Monday, October 31, 2011
I've been running this question through my head for a few weeks now when people started clamoring about me doing a podcast. After some serious pondering, I determined it would be awful. I definitely still want to do it, but the logistics are simply terrible. Here are some issues that will undoubtedly make this fetus of an idea bad:
1) My voice sucks: It's like Frankie Muniz from those late awkward seasons of Malcolm in the Middle. I don't know if the bass has come in yet or if I have some sort of pituitary issue, but something is definitely afoot.
2) Topics: I've revealed my method of blogging and that shit ain't pretty. Sometimes I just go on CNN, close my eyes, and point to an article. Then I pray that it's something I can spin. Imagine that with podcasting. I'd be radio silent 15 seconds out of every minute and have you wondering whether your internet fucked up.
3) My roommates: Every one of them is an asshole. Obviously I am too, which makes it work, but in a scenario where I need a bit of solidarity and structure, there is not a worse group. We'd just be arguing and saying VERY offensive things for about an hour and then I'd get arrested by the FCC.
4) Production value: My house has some of the worst/strangest acoustics imaginable. My room is at the top of the house and I can hear a conversation between two people sitting in the living room two floors down better than I can hear if they were sitting 5 feet from me. Again, this may be a pituitary issue, but either way that's not a good look.
5) What would it really be about: What is this blog about? I literally made the tagline: "It's like everything you wanted to say about everything" hammered drunk. It shouldn't be a surprise because it's really stupid, but it sticks and is kind of representative of what this blog is about. That said, I post about absolute NONSENSE that has no connection to anything previously posted.
So there you have it. It's going to be a bumpy ride, but let's face it, WMD is essentially the website-equivalent of drunk driving.
Friday, October 28, 2011
^Come on. There's blatantly a razor in that lollipop.
As a little kid I remember sitting in my room getting super hyped about Halloween festivities and Trick-or-Treating. I had my non-stereotypical Red Power Rangers suit on, an ill ass jack-o-lantern candy bucket, and a mother with a camera full of Polaroids. Everything was a go. Then 15 minutes before we left the house, the news came on and explained the "Halloween Epidemic" known as razoring candy.
My mom FREAKED out. Nixed all plans for candy acquisition and popped in a fucking non-Halloween related VHS like nothing happened. Obviously, I cried and prodded her until she made a few phone calls to the mother's coalition and determined what houses didn't have razors in their lollipops. Granted as a 5 year old, my mom had every right to unreasonably snap, but let's think about the logistics here. At the time I wasn't smart enough to explain it in a concise/articulate way, but in my gibberish I was trying to say that the overall idea/logistics of someone injecting a lollipop with a razor blade is borderline impossible. In the .000001% chance that someone at the factory had the wherewithal to hail mary a razor into the vat of corn-syrup and by some stroke of goon magic have it miraculously get inside the lollipop, a lollipop is fucking see-through. It's your fault if your jugular is lacerated.
If you gave me 10 scientists, unlimited Hersheys/Butterfingers/Snickers, and one year of time, I guarantee you that I won't be able to correctly insert a razor blade into any of those candies. It's just too difficult. The consistency of a Butterfinger is literally the most unforgiving thing on a planet, there are too many peanuts for a razor to get comfortable in a Snickers, and Hershey's are far too thin and boring to possibly have a razor in it.
If people are still effing with razors in a time where rat poison is so readily available, then we truly have a problem in the criminal/psychopath sector of our society.
So we have this thing at work called 'Candygrams.' They're little baggies full of candy for Halloween, and you pay $1 to have one sent to a person of your choice. A Halloween Valentine, if you will. I thought of them as nothing more than a harmless little fundraiser put together by the 'Morale Committee' (Yes, we have a committee specifically designed to keep up morale. Makes you wonder why morale was so low in the first place.).
Today, they passed out these Candygrams, and let me tell you, all hell is breaking loose. As they were coming by to hand them off, the lady dropped a respectable two baggies onto my desk. I let go a sigh of relief. Little did I know they were from my manager and my trainer….aka Pitygrams. Which is almost worse than no candygrams. I reluctantly ate a mini snickers and got back to work (aka checking my fantasy team).
