Monday, January 31, 2011

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If you don't know what "Angry Birds" is, you either don't commute to work, don't own a phone that supports it, or are "too cool."

Basically it's some cockamamie, addicting game that features: a slingshot, some pissed off birds, various obstacles, and pigs. I know it sounds ridiculous, but the game is crack. I've been playing it religiously on my way home from work these past couple of weeks and some issues have started to arise.

First of all, it's a game featuring cartoon birds being shot at cartoon pigs via slingshot. I'm 23. Secondly, the T is packed on the evening commute. There are people in your face, behind your shoulder, and your knee is probably up someone's butt regardless of where you are. Needless to say, people get a front row seat to my AB endeavor that particular day. Let me tell you, I've been in some pressure sports situations as a high school athlete. Last second free throws, state track meets, and all sorts of that jazz. The experience of playing this game in front of an audience trumped it all. I was perspiring, nauseous, and questioning my own abilities. Pretty much the Donovan McNabb of Angry Birds out there. There was this old Asian woman on my left and this middle aged white guy on my right and these mofos were INVOLVED. Reacting to my mistakes, holding in cheers when I succeeded--it was a real peanut gallery. The highs are high and the lows are fucking low with the gallery though. I was stuck on one level for the entire duration of this guy's ride today and he was legitimately unhappy with my performance. Like I contributed to his night being worse because I couldn't make consistent connection between cartoon animals. That's where we are as a society.

What would I rather do? Have the basketball in my hands with 10 seconds left in a tie game or having to beat a particularly hard level of AB while millions of people watched?

You best believe I will pick taking some unwarranted contested layup, ultimately disappointing the entire arena over accidentally shooting one of those fucking birds backward.
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What is the Internet anyway!? You said it right Bryant Gumbel. Bring it back to January of 1994 and this is what's being discussed on prime time morning television. Presently the question would be what isn't the Internet? Gotta love Gumbel's rant...All baffled and stating the listed address in a mocking mannner like he didn't want this new development to succeed. Can't believe the Internet actually took off.

Friday, January 28, 2011

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If you read the title of this post, you better have watched the video because that's literally what happened. I'm still shaken after watching this--mainly because a fucking BILLY-GOAT and MONKEY straight up dominated a tight rope-vase combination like never before.

I'm going with 65% chance it's fake because of the way that goat attacked that ladder. Granted, I understand the concept of conditioning and Pavlov's Dog, but come on. That goat crushed that not-so-sturdy ladder a little too impressively. Also, I'm sorry that I gave away what happened in the title because frankly, I had no idea what that monkey was capable of at the start of the video. In fact it took me like 30 seconds to know there was a monkey in the video.

I know you have questions, because I certainly do. How many combinations of four-legged and two-legged animals did the (presumably) Chinese circus have to go through before this stuck? In fact, I don't want to. I'm just going to go by the whatever floats your boat policy and continue on my way.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

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What. The. Fuck. Is. THAT?!

I 100% don''t know how I feel about this thing. It's part cute, part really disturbing, and apparently it's biting the shit out of people causing a "really rare disease." Whatever bro, I get it, you have a polarizing cuteness about you. Some people just want to hug your brains out and some people want to end your existence. It's a tough life, but biting people and giving them blastomycosis is not the move. I have no idea what that disease is, but I'm pretty sure it's got to be in the top 5 most awful things to happen to you. The fact that "blast" is in the name can't be good, plus it's super ironic that such a name is produced by this creature. Tons of sketchiness surrounds this animal and I kind of like it.

Can't imagine the pet store up the street has a Kinkajou available huh?

PS. Does the name Kinkajou sound offensive or is it just me?

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Apparently the "hot" new Barbie accessory is some Lady Gaga meat costume. Like, if that doesn't entrench your daughter in the slut category I don't know what will. After all these years of Barbie establishing herself as a reasonable female, with costumes such as President Barbie, Doctor Barbie, Public Accountant Barbie, and of course, Black Barbie--she decides to pull a stunt like this.

How concerned are you if this little number is at the top of your girl's Christmas list? I'm pretty sure you just drive your car into a tree at this point because meat-suit Barbie is the one-stop predictor for a stripper-meth-addicted daughter. Disregard the idea that, "she's only 5, she'll grow out of it." Nah playa. Chick's going to grow into a certified scallywag, running tricks under the football bleachers. At this point as a father, you have to kill a) the poor boy that got swindled by your daughter's advances, b) your daughter because it's a wrap for her, c) yourself, because you're going to jail anyway for killing two teenagers.

