Wednesday, August 31, 2011

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You'd think I would be sympathetic to all of the poor people of Boston struggling to move today because I've been through it. Nope. I'm openly being a dick to everyone moving strictly because I can.

I remember seeing those people from the other side, and just praying that one day I could be them. Those people that knowingly walk their cute ass dog through the rubble of broken couches, desks, and various storage bins with a patronizing smile on their face. I know that look all too well. The "HAH! You should have renewed your lease" look that I've envied for years just waiting for my shot to run amok in the move-in day shitstorm. On a casual walk to the gym today, I was borderline acosted twice and witnessed two situations where the cops were most definitely going to be called. Pure heaven. I even had a bit of a pep in my step listening to some cryptic shit on my Ipod like "Mad World" by Gary Jules. Embracing my role as the villain I've secretly wanted to be.

And maybe, just maybe, this could be the year that I get a fucking dresser for my room. I'm 23 years old and have been living and dying with a couple blue and purple storage bins that I'm pretty sure are used to move dry ice or something. Dressers are KEY tools to becoming an adult.
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Why so glum Morgan? A dolphin got his tail cut off in a freak accident? Damn, that sucks, but I'm pretty sure life goes on man. Wait, you're going to rebuild him? With a fucking prosthetic tail? First of all, that seems wrong from quite a few levels and secondly I think that'd actually be hilarious. A flimsy ass dolphin struggling to traverse the high seas getting shunned by all his dolphin friends would truly be a sight to see. But honestly Morgan, get it together dude. You're looking like a bitch because of a tail-less dolphin. Say that to yourself out loud and I guarantee you'll feel better.

Sweet play on words Dolphin Tale. It's funny because it's a story about a tail!

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

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"A house is a shelter box that nuclear power plants and sewage systems come in and out of," Reynolds says of the the places most of us call home. "[The earthship] is a machine that does all that; it's an independent cellular vessel."
-some hippie asshole that ran this operation

This dude can shut up because blogging from a "shelter box" sounds infinitely cooler than blogging from home.

So Hurricane Irene ruffled a few people's feathers, I get it. I was affected too. Tripped over a few twigs, misjudged the deepness of some puddles, and my glasses were speckled with mist so things were slightly harder to see. I've been there people, but you don't see me destroying the concept of a "house" and creating some infrastructure I might accidentally create in The Sims.

::Rubs eyes and sees one, possibly two hot blondes on the bottom left of the picture::

Hold the phone. I'm pretty sure these hippies have me fooled here, because there appears to be a "show your mid-drift" party happening in shelter box tonight. Can't judge a book by it's cover no more.

PS. Pretty sure that's a cactus in the top left of the pic. Also pretty sure that no where with a cactus was remotely affected by Irene. Now 100% positive they were partying in there.
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As amazing as this shit is right here, how likely is it for this dude to be pulling the same stunts without the greatest female singer of all time blaring through the speakers? There isn't a person out there who can't get in the zone during the classic sax solo at the bridge. And of course he continues to push the envelope at the best key change to ever hit the radio airwaves.

Shit. Put me to any task with Whitney in the background and I'll be on point. He lost his footing at the end of the song. Whaddya Know? Never underestimate the power of Whitney Houston in her prime.
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Here I am thinking I have to learn how to wield a gun and gain 200 pounds of muscle for the inevitable robot apocalypse, when these two can't even have a reasonable conversation for 2 minutes.

With all due respect to these future killing machines, I'm pretty sure that's how every guy and girl argument goes. The guy gets backpedaled into a confusing conversational corner and all hell breaks lose. Hell I've probably said, "I'm a unicorn" in a few girlfriend arguments myself. Can't be sure of myself because I definitely blackout during those. Guys aren't meant to win these battles, human or robot.

With that said, I'm still doing occasional Wikipedia searches on Body Armor and putting in legitimate, borderline unnecessary work towards finding a real-life all weapons code. Molotov Cocktails all day.

shoutout to SR.

Monday, August 29, 2011

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These questions are getting more and more serious. Just forcing me to completely expose my flaws for entertainment purposes. Whatevs, I'm an honest dude, so I'll enlighten.

The common theme to all of my answers revolve around personal success, whether it be money, women, or being the fucking man. Saying I write a decent blog probably can't get me close to any of those things. That's not saying that I will never reveal it, because I have. Granted, it's strictly for the rare possibility that they heard of the blog and I become a mini-celebrity in their eyes, but nonetheless I tell them. In the event that a girl is kind of cool and seems to be on a similar wavelength, I may venture out and mention that "I write" as a hobby. But then I immediately pray that they don't dig further with questions such as: "Like what, books?" or "Pfft, really?" What am I supposed to say to that? "Umm, it's like a diary, but for people that work in an office setting. I can't really explain what it's about. Just this week I posted on a giant mutant rat, D-batteries, a dude on a Segway, and 'The Game of Life' by Milton Bradley, sooo yeah." I honestly may get slapped in the face if I tell a girl that. The surrounding public may be so insulted by that ridiculous answer I may get escorted from whatever establishment I'm at.

