Tuesday, January 31, 2012

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Topics discussed: health studies, Blake Griffin, Top 99 Women, alcoholism.

Enjoy everyone!

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Holding the door is a delicate act. It's probably the most responsible position a person can be in aside from being a police officer or a firefighter. You have COMPLETE control over the nearest person behind you and like a puppet master, determine exactly what their next move is.

To open up my answer, holding the door for the male gender is always a crap shoot. Regardless of how old, disabled, or young they are, I just might not hold it for them. It's primal. Sometimes I just want to logistically be in a better life position than they are. Nothing more nothing less. With girls it's a whole 'nother animal. I always hold the door for old women and little girls, but girls between the age of 18-45 are rolls of the dice. It depends how my day is going, how hot they are, is it raining outside?, and where I think they may be going. If everything syncs up, I will hold the door, but if not I'll give the fake-halfway-held-slip that makes me look like a tried, but didn't try hard enough. It's a beautiful science.

Shout out to the assholes that hold the door for you when you're like 45 feet away. They are either so out of the loop that they actually think they're assisting you or they are pure unadulterated dicks that want to rain misery on your world. Either way it's a power play. Most of the time you see people sprint from wherever they are regardless of how awful it is or how many bags they're carrying, but not me. Not a change in my fucking stride. It's called turning the tables and creates one of the more awkward interactions ever when one person is confronted with the daunting task of saying a condescending, "Thank you" to the holder. That's always a gem.

So friend, the answer lies in: gender, weather, age, attractiveness, and overall mood. Form some sort of quadratic equation out of that and you'll have your answer. You're welcome.
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^completely unrelated…well, sorta

Officially not sleeping tonight. If you’re still up for whatever reason, my friend found this little gem on reddit. Just some late night reading if you’re bored.

Go ahead. Check it out. I can wait.


For those of you that actually clicked on that, you’re probably not very happy with me right now, so here are some pictures of kittens.

Full disclosure, I’m a nearly grown man, and I slammed my computer shut and ran out the room screaming. Now I have all the lights on and haven’t even considered the prospect of sleep. If you reacted worse than that, I'm impressed.

There’s a pretty epic stream of comments going on reddit about it. Also, if you’re really bold there’s another one made by the same guy. I haven’t watched it yet. If I do I might never sleep. (EDIT: just watched it. FUCK that.)

PS. If anyone watched that at their desk at work I’m legitimately sorry. Your reputation will never be the same.

Monday, January 30, 2012

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But seriously, this site has catapulted itself to the top of the websites I'm permanently going to be on all the time list. Fun fact: If I'm on the T there is a 100% chance I'm staring holes into some girl's soul. It's not my fault it ends up that way, but it does. So needless to say, any T related romance website is right up my alley.

Wait, this site is exclusively girls taking pics of dudes they're crushing on? Talk about a weight being lifted off my shoulders. Thought I had to perfect the fake-text-photograph while managing not to get arrested. Now all I have to do is sit back, make provocative poses, and wait for some girl to snap a photo of me on her Iphone. Hopefully she Instagrams that shit, adds Sepia, and removes any and all possible red eye/flash/swag related issues before she posts it on the site. Can't be on such a life-altering website looking like a derelict.

Real talk, it's a fucking miracle that this site is only for girls because things could have gotten dicey very quickly. I have at least 27 crushes on my morning and afternoon commutes. That's simply too many quality pictures I need to take. Plus that shit would be extremely detrimental to my phone's memory storage. Honestly, I'd see myself lasting a solid 2 weeks before I'm either taken into custody, punched in the face or permanently seen as the creepy guy no one wants to be seen sitting next to on the train. But you can bet your ass that those two weeks will be filled with some of the hardest working amateur photography since hipsters came into existence. If I end up on the site, I promise I will post the picture taken.

Sidenote: I'm not as creepy as this blog suggests.
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There's a thin line between swag and "what the fuck are you doing man." Wayne caught a screen pass, crossed the line, and took it unlimited yards to outer space . Because he's a Martian?

Pink hat, hipster glasses, hoody, T-Shirt, black-beaded bracelet, pajama pants, heaven-white Uggs, and what I'm guessing is a box of jalapeno poppers. You can't script this. Just a devious combination of male and female clothing mixed with outrageous accessories. It's like someone blindfolded him, spun him around a few times, and threw him inside Lady Footlocker, Pac-Sun, and Forever 21 just to see what happened. Fuck is wrong with this dude? Wasn't he the Fireman like 8 years ago?

