#’s 169-159

I just want to preface this with saying that I don't get Excel.  Therefore, your list of 11 F's this time is strangely only 9.  But from here on out baby, SMOOTH SAILING!  As always, this page will give you a blow-by-blow account of the list thus far.  (heh.)

#'s 169 & 168, fallen victims of my electronic inabilities, go ahead, pour one out.

#167- Kid Rock

Jim says, "As if you weren't bad enough on your own, you're from Detroit."

Detroit = puke, and not the good, hearty kind.  The biley kind.  Not since the bolo tie

has anything ever been so famous for the wrong reasons.  I always do find it thrilling, though, when celebrities I hate get in a room together, because then I can hope for some sort of Earthquake, Tornado, or Giant Green Asian Monster to suddenly hit a la simCity.  See: Kid Rock/Sheryl Crow recording a duet.  Fate, you missed one here!  You were further off the mark then Paula Abdul trying to find that AA meeting.  (photo courtesy Snarkywood.  Go there, it's hilarious!)

#166- Marion Barry

Jim says, "Crack?  Crack?!?  You're the mayor of D.C. you can afford some heroin for God's sake."

I'm always so shocked by a corrupt politician.  You just don't see that coming.  Huh. 

#165- Markie Post

Jim says, "So lame, I've forgotten why I hate you.  But I do."

Jim and I talked for a while the other day, trying to remember who she even is/was.  I know that there must have been a reason in 2003 for us to lambast her, but it seems that in the giant, variegated* world of celebrityness that there must have been someone else that we hated way more.  And obviously, there were 164 of them.  However, it is interesting, I think anyway, that even though we have no idea who the hell Markie Post is, she's still worse than Cher, Tom Cruise, Susan B. Anthony, and Flock of Seagulls

#164- Martha Stewart

Jim says, "pre-stint in the Big House"

Martha has clearly risen like a Phoenix from the asses now, post-prison.  I now love Martha.  I think she's funny and no longer too-full-of-herself and very well decorated.  Plus, you know she's holding out that she's got some nasty prison tats she did herself by leaving a shank out in the sun and numbing her skin with dark thoughts. 

Recently, however, I found out that the prison she went to did not have fences.  You could just walk away.  Yeah, they'd hunt you down Cheney style and send you back, but what the hell, go ahead, take your chances, biatches.  Seriously?  There were no stupid fences, and you didn't even make a break for it?  The Martha I know would've fashioned away out of that sort-of-hell-hole.  All Shawshank style, but with more class.  I believed in you.  Damn you.

#163- People from Delaware

Jim says, "First, your state's fake. (more on that later) Second, what the hell do you call yourselves?  Delewarites, Delewarians?  Move to Connecticut already."

Delewareans.  Doesn't that look weird?  Doesn't it look alien-ish.  Star Trek even?  Look–Lord Garbanzoid, we've located a collection of evil robot Delewareans 4 degrees East from that cohort of monkey looking things with mountains on their foreheads.  Quick, page Levar Burton, immediately!

Told you. 

#162- Siegfried

Jim says, "of '& Roy'.  Tiger-humping F-slice."

OOOOOOKay………..seriously, gentlemen?  As a wise man once said, "I don't know who's fruitier, Siegfried, Roy, or that big gay tiger." 

How can you take yourself THAT seriously?  Especially when you are that fruity, that Euro, and that excited about giant cats.  Gentlemen, reality would like to cordially invite you back home. 

On second thought, no reality wouldn't.  Just go ahead and stay in crazier-than-a-shithouse-rat-opolis.  It gives us more to laugh at.  It's good to know that the scant mention of Siegfried & Roy can make me giggle like a schoolgirl at any time, no matter what. 

#161- Steve Forbes

Jim says, "If Bill Gates were an even bigger tool, he'd be Steve Forbes."

