guys in a lot of his movies. As a matter of fact, it’s exactly the same technique. While the patient is seated in a chair, the doctor silently approaches from behind, and when least expecting, violently twists the head of his victim — far enough for the person to momentarily view their own back. If it sounds painful, that’s because it is.
I nicknamed my doctor “the hammer”, because he does to his patients what Gallagher does to watermelons. On top of being medically-aggressive he’s also 300lbs – I’m not exaggerating. The guy is built like a dump truck, and likes to use me as a guinea pig for all of the new karate moves he learns at conventions. One of his newest techniques involves grabbing a hold of the skull, and forcefully extracting the patient’s head from his body cavity like a reverse-battering ram. It’s kind of like tying one end of a rope to a door knob, and the other end to a pick-up truck. Just for grins, I decided to measure myself before a visit. Surprisingly enough, I grew two inches after the adjustment.
And I’m not supposed to crack my knuckles?
It’s important to note that if you’re considering visiting one, be mindful of what you eat beforehand. For example, a stuffed bean burrito would be a poor choice of meals. The reason is self explanatory. When someone is jumping from the top turnbuckle onto your intestinal region, it’s unlikely your sphincter will maintain its gassy parts. Each visit brings with it the potential for becoming a human whoopee cushion. Many have fallen victim – myself included.
Right now you’re probably saying to yourself, “Why the hell do you bother going?” The answer is simple; it’s a life-saver for me. Most people don’t realize that all of the organ systems are connected to the spine. Even a minor subluxation can cause a body system to function improperly. I was extremely leery about it before I started visiting one, but haven’t looked back sense. If you’re considering it, do your homework first and find a good one. You won’t regret it –
What are your thoughts on Chiropractic — believer or skeptic?
**Please share your funny stories **
-Happy Blogging, ya wimpy Bitchers!
- Dr. Ben Altadonna Announces New Information to Help Doctors of Chiropractic Eliminate The Skepticism of Chiropractors and Chiropractic (prweb.com)
- Warwick, Seagal among those who owe Calif. taxes (cnsnews.com)
- Steven Seagal, Dionne Warwick make list of biggest tax scofflaws in California (cbsnews.com)
It’s official, America’s favorite celebrity doctor has finally established himself as a successful solo artist. The certified guru of personal health is now a permanent fixture of the Oprah Winfrey Network, dishing out the latest developments in medicine on a daily basis. Dr. Oz has become the Elvis Presley of doctors among his predominately female followers, and continues to drive the health craze nail deeper into my eyeball with each passing episode. Thank you, thank you very much.
The constantly evolving theory of the correct way to diet, exercise, and prevent disease is quickly becoming a bit obsessive-compulsive for my taste. I think it’s safe to say that we’ve finally reached the summit of mount paranoia when it comes to personal health in this country. Being that we’re in the midst of yet another mass-craze, as usual, I’m waving at everybody riding by on the band wagon. Have a nice trip. Bring me back something nice.
All Aboard the Band Wagon…
At one end of the spectrum are the hypochondriacs. Like a bunch of wandering vagrants trying to score a dope fix, the crazies flood the internet with queries about their health, hoping to stumble across something to ease their worried minds. There they sit, pale-faced in front of a computer monitor, digging for info on freckle borders, out-of-place pimples, and dry tongue. At the other end of the spectrum are the urban soldiers that spend half of their lives in a sweaty warehouse, flipping tractor tires and snacking on raw spinach. Can we have a meeting of the minds here for a second?
Personally, I take everything with a grain of salt. I’m naturally skeptical, especially when it comes to things that people do in massive numbers. No matter what it is, it always seems to have such a Jerry Jones cult feel to it. I get itchy just thinking about it. Speaking of skepticism, I have an excellent conspiracy theory to share:
It’s a Conspiracy I tell ya…
Dr. Oz is actually a robot that was created by a Japanese firm, and purchased by Harpo productions to instill fear in the minds of an impressionable audience. The manufacturer model name is actually “Ozmotron 5000”. When not in operation, the Ozmotron 5000 doubles as “safety guy”, belted into the front seat of Oprah’s car. Since its introduction, her pharmaceutical stocks have soared because of the massive uptick in anti-anxiety medications being prescribed to people like me. The robot is operated by Verne Troyer.
Far-fetched? Not really.
Here are a couple reasons why I’d like to duct tape Ozzie to the ceiling:
1.) First of all, he’s a spin-off of the Oprah Winfrey show, and I’ll be damned if she gets any royalty cash because of my viewership. Conservatively, she’s probably worth more than the entire European Continent. It’s a safe bet that she’ll be the first celebrity goofball to go on a space tour when that whole mess takes off. I can picture her with her helmet on, waving hysterically from the shuttle window at all the poor people before launching into the stratosphere. Hopefully she’ll get stuck orbiting the moon. Transmission from space: “Harpo, we have a problem.”