About ten minutes later, I got up to go to the bathroom and saw that other people's desks were littered with anywhere from eight to ten of these diabolical little baggies. Smiling jack'o'lanterns and tiny bags of skittles surrounding me on all sides. As everyone around me danced in their sugar fueled euphoria, I was left face to face with the soul-crushing reality of my interoffice irrelevance.
Not a good way to start the weekend.
Also, Connecticut is supposed to get 6 inches of snow tomorrow. WTF. It's October. Could use some of that global warming kicking in right now. If this is any sign of things to come, I'll be spending my Saturday night shelled up in a bathroom with a box of Franzia.
I always thought of Halloween as a judgement free holiday. Leave it to the Morale Committee to ruin that.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I just found some Gobstoppers in one of my bags. Things are looking up.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Who knew Emus were..like that? I most certainly didn't. They're noodly as all hell and quite possibly, the most evasive creature I've ever seen.
I don't even think we can consider this a fight. That kangaroo was just getting his swerve on hopping around trying to tackle that branch. I don't even think he was trying to eat it. Then a gaggle of Emus unreasonably felt their turf infringed upon, because I'm pretty sure emus love branches. What happened next is anyone's guess.
What it boiled down to was a bunch of emus posturing at this confrontational kangaroo for a hilarious 2 minutes. Tons of dodges, dips, dives, and fake outs. Love their moves, but that kangaroo no doubt would have fucked them all up. When I'm undoubtedly confronted for my Steve Urkel costume tomorrow you best believe I'll be getting my emu on evading downtown douchebags like a motherfucker.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Candy corn is fucking gross. Sure there are apologists out there that'll defend it, but they're idiots. You can't tell me that you'd prefer some waxy high fructose corn syrup over any other candy out there. Seriously, I'd rather eat a MARS Bar than 1/10th of a candy corn and I literally have no clue what a MARS Bar is. Not even confident in the capitalization of "MARS."
I had a notebook that I used to blacklist places in my neighborhood that regularly distributed candy corn. Shit was insulting to my existence. I'm trying to bounce off the walls from pixie stick sour grains and Butterfinger minis getting cavities and what not. As a responsible 24 year old, I feel that I can host some trick-or-treaters this year and you best believe I will have the greatest lineup of treats for those little bastards. Crunch bars, Snickers, gummy bears all day, and maybe, just maybe some Sour Patch Kids if I'm feeling like breaking the bank.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Monday, October 24, 2011
Now, it may seem like I’m just here to gloat about my new purchases, dropping bills left and right, but these were two upgrades that needed to be made. I pushed them off as long as I could. My flip phone’s space key only worked 50% of the time, dropped about half it’s calls, and died after an 8 hour work day. And my wallet, I had to tape it up because my credit cards would routinely fall through the rip in the bottom of it. It was time.
But the fact that these two upgrades happened on the very same day left my pockets completely unprepared. My phone went from a Squirtle to a Blastoise without even so much as a hint of a Wartortle. One day I’m using Bubblebeam against Brock in the Rock Gym, NBD. Next day I’m busting out Hydropumps left and right. It was unprecedented.
My left pocket (where I carry my phone) was just sitting at a lowly $6 value before. It was chilling like a college intern, browsing YouTube all day and collecting modest paychecks. Then graduation hit and it somehow landed a real job. Now the pressure’s on. The lazy days are over. One little slip up and that pocket is out on the street, hoping to find some keys, maybe tissues, or even some measly hard candy to house. Anything not to be out of a job.
And my right pocket (I carry my wallet in my front pocket. A questionable move depending on who you talk to, but I recommend it. It balances out phone weight in the other front pocket, prevents back problems, and leaves you less vulnerable to attacks from behind.) has to make the under appreciated switch from trifold wallet to bifold. This is no easy task, mind you. It’s like a right tackle switching from protecting a right-handed quarterback to a lefty. Winston Justice switching from protecting Kevin Kolb to Michael Vick, if you will (Gratuitous Philly sports reference. Couldn't resist). This move may fly under the radar, but if that pocket slips up, your quarterback may end up with concussions, cracked ribs, all sorts of stuff. Er, your wallet, that is. So your wallet…is your quarterback? And if your quarterback gets sacked…that means…you lost your wallet? Now I’m confusing myself.
