Monday, June 29, 2009

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Since I am such a creative soul, I thought we'd give credit where credit is due and honor some of the most influential things in our Now without further ado.

The "man of the year" award goes to a young man that went solely by the name “Mr. Bucket.” Where he lacked a first name he more than made up for with colorful plastic golf balls. I can’t even begin to imagine how many head to head collisions this game generated. There are no clear memories in my head of playing this game, but I feel that, like ecstasy, Mr. Bucket produced a similar brain damaging artificial form of euphoria. Our next award please…

Think about the terrifying mind-fucking torture of “Russian roulette.” Not a good thought huh? The age 4 and up version of that was known as “Don’t Wake Daddy”—the winner of “the scariest game that was by no means meant to be scary” award. Odd premise too. Wake up and get to the kitchen without waking Dad? Is this father a sick and deranged man that penalizes his children for eating or were these children generally bad people. Answers we will never know. I vividly remember the fear of landing on a 9-push spot. Tears would flow and my brief life flashed before my eyes. Seeing that poorly constructed dad figure rise up in a rage brought even the strongest of 4 year olds to tears. Let us move on.

The award for the game that every dude wanted, but had no fucking idea how to play or what was happening in the commercial goes to….”Crossfire.” Bring in an electric guitar, a rocking vocal performance, some lightning/fire, and kids in leather jackets, you have yourself advertising gold. Parents were markedly scared to get children this game because literally no one knew what was happening.

The award for “God dammit, this looks nothing like the box”, goes to “Mouse Trap.” I have no evaluation for this game because I was too fucking cool to set that shit up.

Our next award is “the game that wasn’t that fun in 1993, but became exponentially more fun during a 2008 frat party” goes to “Twister.” Whoever made this shit, Parker Brothers or Milton Bradley, need to receive some sort of recognition for creating some of the best (and worst) nights of my life.

And lastly, the award for the game that taught us how to judge people—“Guess Who.” This game taught me about nerds and fat people before I got to kindergarten. It allowed for a smooth transition into the social hierarchy of the school world. There were so many other nominations and awards, but for those of you that have read this far, this is one of the dumbest things I have ever thought of in my life.

Might as well cut my losses and get the hell out of here. Later

Friday, June 26, 2009

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I hate to be another media outlet that is pumping this story, but I need to.

This man composed and performed my favorite song of all time—“Beat it.” He was also my first favorite musical artist. I would dance around in my fuckin’ diapers to that stuff. Sad day. Please understand what he did to (and for) music and recognize that pretty much every artist in every genre has received some form of inspiration from this man. There is plenty more to say, but I will leave it at that.

Michael Jackson (1958-2009), the King of Pop, the musical icon of our generation, please rest in peace. You were one of a kind.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

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Oh..this guy? He's just the Mayan calendar. The symbol of "we are fucked."

So I am just sitting here, not working. I decide to check out CNN to see how fucked we have been, how fucked we are now, and how fucked we are going to be. Low and behold, we are more fucked than I could have ever imagined. A ridiculous amount of crazy shit has been going down today. Feel free to check it out yourself, but the horror is too great for me to post links to the individual stories.

Ok fine, I’ll post them:

First off, lightning is pissed off and no one understands why. Lightning has no reason to be freaking out killing people jogging or just hanging out outside—that asshole under the tree probably deserved it since that is like the one rule they teach you about lightning when you’re little. Those gumshoes over there on stormwatch revealed that rubber won’t save your ass. So be on the lookout

Those clouds are plotting. Oh guess what? Can’t go swimming and dig up mud(?) anymore because there is fucking flesh-eating bacteria living in that shit. I think it’s universally agreed that flesh-eating bacteria is the scariest thing in the game right now. But WHY was this kid swimming to dig for mud? I don’t give a shit about what the news people said, mud is mildly fun at best, when you are four. Glad he’ll be alright though, that crazy bastard.

This one is less morbid, but fucked up nonetheless. The iPhone is allowing apps to feature softcore porn. What?! A) Where was this when I was a kid? B) This is going to be a problem. Kids are literally going to be fighting to get into a stall to wack off to their iPhone porn. Bathroom passes will be of their highest demand in years and overall school production (and intelligence) will reach new lows. Our future will know their porn stars like the back of their hands, but won’t be able to add or subtract…

Moral of the story--we are fucked. Careful out there folks we are pissing someone or something off.

P.S.-Just read the headline of an article that read “Sitter possibly high when girl, 2, vanished.” Wow.

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It’s been awhile since I have last posted. I had to settle some scores, pay some bills, and quell a few feuds. That's neither here nor there, but you all had to know. Now it is time to give you all a small glimpse into my past. From day one I have been scared shitless of public restrooms. Maybe it started when I was a strapping young lad and my mother used to take me into the woman’s bathroom whenever I had to go. Maybe it was the fact that I was pretty much scared of any woman who was not my mom during the Cootie Pandemic of ’93, who’s to say really?