2.) Secondly, he makes me feel guilty about everything I do. Stop it man. I would much rather eat a burrito than a cup of walnuts and a block of tofu. I couldn’t imagine being called on stage during one of his tapings. It would be awfully intimidating to explain that my lunch the day before was comprised of a half a sandwich and four cigarettes. At least it was wheat bread, dude.
3.) And lastly, Dr. Oz talks about regularity a little too much for my liking. Good god, I haven’t heard this much talk about crap since the Two Girls One Cup fiasco. It seems to me that colon health trumps all other topics, bar none. Are people really that desperate to go often? I’m not a doctor by any stretch of the imagination, but if you ask me, crapping more than once a day is a health risk.
If I bought into his regularity diet I’d have to apply for a janitorial job to insure I’d be within five feet of a toilet at all times. As a matter of fact, I probably wouldn’t leave the toilet without being strapped to an adult diaper. Give me a break man. Who the hell can lead a productive life when you’re eating five gallons of cherries a month? On top of the janitorial position, I’d have to find a source of secondary income (probably a work at home job) in order to afford the mile of toilet paper per week it would require to stay tidy.
I will admit though, there is one thing that impresses me about Dr. Oz — that being his uncanny ability to influence. Whatever he says goes (no pun intended). Truthfully, I didn’t even know women farted until I watched his show. However, call one down to the center stage and she’ll gladly share every detail about her bowel movements in front of the entire U.S. Frequency, color, girth — it doesn’t matter. I can picture a desperate fan, sitting on the bathroom floor like a closet alcoholic, chugging prune concentrate while the septic tank guy is banging on the door again — all for the sake of living up to the Doctor Oz regularity diet. That’s what I call mind control.
A Few Final Thoughts…
The way I see it, it’s an unhealthy addiction whether you’re at one end of the spectrum or the other. That’s not to say that healthy living shouldn’t be a priority, but it definitely shouldn’t come at the expense of your health. I think having a balanced disposition might be the best advice I could ever prescribe. Being consumed by anything to the point of obsession takes away from the whole life experience, doesn’t it?
The health craze is being driven by a number of outside forces, each of them competing for a chunk of your money. Fear is an excellent motivator. After all, it’s what’s kept our species alive for tens of thousands of years. Never underestimate it. “But that’s impossible, the earth is only 9000 years old?” We’ll get to that some other day.
Until that day comes, keep your head screwed on tight.
Please share your thoughts!
-Happy Blogging, you Bowel Loving Bitchers!
At a time when I’d found myself wallowing in the deepest, darkest depths of writer’s despair, the universe once again delivered. Unfortunately, my newfound inspiration came with a price tag of a hundred dollars and a few days of lost blog-humping productivity. One all-too-anxious click of the mouse and I’d contracted a nasty case of cyber-gonorrhea, as well as an attitude toward the stinky prick that was responsible for it all.
It was hard not to feel remorseful about the timing of the matter. I was just starting to feel centered for once. The colorful aura that had surrounded my optimistic project faded, forcing me to shelf it for the time being. Back to the bitch diaries. I had a more pressing issue at hand.
I spent the next couple of nights by candle light, snapping off tacky one-liners with a quill pen and a head full of trance. Nothing that I wrote satiated. I needed more. I was desperate for reprisal, so I decided to try and track down the bastard. If I was going to find any closure from the whole ordeal I’d have to do a little police work first.
I figured my best shot at finding the guy would begin with establishing a motive and a detailed profile. In between slugs of coffee, I paced the room like a nervous cartoon, jotting down notes on a spiral-pad. I was feeling confident, on to something I thought. The pencil in my head began to swirl a composite sketch of the perpetrator at large.
I knew that he didn’t work for a reputable company like Microsoft or Apple, because it would contradict his whole philosophy. It’s difficult to get hired into a company like either of the two when you’re on a bi-monthly bathing schedule. I could picture him; isolated in some basement hideout, screaming into a headset while touring the World of Warcraft – the smell of some off brand air freshener fighting off the stale pizza rolls and TV dinner trays piled up on his desk. In between yelling fits and large blocks of anime porn, there he sits, writing malicious code on a highly sophisticated machine.
Reason led me to believe that he probably didn’t leave the house often, so I’d have to track him down outside of his headquarters. Where would he go? What would he look like? My brain was in desperate need of answers.
He had long hair – an anything-but-trendy ponytail, perhaps. A person of poor hygiene would mean long hair. I’m sure a hairdresser wouldn’t leave their scissors near a person smelling like a dirty sponge, yet alone volunteer their services. Facial hair was also a strong possibility. He’s clearly a non-conformist, which meant rule out anything fashionable or trendy. Cheap sunglasses, military boots, an old recycled leather jacket even.