In summation, I’m carrying around Winston Justice in my right pocket and a gainfully employed Blastoise in my left. And I’m confused as shit about it.
Hydropump going off in your pocket: not a good look.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
^(this was a real video game by the way)
Is this the first instance of "white face" in the history of racial face imitation? And white knuckles? I can't imagine things went well with this one.
I hope this picture does a good job at answering that question.
There's a magic formula to every successful girl costume. Show 65% of the skin on your body and you can literally be whatever the fuck you want. Check this pic right here. I would pounce this girl and serve 5-10 up in a correctional facility while completely neglecting the fact that she's dressed as a electric anime rat. She followed the formula and had herself a successful costume that was worthy enough to get put on my website without her permission. I'm fairly certain you can go to any bar for Halloween in the clothes you wore to work out. Add in a few strategic rips, sprinkle some glitter all over shit, and kablam, you're in the top 5 for the bar's "$1000 Sexiest Costume" giveaway.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
I can't tell you how pissed I would be if one day I said, "Today's the day I learn how to make an appropriate salad and eat healthily" and saw a fucking bear cub stomping on all the lettuce and tomatoes with his dirty feet. You can't just come out the woods with dirt and ants all over you and waffle stomp the produce.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Obviously we have hologram computers. I'm pretty sure I saw a 5 year old playing a very savvy game of Texas Hold'Em on an Ipad during my morning commute, so I'm the least bit surprised that shit's getting weird.
Welp, looks like Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing is going to be eradicated off the map completely. That's unfortunate, because there aren't too many strong black women lead computer typing programs left anymore. I recently tweeted (WMsDiary) that I couldn't grasp the texting capabilities of the Iphone because my fingers are fucked or something. Imagine the calamity it'd be trying to tackle a hologram screen. Blogs would take weeks to write and be even more illiterate than they are now. I can't even imagine the Facebook fallout that would occur. Dudes thinking I'm gay because I randomly poked them, chicks getting real weirded out because I liked all 97 of their profile pics and left "mmmm" comments on a couple of them.
So I have a week off the first week of December and the kid needs a spot to catch some R&R (Rum and Rumps). I also need a ton of friends that mismanaged their vacation time too, but that's another battle. I've been hitting the web hard for a solid 7 minutes and just when I thought I found the ideal spot, some voodoo infused doll babies had to be surrounding the outer circumference of the island.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Think about it before you knock any of the people getting chased. How would you react if you were on your way home after a tough day and 100 Japanese people popped up around the corner and bum rushed you?
Japan tends to kick things up 4 notches for no reason. People were fine with regular flash mobs. Sure they were a little annoying, but they certainly weren't dangerous/borderline terrifying. Like what became of that dude the mob caught? Was he beaten up, repeatedly tossed in the air, and left for dead? That's definitely what it looked like. Just a lesson to all of us that we shouldn't play our Ipod too loud because you run the risk of getting physically assaulted by dozens of salty, wildly bored Japanese people.
That last move they did with that lady, pretending something was falling out of the sky was absolute high comedy.
I usually don't have an irrational hate for somebody I haven't met, but good lord, I never hated a person so much.
This asshole reminds me of one of those hipsters that hits the Urban Outfitters "jackpot" and has the ironic t-shirt that all of the other hipsters want. Like that fucking purple penguins shirt that every other dude in skinny jeans is rockin' nowadays. Remember when the phrase, "Where's the Beef?" meant someone was going to get shot? Back when Biggie and Tupac had "beef" dudes were dying and families were torn apart. Not ten years later, this mop top up here is making an absolute MOCKERY of the term and Wendy's is cashing in. Before I get nominated to the Playa Hater's Ball, I'll give the dude some credit. For someone that looks so insufferable, it looks like he's killing it. If I'm going to transition WMD into some sort of awesome future things are going to have to change.
Friday, October 14, 2011
It's not bad right? I'd go with lazy/irresponsible over bad any day. My dad actually taught me how to shave years back after a pretty ridiculous facial rash incident that I'm going to explain for some reason.