Just drive into the tree man.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

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So me and the boys are about to embark on our first old man basketball league experience. We had a little test run yesterday and let me tell's just not the same. Here's a handful of reasons why I've become the typical old man player vs the standard high school/collegiate athlete.

1) We haven't even played a game yet...the league was supposed to start before January but my card was immediately charged $764 when I signed up back in November. That's right, I'm at some genius 25-year old slackers mercy who can just take my money and attempt to set us up with some gym time. No more free shit. Everybody's got jobs now and they know it.

2) Advanced muscle spasms. Is that a well known term for old dudes? In any physical activity I've been involved in since working a regular office job there's been a ridiculous amount of muscles spasms in places I didn't even know existed. I thought I was going to crumble right in the middle of the court in game 1...But I'm not alone here. Collided into Dub Jeezy yesterday and the man could barely build up the strength to walk out of the house this morning.

3) No wind. You know you're out of shape when you attempt to make a hard move to the basket and proceed to take the next three plays off. Classic old man ball move. Get a rebound, pass it out, crouch down and catch your breath. Chest pains on the basketball court is now ordinary and something we office people have to accept.

4) Tempers flare. The positive energy turns into countless emotional breakdowns. The older one becomes, the more passionate he is about a meaningless game. The physical play will be much slower, but I hope to not get cussed out by a 43-year old accountant because I stepped out of bounds and they didn't call it. We'll see how it all plays out.
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I'm not going to front, I just liked something on my wall two seconds ago, but that still doesn't stop the fact that changes need to be in order. Obviously it's not that bad if I'm doing it, but still.

When the whole idea of "liking" something came around on FB, I wasn't being a hater. In fact, I kind of dug it. You can appreciate something a person did without letting them know via wall post, and the ever so creepy personal message. It's basically the opposite of what you guys do when I put up a link to a post on my wall. The line is starting to become evident though. Multiple times, I'll see someone say something along the lines of, "OMG, I hate the SNOW", and it'll receive like 37 likes. What? What the fuck was so likeable about the idea of hating snow. I'm pretty sure everyone 22+ hates the snow. It's not the "yo, I truly sympathize with that" button, it's the like button.

Before this post, I did some extensive (a solid 4 minutes) research on my own "liking" habits, and the results were startling...

No, they really weren't but it's one of those attention grabbing statements, so lets roll with it. I pretty much only "like" things that compliment me or things that are making fun of someone else. That's it. You won't see me liking much else other than that. Not saying I have it right, but there should be some fucking guidelines. Sure you can "like" something from afar and have an inward laugh, like when Suzy Sexybody is suddenly single, but don't click the button on that shit. It's in bad taste and downright offensive. Suzy won't be calling you up later that night because you were pumped her relationship ended--or will she? Does that shit actually work? If so, fuck. Anyways, I'm just saying, "like" freely, but with a limit. Create a line for yourself.

If you're teetering that line, you should probably move the mouse from that ol' "Like" button.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

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Move over Colonel Sanders...Flavor Flav has officially entered the restaurant business with Flav's Fried Chicken. The hype man/reality TV star went back to his hometown to open up the first of many (if all goes well) FFC's. He actually recieved his culinary degree in 1978 and also worked as a head cook in select places before finding his true calling (tack on the informationals). The chefs secret...

"When you take the breading off the chicken all's you gonna taste is some boiled chicken," he said. "But the secret with FFC is I season my meat first. Then I let the meat season the flour...If you take the breading off my chicken, you'll still taste all of my seasonings."

Sign me up...I gotta experience a Flavor Flav Double-Down at some point. The restaurant is ironically located near a KFC...We'll have to see how they match-up. If Flav hired some of his lost loves as waitresses then he could be starting up a gold mine...On second thought... I take that back.
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Enough said.....  Sorry, Dub J.


Monday, January 24, 2011

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There's no real explanation for this video aside from the title. Some nerdy dudes really crushed a basement sesh. Got a 36 pack of Mountain Dew, some Sour Patch Kids, and the rest is history.

My personal favorite segments of this video are: every Arnold part, Sly Stallone's little tidbit, the "younglings", and anytime "The Happening" was shown.

It's quality. Definitely worth the 10 minutes. I don't say that much because frankly, 90% of the videos I post, I don't even watch. I just take a guess what's going to happen and comment on that. So basically it's bullshit on top of bullshit. Secrets out?

Friday, January 21, 2011

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Fox News covered a story in Spokane Washington about this middle finger giving crosswalk sign a few weeks ago. The best thing about this story is, though, that this isn't the result of some comical and slightly evil-minded crosswalk sign mechanic genius plotting away how to get all the crosswalks to flip everyone off... it's just a complete accident.