A strong supporter of the Unix operating system. Everything else was inferior computing, fit only for the common caveman like myself. Maybe I could track him down online. Start in the forums and look for the arrogant flake.
All I needed now was a motive. What would drive a human to bully the civilized world with such malicious intentions? The answer was obvious. The poor bastard was probably exiled from the rest of his peers at a crucial time during development. It caught up with him later on – revisiting, lamenting his awkward high school years. Now he was evil. Non-conformists are born that way though, no fault of another.
The Fruitless Pursuit…
There was no use wasting anymore time. Generally speaking, I had a good idea what I was looking for. In retrospect, it was a bit optimistic of me. More importantly, I didn’t know what I was going to do with him when I found him. What sort of punishment would fit the crime? More questions. Then it hit me: motherboarding — a method used for dealing with cyber terrorism, which involved tying the perpetrator to his throne, and beating him senselessly with a stack of motherboards. Half the problem with the prick is that he’s too smart for his own good, so I may as well bring his IQ down a few clicks.
I knew where I’d find him. The downtown district is full of non-conformist beatniks – lumbering around in large packs like prairie bison. What if this was all for nothing? What if I was pursuing the wrong person? Maybe he was much more refined — off shore bank accounts, suave dresser, expensive car, Rolex — the whole bit.
The once roaring fire of optimism within me was now turning into a smoldering pile of doubt as I watched the markers tick by. I could feel my foot easing off the accelerator as my reservations intensified. I decided to pull off for a bit and make sense of everything.
I ordered a coffee – no cream, no sugar. It was hard to keep myself from pulling napkins out of the dispenser and shredding them on the table. The smoke was heavy – a thick blanket of it hanging above the greasy diner tables. My mind was still in overdrive, but my thoughts were halted by an angry woman that stood up and threatened to off the male sitting in front of her. I could sense the tension mounting in the atmosphere after the blow up. Maybe it was the caffeine. Either way I decided to leave a tip and exit before I was the recipient of a misguided projectile.
Going back was intolerable. I’d been beaten this time, but not destroyed. What sense would it make to continue this pursuit? Tracking down one anonymous hacker and removing him would be like containing an influenza epidemic with a single can of Lysol. Let him have his kicks for now, I thought. The poor bastard has his coming…
-Happy Blogging Private Eye Bitchers…
- Security Brief: Anonymous Operations (news.softpedia.com)
- Hackers Take Over Mexican Government Websites (theepochtimes.com)
- How Anonymous Hacked the Media (thedailybeast.com)
- Following your own path–How to be a socially acceptable non-conformist (onehotmessage.wordpress.com)
If there’s one thing more obnoxious than having my news feed flooded with cheesy inspirational quotes, it’s getting ear-humped by a small-talker.
I take the act of avoiding small talk as seriously as the pentagon does counter-terrorism. It’s not like I ever have anywhere important to be, but it still grinds my ass when someone impedes the process of me getting from point A to point B. Point A is where I am now, point B is where I’d like to be in the near future, and standing between the two hypothetical points is motor-mouth Marty. That’s a problem.
Listening to someone with irritable-mouth syndrome is like winding up a pair of those chattering teeth toys. It’s a dizzying experience. Five minutes of watching someone’s head jerk back and fourth, their hands mimicking every word spewing from their mouth, and I’m reaching for the Dramamine. Being cornered by one is such a helpless feeling too. It’s the same sensation an African gazelle might experience as its last breath is being squeezed from it by a boa constrictor.
It goes without saying that I’ve learned a lot of useless information over the years, yet I find it troublesome to know how many people are wandering around, aimlessly in search of someone to sort out their lives for them – free of charge. This just in: I’m not your psychologist. Although, based on all of the information that I just learned about you, I’d highly recommend consulting one.
It’s a predator versus prey world, and preparedness is the key to surviving it.
Here’s a handy how-to guide to help identify and fight back against these persistent chit-chatters:
This kind of talker insures you’ll walk away from the conversation feeling like an absolute failure at life. In no time at all you’ll have gone from hero to zero. A few steps in the other direction and you’re already reassessing your weak retirement plan, lousy career path — maybe even contemplating marriage counseling. This guy is god’s gift to humanity – according to himself, of course. Failure is no option and his life resume backs it up. Anyone see that roll of duct tape I had laying around here?
How to combat a Bragger:
Do not try to one-up a bragger. Any attempt to do so will be countered with more bragging. Your best bet is to just lie down and play dead – figuratively of course (literal translation my lead to bigger problems). Think happy thoughts, but pretend to feel dejected. After all, that’s what he wants – to make you feel like a turd on the bottom of his shoe. Use a lot of “uh-huh’s” and “I know what you mean’s”. It works every time. When the lips stop flapping, head for the nearest exit as quickly as possible.