I was like 7 and some idiot relative bought me one of those Fisher Price fake shaving kits to make me feel like a man. After seeing my dad dominate shaving and look badass whenever he cut his face, I figured it was my time to step in the ring despite being 7. Took out my plastic shave kit, put some very questionable substances on my face, and went to town with a plastic razor for like 40 minutes. Needless to say, Dad comes home, I'm crying and Mom's confused as fuck as to what happened. After some over the counter antibiotics and tough summer days where I didn't make contact with other people because I literally had a rash on my face, my dad decided to teach me. Shit was not how I imagined it at all. Razor sharp blades, burning alcohol, blood everywhere, and the knowledge that you have to do it again 3 days later. Told myself that day I would never shave. Dad got me an electric razor before high school and I thought that was the end of that.
Flash forward to Wednesday. Electric razors kind of suck---pinching cheeks, not really accomplishing what they're supposed to, and bothering anyone in a 50 feet radius. I've been pussyfooting around with consistent stubble for like 6 years and have been in denial about it, so it was time for a change. I'm not kidding when I say it took me 45 minutes in the razor aisle at CVS to buy a razor. How many blades is too much because I'm pretty sure that 3rd blade starts making it's way into the epidermis. And what the FUCK is a cartridge? Why do some of them include a single AAA battery with no place to put the battery? Questions. Went with my gut and after spending way too much time assembling the razor/razor blade, I got after it.
Moral of that long winded, borderline pointless story, I'm a bitch. The actual shave took roughly 35 seconds and it was as quick and efficient as a 1992 Tyson fight. I'm embarrassed that I wrote about this and you read this.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
My roommate opened my eyes to quite possibly the weirdest thing I've ever seen. I knew the dirty south was a pretty fucked up place, but this is just disgusting.
First of all, did anyone know Catfish grew to be 70 pounds?! That shit's outrageous enough, let alone the fact that people "catch" them with their arm. Let me introduce the term "Noodling." It starts with being an idiot and living near a creek. Next step, have an unreasonable love for the taste of catfish, which until recently I didn't know was edible. The last and most important step of the plan..you have to be ok with getting like 1/8th eaten by a fucking catfish. Yup. These wild assholes are fishing with their arms for a potentially inedible fish because that's the thing to do in under the Mason-Dixon line.
Honestly, I thought the term "noodling" strictly involved a spectacularly fun time with pool noodles. Your standard splishy, splashy water whistling good time. Spoiled by reverse catfish enemas. Gross city.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
--Chiappini told The Express-Times of Easton, Pa., the bear ran away after she first screamed at it. But Chiappini says the bruin returned while she called 9111 and began chasing "Gus (the llama)." (You call "9111" to really send a message. The extra 1 means "a bear is eating my llama")
--Chiappini told the newspaper she got between "Gus" and the bear and stood her ground. (It's VERY up in the air whether I'd consider getting between a bear and any of my unborn children/future wife.)
--Chiappini is treating the llama with antibiotics. (Neospirin's a helluva drug)
--Chiappini says she broke her toe after she kicked the dead bear out of frustration. (That's the funniest thing I've heard in months, by a lot. If there isn't video of this by tomorrow we've failed as people and the internet might as well kill itself.)
Tell me this shit doesn't have "The Onion" written all over it. I desperately hope this loony broad is on The Today Show tomorrow freaking people out.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Actually scratch that. You can't fucking take a nap on that pillow without accidentally blasting the volume or turning on that A/V channel that no one can figure out how to change. It becomes completely useless as a remote and immediately becomes an unnecessarily large obstruction that no one wants to use at the risk of looking like an asshole.
WHY does it still have a VCR button?! I'm almost at the point where I have no recollection of what a VCR is anymore. Vague memories of the acronym VHS pop in my head, but it's real hazy. As a remote aficionado, erroneous buttons are red flags for me. Space eaters that end up creating issues for my fingers and can lead to eventual carpo tunnel. Plus ya'll know a brotha needs an easily accessible "Go Back" button. Those crazy nights when no one's home and something really "intriguing" comes on Skinemax, you want to be pretty dextrous when you hear that door unexpectedly swing open. I give this a remote a C- overall, but an A fucking plus for effort. Can't knock an item for a man's man.
I've received roughly 4000 emails from Groupon about every possible thing I want nothing to do with. They should ask "race" in the preferences section because they'd know right away that I have no fucking interest in "Hang-Gliding" or "Whale Watching." But most of all, they'd know that all black people, at some point in their life become lactose intolerant.