This is why I want to be rich, but not too rich. Like rich enough to support everyone I care about and be financially secure, but not rich enough to sit front row at an NBA game dressed like a college freshman coming back from fucking winter break. Wayne's in trouble guys.

PS. Cam'ron made a deal with the devil and is the only rapper to ever be allowed to wear pink.

Friday, January 27, 2012

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Frankly, FB Friday is in a vegetative state. Ready to die, but stubbornly surviving. That’s how I like my blogs. Here we go:

1. Guy Touches 1000 Boobs…But Somehow Doesn’t Get Arrested?

Yes, I know the video is 20 minutes, but what do you expect? Honestly, I don’t think I’ve seen 500 girls this month, so this is definitely a feat in a pervy, sexual-assault-ish sort of way. I’m downright shocked no police officers were on the scene during any of this. Waiting for the sequel: “Guy Grabs 1000 Asses.” That should be high comedy. Thanks CD.

2. Reviewing a Book I Never Read/Will Read: “Why Men Love Bitches”

Don’t need to drop $11.99 when I already know the answer to this painfully easy question. Bitches make you work hard. Simple as that. Imagine turning on Super Mario, stomping on Bowser’s head once and the screen flashing “You Win” and the credits roll. You’d be pissed right? That’s like a girl coming onto you (unless she’s hot) and just throwing her underwear in your face. It’s not that fun (READ: UNLESS SHE’S HOT) when there is no element of challenge out there. A bitch will make you buy her, her 7 friends, her ex-boyfriend, and some other random dude next to you shots before she lets you rattle off 2 sentences to her. Granted they suck, but there’s a reason they’re a dominant force out there. Thanks ER

3. Dub Jeezy’s Guilty Pleasure 90’s Song

Don’t think I didn’t just do the dance right now at my work desk, because I will not hesitate to do it again. Literally told NO ONE that I liked this song. Shit like that would get you beat up and stuffed in a locker in ’99. But once I got some privacy, you best believe I was jamming to this fake MTV boy-band. I definitely confused the show and real-life a few times when I patiently waited for them to drop an album. Never happened. RIP Michael “QT” Cucchione. Thanks CG

BONUS Hilarious Picture:

4.Memphis Grizzlies Jerseys Last Night

Great googly moogly these are ugly. Made me think of a joke intramural basketball team that had literally zero talent and tried to compensate for that by dressing in an outrageous uniform. Except this was a professional basketball team in the NBA, that’s actually pretty good. I don’t know if it was “Dress Like Dog Shit” night out in the Staples Center last night, but someone or somewhoever should be fired and blackballed from all NBA-jersey related business. Thanks EJT

5. Iamastuffedanimal.com
This. Site. Is. Awesome. I’m going to make 30 Dub Jeezy stuffed characters right now regardless of cost just so I can continue feeding into my crippling God complex. Real talk, will it make me look like a serial killer if I have 30 dolls of my likeness lined around my bed? What if I give them different outfits? Yikes. Thanks Spellgirl.

6. My Thoughts On Where In The World Is Carmen Sandiego
Hated her. Crafty bitch. Also didn’t get why her last name was Sandiego and why people weren’t looking in San Diego, California more often. I never watched the cartoon because it just wasn’t very good. But that game show was the JAM. 11 year old kids in wayy over their heads trying to identify maps and place suctioned poles on countries. It was high comedy and the hardest shit I’ve ever seen. Definitely hated the host too. I was the Playa Hater of the Year when it came to that show. Thanks ER.

1500th post bitches!
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I can relate to this kid so much. Just an inquisitive soul that wanted to know how things worked. While all the other kids were playing sports and being active, young Dub J found himself lost in the woods, clothing racks, supermarket aisles, Madison Square Garden, Central Park, and just as recently as 4 years ago, the Boston College Football stadium. Life would be completely different for me if people were rewarded for being idiots and constantly getting lost.

I 100% should have been abducted at least 50 times. It's not that my parents were negligent, it's just that I was a dick. I was in love with the wriggle-free, sprint in the opposite direction, dart left manuever. Worked every time. I was just too slippery and stupid to be caught. At MSG, my Dad sent my cousin and I to get popcorn in the first quarter of a Knicks game and I didn't reappear until after half time. Darted left on them like crazy. So many tears.