Proof that all the money in the world can come sort-of but not really close to buying a victory in a Republican Primary.  Oh, if only I were a rich man, then I do could achieve my dream of political obscurity.  At least this malcontent* faded away since the naissance of this list.  Jack-ass. 

#160- Willa Ford

Jim says, "My Antonia sucks balls.  Wait, that's Willa Cather.  Whatever, you're both F's."

I HATE Willa Cather.  Hate hate.  Willa Ford just gets up here because she shares a name.  But let me tell you one thing, Willa Ford is no literature-creating lesbian who LOVES to write about landscaping and scenery, no!  She is a skank!  Do you know how hard it was to find a website about her that didn't seem seedy-featuring hi-lites from her appearences in nudie-mags?  Try it.  Good luck!  Finding a legit site is like sifting through your bulk mail box full of emails about p'enis enl'argement and boner pills just to find your damned word of the day. 

#159- Aaron Burr

Jim says, "Alexander Hamilton was a saint!"

Blah.  Aaron Burr = yesteryear's Dick Cheney.  Except at least Burr shot someone important.  And trust me Jim, if you knew Alexander Hamilton like I knew Alexander Hamilton, he is no saint.  Let's just leave it at that. 

Okay!  From here on out, we're smooth sailing.  No more mistakes to be made!  Any predictions from the peanut gallery?  Anyone to wager a guess about other F's soon to appear on this list?  Feel free to drop some ideas, peeps.  Until next time….

Seacrest OUT.

*more words du jour   (Mmmmm.  That sounds good.  I'll have that) 

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Published in: on 30 May 2006 at 8*38 pm  Comments (9)  

What IS the deal with the douchebags?

I just think that people don't effing get it.  My wife is pregnant.  And not the kind of pregnant where people tell you that randoms just come up and rub their bellies when you are thinking i can't even tell….how the hell do strangers know….do you wear a sign?….do you frequent parts of town cumbered with Miss Cleo's and Dionne Warwicks? but you just nod.  No, she is a small person and is now 8+ months pregnant.  You can tell.  If I knew how to work a damn camera, I'd put up a picture to prove my point.  But then maybe she'd massacre me, so we're probably better off.

My sister-in-law has been long chronocling the stupidity of people 'round other, more pregnant people.  People are ALWAYS making stupid-ass comments.  Whoa, when are you due?  You're gonna pop any minute now!  That's gonna be a big boy!  Are you sure you're gonna make it? etc. etc. etc.  That's not helpful.  The best thing to do is smile and give a sympathetic look.  Or, don't be a dick.  Unfortunately for my wife, she doesn't ever seem to run in to those thoughtful people. 

My wife works downtown and we live on the SW side of the city, so she takes public transit a lot.  The Metra is usually okay.  Props to the Metra.  People on the Metra are usually nice, if you avoid the obnoxious high school kids taking it home from school.  (for the record, I like H.S. kids.  When they have to listen to me.  They tend to be much less exciting when they're cut loose on the world)  However, sometimes, she has to take the el.  A very full el.  On where she'll get on, and then, realizing it's very full, look around for any seat left open, next to any crazy because dammit, she's carrying another EFFING PERSON!

And often times, no one moves.  No one offers a seat.  People look, and then look the other way obviously pretending that they didn't see her standing there so they don't have to give up their precious plasticine temporary ass-parking-spot.  Seriously!?

I know you people are different.  You are nice people.  Yes, pregnancy is a choice, so I understand on some level the people that disagree with the expectant mother parking spots (although you had a damn mother at some point and wouldn't you have wanted her to not walk as far?  Huh?  Maybe would've saved a couple of your precious brain cells, douche).  But once you are pregnant, it's a person INSIDE you.  That's heavy.  Plus, there's all the other stuff in and around there.  And it's possible they could have kidney stones, or sciatica, or flesh-eating-syphillis, so give them a DAMN SEAT.  Be respectful.  Did your parents teach you NOTHING AT ALL?!?!?!?!?!      

bastards.   