Believe me, I want to get to the point where I don't have to tell a girl I write a blog because she already knows who I am. Not that I want "Dub Jeezy" to be a household name or anything because frankly it's a pretty shitty moniker and gives off a "low-grade dirty south rapper" vibe.

So to answer your question friends, I guess I'd have to go with "it depends on the situation." A cop-out I know, but let's be honest, writing blogs are for nerds. I'm just an outlier.
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It's not your eyes deceiving you, that is a dude in a suit "Segwaying"(?) his dog up a crowded downtown street. Never before have I felt such a civic duty to kill another person.

Pardon the grainy "Blair Witch Project" type picture, but it's not exactly easy chasing creepily following a dude on a fucking Segway. Those things top out at 15 MPH which fits awkwardly between a brisk walk and a slow jog. But enough pointless chatter, let's break this asshole down.

There's NO situation where you can look cool on a Segway. You can have Halle Berry chillin' on your shoulders videochatting Eva Longoria, and you still won't have an ounce of cool in your step. That being said, a suit is literally the worst thing you can wear. Pure outrageous arrogance on just about every level. You're saying, "I want to look good when I'm riding my Segway." Kill yourself and let the dog go, because there's no reason he should be subjected to this. For all I know, this is a cool dog, but it's about the company you keep. You end up looking like a dick too pup, sorry.

This really gives me little to no hope for society. Should have cross-bowed this guy when I had the chance.

Friday, August 26, 2011

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In the wake of all this hurricane talk, I thought about what I'd actually need in the event that I actually gave a shit.

With the news feeding us all of this "buy perishable items", batteries and flashlights bullshit I started to get a little concerned . If you offered me $1000 to tell you what the word perishable meant, I assure you I wouldn't have $1000 after my answer. And batteries..what the fuck do you need batteries for?! I'll tell you. The TV remote and that's it. You can't tell me there's a reasonable need for batteries these days. Unless we're talking JVC Boomboxes. Those monsters that Summer Sanders was giving away on "Figure It Out" ate some D-batteries aka. the forgotten battery size.

Obviously everyone has a box of 100 AAs in their house for no reason and "just in case" scenarios. Some lunatics also have AAAs packs lying around, but they're crazy. Pretty sure C-batteries were dangerous and recalled several times. And D batteries were probably the most effective, dangerous weapon to ever be deployed in my childhood. They were perfect throwing weight, hard as a rock, and were filled with acid. You can't name me a more potent weapon if you tried. To top it all off they were used in the best gadgets and toys when you were little and unsupervised. Straight ridiculous to the point that I forgot they ever existed.

Anywho, good luck surviving this weekend. If this was the last post I ever put up, we can all agree it was pretty wack. Grab a beer and fellas, go hunting for a girl named Irene. It'll make a fantastic story.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

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Brooklyn, stand up. Concrete jungle where outrageously large rats are made of, indeed.

I was convinced this picture was photoshopped to a hundred thousand, trillion. There is no way that a rat can be that big. Hell, there's no way that's a rat. That's clearly a medium sized dog or a big ass guinea pig.

How is my man up here grasping this pitchforked rat without vomiting and burning it with fire? Kinda impressive actually. But let's talk about the elephant in the room--the act of the rat getting pitchforked. I don't think I've ever seen a pitchfork in my entire life. Reasonably unsure of how they operate and how one gets their hands on one. I damn sure know that no one from the Marcy projects should be wielding one. That being said, good job by this random dude in having the dexterity to straight up impale this fucker. Not a run of the mill rat right by any means.

Jay-Z can NOT be happy about this type of publicity for Marcy Projects.

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Lee Unkrich, editor of the first Toy Story, co-director of the second and solo director of the third recently took to his twitter account to reveal that "Toy Story" was nothing more than a temporary title. He then proceeded to list a handful of rejects (all suggestions being entirely outrageous). A few choice favorites include:

Made In Taiwan
Toyz In The Hood
Bring Me The Arm of Buzz Lightyear
Wind The Frog
Wings & Pullstrings

My God. I pretty much started sweating in the midst of scrolling down this ridiculous list of tentative titles. Toy Story would cease to exist if it ever tried to make it under the name Wings & Pullstrings. Can anyone tell me exactly how Bring Me The Arm of Buzz Lightyear is probably the second best name of the hundreds? My man Unkrich has completely lost his mind even mentioning some of this shit. I mean there's no way Made In Taiwan and Toyz In The Hood made it past the initial funny guy interns list. I think maybe controversy would be the appropriate word here. Another fine example of less is more. Let Toy Story be Toy Story.
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Hoodwinked. Bamboozled. Deceived. These are words that describe how I feel when I think back to what I expected out of the "Game of Life."