Obviously I'm not on some "I take Lactaid when I smell ice cream" stuff, but I definitely experience some..unrest. But leave it to Groupon to stare me down, analyze my tastes, and make the educated assumption that I'd be interested in breast milk from the Indiana Mothers' Milk Bank (IMMB). Might as well offer the president of the KKK a Blu-Ray of Tyler Perry's "Diary of A Mad Black Woman" and see how well that goes over. I'm not saying I won't take a deal from a bevy of generously breasted women of Indiana. I'm just saying I'll be farting on the game like Terrance & Phil in one of those episodes of South Park you definitely can't watch with a girl.
I'm just waiting for that one bombshell Groupon offer that encompasses everything I'm about. If they took $0.50 off my bar tab on any given Friday night I will Yelp the shit out of Groupon with positive reviews.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Forget what you did last night. Definitely forget about that swamp creature laying next to you taking all the blanket. Get in the shower, reflect for 45 minutes to an hour about how you're an idiot, and get ready to do it again tonight. But this time you're actually going to have fun.
People ask me all the time, "Where are you partying/getting weird at tonight Dub?" and I always forget to answer. Well today I'm doing my due diligence and telling you all I'll be at LANSDOWNE PUB tonight in Fenway because my favorite band (and 75% of my roommates) is performing there from 10PM-2AM. Like a 7 hour show of jams, good times, and chicks potentially getting naked. I'll definitely be de-clothed before the clock strikes 12. So if you want to meet me/have a good time/watch good music, feel free to come down. Cheap ass cover too. 5 bucks is only 5 McDoubles guys.
PS. Your boy might get on stage to help with a couple rap covers as I am their only black friend.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Doesn't life suck if you're a farmer? You're constantly sweating, pointlessly digging dirt, and getting that weird wife-beater tan for just about zero dollars a week. You got to deal with the locusts, flies, gophers, and rabbits pillaging a year's worth of work. Then you build a terrifying scarecrow that ends up scaring you more than the rabbits because rabbits are 6 inches tall and can't see that disturbing grin you stitched in it's face. You definitely can't sleep on the fact that you live 80 miles from anyone else and your house is the prototypical horror movie/serial killer stomping ground. Just when you think things can't get worse, a fucking whale "appears" in the middle of the pumpkin patch.
I'm not even going to dive into the whole "how'd it get here" routine and look at the facts. This whale is an asshole. Just stick to plankton man. Your job is to open your mouth and absorb food. The easiest means to eating food in the world. But nope, you had to get creative and literally search for greener pastures. You marched your fat ass onto the beach, hitchhiked your way to a field, overestimated your ability to breathe human air, and died. Don't feel sorry for you one bit.
Once I found out the Free Willy whale was a vicious killing machine orca, I just typecasted all whales as dicks.
Before I get to part two of my urinal post, I thought I'd mix it up first. Two urinal posts in a row would be a little much. I don't want to be a one trick pony.
So I found out the other day that all six seasons of The Wonder Years are available to stream on Netflix. And now, two days later, I've almost finished off the first two seasons. Not really sure how that happened. All I know is that growing up is hard, especially in the Arnold family. And especially with a girl like Winnie Cooper living across the street. Cross-street glances full of hormones and nostalgia coming at you left and right.
Speaking of glances, someone pointed this video out to me. It's 100% accurate. If you took the narration out of the show, it's literally just people staring at each other for 22 minutes and calling it an episode. Filming this shit must've been awful. Nothing but silence and showing emotions through facial expressions.
Also, just did some googling, and Winnie Cooper got HOT. She might even give Carissa Rae a run for potential wife candidate of the year. Props to Kevin Arnold for locking that shit down since elementary school. He has a rare combination of wisdom and game-spitting ability. Just picking up bitties and teaching life lessons. Dude's gonna kill it as a grandpa.