The word is that snow clogged up the crosswalk machine (or something) and the city let it go all day because they were more considered with clearing the roads, etc. I'm hoping maybe someone in charge just found it too funny to get rid of immediately.

Maybe, though, this is the crosswalk sign giving everyone who disobeys it a message Cee Lo Green style. Got it. F you. And forget you too. Now the really impressive thing would be if it could get the song to play along with the flip-off?

Thursday, January 20, 2011

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I guess the Mafia is still alive and least until now...U.S. authorities reportedly arrested 119 organized crime suspects in what the FBI called the "largest single-day operation against the Mafia in history." 127 suspects with murder - drug trafficking - extortion - gambling - loan-sharking - the works.

God damnit. Who knew the Mob was still kicking around with a strong presence. I always wondered if miscellaneous people in my life had certain ties to the unknown. Primarily the people that just get shit done. You know...former coaches, bosses, family friends. Always living on edge for no apparent reason. Thought I was being crazy but now I'm simply spitting the truth. Am I still crazy?

But how do I get in with these people without really getting in on the dirty work is the real question. I know, that was the lowest statement I've ever typed up with my own two hands...But I'm about to hit you with another one.

How difficult would it be to marry into the Mob? Any way to collect some dough and live the good life right? But that might just be a risk that's not worth taking. Dudes have to be scared shitless the first time they meet some of these fathers...or discover the automatic gun collection in the back shed. Keep your eyes peeled.
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After a long day, I should never be confronted with this on the T ride home. Because, from this visual, I have to deduce that this boyman (not a man but too creepy and old to be a boy) was not wearing any underwear, because there is no way they are riding that low.

Buy a pair of boxers and spare me the emotional trauma I'm still recovering from. Consider it your public duty. Thank you.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

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Any one guy on this Earth (barring language barriers) can go up to another guy they've never met and utter the word "women." If the right amount of defeat and despair is in his voice, the other guy will get it. "It" being the overall acceptance that the lady folk are outside their minds.

Yup, this one goes out to you female readers. All you mothers, daughters, and even our own G have just a little bit of crazy in them. Hopefully none of you have the crazy this^ particular chick has, but each of you have it. Granted guys have a little bit of the nutso bug in them too, but we are more straight-forward in our approach. Hence the idea of serial killers. If this chick was a guy, she'd have about 11 kills at this point. But nope, she's a girl. Just freakin' this dude out, making his 9-5 that much more worse. Kind of reminds me of the real life chick from "Wedding Crashers" literally saying "I'll FIND you!!" to this dude in his cubicle. Gives me the god damn creeps.

Just kidding ladies, you're not crazy. You just express yourselves in different ways.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

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Still getting over that heartbreaking loss to Dub Jeezy's New York Jets...yikes...But one thing that lifted my spirits a bit was to see a Cleveland Cavaliers fan get run out of the gym at a Utah Jazz game. Yes, the greater Cleveland area has suffered immensely due to the absence of LeBron James...but this dude can't even hold his own out west where nobody really cares.

It's one thing to have a mascot approach you and really get under your's another to have him deck you when you go at him. Come on dude, you gotta know what your up against before you barrel across to center court for the kill. If the Jazz mascot can better you in a fight then it might just be a good idea to stay off the streets for a while.
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Remember way back when you would have a Scantron test the next day and right before you left class the teacher's voice got all Darth Vader'y before they said, "And don't forget to bring your #2 pencil"? Shit gave me the heeby jeebies. Soon enough, I realized that even if I wanted to be a creative badass, how would I even go about acquiring a pencil other than the #2? Like, when you go to teacher school and they prepare you for emergencies within the classroom, does 'a student completing an exam with a non-#2 pencil' rank right up there with: 'the school is on fire', 'a child is missing', and 'where's the pet snake'? I'd say it does.

Let's talk about the kid who did somehow manage to swindle his way to an odd numbered pencil. I'm pretty sure he automatically becomes the scariest kid in school. There is not a chance in hell that I'm messing with the kid that stared his teacher and Scantron down and took the test. You can't dodge having an odd numbered pencil like you can dodge something like cheating. You're going down with the ship and you knew the outcome before it even happens. That's what I call, pure lunacy.

How about our forensics teams and CSI start profiling kids that have "cheated" on tests with other than #2 pencils. Guarantee that's where the bulk of our serial killers are.
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I mean, I'm pretty sure my roughly 900 degrees hot Chi straightener can burn more than my eyes. Can I get an ear pictured here? And a forehead? A nose even? You never know what could happen when someone is going for their bangs. I basically need a Mr. (correction: Mrs.) Potato Head cartoon on this warning label for it to be remotely effective.