Look at that game board. Lies everywhere. Look top right and check the dude that appears to have just graduated college. No one has ever been that pumped to leave college, not even the losers and fat kids. I was literally in tears when they peeled me off my dorm room floor. Bitchassness on full display. Immediately next to the graduate you see potentially the most unrealistic image of all--the happy married couple. Obviously fictional. And while I liked that they sprinkled a black family in there, not everyone's driving convertibles. People are struggling in Camrys and Sonatas out here driving to their apartments, not their posh 1.4 million dollar home with a sick fucking patio.

Plus that game taught me nothing about insurance policies and rates. I just picked a card and I had 5.6% APR financing and shit was gravy. The game teaches kids that they can skip college, get a job as a waiter, somehow find a reasonably attractive pink gamepiece wife, work as a doctor, and live a pretty lavish lifestyle with no repercussions.

Yeah, didn't see that job-card on being an internet blogger or the one about having to attend bars 2-4 nights a week to find my pink gamepiece.

The Game of Life ruined my actual life.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

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Apparently the move these days is literally just finding a girl you find attractive and "taking" her. Not sure about rules and regulations anymore, but I'm pretty sure that's kidnapping, or pre-rape, or something that requires a judge and jury.

But since I'm running out of tricks these days, I will 100% look into this option on an experimental basis. The idea of a real-conversation has to be thrown out of the window completely to even venture into this world of fuckery. None of that asking about school or jobs bullshit with caveman style, just straight to the point whiskey, eye-contact, clubs to the head, and a yoga mat to safely drag girls out on. That puts witty cats like me at an extreme disadvantage. I'm just a three jokes and out kind of guy. If plan A, B, or C fail, I'm on-to-the-next-oneing that chick immediately. Can't waste time out there when you're punched into Friday or Saturday night. Caveman strategy really cuts your time by like a million %. Just look at a girl, potentially growl at her, grab the wrist, and see if you're not in the back of a police cruiser. Shit takes like 30 seconds. Granted it's absurdly creepy, but that's the reason why we're here.

It's not THAT bad when you think the reason you're here is because your caveman ancestor most certainly blasted your cavewoman ancestor in the head with a wooden club and "took" her.

Actually, that's really bad, nevermind.
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Now I know these things aren't exactly going to look like this, but honestly, why? Come on. It's not even like I'm one of those "where's the funding going" assholes, I'm just a confused and concerned citizen. Like I'm convinced this had to be an accident. There's no way there was a concentrated effort put forth by an entire science lab to fucking come up with an alligator-chicken. I refuse to believe it. They don't make sense on any level and will lead to the inevitable argument that no one thought would ever happen: farm or swamp?

CATASTROPHIC petting zoo experiences.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

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video platformvideo managementvideo solutionsvideo player

Under normal circumstances I would never post a 9 minute video because there has never been a 9 minute video on the internet worth my time, but this may be an exception. The first three minutes of this video may be some of the greatest footage ever captured and restored.

First off, I completely forgot about floppy disks. My brain just decided to sweep that shit under the rug when more important/relevant things had to be learned. Secondly and most importantly, MC Digital Protector up here absolutely kills it. Dude just invades their computer screen and starts imparting his views on these two teenagers clearly trying to get their Oregon Trail swerve on. Straight spiel after spiel until these kids undoubtedly just shut off the computer and start hooking up. His entire game has to be his outfit. If you want to grab my attention during a floppy disk/digital rights related rap, you better be wearing a leather fedora. That shit must weigh six pounds.

I wish this happened when I downloaded Kazaa/Bearshare/Ares/Limewire. Some hipster singing some alternative emo-track about how I'm taking Lars Ulrich's money or some shit. Just the first 3 minutes please.

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Hell, I don't even like myself. People are treating me like I got sprayed by a skunk while simultaneously wearing a KKK hoodie, or whatever those are.

I mean, I want the whole act of opening the carrying case to not take 5 minutes and involve a ton of attention grabbing movements and sounds, but I can't. Everyone in a 15 feet radius knows I'm "better" than them and am capable of reading my book without the constraint of turning real pages. It's a harsh realization knowing that I'm no longer "Dub from the block." Now I'm like one of those asshole rappers that rap about the streets, but is sneakily living comfortably in a gated community in Greenwich, Conn. I'm supposed to be blogging about the streets and how hard it is to sit in front of excel all day in a competitively paying financial landscape, not about how I'm better than turning tree-made pages. I almost looked next to me today and complained about screen smudges to a chick that had clear fruit-punch stains on her 900 page novel.

Life's harder when you're better than people and try to hide that your better, but unknowingly appear to be more of a dick when you're actively trying not to be a dick. What?
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So this is a map of where the east coast earthquake hit as reported by HuffPost Green. It looks like the Boston area felt the 5.8 Virginia quake in pretty dramatic fashion. All I encountered was the tsunami of facebook and twitter quips over the following three hours. I was tempted to get in on the action but everything was already just about covered.

Seriously though am I that much of a zombie on the job where I don't even blink at the notion of an earthquake. Everyone at work was overly concerned as I proceeded to stay in the zone. Can't shake me at the office I guess. Yeah I'll spin this into a compliment. Primetime employee from 9-5 right here.