Years passed, rules were established, and etiquette was set. You need a one (ideally two) stall separator between you and the next urinating gentleman (I don’t know, nor do I ever want to know what goes down in the girl’s bathroom, but I am sure it’s fucking anarchy in there, nothing like the well established democracy of the “Men’s Room”). The one thing I have been a little cloudy on is shitting protocol. Stage fright is an understatement when there is a stranger or girl within 25 feet of me shitting. It is my special spot. A spot to bring my laptop, play Ipod games/listen to music, and read “The Worst Case Scenario Handbook.” 95% of the time, no shitting is taking place. Just a solid spot to recap your day and since I have started working, it also acts as a napping location.

Here is where the problem lies and my newest reason why I hate public restrooms…what does one do when there is another man, a stranger shitting right next to them? I clam up (gross expression..sorry) and basically wait until they are finished. If you check my career stats on, you can see that I have zero career party/bar shits. It is just not a logical move, especially for your social status. Too many bad things can happen and you only set yourself up for failure. Let a few farts slide in the middle of a dude set and get out of there..always works. Also, there is really no timetable on how long a man shits. Obviously, no one can pee that long, but shitting can easily turn into an event. I also feel like every time this happens, it is some gross old man that grunts and makes everything all the more uncomfortable. I can’t be my normal productive self when these things are happening, which is why I am not to fond of the expression, “shit or get off the pot”, I also don’t like how they are equating a pot and a toilet. Maybe I can learn to be more tolerant of fellow shitters, but until then I am not fond of people violently shitting their britches right next to me. Blumpkins are a completely different story….ok I’m done, you can go throw up now.

Friday, June 19, 2009

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I've been incarcerated for robbery in the first degree," an inmate named Michael says. "I really had no regards for other people. It was always me, me, me, me."

“Now, a groundbreaking program called Puppies Behind Bars is transforming these offenders. Inmates are given 8-week-old puppies and taught to train them to become service dogs for the disabled, including wounded soldiers.”--CNN

I am no animal expert or authority, but I am just going to come out and say--PETA get off your asses, stop worrying about Obama killing a fly and save those fucking puppies. I have watched the show Oz, so I have basically been to prison. It is no place for an 8 week old puppy. That’s like leaving a convicted felon with a 3 year old toddler (it really is, I checked a dog-age calculator). Imagine the intricacies to the drug trade after you throw puppies into the mix. It just does not sound like a good idea. Oprah swung for the fences on this one, but they do say “you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take”, so I have to give her the credit for having some nuts.

Just think of the market for the dogs that survive this hair-brained scheme as watchdogs or guard dogs. Those shits are time-tested and grizzled. But noooo, we take the most illogical approach and give the dogs to our troops that are already dealing with enough shit than to worry about fending off Cujo. Again, I am not saying I am expert or an authority, I’m just saying we kind of jumped into this one head-on without a helmet.
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Friday…our country’s national freestyle day (if you watch 106 and park) and the day we constantly urge everyone to thank god for. Friday brought us Urkel, Topanga, Dark Angel (ahem..), and late night video game sessions with 24 packs of the “Dew.” It will forever be the most liberating day of the week.

10 years later, Friday is still pretty sweet. I sprint out of this bitch at 4:58, bully my way past the CEOs and office hoes, and hop that T on the way back to the crib. Oh the joyous sound of hearing the T driver say, “this T will now be running express to Harvard Avenue” and watching 10% of the riders cheer and the other 90% contemplate suicide.

These days you have to reach for those small victories like, “Hey there’s an Amp truck right next to my work. Holy shit! They’re giving out free Amp! It’s going to be a great day.” And surprisingly, today has not been that bad. I’ve done my standard level of nothing without getting noticed and steadily cleaning my tracks.

It started making me feel guilty as I have officially spent 20 days of being a profit reducer, but as I walked to the bathroom earlier today (to take a nap), I checked out everyone’s computer screens. Not one person was doing work. Really?! Thought I was a god damn pioneer. What I did see were some of the ballinest java-based computer games on the block. Na├»ve people are always wondering why we are in recession. I figured it out. Hopefully Obama will follow this blog and do something about this.

So if you’re comfortable with the economy right now, it’s your lucky day. I JUST caught on to this Sporcle” craze and I am going to hazard a guess that the CEO of GM has all the high scores. BAA ZINNNGG!!

Alright for real guys, it’s been real. I’m going to play the role of provider to my roommates and come home from a hard weeks work with two 30s of the finest Natural Light Lager.