I fucking fell into the pond at Central Park when I was 8 and when my dad fished me out, I was so embarrassed I ran off and got lost. While that gross ass pond did give me super radioactive blogging powers, it probably wasn't worth getting lost in the most dangerous park in America.

So I get it kid. Sometimes we don't keep our head on a swivel and end up trapped in a Macy's clothing rack for 15 minutes. Word of retroactive advice: just cry for awhile and a security guard will put you on the loud speaker so you can ask for your Mommy. Fool proof.

Thursday, January 26, 2012

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Are your Thursdays just merely the fourth night of the week? Just the day leading up to Friday? Well, fret no more. We’re starting a new tradition up here in Hartford. Thursday nights have now become a launching point for bouts of nostalgia and uncalled for amounts of drinking. You guessed it: Third Grade Thursdays.

What does that mean, you may ask. To that I say, give me your Segas, your Super Nintendos, your huddled Playstations yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming youths. And bring along a case a beer and get ready for the long haul. Work tomorrow may be awful, sure, but I’ll tell you one thing’s for damn sure, I just finished up a two hour round of Twisted Metal 2 and I’m not the least bit mad about it. Responsibility is playing second fiddle because Spectre is running the streets of Paris.

I’m taking a little break from the madness as we speak to put this post up, but I also had to stop because to bear witness to the greatest display of original Super Mario the world has ever seen. My boy is ripping through world 7 with no end in sight. Underwater levels? Ain't no thing. Octupuses? They ain't got shit.

On that note, World 8 is about to start, and this is can't miss TV. After this we’re moving on to Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater. And next week we start the journey that is Metal Gear Solid.

All I can say is Thursdays are back...with a vengeance.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

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Seany Sweeps went off tonight. We hit up some controversial topics and awkwardly transitioned into really light stuff. Like bosses.

Enjoy everyone.

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Dude is at such a crossroads in his life it's fantastic. One minute he's discussing the Princeton offense with Digger Phelps, the next he's taking a twit-pic of himself in a "Trill" t-shirt. Can't keep up, but I definitely want to see where it ends up.

Watching you descend off the deep-end has been a pleasure and privilege.

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If you don't follow me on Twitter (@WMsDiary), I unintentionally live-tweeted 75% of the State of The Union Address last night. Because I'm a dick and not in touch with anything, I found the entire event hilarious. Here are some thoughts I had:

-Quietly wished Obama came out to "N****s In Paris." It would have 1 million % got him impeached, but his entrance swag was off the charts. Daps on daps on daps. Reminded me of late-90's WWF, except infinitely blacker.

-John Boerner. My man put on a fucking show. Looked like a Madame Tussauds wax statue out there. I had aspirations to tally the blink disparity between him and Biden, but there was no point. Five minutes into the speech, Biden was up 500 blinks to two.

-I'm unsure if Joe Biden had a solid meal before everything. Dude was looking gaunt as a motherfucker. At around 9:55, you can catch him in another world whimsically day-dreaming about sandwiches and coffee. Felt bad for him.

-I felt weird for the black Republicans out there. They straight up had no idea when to stand and clap for one hour and 45 minutes.

-#1 issue above everything: NO fucking mention of the impending Mayan apocalypse. Am I the only one keeping tabs on this shit? Their impeccable calendar "expired" on December 23, 2012 and Obama is talking about schools and "preserving the economy." Pfft. I want knowledge on war and nothing else. I want laser discussions, gatling gun committee meetings, and I wouldn't mind additional funding for alien-proof body armor. Fuck it, get Cantor in there with a switch blade and his piercing stares and we'll probably be ok.

Michelle, don't think I didn't see you looking like a blue Ring-Pop out there. Holla at me. Kidding.

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

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Damn this shit is embarrassing. Just taking chunks out of the air in fruitless, almost painful efforts to put out a single candle.

In her defense, blowing out a candle is a pressure-packed moment. Usually there's a cake involved. Obviously everyone's anxious for cake, no one wants spit on the frosting, and as a dude, your entire manhood is on the line. If you fuck up you may come out of the process with no friends and a black-mark on your life resume. As an experienced candle destroyer, I can offer this girl one bit of crucial advice. Blow from an angle. The fire is never ready for it. Coming in head on is just asking to get juked. And fucking take legitimate breaths for crying out loud. Opening your mouth as wide as possible and then shrinking it down makes you look like an anime character and won't accomplish anything.