Monday, August 22, 2011

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You best be out your mind if you think for one second I actually considered not using the SHIT out of this controller Gameboy (good eye commenter). Definitely inputting the most cheat codes I can before getting taken into custody.

Um, something's wrong with the suit. Like, 1/8th of the screen is missing up top.
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Girl: "I'm sooo bored...blahhhh"
Me: "You fall on your keyboard bro?"

This happens every day. Probably like every hour or so some girl that I'm conversing with on G-Chat or via text gets bored and has the need to send over the letter combination of "blah." It can also be seen in other forms such as, "bleh" or the seldom used "bluh." If the female you're talking to uses bluh in conversation, you should most certainly add her to your blocked list. But back to the point. I don't get it at all. Do you say blah to get me to say something? Is that my cue to entertain you or is it that you can't flush out a full thought, but definitely have something to say?

It's like the ultimate trump card girls can pull in conversation to make something happen. The guy is so fucking confused that he almost has to respond because he doesn't know what it means. I remember the guy version of this back in my all-star AOL Instant Messenger days. That shit was: "sooooo." Puts people on the god damn spot and has them sweating at their desk construing some bullshit answer to respond to the super vague word riddle. Granted, it was almost met with a 100% no response rate, but the point was made--I want to keep talking, but I have nothing to say. I'm tapped out, depleted, creatively exhausted, and am extending an olive branch to you so that our chat window will not be closed.

So I think I get it. I've reached that critical point in all of my female relationships where I'm just on the cusp of not being talked to, but still intriguing enough to keep conversations hanging by a thread. Sounds about right.

Friday, August 19, 2011

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^"he radiates a certain charisma..a crustacean charisma"

Are you kidding me? I can't believe a god damn lobster is cooler than me. It's not even close. Do you know how powerful "crustacean charisma" is? I don't either, but it has to be on some superhero shit. Because crustaceans are glorified bugs. I was discussing this with my friends last night. Lobsters are basically giant, armored, bugs. People just turn a blind eye to it, but it's a fact.

When I hear things like crustacean charisma, that basically equates to "cockroach/bumblebee/mosquito swagger" and immediately doesn't sound right. And it's pretty insulting. I'm trying to be a funny blogger that gives people something to read after they read all of their other favorite blogs, ESPN, every friend's facebook status, and 1534 people's twitter updates. I'm already up against a lot, we can't add a giant father-timeish lobster's to the mix or I'm finished.

Sidenote: how much does this dude cost to eat? Like a million dollars? A thousand gold bars?
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Little Dub J was not the ideal kid by any means. Shit, I'd go with a solid C- grade for myself as far as children go. I dug dirt instead of being social, I had a smart mouth, and I routinely left 99% empty bottles of milk sitting in the fridge. Frankly I'm shocked my mother didn't send me back to the stork. One thing I dominated that completely justifies the C- grade was going to the bathroom. It's a concept that seems so simple it's crazy that kids struggle with it.

It's been a weird day at work and I've heard like 14 different accounts of people struggling with the idea of 1-ing and 2-ing in the toilet. Up until like age 6 even! I can't even fathom that nonsense. I knew point blank that having some unsettling mess in my diaper was not a good look for all involved. Plus I have no doubts my dad struggled with the entire changing process. As soon as I can move, not walk, I made my way to the toilet and got my work done. Just crawling/slugging my way towards toilets and plopping myself up like Lt. Dan in Forrest Gump. I've been told no one even had to consider showing me how to "potty" because the day is just a little better when you don't have to go through the morning with poop in your diaper.

If my kid remotely struggles with that process, I'm writing it off immediately and calling it a wash on all of it's goals and aspirations.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

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^It goes without question that this post is wavering towards homoerotic.

My squad's QB took the idea of a V-Neck T-shirt and literally revolutionized it. No clue where it ends. That being said, this picture makes me extremely worried about the Jets season. During Mark's rookie year he was in GQ, but it was all amateurish and shit and didn't really set off an alarm. This year he's clearly gotten too good at that shit. Instead of hucking perfectly placed 60 yd bombs up the sideline, he's putting mad product in his hair and talking to himself in the mirror like Patrick Bateman from American Psycho. The name of the game is wins. You win, you can literally do whatever the fuck you want. Just ask Tom Brady. Dude is cool as a clam. I'm pretty sure he can denounce blacks, gays, hispanic, jewish, white, and middle easterners at the same time and still be praised on PTI. Winning is all that matters.

I don't know since I'm not an expert, but maybe decline the photoshoot until you bring home the title?

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No idea where your 5-Star Trapper Keeper is Diddy, but this lecture looks like it's passing you by. I guess when the NBA goes on a lockout, my man Diddy sees that as an excuse to take a well deserved break himself. I mean, with all the work he's been doing with the Bad Boy label, putting out multiple successful artists, and blowing up the Sean John brand....wait a second. I haven't heard a song off the Bad-Boy label in like 4 years, Yung Joc. And Sean John fell out of the fashion game with throwback jerseys and Hypnotiq. Da fuck have you been doing man?