Not to mention the straightener plates aren't super skinny or pointy or anything, they're kind of bulky. So I can't really figure out how I would ever get it in my eye in the first place.

I kind of want to clamp it down on my ear just to sue them.

"But... I thought.... it could only burn.... my eyes!" Tears, disfigurement, lawsuit, cash, rescue by plastic surgery man McSteamy from Grey's Anatomy, hospital sex, happy ending.

Monday, January 17, 2011

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I treat these gloves like Dub J of yesteryear treated going out drinking on a Sunday night. Overall a bad idea, but if you kind of pressed me about it for more than 30 seconds I'd probably be down.

Needless to say, I'd be the WACKEST super-hero to ever get involved in the protecting game. Just aimlessly shooting fire balls at innocent bystanders, accidentally setting my non-flame-retardant clothing on fire, and overall doing more harm than good.

Odds this guy is already dead?
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Once I accepted the fact that this is the start of the apocalypse, this became one of the funniest things I've ever seen.

What's really good with the 100 tons of fish washing along the Brazilian coast though? No matter how you cut it, that is a stupid amount of anything. If 100 tons of lollipops washed ashore, you're damn right I'm going to be concerned. Full of cavities and decay, but concerned. Aside from the zillions of fish fucking up Brazil's landscape, let's discuss the 50 jackdaws dead in Sweden. Did that deserve to make this graphic? That's like having 10 bucks in your pocket and accidentally dropping a dime. Jackdaws, whatever you are, you don't matter.

I'm pretty sure the idea of Seafood restaurants and fishing boats probably contribute to this, but who I am to really talk.

Friday, January 14, 2011

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I think the reason Dub J really got me on board is so I could talk about the hard issues of life from a female perspective, like the fact that you can now buy a wine rack bra for $29.99 on

This is either the greatest (we can use our boobs to not pay for drinks in a different way) or the worst (product warns: "The more you drink, the smaller your boobs will appear.") thing I have ever heard in my life.

I mean, if you're a concert girl from earlier years you've already been hiding a camera in your bra for ages, so this just seems like a much more productive use of bra space. Oh, and you can fit a full bottle of wine in these things (or any other alcohol). So ladies, all we have to do to avoid lines and paying for drinks at the club is to look like we got an OUTRAGEOUS boob job and sip our drinks out of a long hospital-looking plastic tube. Does JWoww have one of these yet?

End review: Best idea ever. Worst execution of idea ever. Plus, I'm totally not wearing a sports bra to a club.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

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No matter the situation...I hope to God I never have a reaction anything close to this. I don't care if your slapped, punched, tasered or hit by a car. Nobody wants to hear a fellow gentleman scream like that. Audio alone you'd think its a four year old on the Tower of Terror. Certainly not a 230 pound officer giving a taser demonstration. Better luck next time.
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I know like every 4 or 5 posts I have a reference to 2012 or something related to it, but right now I'm just asking a question: What is a black hole?

My only encounter with these realms of mystery occurred during a particularly bizarre episode of "Ren & Stimpy." I can credit that show with nothing. Shit was gross, profane, and damn near offensive. But I'll give it credit. It was the only show bold enough to even show what might possibly happen within a black hole. Granted it took the typical "parallel universe" approach, but I appreciate the effort.

But in the event we do get sucked into this thing I want to know what to expect in there. Like, are we immediately dying in there? Is it hot, cold? My ideal black hole scenario would be the "do-over." Another go-around if you will. Like starting out as a baby again, with complete knowledge of what you should and shouldn't do. When you get to a crossroads with a tough choice, the do-over will lay the path for you. Bingo-bango, I'm not writing Working Man's Diary and I'm writing for a respectable publication.

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Not to rain on this kid's parade, but fuck Alec Greven. Like if I was in 3rd grade with this kid, I would have beaten him up so fast, kids heads would spin. Teacher would probably call a conference with Alec's parents to let them know how thoroughly their son got his ass kicked. How to talk to girls? Please. If you're writing about it, you're probably not living it buddy.

The line between hating girls and liking girls to the point of talking to them is one of the thinnest figurative lines boys ever cross. I'm not putting myself on a high horse here. I was confused as shit. In first grade, I thought it was 100% acceptable to chase a girl I thought was cute and try to hug/kiss her for the entirety of the day. Nowadays you're looking at 5-10 in the clink for that shit. A lesson learned I'd say. Around 3rd and 4th grade is where things truly start to sink in. You begin to look past how tall every girl is and start to make note of what's really important. Boobs. That's it. Boobs run the show from 4th grade-10th grade, before personalities, figure, and niceness come into play. So here's a heads up--if you were oogled for the better part of middle school and early high school, you should probably reference your goods. Alec didn't mention that shit in chapter one did he?