P.S.—Get your daddy something before Sunday.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

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I read the ESPN headline, “Stallworth gets 30 days in jail in DUI fatality.” That explains the title. It’s time to get real here at WMD(I’m in for that name), this shit is mind-boggling. You kill a man and take him away from his family forever because of your stupid decisions and only get 30 days in jail for it. Give 30 days to the kid you over-sentenced for smoking weed, give 30 days to the guy you over-sentenced that stole some food from the grocery store to feed his family, but don’t give 30 days to a drunk-driving murderer.

I admit I am not very knowledgeable about the law; I will be the first one to say it, but somebody has to tell me how this works. I just don't get it. They say this guy is going to be back on the football field this year too. What kind of message are we trying to give the kids America?

*Drive drunk and kill someone=30 days

*Drive drunk and high then kill someone=60 days

*ONLY if you are in the National Football League.

Grow up people.

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Apparently, Chad Ochocinco (I still find that name ridiculous) plans on living with Carson Palmer and his family during the month of July to “catch up” on things. That interaction will be less than or equivalent to the chemistry exhibited by Martin Lawrence and Luke Wilson in Blue Streak. I am just going to assume they are going to have 24 hour cameras in that house.

Carson: Hey Chad, do you mind watching the kids for the night?

Chad: Sure Carson. No problem

(2 Hours Later)

Carson: Why are the kids covered head to toe in watches?!?

Chad: Ohhhhh, you meant that watch.

(Audience Laughs)

That combined with these Kobe/Lebron puppet commercials (Nike’s biggest backfire in recent memory) has got the ol’ noodle working on a crazy television show premise that could undeniably crush records. Combining aspects of the shittily great show “I’m a Celebrity, Get Me out of Here” and pro-sports—yes I know John Salley is on that show, shut up—I feel that there’s some money to be made. Just picture Kobe and Lebron, forced to live with one another for one weekend, no wife, no kids, no strippers, one box of cereal, Lebron’s MVP trophy and Kobe’s NBA championship. The person who does not fight or leave the house wins money for their favorite charity. TV gold right?? Just imagine Terrell Owens/Tony Romo, Manny Ramirez/Any Sox player, Tiger/Mickelson, the list goes on.

Put any two sports rivals in a house with one bowl of cereal, people are going to freak the hell out. You could even have some crazy reward challenges, like making the two athletes compete in sports that they don’t participate in. Lebron vs. Kobe…one on one…curling. Winner gets the remote for the night.

And this my friends, is what I think about at work.

Monday, June 15, 2009

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You know those weeks when you feel like you put in a very solid 24 work hours? If so, you also know the Wednesday crunch. You might be asking yourself, what is the Wednesday Crunch? Well, it is a term I ingeniously created 22 seconds ago that means the shitty feeling you have after the tough midweek grind at the office.

I encountered one of those bastard Wednesdays last week and it went pretty normal for my standards. I felt the typical shitty feeling that comes with the end of every work day. As I was going home, it really hit me…I have two more days of this shit. Naturally, I start freaking out, but luckily when I got home my roommates were already drinking and prepping for a night at the bar. Three guys going to meet up with three girls. Shapes to be a pretty good night. Quite a few beers and some long island iced teas later, shit is seriously hitting the fan. Code Blue level stuff. I am the drunkest player in the game right now. Yet another occasion where I am too drunk to capitalize on a good situation, but that's neither here nor there.

Needless to say, me and this girl that I have been dancing with are no longer exchanging the vibes we were sharing in the beginning of the night. We bring them back to our place and within ten minutes, I spout some nonsense before passing out downstairs with my clothes on. This leads me to the title of this post.

Alarm rings at 7:00am. Throw up at 7:02am.

Shower at 7:04. Throw up at 7:06.

A rough start to a day to say the least. When I get on the "T" I am visibly drunk and scaring people. Second stop down, I am ready to blow again, there's vomit in my mouth. I get off, vomit in an alley and officially take the first sick day (2 1/2 weeks in) of my working career. I call my mom and tell her I ate a bad Egg McMuffin--by the way I hope she never reads this. You live and learn.

Judge me however you want to, but know this. If you are drinking on a night before you have work and you aren't throwing up on the T or in your car, you are simply not trying. Don't act like you are holier than thou alright. Don't stare and point at that next guy who vomits on a 7:35am "T." Congratulate him for kicking the shit out of the "Wednesday Crunch."

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For those of you that do not know me or know the purpose of this blog, it is a forum for me to bitch and moan about anything and everything that I find bitchable in this world.

I am your standard college aged guy that enjoys college-esque activities that include, but are not limited to: bro-ing out, eating poor quality foods, drinking, playing videogames and scheming about women all god damned day.

Here’s the problem. I graduated college and everything got real. I got a job, instantly had to pay rent, and the bro-ing out/drunk hijinks have slowed down to a point where I am concerned about my well being.

So readers, I am welcoming you all to my own personal hell. The working world, where no one in my position should ever be allowed to go.