I'll tell you who has zero interest in getting any learning done in this picture and that's Russell Westbrook. Dude has one of those Minute Maid Apple Juice bottles that have like 3 ounces of juice less than what you actually want. He's gonna be thirsty in 15 minutes and strikes me as a guy that if he leaves class to get a drink, he's probably not coming back. Oh yeah can't forget Kevin "sun's out, gun's out" Love. I used to do that any day it was above 47 degrees in college because I'm a douchebag, so I can't knock it.

Baron Davis looking studious as a motherfucker. What a weird picture.
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As the site's getting bigger and more popular, a lot of good things are starting to happen. Page views have risen, big websites are mentioning us, and people are liking what we're doing. Bad things are starting to happen too. Weird fucking websites are linking to us and it's making me think that people think my website may be something it's not. Let me explain.

Whenever I look at the analytics, I check on what sites link to us and try to build a relationship with them so it keeps happening. The other day I checked and saw that about 50 websites with "xxx" somewhere within them were just really fond of "A Working Man's Diary." Not the type of promotions I want. Is my site featured on the sidebar of sketchy porn sites? Can't have that. Another disturbing trend I've seen is the Russian love we're getting. I thought nothing of it a few months ago because if I can parlay that into a hot Russian girl that'd be awesome, but nope. I investigated and WMD is being coupled with those Faberge Russian eggs with like 25 portly chicks in them. That's potentially a worse look than the porn sites because there is nothing scarier than a well-crafted Faberge egg.

Porn and sketchy Russian egg sites? Is that secretly what WMD does?

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

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Now at the age of 24, I've reached that point in my life where wedding invitations are flooding through the mail on the reg during the summer months. Only one reaction came to mind during this very harsh realization...shiiiiitttt... Naturally as a kid I skated out of a few ceremonies in light of my parents not trusting me to actually be cordial. Don't get me wrong weddings seem like a blast, but there are definitely a number of things I need to get straight before I let loose and potentially ruin somebody's perfect day.

1) Attire: I was asked to be a groomsman for a wedding I'll be attending labor day weekend. My other buddies in the party insisted we rock white pants to the festivities. Last month I went shopping and found just one pair left in the store. Pants were a bit snug, so i figured I could drop a few pounds and be all good by the time of the wedding. Just recently tried the them on...not even close. Got two weeks to shrink a couple sizes or else I'm the only fat kid up there in different pants. White pants or bust...literally.

2) Finding A Date: If you're attending a friends wedding, no need to mark that plus one on the invitation. It's fine going stag and pretending you're cool enough to hit on the bridesmaids. Family events? Better find a friend or scoop up a girl quick so the rest of your family doesn't assume your a complete loser. Then of course when you bring someone your eccentric aunts will assume she's your future wife. Complete lose lose situation here.

3) Wedding Gift: Come on man. You know I got no money. Need to plan a discrete way of placing my non-factor item with the rest if I'm unable to switch up any cards. Nobody would actually switch up cards on presents would they? Has that ever happened? I can't believe that really just crossed my mind but I'll let you know next month.

4) Ceremony Antics: Best not trip walking down the aisle. Sure the bride's nervous about that but it's her day, not yours. Might say the wrong thing to the groom before he breaks out in sweat and storms out of the church. Certainly don't wanna stir the pot during the I Do's.

5a) Overall Appropriate Behavior At Reception: Every hot shot groomsman or bachelor in some way believes he's fucking Vince Vaughn out there. We've all seen Wedding Crashers. Hollywood does it right. We don't. Weddings are fit for all ages right? Of course until the drunk groomsman doesn't go so easy on the h'orderves and later causes a scene in front of the open bar. There's a fine line between having the time of your life and watching the bride's side of the family collectively shake their heads at you.

5b) Rehearsal Dinner: See above. Just don't fuck everything up the night prior. So these are the handful of the things that worry me as the wedding excursions near. Most of this tells you I'm a moron (and also says you probably shouldn't reserve a seat for me at your own wedding) but there's some noteworthy stuff in here. Take it in and best of luck.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

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Of all fantasy products I half-heartedly wanted to exist, a "Booty Sweat" energy drink was definitely in the top 5. But now that I see it's for real, I'm kind of weirded out.

Will people at the bars be ordering Booty Sweat Vodkas? It just doesn't sound right, and would definitely ruin all the game you were spitting on that chick in case she doesn't know what you're talking about. Too many risks, not many rewards. It should have died when the credits of "Tropic Thunder" concluded, but alas, money is money.

If you don't think I'm scouring eBay for a 96 pack of Booty Sweat for night caps after the bar, you are outside yo mind.
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If someone can name me a wacker dude I'd be astonished. I can't believe I'm even doing a post about him, but someone had to say something.