I also bet he forgets to mention that there is no way to talk to girls at that age. We all either looked exactly the same and/or fit into three social categories: bullies, nerds, or the kids just trying to make it. Most of us fit into the "kids just trying to make it" category. The kids that flew below the radar, were generally fun, played some sports, and make up the entire cool crowd we have today. This category didn't stand a fucking chance out there. If you made a joke to a girl, she already heard it from 4 of your friends earlier in the day, because you guys literally have all the same jokes, are of the same athletic ability/intelligence, and aren't beating people up. Chicks weren't trying to deal with you and your lame ass crew at that time. They were trying to get with the badasses, because that's what was cool back then. I didn't make it up Alec, it's science.

It's not until we break out of our protective shells and develop our own personas that the "just trying to make it crowd" really makes waves. We the people you see wearing nice clothes, being above average athletes, being just smart enough, and drinking Bud Lights. The truth of the matter is Alec, if you didn't talk to girls much as a 8 year old, you're probably getting TONS of ass now.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

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A version of me en route from San Diego to Boston in the midst of the snow storms all around. Yes, I was in California and essentially had the time of my life. Great weather, food, drinks, friendly-gorgeous women all around (was nice to have a handful of inviting conversations and not get snarled at the way women do back east). But anyway little did I know I'd pay the consequences on my travels.

First of all before I even get to the airport I'm hit with a new itinerary, informing me that I was now scheduled to take the red eye to Washington DC with a 5 hour wait until my next flight to Boston. That wasn't happening - it was time to puff up the shoulders and complain a bit. After an hour on the phone and another 45 minutes bartering at the terminal desk...I managed to squeeze into one of the last seats on the plane.

Throughout the entire 6 hour flight I was stuck in between the largest woman to not have to pay for two seats and a middle aged middle eastern man who refused to move his right elbow from my $300 space (just didn't mess with anyone in this situation). It also wasn't too difficult to listen in on the family one row back with two babies, yes, babies - crying and demanding the world.

Arrive at our nations capital with 45 minutes to catch my next plane home. Seems like ample time for everyone to get their shit together and walk 20 feet off the plane. Is it just me or do people take the most obnoxious amount of time to get out of their seats and leave. Felt like I could've caught a second nap with the little fat kids in front of me collecting their snacks and games before leaving.

Back at the desk..."Sorry sir but your itinerary has changed and you might not be guaranteed a seat after all." Excuse me...can you run that back...specifically the part where you said might not be guaranteed...4 hours and $30 worth of terminal food later and my prayers were answered...on my way home. Now on to baggage claim...Safe to say your buddy Craw won't be vacationing for a while.
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I think it snowed today, right? Seriously, what the hell happened out there today? I woke up at 2 in the morning last night and heard thunder. Thunder isn't associated with Snowpacalypses so I thought today would be pretty good. I was the most wrong.

I'd like to use the word excessive when I describe this type of precipitation. Not a bone in my body considered packing a snow ball, making one of those fruity snow angels, or building the always fun snow fort. The bears were of the bad news variety. You know things aren't good when you see strangers outside and you both just shake your head at each other. Rule of thumb: whenever that happens, things are probably not good.

Hope you enjoyed your snow days today. It didn't count as one for me because I technically don't have a job, but I was extra lazy today to get the real feeling of it.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

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I don't start my new job until next Tuesday. That means you're not going to see anyone breach into the bum lifestyle and become a bum faster and more effectively than I will for the next 11 days.

The crumb-bum social scene is one of the elite sectors of society. You can't just start to smell funny and not shave for a little bit. It takes a state of mind. More specifically, the not-giving-a-fuck state of mind. Like today for example. I woke up exceptionally early today (9:30am) for someone who didn't have a job, and I was upset at this hint of production. So later in the day when I felt the slightest bit tired, I let all inhibitions go and passed out for an hour and change. That was me accepting the state of mind and going with it. Here's where I broke into the CB social scene. After waking up from that nap, I wrecked with the idea of making a microwave pizza. I figuratively smacked myself in the face and realized "wrecking with ideas" is the opposite of not giving a fuck, and hit "Express Pizza Cook" so fast on that microwave it would make your head spin (because no one can get their pizza too fast). Upon crushing that pizza, I got hit with a brief spell of the "itis" which for anyone who knows me/what that mean, it's probably time to find a bed or pillow stat. Since I was full on a crumb bum at this point, I closed my eyes, got all nestled under the blanket, and took my second nap in 3 hours and before 5pm. A true feat in the art of crumb bummin'.