Published in: on 26 May 2006 at 7*05 pm  Comments (3)  

Episode 7- “Dumpster Diving”

On today's episode:  A flashback to a story he'd forgotten about.  A tragic tale of young employment and how it led to garbage bathing. [cue flashback-y music, blurry screen effect]

He was a young boy dealing with the hideous hurdles of the Graduated Licensing Hysteria enforced upon all young people of Michigan like a macabre rite of passage.  After realizing that he was legal to drive to work and back ONLY provided it was NOT after 12 and NO ONE was in the car with him, he was ready to make some money for hisself.  After all, he was no triflin' fool. 

All his friends worked at the local McDonald's.  Therefore, it only seemed right for him to do the same.  He was now beginning his Junior year in High School, and walked in to see the Drum Major of the band from when he was a freshman working 'management'!  "Bonnie", he said, "I didn't know you were so high up here."  "I don't know what the hell I'm doing still working here" she said dryly.  The young boy questioned turning in the application he had spent so much time writing carefully, but ne'ertheless handed the paper to her.  "Cool, someone'll call you soon.  We're desperate right now."  "Perfect, I'm always the one for desperation," he thought. 

Later, Bonnie called him for an 'interview.'  He went in to see Bonnie when he realized Bonnie was not the same Bonnie.  This Bonnie was an actual troll.  Just like the kind you see in a Billy Goat story or some shit like that.  He counted 4 teeth and 37 'thank you's'.  [Later, the boy found out that whenever anyone asked her anything, she always answered thank you.  "Bonnie, I need some help mopping this spoiled milk shit off the floor!" "Thank you!"  "Bonnie, I need some more singles!"  "Thank you!"  "Bonnie, you're an inhumane slave driver and I need an effing break alfrickingready!"  "Thank You!"

He was all set to work.  Days ran by and he perfected his drive-thru technique, he was complemented for being courteous and friendly, even when we lost control of an empty bag during a wind storm that was consequently sucked out the drive-thru window and directly into the face of the jeep-driving customer.  He was the king of that place, man.  The frigging king.  He would make the best Hot Apple Pie McFlurry's just for his coworkers and everything.  Even Chicken Nugget Sandwiches. 

Then, one torpid* day, the boy went to work to find that the place had been over-staffed.  As this was common, he expected manager Connie, also cleverly nicknamed as Connie The Pirate, to send him home.  But instead, Connie informed him that he "must take down the ceiling tiles and clean them, arrrrrrr".  The parrot on Connie's shoulder concurred.  He was later to find out that the only way to clean ceiling tiles (as he was told by management anyway) and get them REALLY clean was to use the vacuum cleaner.  Now, he was no whiz with vacuum cleaners, but he figured it was worth a shot anyway.  Sparks flew like the gol darned 4th of JU-ly.  The hoover needed a new filter, OF COURSE. 

New filter installed using only Vietnamese instructions.  No problem . Ceiling tile one cleaned.  Sparks again.  The boy, happy not to be on damned fire, consulted the pirate.  "ARRRRR, must be the filter.  Return to me the filter at once, or I shall ballast you with my rampant scurvy!"  Eeewww.  The filter made it into a bag in the garbage.  The boy,  whilst retrieving some McGloves [no shit.  Everything there was Mc something.  McSoap, McBroom.  It said it on the DAMN BOX.  McCebollas Desacadas.]  When he returned to fish the box out the damn garbage, the garbage was gone.  Fricking AMY who always wanted to take the garbage out so she could smoke on the way took the damned garbage and as it turns out, the boy's dignity along with it. 

The manager was not pleased.  "Arrrr, if ye do not retrieve yonder (pirates say yonder?) box to me, thou'st willst not be able to return it to yonder Menards."  (did I say pirate?  Apparently I meant mediaeval.  Oh well.  whatthehellever.  deal.) "You've got to be joking, right" the boy actually said back.  "No, to the dumpster for you!  You can take the [Mc]Broom and the [Mc]Pleather Jacket we use for cold days in ye drive-thru, but be back at once!"