First off, I've held a significant grudge since he ruined "All That." It seemed virtually IMPOSSIBLE to ruin that show for me. I thought Lori Beth Denberg's Vital Information was the floor for that show and I was able to tolerate that, but then this lanky, unfunny bastard came along and pooped in the punch bowl. I can list the myriad of things he's done since then (Wild'N Out fucking sucked) to ruin television and set black people back decades, but this newest endeavor is going to take the cake. His latest asshole endeavor is an attempt to break the Guinness World Record for most hugs in one hour.

Why won't Guinness die? That shit was interesting for like 30 seconds when they showed that unfortunate broad that can pop her eyes out. After that was dull fest. The only thing keeping that business alive are losers (read: Nick Cannon) and Rob Dyrdek. Next thing, why the Mets man? Do you know how ornery those fans are? They haven't had anything good happen to them in infinite years and you're going to hug them? There's literally a 75% chance you're going to get shanked with a jagged spork at hug number 3. Granted I'm crossing my fingers that happens, but you got to be smarter than that.

Wait, you married Mariah after she got kinda gross and lost her mind. Double wait, and you had kids with her? Nevermind. You're a lost cause

Monday, August 15, 2011

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This here is a story of commitment. David Schuler of Jackson, MS, spent his entire weekend en route to his favorite hometown pizza spot in Stoughton, MA. After putting in a solid 1,400 miles on the road, he returned with 150 frozen pies in his possession, racking up a $1,200 bill in the process.

It's easy to question the man's sanity but I actually support this kind of decision 100%. To be honest I find it a bit inspiring. A real Go-Getter, realizing that nothing is worth while unless he's stocked up with his choice za in the freezer. The real question at hand is what the hell are they doing in Mississippi where a dude will travel back east to drop G for a couple good slices.

Didn't exactly keep the blog on point while the boss was out on business. I was on vacation too, at least pretending to be. Wasn't quite Vegas. Just the every weekend sort of excuse to remain a shitshow youthful.
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Who's who and what's what these days? 4s are 10s, 10s are computer generated and Sports Illustrated models are still figments of our imaginations. If this is the sexual-world we live in, I want no parts of it.

Does this video mean we all have to settle? I'm no prized piece, but I have a crippling God-complex that has me worried about my chances of getting myself a dimepiece future wife. Is there no such thing as a hot girl anymore? I feel like there has to be a gimmick no matter what. Wonderbras, booty pads, nerds behind computer screens that dominate Photoshop. And what's the deal with stockings? I really, really like them, but I have no idea why. I guess this video makes me and probably all the dudes out there some asshole media puppet or something.

Don't even know what type of girl I like anymore.


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I'm convinced that a deflated balloon is the saddest visual in the world. So much promise, so much spirit gone to waste. After an absolutely wild weekend in Vegas, I'm laying in my bed typing at a solid 4 WPM trying to figure out what time it actually is and if I can eventually holla at the homie homeostasis.

Synopsis: Didn't hook up with a D-list celebrity, but fell in love roughly 359 times with the bevy of beautiful women around me. Balled the eff out. I seriously lived beyond my means every night and at reasonably little cost--shit just didn't make sense. Bottle service at the most lavish night club, being involved in ridiculously adequate male:female ratios, and being indifferent at the fact that Jermaine O'Neal was trying to hang out at our table. Basically, I pretended I was a low-grade rapper that released a decent-to-solid mixtape and just lived life accordingly--the "I am in no way rich enough or cool enough to be here" swag.

Glad to be back. Also glad to see that Craw posted a ton when I left.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

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This is a legitimate question because I honestly think I can do it. At this point in my blogging "career", WMD has done surprisingly well, hitting a wide range of audiences that even brought about a ridiculous scenario where I wrote about Dubai fucking something up and having a dude FROM Dubai immediately comment, defending his country. Crazy stuff. Based solely off that one scenario, I will go ahead and upgrade myself to G-List Celebrity.

The letter G isn't that far from D in the english alphabet, especially if you're on your homerow-swag like I am right now. Now say I'm at some swank Vegas nightclub, dominating bottle-service and canoodling with Svedka promo girls, and some D-List shitball like Kathy Griffin rolls by and gives me the ol' up-down eye glance. I have to do it right? Despite the fact that with my contacts out and a solid drunk going, Kathy G. is always going to be a 3.8, I have to do it. Vegas is riddled with D-Listers aka, failed reality TV stars and semi-popular gameshow contestants. Next thing you know, they meet up and coming internet-celeb Dub Jeezy and think, "Hey, maybe this will give my career a boost?" You never know.

If this happens, the phrase, "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas" gets thrown out the window and my next 34 blogs would be dedicated to "that time I kicked Kathy Griffin out of my bed in the morning."

Monday, August 8, 2011

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Need that morning jolt? Skip your under-sugared Dunkin' Iced and try your hand at getting Falcon'd. Way too intense, with no concept of appropriate decibel range--that's how I want my mornings.