In all honesty, I'm pretty sure a crumb bum literally means a person who lives amongst his crumbs and is completely fine with it. If that's the case I'm passing this class with flying colors.
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Job Jumper: what haters and critics (all future interviewers) will classify me as if I ditch this new job.

Oh yeah guys, I have a new job. I know it's becoming repetitive and redundant to hear that because it's happened so many times, but I think this one might stick. It has to stick. I'd liken myself to a confused teenage girl that doesn't know what clique she belongs to. Basically the working version of Lindsay Lohan from "Mean Girls." Plus I'm ruthless on the exit no matter where I am. Two Weeks notice? Who created that shit? You're telling me I have to come in, knowing full-on that I'm on borrowed time, and still be productive? That's madness to me. Why don't we call it a 3 day notice so I can take my time collecting my things and getting my last oogles in at the office hotties.

Maybe I'm painting myself as bad person here (or awesome as fuck), but that's how I see it. To be honest, I think I'll be genuinely happy about this one. I've never heard of the previous places that I've worked at and being a cocky dude, that played a role. Name dropping where I worked and seeing a "did he just make that place up" look did not sit well. Maybe I demand perfection for myself. You can literally see that I ooze ambition through the layout we have for the ol' website here. Shit's exemplary. Maybe it's the elephant in the room. The fact that I'll never be happy working the typical 9-5 no matter where I am for the rest of time. Some people aren't wired that way, and maybe I'm one of them. I guess me and rappers aren't too different. The only way this shit is going to end up is with me dead or in jail.

Until then, you'll be hearing the most shit talked about daily nuances each and every day when you click

Kiddinggggg. PS. We have a new website in the works that truly displays my ambition.

Monday, January 10, 2011

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For all you weight obsessed chicks out there, you should probably rock the Christian Bale diet. Dude basically dies every other movie. Movie producers can literally ask this guy to do anything and he'll have it done at the start of shooting. Here are two scenarios and how I think Christian wouldreact to them:

"Hey Christian, we need you to play a guy with one-leg.."--before they finish their sentence, Christian will reveal that he's been slowly cutting his leg since the start of the conversation. Just the type of batshit crazy actor he is.

"Christian, we've been looking for you to voice a character in a new Pixar movie"--He'll just nod his head, collect his check, cash that check, spend all the money earned on outlandish technology to turn him into a cartoon character. After obvious failure and completely broke, he'll reluctantly voice the character.

Moral of the story, this man will probably be dead due to his "dedication." Take it from me Christian. I don't work very hard and things are afloat. You can probably take it down a notch or 5.

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The idea of baller starts and ends with this wildly controversial platinum/diamond baby skull. Sure, it's a baby head, yada, yada, but let me express that this thing is $50 Million. I can learn to accept the Mega Millions loss if I can somehow manage to acquire this object.

As an abstract artist, what is the breaking point between doing melting clocks and composing a baby skeleton composed entirely of platinum and diamonds? Back in the day melting clocks was bad-ass. People were up in arms about that shit and they didn't even know what they were upset about. Now we got infant skulls selling like hotcakes in 2011.

I guess we can add this to the list of things leading us into 2012 along with the bird/fish mass suicides going on throughout the world.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

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That's what I'm talking about. It's about time we spice up the or illegal. Who can forget The Claw from Liar Liar? Sign is just making somebody's day by the minute.

Of course when I say spice up the streets we can keep choice routes standard like Storrow Drive for example. I'd hate to see a car collision due to a child street bump illusion. I don't care what countries are testing that out these days - It will never make for a good situation.
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Really? Fuck. Plans have changed. Now I need to call Craw and tell him to cancel that yacht order before his BoA account gets overdrafted.

Sure I was a little cocky when I assumed I was going to win the jackpot with 1 : 178 million odds, but come on now. Find the middle ground one time jackpot. It's either a poor slack-jawed yokel or someone who's like, "Well I'm rich, but who couldn't use an extra 380 million. LOL." Another year, another realization that I'm probably going to have a job this year.

Had tons of plans for mini-giraffes, Taj Mahal rentals, having Victoria's Secret Models serenading me with "Tik Tok" to replace my alarm clock, and probably getting a solid haircut. All down the drain. Thanks Lotto.
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Introducing the other side project when I'm not spending time at my real job... For those of you don't know that's me on the drums. The multi-talented WMD CEO Dub Jeezy has been known to get up on stage and spit a few rhymes. But seriously check out the website, facebook page, download some songs, do whatever you gotta do - just spread the word.