Oh god, here we go. As soon as I hear the phrase “let me tell you a quick story” I can immediately deduce from it two things: 1.) This is going to be anything but quick, and 2.) I won’t be interested in whatever bullshit you are itching to ramble about. Storyteller Steve is always well-traveled and lives to tell tall tales. I’m positive that none of them are true. Give him a pull-start and he’ll blab forever about the time he caught a narwhal out on a Baltic Sea expedition, or about his pickle farming venture back in Utah. Shut up Steve.
How to combat Storyteller Steve:
Timing is everything with this type, and the remedy must be administered before the onset of the story. When the person uses the phrase “let me tell you a story”, place your hand on your pocket quickly, then reach inside for your phone. Place your pointer finger in the air as if to say “one second please”. Hold a mock conversation with the imaginary person on the other end and use words that imply an urgent matter of some kind. Example words/phrases to use are: “Now?” or “You’ll be there in ten minutes?” or “Oh no, are you serious?” Pretend to end the call and politely excuse yourself from the conversation.
Too Much Information Guy
These types will share every intimate detail of their lives with complete strangers. Medical procedures, incontinence issues, a rocky divorce – anything goes. Listening to this type makes me feel like a nurse or a psychologist. I always feel like I should be seated in a leather chair while jotting notes on a yellow legal pad. Be grateful that I’m not your therapist. If I were, I would probably have suggested some rather unorthodox ways of treating your issues. Tissue?
How to combat Too Much Information Guy
This type is extremely fragile, so you don’t want to do anything to further upset him/her. Your best bet is to act concerned about the problem, then suggest they seek a professional opinion immediately. Reiterate the urgency part. If possible, dial the phone number of whatever service they are in need of and hand them the phone. Leave the scene immediately after.
Being it’s another election year (oh goody), Political Pete is out trudging the campaign trail in massive numbers. He enjoys collecting bumper stickers and yard signs, spreading political e-mails, and trying to convert citizens of the opposite party. Most of these idiots don’t have a clue what they’re talking about, but that doesn’t stop them from trying to sound like a fox news correspondent. Flinging mud and spreading false information is what Political Pete does best. If you are approached by him, avoid eye contact at all cost.
How to combat Political Pete
Whatever you do, do not express your political views. Doing so will further extend the conversation and add fuel to the debate. In the past I’ve recommended people void themselves from the conversation by stating that they are not a U.S. citizen, and therefore do not have voting rights. This information is outdated, and may lead to an altercation if he/she is a supporter of the national rifle association, and/or a resident of the state of Texas. The most current and effective method for dealing with Political Pete is simple. Ask him to provide you with a bumper sticker, then run away in the opposite direction while he is searching his car.
This is one of my least favorites. Having to listen to someone’s uppity, know-it-all banter about the after-life makes me want to send that person there myself. If you’re that giddy about whatever comes next then why the hell are you wasting your time here? God, if you’re listening to me right now, please let the floor open up under Religious Rick the next time he is standing in front of me. He desperately wants to meet you.
How to Combat Religious Rick
This one is a bit more drastic, but can be a lot of fun if executed properly. Make sure you know the person’s name before you begin. While the person is conducting their sermon, drop to the ground and begin thrashing around as if being possessed. Add flair by cussing and spitting, and if possible, try to foam at the mouth. Finally, cap it off by yelling gibberish in an altered voice — be sure to use the person’s name at this point. Before you can wipe the spittle from your chin, Religious Rick will be running to the hills. It works every time. I know this from experience.
So there you have it. Enjoy your new found freedom the next time your out in public. But most importantly of all, don’t forget your running shoes!
Please let me know if I left anyone out…
-Happy Blogging Ya Anti-Social Bitchers!
A Brief Introduction…
The title of this one is a bit misleading. I’m not actually in favor of global warming, especially given the number of horrific global catastrophes the world has experienced in recent times. As a matter of fact, it pains me think that it may be a real possibility. What a thought to consider.
Enough of that talk tough. I don’t want to start some big debate over it. Next thing I’ll be getting solicited by Al Gore, asking me for donations to help support the “adopt a penguin program”. I don’t have the money, nor freezer space to take on any extra house guests – regardless of how well dressed they may be.
So, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty — the heart of the matter at hand. Given the time of year, I felt now would be the best opportunity to share with you my melancholy disposition toward the beginning of the dreaded cold season in Michigan.
The Enchantment of Michigan Seasons…
As I write, our brief and beautiful summer is exhaling its last warm breath. The transient warm-season will soon give way to the first brisk winds of autumn in October, bringing with it a fresh palette of deciduous colors. The orchards will once again be filled with apple and pumpkin-pickers, hay-riders, and freshly baked donuts. Ask anyone that has left and they’ll fondly recall it as being a Michigan memory that they will forever cherish.