It began to rain.  And not just raindrops, it began to rain sadness, desolution, and forlornness.  The boy trudged out to the dumpster, realized he could not see in without mounting the damn thing, and slithered on top of the monstrosity.  He opened the hatch, peered in to the what seemed like an actual physical TON of garbage all in identical garbage bags to find the certain bag that contained a tiny empty box.  As he was sticking the [Mc]Garbage around with his McBroom, suddenly the worst of times struck our young hero.  Gravity called and the boy slipped, hurdling his already depressed and changed-forever body into the olfactive mountain of crap. 

He laid there for a second, pondering life.  "Where do we go from here" he asked hisself, to no reply.  Some shit happened and he ended up not in the dumpster, though it didn't really matter after that.  Life would never ever EVER be the same.  Well, it sorta would.  Ehh. 

Later on, however, while retelling this story, the boy remembered that he found 10 dollars on the way back in from the dumpster, as if the banks of humour were thanking him for his deposit. 

*I don't want to necessarily jump on the footnote bandwagon, but I wanted to point out that I used my word-of-the-day.  Step off. 

Published in: on 24 May 2006 at 8*15 pm  Comments (1)  

From the “It’s About Damn Time” file… UPDATED!

The punch

Normally, I don't condone violence against other people.  Fortunately, Pierzynski is not a person.  He's an asshole and a pansy.  Let it just be known that after getting clocked in the face, Pierzynski ran off into his dugout pumping his fists and reveling in his testicle-less pussy-dom. 

Asshole. 

[p.s.  Apparently my past ramblings about this a-hole paid off hits-wise this weekend.  Instead of usual occasional search returns for "S My d", "Hate Mary Carillo" or "Jillain Barberie Fall On Her Hip", I now show you a sampling of what has sent people here!  And I quote:

I hate A.J. Pierzynski
hate aj pierzynski
Why people hate AJ pierzynski?
pierzynski sucks
a j pierzynski asshole cubs
AJ Pierzynski Sucks
aj pierzynski ass
why people hate aj pierzynski
hate aj pierzynski
A.J. Pierzynski sucks
Pierzynski douche bag  (MY FAVOURITE!)
aj pierzynski wwe
aj pierzynski sucks
hate A.J. Pierzynski
pierzynski douchebag
A.J Pierzynski Sucks
hate pierzynski
AJ Pierzynski asshole
on front of elle magazine you know pimpin
A.J. Pierzynski, hate
Published in: on 22 May 2006 at 7*18 pm  Comments (8)  

On Linkin Park

Now, usually, I like to mix it up a little more, categorically.  I would tell you something neat about my life-how my wife is graduating, the baby will be here very soon, school's almost out, I'm starting grad school soon, etc. etc. etc., but I can't think of how that's funny or entertaining.  So, instead, I will again make fun of something that sucks.  That's more my specialty.  At least in my head. 

I don't like yuppies. Fortunately for the band Linkin Park, they are not named after the Chicago Lincoln Park (blech) and they have a hip spelling to prove it, too.  Because misspelling is cool!  (And I don't mean Tori!  wait for it……….get it?  okay…)  Now Linkin Park is a bit of a schism from my normal making fun of Hip-Hop/Rap, (here and here), but the lyrics are something special.  They are truly worthy.  As you will soon see. 

From the Emily Dickinson inspired tune, "Papercut"; and I quote:

"It’s like I’m / paranoid lookin’ over my back
It’s like a / whirlwind inside of my head
It’s like I / can’t stop what I’m hearing within
It’s like the face inside is right beneath my skin"

The first thing to notice with these gentlemen is an incredibly desire to add as much punctuation as possible.  As you will see shortly, the parenthese has never been so appreciated.  LP does for the parenthese what Destiny's Child does for the apostrophe.  Now, as far as the words go, I'd just like you to visualize that last line.  Sample Responses:

Why is there a face inside?