Can't put my finger on whether this would be awesome or annoying.
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^convinced WMD has used this exact picture like 10 times in various posts.

Dangerously devious question indeed friend. After pondering this one all day, I still haven't come to a definitive answer. On one count, I basically side with whatever option gets me the most women and money, but I guess both of these can provide you that. I'll just do what I always do and dive in head first without a life-jacket or the ability to swim.

Now I know this isn't the case for everyone, but I'm black and have the innate ability to dance. Shit is just easy for us because we can actually hear beats. I'm not elite or anything, but I can do enough to not look like a fool on a Friday/Saturday/Tuesday? night. That being said, singing has always been my Great White Buffalo. The skill I always wanted, but was simply not talented enough to do. So the easy answer would be singing, but I'd be doing you a disservice if I didn't dig a little deeper on a solid "would you rather" question.

I looked at the peaks for both fields. As a singer you can experience mass fame and fortune while not doing much at all. You're basically talking at different pitches in front of people. That's like if I inhaled helium in a Public Speaking class. Not that hard. It's basically a cake walk to happiness and prosperity if you keep your head on straight. Butttt, if you're like me, you don't have your head on straight. That means you're going to be SHITFACED literally every night, maintain no close relationships, and most likely develop a complicated addiction to ecstasy and Purple Drank. It'd be Amy Winehouse-city for your boy after a couple multi-platinum albums.

Dancing on the other hand, is a little more low-key. You're definitely working a lot harder and you're definitely paid a ton less than a singer. The peak is like Cirque de Soleil or some shit. Maybe Justin Timberlake's backup dancer--hell, Jennifer Lopez married one of her backup dancers, so that's not entirely a bad gig if you were matched up with a slut like Rihanna. Life would be a little bit more of a grind, but you'd appreciate things more because nothing would be handed to you. Probably a loving girlfriend/wife, no drugs or questionable purple liquids, and most of all, the sneaky small chance you bag a A-List singer-slut like Rihanna. Blue-collar all the way.

Answer: You can find me and Paul Wall inebriated off of codeine and Sprite at Roscoe's Chicken & Waffles. I'll go with wildly successful singer and just hope Dr. Drew can cure me in season 27 of Celebrity Rehab.

Friday, August 5, 2011

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Damn. I always thought Michael Beasley was a little misunderstood. Playing in bad situations and being a weird dude don't produce results in the NBA. But this was ridiculous. Mush city on somebody easily one foot shorter than you? I mean, I can't knock that strategy, because whenever I get in that first bar fight, I am making sure dude is at most 5'1 or shorter.

I've been there Durant. I'm generally that guy that should be stepping up and stopping something from blowing up, but I never do it. Not my problem.


Thursday, August 4, 2011

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Call me sick but I'm still trying to put the pieces together. We get it Panera. You're excuse is to be healthy. Doesn't mean you can blatantly cut breakfast sandwiches in half and rake in double the profit. I ordered the power sandwich the other day thinking there was a catch, like maybe I'd get a full meal or perhaps a side to go with it but no. I couldn't help but look at the poor guy behind the counter dead in the eye and ask where my other half was.

I mean am I the bad guy here? Not trying to go out of my way for a 360 calorie power bite. Certainly not getting any bang for your buck here. Guess I could trim my diet a bit and settle for some adequate portions once in a while but let's be serious. Micky D's it remains.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

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video platformvideo managementvideo solutionsvideo player

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh Shiiiiiiiittttttttttttttttt!!!!!!!!!

Never before have I seen a banana mascot get swagged on so hard. 99 times out 100 you see the mascot coming out and embarrassing the security guard with some weird mascot exclusive moves. Felt like I was watching "Stomp The Yard" or some shit, save for the dude in the banana suit living paycheck to paycheck. My man threw the mic at the ground towards the banana's feet like it was the end of "8 Mile." That FFF minor league baseball crowd got themselves quite the treat with this unexpected match-up.

This banana's a gangsta? His real name's Clarence.
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Look at this one close, because there's a terrible rape joke in there. It's almost like the "Where's Waldo" of uncomfortable social situations. I can relate to this though because ya boy just doesn't proofread. Wayyy too cool for that shit.

Can't imagine the fallout at Honda Land the next day. Everyone probably came in bright-eyed and bushy tailed, coffee in hand, and then the boss just posted this on the bulletin board.

Mad Civics catching dust.
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I'll go on the record saying I'd literally be the wackest Spiderman to ever do it. They'll revoke my web cartridges and have repo-men coming to take my suit within 2 weeks.

First off, I ain't fuckin' with the whole "swinging from buildings" thing. That's not my bag at all. I'd casually swing from low-hanging telephone poles and building awnings, allowing criminals to defeat me simply by going to the roof of any building in the city. I'll probably be slightly more effective than the local police, but not enough to justify having spider powers. Granted, I'll take complete advantage of it. "Accidentally" webbing hot girls' feet to the ground at bars, so they are forced to hear at least 3 pickup lines before scurrying away, getting hit by expensive vehicles in crosswalks to subsequently sue when my 2 weeks of heroics are up, and become a dominant summer-league basketball players. Jam city on these hoes.