This fall season will be particularly pleasant too, considering that we’ve had our share of extended, oppressively-hot spells all summer long. It was hotter than I can ever remember. Every day was a record-breaker it seemed. It was the kind of hot that makes sitting in the shade intolerable. Some days it was hot enough that if you left a glass of water outside for a half hour, it would begin to boil. (ok, embellishing a bit).
Unfortunately, despite the stunning beauty and fun-filled activities that autumn brings with it, the season fades as quickly as it arrives. Soon, the painted trees will drop their last strands of color, leaving nothing behind but a still-life portrait of baron limbs.
The sadness is temporary though, with the fast-approaching holiday season re-energizing the low-spirited. Turkey-carving, gift-giving, and the opportunity to start fresh a new year – all of these things shared with family, friends, and even those less fortunate. Grudges are forgotten, memories are told, and festive holiday lights illuminate the long, dark nights.
But, after all of the candy is collected, turkeys carved, presents opened, and half-hearted weight-loss resolutions are made, my cheery outlook begins to waver and the cold, hard reality begins to seep into my brain… Commence the freezing, grey, sloppy, flu-ridden season of winter.
My Thoughts on Michigan Winters…
I’ll preface by stating that I hate winter. Dressing like an Inuit every morning before scraping twelve inches of cold, wet powder off the car isn’t my idea of living. With the exception of a pet lizard, nothing should have to exist in an artificially-heated box for any length of time. Some people love the winter. I’m convinced that those people are in denial.
As the first frigid wind trickles down my spinal column, I begin muttering obscenities to myself (more often than usual), asking questions like “why do I put up with this misery?” I must be crazy, because I’ve finally begun answering back.
Months spanning January and April are what I refer to as the “grey season”. It’s a time when the sun goes on vacation somewhere down in the southern hemisphere, leaving us all behind to wither and rot away. In order to supplement the lack of Vitamin D lost from the sun’s absence, one must drink anywhere from two to four gallons of milk a week in order to stay healthy and balanced.
In order to survive, it’s important to keep occupied to prevent from going stir-crazy. Popular activities include things like skiing, ice-skating, sledding, building snowmen, etc. But while the cold-lovers are out frolicking, I’ll be inside, wrapped in a heated blanket. One of the constructive things I have planned for this winter is to visit a doctor to have my dense skull examined. I’m convinced there is something wrong with me. You’d think that anyone with a healthy functioning brain would opt out of this misery, but apparently I enjoy it enough to stay here indefinitely. I’ll keep you posted on the results.
Coping with it is difficult for many, while easier for others. Some of us drink, others double our dosages of anti-depressants, and some of us travel upstate to snowmobile…
The Autobahn and The Precipitous North…
My Grandparents live upstate; the 45th parallel to be exact, which is exactly halfway between the equator and the fat guy in the red suit. “Upstate” is actually an unused term here to describe the top of the mitten. We Michigan folk refer to it as “Up North”, or “Going Up North”. There, summers usually last anywhere from mid-July to early September. I could never survive it. I often ask why they didn’t buy property in Cabo San Lucas, or the Bahamas, or something like that.
Being up there is even worse this time of year. It’s at a much higher elevation, which usually means triple the amount of precipitation. Its high enough in fact that it begins to takes on a hazy effect upon arrival. Look out any window at their place and you’ll actually be at eye level with the clouds.
Being up there is one thing, but getting up there is another altogether. I try and do my visiting during the summer months, because driving up Interstate 75 in the midst of a snowstorm makes for extreme white-knuckle driving. Everyone is constantly fighting for pole position along the way. If I had to come up with an analogy for driving it, it would be like juggling butcher’s knives; one slip and you’re likely to lose something valuable.
In case you’re not familiar with the Michigan portion of I-75, it’s kind of like the Autobahn, only people drive faster and with heavier vehicles. It’s no place for a smart car. As a matter of fact, if you plan to make the trek yourself, I would recommend renting an armored vehicle, or a salt truck to insure that you make it up alive.
It’s not so much the road conditions that make it treacherous, as it is the down-state jerk-offs pulling trailers full of snow toys. Try it sometime if you’re dealing with constipation. Fifteen minutes on the road will loosen everything right up.
A Solemn Conclusion…
Conclusively, I’ve decided that I wouldn’t be opposed to never seeing winter again, with the exception of on December 25th. Other than that, I only want to see it on TV — preferably a large-screen that is sitting in front of the pool I’m rafting in, while I sip some kind of fruity drink. I want to have nightmares about it only to wake up and realize that it was just a bad dream. Upon waking up I’d roll myself over, fall back asleep, and revisit me floating on that imaginary raft, with that fruity drink straw pinched between my lips.
To all the mid-westerners out there that share my sentiments I say the following: brace yourselves, because it’s coming whether you snowmobile or not. So dig out the ol’ parka and galoshes, put away the patio furniture, and get ready for Frosty to stick his big, fat, snow-covered boot up your ass once again…
Cheers to a rant-filled winter. I’m sure I’ll be doing a lot of it.