A whole nother layer of skin right below the other?  Sounds crazy!

WTF?!?

But have no fear, the train to musical despair does not make a stop at this station.  No, we're traveling express.  Now, from "Hit The Floor", the tragic story of a kid with a peanut allergy whose class took a field trip to the Skippy plant.  And I quote:

"(One minute you're on top)
Next you're not watch you drop
(Making your heart stop)
Just before you hit the floor
(One minute you're on top)
Next you're not missed a shot
(Making you're heart stop)
You think you've won
(And then it's all gone)"

Now, I know you're thinking that the parentheses are only visible in the written out form, but if you actually listen to this schlockola, you can actually hear them.  It's a bit of genious.  Even in this lovely little extract evoking Dr. Seuss, you can physically hear the punctuation abuse.  (+ notice the nifty misuse of you're and the grammatically stunning, 'next you're not missed a shot'.  AWESOME!)  Now, from the sexually evocatively named, "A Place For My Head"; and I quote:

"I want to be in another place
I hate when you say you don’t understand
(You’ll see it's not meant to be)
I want to be in the energy, not with the enemy
A place for my head"

Dude, I want to be in the energy.  That is so deep.  Pass the meth.  Now I'll scream incoherently into the microphone—it'll be perfect.  Now it is time again for the [insert ominous organ music, cut to shot of run down church steeple, release flying monkeys] PARENTHETICAL RANCOR!  Today's juicy bits come from the number "From The Inside", not to be confused with the Nine Inch Nails song "Closer" which is actually mostly legitimate.  Please enjoy.  Or else.

Because of LP's allegiance to the parenthese, today I am forced to bracket, although, that's what I do anyway, right?  I don't remember and am too lazy to check.  On to the goodness!

I don’t know who to trust your surprise [eh?  what's that, Yoda?]
(Everyone feels so far away from me) [except for the close ones, they seem so very close]
Happy thoughts sift through dust and the lies [like miniature faeries, like on Ferngully]
(Trying not to break but I’m so tired of this deceit) [dude, deceit is so tiring.  Just like eating Turkey.  Wait guys, I just got an idea for a song about Tryptophane.  'Tryphtophane in my window pane, my wanderlust meanders to the Bryant of Lane'.  That's good shit, dudes]

(Every time I try to make myself get back up on my feet)

(All I ever think about is this)
(All the tiring time between)
(And how trying to put my trust in you just takes so much out of me) [are parentheses necessary when that's ALL THERE IS?  You're not interrupting anything!  YOU'RE little anecdote about not standing up is interrupting itself!  Pull yourselves together!  Somewhere, your 10th grade remedial English teacher is kicking herself.  Well she would if she could.]

Take everything from the inside and throw it all away [Topic change.  Now I think we're having a rummage sale!  I've got a Salad Shooter for $1.50.  Can't beat it!]
Cuz I swear for the last time I won’t trust myself with you [I'm not leaving you alone with that Salad Shooter.  I know you've only got a dollar, and I need at LEAST 9 bits-worth.]

Tension is building inside steadily [get me a heating pad, STAT!]
(Everyone feels so far away from me)
Happy thoughts forcing their way out of me [Like bodily excretions, my 'happy thoughts' can no longer be contained by my organs!  I need someone to catheterize my memories of 'Full House'.  Damned Aunt Becky was hott!  GET OUT AUNT BECKY!!!!!!!]
(And how trying to put my trust in you just takes so much out of me) [dude, this trust is heavy and awkward, howm'I supposed to get that crap inSIDE YOU?  This human-stuffing is so taxing….]

Hope you enjoyed!  As is clearly proven, Lincoln Park or any derivation there in super sucks.  I rest my case. 

Published in: on 19 May 2006 at 11*23 pm  Comments (13)