I also respect the hell out of the casting director for spotting a dime like Winnie when she was like 9. Odds are he's a pedophile, but you gotta give credit where credit is due. He and the guy who casted Emma Watson as Hermione should team up. Could be the greatest/creepiest casting collabo in history, taking the middle school girls scene by storm. Mothers across the country wouldn't even know what hit them.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
As you can see, I haven't exactly "dominated" the holiday of Halloween. Panicked junior year of college and went as the Scream guy that was popular in 1996. 100% threw up in the mask after getting a little overzealous with some $10 vodka. Then senior year, I unintentionally dressed as a Q-list reality TV star that potentially had a drug problem. Then un-pictured, I was dressed as Sisqo the homosexual pop star that, ironically was known for a song about female underwear. Had silver hair spray dripping off my face like a herb. And last year when all spirits were drained, I went as the Old Spice guy and wore a towel and drank alcohol out of a Body Wash bottle. Pretty sure I got sick from it, but that's beside the fact.
I NEED a good costume this year. Thought I wasn't going to do the "begging" post, but I'm politely asking. I already got a couple great suggestions from the comments and the fan page. It's currently a dog fight between Rainbow Dash and a tattooed Mike Tyson. Help.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
There's stalking and then there's what I'm going to do to Carissa Rae.
Nothing criminal, just persistent, almost constant check-ins on her relationship status and whereabouts. But seriously, if you're a red-blooded male that likes chicks, how does this girl not set off all the marriage switches in your brain? It's like all those romantic comedies say, "When you know, you know." Maybe my guidelines are a little unreasonable because I specifically need a girl to be a 12 out of 10 and be able to BELT out 90s television theme songs, but cut me a break.
As I'm sure you have seen by now, a new blogger has made his way onto the WMD scene. Apparently he goes by the name of a bushel of oblong fruit and likes male-specific toilets. To each their own I guess. Let's see if he can cut it because I've seen a lot of good/talented people falter under the pressure of writing for the 6723rd best blog on the planet. Takes a thick skin. I'm looking at you Dick Palmer, G, and...Craw?!
Quick question. True or False: Did I sign Pears to the Working Man's Diary team when I was blacked out drunk?
Quick answer: True. That's not discounting Pears as much as pointing out that I'm possibly an alcoholic. I saw his talent on another site and wanted to bring him over. It's almost exactly like when Pat Riley signed Chris Bosh with the one difference being that Pears doesn't cry when I criticize him like Bosh does. This by no means suggests that I will post less because perusing the internet for interesting shit is my #1, 2, and 3 favorite hobby, but I can appreciate a little help.
Welcome aboard bushel of oblong fruit.
New WMD blogger here. Name’s Pears. Glad to be on board. Thanks to Dub J for bringing me on.
I’m from Philly originally, but right now my stomping grounds are the mean streets of Hartford, CT. Known mainly for being the insurance capital of the US and for it’s high per capita murder rates, people often overlook the brighter sides of Hartford. I’ll let you know when I figure out what they are.
Also, I’m an unashamed Philly sports fan, so excuse me if gloat at all about a certain team filled with Golden Gods of October.
And yes. The Eagles are 1-3. “Who’s the dream team now?” I get it. Let’s move on with our lives.
So I’ve seen some pretty weird topics discussed on WMD in the past, so I figured I’d start off with something maybe a little risqué, perhaps a little taboo, but it’s something that’s been bugging me for a while, and I need to address it. Today, I’d like to talk to you about urinals.
Before I start this rant, let me just say that I love urinals. They bring a lot to the table. No faster option if you’re trying to make a quick get-in, get-out men’s room stop. And if they have auto-flush sensors on them, you can even make a successful bathroom trip without touching anything. Can’t beat that.
What I do not love about them, however, is the social situations they present. Nothing worse than when you stride into the bathroom ready to blast a steady stream against the back of some porcelain, and just as you get ready to let loose, someone walks up the urinal right next to you. Suddenly this dream scenario has taken a turn. I have nightmares about the moment that occurs next.
Silence. What we have here is a stand off.
You can’t look at each other. No chance. But can you see each other? Damn right you can. Peripherals all up in that shit, showing you way more than you want to see. And one thing’s for sure, he can see you too. And no one is happy about it. Don’t even think about looking down.
So what do you do next? You listen. You don’t want to, but in that deafening bathroom silence you can’t help it. You can’t just turn your ears off. The worst part is, you know he’s listening to you too. And you can bet he’s just as unhappy about it.
So you stand there, and you wait. Wait to hear the gentle trickle coming from the urinal next to you.