-Happy Blogging Season Bitchers
- The American Heat Wave and Global Warming (scientopia.org)
- So, Do You Believe in Global Warming Now? (neatorama.com)
- Guardian Says Global Warming Induced Cold Is The New Normal (stevengoddard.wordpress.com)
What is it nowadays with top ten lists? Click on any news-based site and you’ll find at least a dozen of them on the front page. I’m struggling to come up with a reason why. Why not “Top Nine” or “Top Eleven”? Are we too spoiled that we refuse to read a meager nine? Maybe we’re too attention deficit to make it through an extra nomination? More likely than not it’s just a natural occurrence in a country operating under the base 10 numeral system…
I think it might be one of those things they teach in journalism programs to help writers pump out more crap.
I can see it:
Editor: “Jones, I want material on my desk by lunch. Got it?”
Author: “But sir, it’s 11:50AM — that’s only ten minutes from now?”
Editor: “I’ve got a job to do. I don’t care what it is.”
Author: “Yes sir, consider it done sir.”
And thus, another list is born…
Ok, I’ll admit it. I’m addicted to them. Give me anything condensed to a list and I’ll read it. It’s kind of like the cliff notes version of something that I otherwise wouldn’t read. There’s a real sense of gratification in it for me personally, because I can read so many in such a short amount of time. It tricks the mind. It makes me feel like I’m being productive when I’m really not. To add, it’s a lot easier than reading a book. My thoughts on books? [CENSORED] books. Books suck. Give me a top ten list instead.
Even though I’m a slappy for anything in a bulleted format, these compact-compilations aren’t without their flaws. After all, I wouldn’t be writing if I didn’t have something to bitch about. So without further ado, let me take a minute to set down my pom-pom’s and share with you the Top Ten Reasons Why Most Top Ten Lists Suck.
10. They Always Save the Best for First
On every list, the first mention is always the entry with the most bang. Most of the time you can just skip everything else after you read it. If you’re like me, you’re already beginning to pick up on the writer’s bias at this point, and have begun formulating a smart-ass comment for the forum in your head. This rule applies to all top ten lists except for this one.
9. They Never Appeal to the Cynics
Most people get pissed off at the title and click on the article for the sole purpose of bashing the writer’s mom, or posting something about Ron Paul for President in 2012. Start calling the bastards out. Either you start posting stuff with some substance or we start bashing. Make a choice.
8. People Don’t Care About the Topics
50% of these lists are wasted on topics like “ways to find a job” or “ways to get active”. Yeah right, like anybody actually wants to work these days with all of the public assistance programs out there. As far as getting fit goes, people that want to get fit are out getting fit right now, not sitting around formulating a plan for it.
7. The “Experts” are Always Wrong
Most of the time, the list is littered with a bunch of expert opinions. Who the [CENSORED] cares about experts? Everyone’s an expert these days. I think what they actually mean when they use the word “expert” is “some guy I talked to at the urinal next to me when I was on lunch”. First they tell me I’m supposed to eat more blueberries and cheese, the next week I’m going to develop impotence because of all the cheese and blueberries I ate the week before. Make up your minds. Adding the word expert to your piece doesn’t add to your credibility, dumb ass.
6. They Discriminate
As mentioned in the beginning of the article, it’s likely that not every reader originated from a country that utilizes the base 10 number system. Being the big salad bowl that we are, or whatever other PC term they use now to describe the ethic mix, I’d say we’re being kind of insensitive. Lawyers, take notes. It’s time to make some serious changes…
5. They’re Harmful to Our Youth
After conducting a formal investigation of the matter (on Wikipedia), I’ve concluded that people stopped reading around the time that computers were invented. This is an alarming trend. People need to read more, not less (like I should talk). Consequently, the majority of people you interview could name more social networking sites than congressional members — I’m one of them.
4. They Don’t Attract Male Readers, Duh
Authors are going to have to do a better job of connecting with their male audience. Whatever happened to market research? It’s common knowledge that guys don’t go on the internet to read top ten lists, or anything else for that matter; they go online for the sole purpose of expanding their porn libraries – I am one of those too.
3. They’re Not as Effective as YouTube
As effortless as it is to blow through 10 Easy Ways to Get Rich Quick, it’s even easier to go on YouTube and watch the video version of it. Of course if you’re like me, you just end up getting side-tracked watching videos of people draining baseball-sized cysts. If you’re not hip to the jive, this is what we in the community refer to as “The Weird Part of YouTube” – don’t end up there, trust me.
2. They Employ Guerilla-Ad Tactics
Sometimes authors reel us in with a catchy title then slap us in the face with a corny video instead. You know what that means: “You can skip this ad in 9:59 minutes.” You’d have to tie me to a chair and duct tape my eyelids open to get me to sit through an online advertisement. Everyone wants to either sell me something, or change my opinion on an issue that I’ve already made up my mind about. Back off you scaly bastards. I’ll shop when I need to. I don’t need to change my mind.