I didn't want to say anything, but my man is sweating. I'd definitely put an index card in the comment box requesting a linen suit.


Tuesday, August 2, 2011

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Talk about an ideal life, huh? Cats everywhere purring and dominating mice, keeping your house vermin-free. I wouldn't have it anyway else. Good vibes all around, I'm assuming for our friend here.

But seriously, this woman is extremely fired right?
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Really, man? Put your god damn finger down you asshole. What do you want people to think of you when they accept your friend request? Guaranteed they hate you based on this picture alone. Funny part is, there's at least 200 exact replicas of this picture strewn throughout your entire album in case this one wasn't enough. Some people have 11 beers and have a good time, not you. You have 11 beers, get a weird squint in your left eye that shows clear intoxication, and think that you're entitled enough to point at people. Nope.

Everyone around you seems to be having fun, but you seem shitfaced and annoying. If I went into this picture neutral, I came out with no respect for you. How do you think that person felt when they tagged your picture? "Check out this dickhead waving that flaccid index finger around!" If I were your employer and saw this picture, I'd fire you and call the cops to make sure you couldn't infect others with whatever asshole gene you have. Looking glossy as a motherfucker too.

Is that a neon red plastic band around your neck? Yikes, dude.
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While this shirt is hilarious and exemplifies the idea of "real talk", it definitely opened my eyes a bit to what's actually going on in my closet and in the closet of some others I know.

Somewhere in the depths of all of our closets is that shirt we wore once and regretted. That same shirt is now tucked in the back of our closet because we can never justify throwing a $49.99 shirt away after one wear. But I urge you, never wear THAT shirt out or around the house on any day of the week.

The "uniform" as I refer to it is pretty basic if you don't want to ruffle any feathers, which is basically the point of making power moves on the weekend. Douchebags ruffle feathers. Now that I've been in the game for a bit and seen others succeed and fail, I have to say that the mildly trendy button-down shirt is 100% a solid play. That is, if you keep it simple. I can't in good conscience recommend pink, but if you can pull it off, you'll be swimming in cooties by the end of the night. The "good" cooties. White, blue, stripes, whatever floats your boat. I'm a big fan of the V-Neck even though it gives off the "I have no idea how to iron vibe" as well as the feared "I go to the gym" vibe. Dealbreaker city. Then there's the the suit coat. It's the odd dynamic of going into a night knowing you're a douchebag, but overacting the fact you're a douchebag. It's like being an idiot-savant that's unable to tie shoes, but being able to recite every zip code-location combo in the country. I think.

NOTE: If you are/want to be a "Gorilla Juicehead", read everything I wrote and do the opposite. You'll be covered in oil, redbull vodka, and glitter in no time.

Monday, August 1, 2011

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Umm, what? The only legitimate purpose I see for this is to make sure you don't trip over your pup during a late night bathroom trip, which is arguably the dog's fault. If they can't hear you stumbling towards them with their supersonic ears, then I adamantly say, fuck your tail.

The wannabee baller side of me does want this dog though. I want one exactly like I wanted that glow in the dark Vortex football that John Elway was throwing 300 yard bombs with. It'd suck for the dog though because the novelty of that football wore off after a couple wounded ducks tossed into neighbors windows/cars. I probably got off a solid 15 passes with that thing. What's that in "caring for a dog" time? Like, 3 weeks? Novelty will wear off pretty quick.

Fantastic name options though. Lite-Brite came to mind first for a girl dog. Is that gay?
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I've been trying to wrap my head around the term "Tar Baby" since this story came out. Being that it's 2011 and all, racist people probably need to step their game up with the creativity.

Risky play by this guy using a term popularized in 1881. Shit is dated, but he probably thought he can sneak it by people, which I can't knock. It's like using a joke from an obscure comedian among your group of friends and one dude calls you out. Doug Lamborn just messed up. Classic case, of the "Aww shitt" moment. Racist dudes are the worst at these. It's like watching a confused animal try to reason it's way out of a backed corner. Mitt Romney said, "He was just trying to describe a 'sticky' situation." Shhiiiitt. That's something I'd pull when I was a little kid and I'd get caught with Skinemax on. Saying some off the wall stuff like, "Remote froze it on that channel" or "I honestly don't know what porno is." Except I'm not a Congressman.

Does that mean white people are Marshmallow Fluff babies?

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These are the moments that really make us young bachelors want to settle down and start a family of our own. Just a guy who's got it all right here. Loving wife, nice home, well behaved/adorable children. Probably just bought his kid that Nerf gun after a hard day's work for him to do exactly this. Smiles all around.

I'm gonna take a shot in the dark and say he went ballistic as soon as the camera cut, immediately snatching the toy back up to return it. Whatever device he was holding onto there was the only thing he could escape reality with if only for a few seconds. Oh the family life. Can't wait.

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