Someday Working Man's Diary and Stereo Drive-By will form an empire (we all know Rome wasn't built in one day) but until then...back settled at my respective desk tomorrow morning.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

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If it doesn't happen on Facebook or Twitter, does it even happen? If you don't check in on Foursquare, were you ever there? If there is not sloppy and hilarious photo documentation of your New Years, did you really even have a good time?

Definitely not.

I'm no exception to this rule, in fact, I firmly believe that you need to know every detail of my life or it probably never even happened. That makes sense to me.
But seriously, does it make what I do any less interesting, or exciting, or fun if everyone doesn't know? Do you really need to know that I went skiing yesterday, and to which particular North Eastern Pennsylvanian mountain?

Duh... YES.  ("sno mountain with kate! :)"... I won't leave you in suspense.)

At least I have no top secret superhero cave information to give out, so I can validate my existence publicly without fear of retribution from Heath Ledger (RIP).
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I'd arrest this bird in a second if I had some comically small cuffs. Just look at him. Peering. Conspiring. There is something sketchy up his sleeve and I do not like it.

But yeah, Saudi Arabia LITERALLY arrested a bird. Apparently this thing was flying in a "No Fly Zone" which I did not think applied to birds or debris for that matter. Can you arrest a gum wrapper if it flutters into the NFZ? What's gum-wrapper-jail like? Are there multiple dudes sitting there all day waiting for something to cross into the NFZ? Is there a tag-team in some obscure wrestling organization with the name NFZ? Questions I need answering are not getting answered.

I'm going to deem this story irrelevant because frankly, Saudi Arabia is batshit crazy as a country and as an organization.

PS. I can't put my finger on it, but this bird is giving me the creeps. Like it has something in it's pockets or some shit. I hope you rot bird!
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This shit was worse than when the nurse practioner was fondling my nether regions back in high school. Nothing was worse than getting called out of third period to go pay a visit to the woman with the coldest hands in the game. I'd come out of there like I saw a ghost. Just distant and paranoid the rest of the day.

Well, getting drug-tested is remarkably similar to that. Except there is no chick nurse practioner--just some Wario looking dude making questionable and untimely jokes. Dude could not have made it more uncomfortable. I thought it was going to be a quick in and out. Nope. Doppleganger Wario started the event by requesting payment. I had no idea how this shit worked so I reluctantly brought out my debit card accepting whatever dollar amount he was going to tell me. Then in a sinister cackle, he let me know, "Haha, wow, you don't have to pay." Good one bro. You really showed me. I'm simply here to R. Kelly this office and get on my merry way, not fake laugh at some terrible jokes.

Anyway, I just had my pride ripped away by this guy. Went in with no idea of rules or regulations. He patted me down like I was fucking Barry Bonds going into a piss test. Most assuredly crushing my nuts on that awkward front pad. Then Wario decided to stand in front of the bathroom while I did my business. Like I had some diabolical scheme to make my piss drug free. I'm Dub J, a kid of few talents--I can barely find your location, so I'm probably not siphoning fake piss through the plumbing of the toilet.

An absolute process that was. My recommendation to you all if you get a new job is to decline the drug test. When they tell you they can't employ you unless you submit to one, throw up two middle fingers and ride off into the sunset, flipping your leather duster jacket in the process.
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So despite my seeming drop off the planet earth (aka Boston) I am happy to let everyone know that a) I'm still alive and b) I've been in my pajamas for the past 3 weeks. (And Dub J better know that if he dies by pigeon poison Craw and I have totally got this.)

No, I'm not sick. I'm not dying. But I am...... a Grad student and that means I get:
COLLEGE BREAK. (cue thunderous applause and cheers)

The joys, again, of being a non-working woman are seemingly never-ending. But it's also kind of confusing when everyone else is in some "real world" where they get like 2.5 days off for Christmas while I get like 2.5 months. (Ok, so really only 1 month, but still)

I mean, life is going on without me in Boston, while I'm in some weird time warp that happens maybe twice a year where I can do nothing but hang out on my couch while my mom does my laundry and feeds me way too much. During this times I only get out of my pajamas to either: go skiing, go shopping, or go out. This situation was okay in college because everybody did it.