1. There’s Never Enough Material to Complete the List
By the time the author gets to #1 he/she is usually out of material — really stretching it at this point. That’s the case here…today. I’m struggling mightily to at least come up with a couple of sentences to make it look halfway decent. Awfully anti-climactic, I know. I’m sorry to end on this note…
Oh well, lesson learned. Why stretch it to ten when you only got enough material for nine?
-Happy Blogging You Base-Ten-Loving Bitchers!
Remember back when the old folks used to warn us about suffering brain rot from watching too much bad TV? They should have stuck around. If there was any shred of truth to that theory we’d all be extinct — mass extinction due to brain rot. What’s even funnier is that all the stuff they bitched about seems pretty wholesome by today’s standards. Honestly though, if today’s programming reflects the country’s overall intelligence level, our species is doomed. I wouldn’t be surprised if the national IQ has dropped a good twenty points or so over the last decade as a direct result of pointless and redundant TV.
It saddens me because TV has always been one of my favorite pastimes. I know, I know – go ahead — chastise me while you’re packing your Crossfit bag. I don’t care. I find it much more entertaining than reading a book anyways — plus I don’t get any weird neck pains while watching…
That’s probably the main reason why I spend so much time trolling blog sites these days — there’s usually nothing on the tube worth watching. If you’re scratching your head right now you’re probably in your glory. However, as far as I’m concerned we’re smack dab in the middle of the dark ages of television.
You’d think that with the tens of thousands of channels at our disposal, and with all of the different options for viewing TV we’d have something decent to watch. All day long, on every channel, nothing but reality TV and overly-dramatized scenario-based shows. Pawning crap, digging for gold, chopping down forests, storm chasing, ghost hunting, bike building, pest control hillbillies, forty year old virgins hunting for toys, competitions for people that cry a lot, beauty pageants for babies, babies having babies, truck driving, fist pumping, whiny housewives from another planet, hotel makeovers, salon makeovers, clothing experts, cake experts, eating experts, travel experts, and on and on and on. Oh, and if none if that suits your fancy, why not tune in to watch a bunch of dorky bastards sit around a card table with their tough-guy shades on — riveting.
Truthfully, I’m kind of torn when it comes to reality TV. On one hand I’m beside myself, while on the other I’m impressed with the creative ability of some of the writers of these hit shows. I use the word hit very loosely. I mean can you imagine having to come up with a script for a show based on toy hunting? I have a hard enough time writing out a three-line email, yet alone developing a TV series based on baking cakes. Speaking of cakes — I’m working on one right now – it’s a giant fist smashing Snooki in the cheek bone. It’s my personal tribute to the greatest moment in reality TV, no wait – the greatest moment in TV history. I’m not a big fan of punching women, but that was secretly awesome…(Guys, don’t hit girls it’s not right – even Snooki)
I wonder if there’s a transcript available for that episode. If there is, I’d definitely pay for it. I’d love to know what transpired between the two that prompted a cold-cock to the face like that. Now that I think of it, I bet it wasn’t the first time on the show she got a cold coc– Wait a second…ah nevermind — I’ll let Tosh drop that one.
Who am I kidding though – seems like most of its all cameras, editing, and sound effects. If I had tools like that at my disposal I could probably create a spellbinding show about guys that light their farts on fire.
On a side note, picture for a second what it would be like to have one of those creeper camera guys following you around all day long – god that’s weird. Even in the behind-the-scenes off-camera footage, those guys never say a word – maybe an occasional chuckle. That just reinforces my theory that the camera guy always has a bunch of “candid” shots stockpiled on his computer to keep himself busy in the hotel after-hours.
So where is it all heading — what’s next? At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if the next big thing was a show about guys that light their farts on fire. Sometimes I wonder if it’s all just one big conspiracy that blew up in the faces of the schemers. Imagine a round table meeting of all the country’s most prestigious college heads, gathered together to brainstorm ideas for increasing attendance. “If we could find a way to divert kids away from television, maybe they would be more likely to attend a secondary school.” — way to go conspiring deans – you get an “E” for effort.
The sad reality on reality TV is that it’s all gonna have to just run its course. Fortunately, everything has a lifespan – hopefully, it’s about ready to croak. I’m not looking for wholesome TV, but at least something that doesn’t come with a disclaimer like: “Warning, this program may cause spit bubbles — Viewer discretion is advised.”
-Reality bites..Happy blogging bitchers.
- A Closer Look at Reality TV Drama (uloop.com)
- Bobby Brown Getting New Reality TV Show (oldschool945.com)
- Can Reality TV Convince Students to Become Scientists? (good.is)
- Help me… I’ve fallen victim to Reality TV (radaronelson.wordpress.com)
- Kim Kardashian Compares Reality TV To Rap! (987ampradio.cbslocal.com)
Ah, success – one of my favorite topics to trash. It’s a concept broader than the multiverse, yet so many of us believe that it’s some kind of concrete and easily definable thing.