A few things can happen from here. Ideally, you both just pee and go on with fighting your way through the work day, but it doesn’t always go so smoothly. More on this in my next article, when I’ll talk about all of the different variables that come into play at this stage, as well as give a personal account of the worst urinal experience of my life.
You’re excited. I can tell.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Worst. Crawler. Ever.
Is it just me or did this robot toddler not gain any fucking ground during that entire video? Embarrassing. Don't really get what the point of this thing is. Obviously it's terrifying, but I don't really see the point of attaching a plastic face to a poorly made K-Nex set.
If you're normal disregard this question, but if you're a guy/girl like me that gets super weird on Friday and Saturday then you know exactly what I'm talking about.
There's nothing worse than hearing all of your roommates start laughing and saying things like, "Dub looks like shit!" while you're laying in your bed. Puts you in a situation where you don't want to look at your computer or go on Facebook, but you're just delaying the inevitable. Get ready for an awful inner monologue:
--Oh great, you're pointing your finger at the camera again with one of your eyes closed.
--Who had a camera last night?
I ain't mad atcha random creeper who found the blog via weird question. Despite the fact that there is a very real possibility you are one of those "Red Blips" on Family Watchdog, you are also one more pageview. I'm in no position to turn those down. In fact, I'll embrace it and remember the very weird year that was 1999 back when it was only mildly inappropriate to type "A/S/L" over the internet.
Chat rooms. Where young creeps honed their craft and the finest vagrants learned how to spit internet game to (presumed) chicks. If you read half of one post on this blog, you can immediately pick up that I 100% fit into the "Creep and/or Vagrants" category. That said, I frequented a few
Thus Kenny Jackson was born. Kenny was a 22 year old male from Orlando, Florida, who was a huge Orlando Magic fan. He was also known as 22/m/FL. Basically his life mimic'd Penny Hardaway, but that's besides the fact. I used that alias to get into chats with some of the "hottest", "single", "20s" in all the world. Funny story, those hotties consisted entirely of 12-15 year old dudes trying to get their rocks off in the weirdest way imaginable. Not a worse realization in my life was when I found that out. RIP Kenny Jackson.
It's 2011 bro, how about you poke a few girls on Facebook that you aren't friends with and call it a night.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Just sitting here shocked right now.
I make a blog living (which is not at all a living) off of making fun of kids like this. Straight hiding behind my keyboard being a legitimate internet bully. This overweight, fake thug, Yo-Yo'er seemed like a virtual layup. But one minute went by, then two, and then the video was over. What followed was a weird string of events.
Yikes. One step forward, ten steps back with you goats huh? Just when you think they are about to dominate with their tree climbing and what not, they pull this shit.
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I wasn't a poli-sci major or anything, but if I can't send a picture of a yellow-headed dude with X's in his eyes getting a g...
You can't really feel THAT bad for a guy that voluntarily adds an apostrophe to "Richard" Here's Robert Ri'char...
The Old Stuff
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- How Bad Would A WMD Podcast Be?
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- If Anyone Was Interested, Here's A Very Weird Figh...
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- Have They Taken Candy Corn Off The Shelves Yet?
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- My Pockets Are Confused
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- Girls Ask Dub: "What Should I Be For Halloween?"
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- Today In "Inevitable Robot Apocalypse" News: Holog...
- At What Point Do I Become a ‘Cat Guy’?
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- Hundreds Of Japanese People Terrorizing Random Ped...
- There's Not A Worse Dude Out There Than The "Where...
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- Let's Just Cut To The Chase And Vomit Now
- So "Noodling" Is A Thing?
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- Friends Ask Dub: "Are You Going To The 2011 Bloggi...
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- The Creator Of This Should Win A Nobel Prize
- Breast Milk? On Groupon?
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- Want To Actually Have Fun Tonight?
- Remember When Whales Traversed 800 Yards On Land A...
- Ever Wonder About The Wonder Years?
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- Wildly Inaccurate Doll Depiction Of Tom Brady
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- Friends Ask Dub: "Should I Go To A House Party Or ...
- I Needed To Marry This Girl The Moment I Was Born
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- I Don't Know What To Think
- Ever Heard A "Distressed" Goat?
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