But now, the fact that life going on without me while I enjoy my prolonged adolescence just reminds me of what a fake person I am, and I suddenly desperately crave responsibility and stability. I should be an adult by now, damnit!  ... But then I remember that I want to do my absolute best to never be an adult, so I grab the remote and begin searching for another On Demand movie to order. I wish I could tell you it was "Peter Pan."  See you in a week or two Craw Dub J and all of Boston :)

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

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I'm hoping to god your answers no, because that'd be fucked up. But the judges will definitely accept "almost" as an answer. Whenever I go into Borders on my lunch break it's literally a dice roll of whether or not I'm going to get hit in the face with a bird. A real pickle if you will. I can go around the long way, but nah, I'm really going to test some faith. Plus it'd be letting the birds win if you go around. You can literally see them judging and talking shit in their dirty pigeon language. Humiliating.

Let me paint you a picture. There's like this circle with a walkway through the middle. The walkway leads directly to Borders, so I'm not trying to walk around. The issue is though, if you walk down that path the birds will try to decapitate you before you make it. Shit's like an American Gladiator event. People watching are like the audience and that weird homeless dude performing outside the store is definitely the announcer.

I'm just praying that one day I don't get hit. There's no coming back from that. Pigeons are the rats of the sky, and if I ever had one in or around my mouth, let's just say one of WMD's writers will be dead as fuck and Craw will take over the empire. G will sneak into the WMD will somehow barring if she'll ever post again.
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Dick Clark, you've had an unbelievable run but it's about that time to tip your cap and leave the nationally televised countdown to a certain young gun who's been waiting in the wings for quite some time. When you can't keep the vocal chords up with the seconds passing by I think it's safe to move on and call it a day.

This scenario is sort of like telling an old man he's not allowed to drive anymore...or better yet...telling Brett Favre he can't play football. How many people on staff were more freaked out than excited in the closing seconds of 2010? At least he didn't skip numbers 13 and 11 like last year. Maybe it's not my place but somebody had to say it.
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I'm about to run a Dougie smear campaign the likes no one who's smeared have seen before. I was cool with it the first couple of weeks like any Soulja Boy or Jerk dance, but when I saw Drew Stanton making a mockery of the dance, I thought, "Well, it's run it's course. Hopefully it'll gracefully ride off into the sunset." I was wrong. Take a note from every fad we've had in the last 6 years. When that guy that is generally late on all the trends is getting laughs for something, it's probably 2-3 weeks overdue that it needs to die. Take a bow and exit the scene Dougie like "The Superman", "Jerking", "Icing", and "4 Loko" did.

Each of those things made a pretty solid impact. I've indulged in all the above a time or two and enjoyed myself. But like every good thing, it needs moderation. John Wall and Chris Brown are clearly missing the idea of moderation. They're fucking hammered off Dougie'ing. I straight up think John Wall doesn't get it and Chris Brown is clinging to his career similar to how Tony Montana clung to life at the end of Scarface. Pretty much dead, but surprisingly still alive. That's what coke/dougie'ing in clubs will ultimately do for you.

PS>How concerned is David Stern with the emergence of this video?
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^coming to grips with the fact that I'll never be on this chick's level.

The kid Dub Jeez has just jumped head first into the smartphone scene, and let me tell you, it's fucking confusing. For a solid 2 years I thought I had a smartphone because it had a touchscreen and can get the demo for Pandora. Literally no one thought it was a good idea to tell me I was living in a dream world. Kind of like that special kid that sat in the back of the class and ate crayons. No one dared to ask that kid, "what's good with the crayons?"

Well all things considered, I basically have a Crayola 8-pack smeared all over my face because now I'm effing around in some uncharted territory. I felt like Father Time up in the AT&T store. Just confused as all hell taking a look at the new varieties of phones out these days--baffled by trivial things such as "QWERTY" keyboards and "4G." I swear I aged like 45 years throughout my 10 minutes in that stores. My knees started to seize up, vision got blurry, and I just started blurting out old-man borderline offensive nonsense, like "these kids today with their Youtubes and their Hello Kitty, and their Ninja Warrior." The scene wasn't pleasant.

I remember the first time my dad handled a CD player and me with this phone was not far off. It was reminiscent of that Zoolander scene where they tried to hack into the computer by throwing it on the ground. I literally had to Google how to remove the battery from my phone. My computer was fucking embarrassed of me. Google search just let out a thought bubble saying, "Seriously? Just throw me out the window and let's call it a day." Hey, you know what? I don't give a shit. 1992 was a good year. There was kindergarten, juice boxes, acceptable peeing in bed, and most of all..7 pound 4 ounce "Cell" phones that carried 12 buttons and a 2 foot long antenna.

Those were the god damn days...