I think it’s about time we squash the traditional, or should I say, adopted definition of success. Go ahead – rip it in half, crumple it up, throw it in a waste basket, douse it with gasoline, and set it on fire. When the flame finally settles, go grab a new sheet of paper and let’s start fresh with a new definition. Please don’t actually do this – I’m not advocating a waste basket bonfire. Put down the gas can and follow along.
First and foremost, before we start talking about what success is, let’s start by defining what it isn’t.
American culture is so obsessed with having a standardized definition for it that it’s lost all of its intended meaning. We have been conditioned to believe that success is a specific process with specific outcomes, and after obtaining said success we will all live happily ever after. Yeah, right.
Try this — take money and recognition out of the equation and explain why Bill Gates is more successful than the self-employed guy down the street – you know, the guy that worked and saved his entire life with the dream of owning a home, starting a family, having children? — It’s impossible.
Both men have acted on two completely different dreams, yet both achieved what they had set out to accomplish. Magnitude isn’t how we should define success; it’s irrelevant. The point I’m trying to make is that success isn’t quantifiable – you have either achieved it by your own definition or haven’t yet. Imagine success as a light bulb. The light bulb can either be illuminated or not, but can never be half-lit. By this new definition, both men are tremendous successes.
Speaking of Bill Gates, here’s a fun fact: based on his estimated net worth, BG could afford to purchase 25,542 Bugatti Veyron’s if he wanted to — the down side is that he wouldn’t be able to insure any of them (at least for the first hour or so).
Don’t cry. Money is necessary and it feels great to blow it when it’s available. It also feels good to be recognized occasionally; however, neither are necessary components for success. All that we have is our own set of ideals and the deep desire to achieve success however we choose to define it.
The current popular standard for measuring success is what I call the measuring cup method. Each of us has bought into the notion that success is measured by the amount of shit that can be fit into a gigantic measuring cup. By shit, I mean possessions and all of the things that we like to brag about.
We take this huge imaginary cup and fill it with a person’s possessions, then place it next to our own in order to determine how successful we are by comparison. Houses, boats, cars, clothing, toys, vacations, electronics; any piece of shit that we can scrape together gets tossed into that giant container for analysis.
Oh, I almost forgot to mention — don’t forget to throw all of those beautifully framed college certifications in that cup too. Generally speaking, the more expensive the degree, the more space it consumes in the cup. Get the point? It’s obscene — just like Bill Gates and his Bugatti fetish. According to the standardized definition: BG’s Success > GDTS Success. If that’s the way you want to live your life, knock yourself out. If not, get off the treadmill now and enjoy watching everyone else spin their own hamster wheel of misery.
It’s such a disgusting image, yet we make ourselves physically sick trying to achieve success. Each decade that passes is accompanied by a new set of standardized ideals that we all struggle to live up to. The first decade’s success is defined by achieving good marks and satisfactory progress reports; pass or fail? The second decade is defined by preparing for life after high school; college or trade – pass or fail? The third decade is defined by marriage, home ownership, career attainment, and having children; pass or fail?
Without getting redundant, the point is that we spend each decade of our lives comparing our own set of unique goals and circumstances to everyone else’s, rather than focusing on acheiving our own happiness. It’s a societal flaw. Do you suppose that there’s any correlation between mental and physical health and achieving success? It’s obvious to me that too many people are basing their perception of themselves on a norm that shouldn’t – or should I say doesn’t – exist.
My father once told me a story about a neighborhood kid that he grew up with. This kid was one of those spoiled little ass-wipes that always liked to brag about how fortunate he was. For that reason, nobody much cared for him. One day when all the neighborhood kids got together to play, the boastful one showed up wearing a brand new pair of shined up dress shoes. The shoes were expensive and had pointed toes (apparently pointy shoes were in at the time). The boastful one didn’t come to play with the other kids he just wanted to show off. So, my father did what any other self-respecting adolescent would do in that situation – he buried his heel into the little bastard’s toe, sending him screaming and crying all the way home with only one fancy shoe. Have a nice day chump.
So what’s the moral of the story here? What’s the bottom line when it comes to crowning success? As I see it, the moral is that you’ll never convince me that possessions define success. You define your success and I define mine. It’s a personal journey. Too add, your pointy shoes aren’t doing much to conceal your character flaws – in fact, they’re revealing them.
The shoes in this story might as well symbolize a big unfortified wall of insecurity that you’re hiding behind. But, the moment that you forget humility is the moment the wall comes crashing down. Live for yourself, think for yourself, and let you be the one that determines your own success.
-Happy Blogging Bitchers.