Shout out to pops here offering the worst encouragement, exploiting his daughter, and making this shit go viral. When I know my kid's a dud, all I'm going to do is video tape him/her all the time and try to turn their shortcomings into cash in my pocket. I'm going to be a fantastic father.
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It goes without saying that I am not going to win Father of the Year at any point in my life. That said, I can also guarantee that I won't be rolling my baby around like a fucking suitcase through a crosswalk. Pretty sure I'd ball out on the extra $10 to get a seat belt in my stroller too.

We have to put some of the blame on this baby though. You can't dead fish your way through survival. I know your Mom is whipping you around like a miscreant, but you have to take action. Grab hold to something and don't plop on the ground like an asshole. Vegetable-ing on the pavement is the purest definition of giving up. Not even a roll to the sidewalk to evade the car. Despicable.

All in all, this shit was an overall catastrophe. Standard case of everyone on the court doing the wrong thing. For the first time since she left, I ask "What would Oprah say about this?"

She'd know what to do.
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To say this item could change my life would be one of the largest understatements ever typed. I was at work late last night laying on mouse pads and binders trying my best to make the most of a bad situation. Needless to say, this cushioned suction head pod could have made all the difference.

Here's the elephant in the room: every one of these holes look like an orifice. I'm not going to dive into details, but that's enough to deter a nap decision. And the fact that there's a 30% chance this thing can kill you because of the Chinese finger-trap vibe. Once you get past the surreal grossness of how it looks and the very real possibility of a comfortable ass death, this could be a fantastic gift for a loved one or me.

If you're the boss and pop into someone's cubicle and see them like this, you can't get mad right? If someone has the audacity to slip into a nap contraption on company hours, they're the type of wildcard spark plug that can make everyone millions or set that place on fire with molotav cocktails. I one day, hope to be that person.

Monday, January 23, 2012

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I think we were all set with "Snake" and "Brick Breaker" on our TI-83 graphing calculators. Shit definitely started going awry when Super Mario Bros. was introduced into the fray. When you're completing quests, gaining XP points, and are emotionally engaged in the experience, the game most definitely shouldn't be played on your calculator.

This nerd up here essentially took what I just said, shat on it, and lit it on fire because this is the most intricate calculator game to ever be created. Dude was fighting clearly distinguishable giants and wolves out there. Dealing damage, collecting gold, and buying shields and shit. Maybe I'm some bitter old dude, but I was completely okay with running a square polygonal line around the screen collecting other squares to become a larger, harder to wield polygonal line. That's all it really took to get me through a boring math class. When I got frustrated, I broke some polygonal bricks to blow off steam. Zero thought, even less time commitment.

Real talk, I'm jealous as shit. I would have 100% failed most classes, played no sports, and wouldn't have hooked up with girls, but I would have a had a blast with this game. Rocking orcs in the grill with a mace-having no date to the prom-avenging the king's death-getting swirlies in the bathroom.

Hell, I'd do it.
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Not gonna lie, I'm probably the worst in the game when it comes to deciphering stupid internet acronyms. I spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about what "LOL" could have possibly meant back in the early AIM era. As soon as I found out what that meant, I got hit with a tough string of unidentifiable "TTYL", "BRB", and "OMG"s. Made me feel like a god damn hermit living under a rock.

Even with my past failures, I made it a point to research and investigate "SMH" the second it made it's way into a Worldstar HipHop video's comment section. Thought about how cool it'd be to emerge on the otherside of the stupid internet acronym warzone. Then I realized all of these are really stupid, including, "Shaking My Head." Yes friend, "SMH" stands for Shaking-My-Head. And yes, I'm fucking serious.

In the internet acronym game, black culture has struggled to find one that sticks. One that transcends into popular culture and distinguishes itself as a popular stupid internet acronym amongst juggernauts such as: "LMAO" and the ever so frustrating "LMFAO." Welp, this one stuck and it's just as stupid as all the rest. I'm going to form a small rational argument against each stupid internet acronym:

"LOL"--say it aloud, doesn't it sound stupid? Just say "haha"
"BRB"--you honestly never need to say this
"OMG"--too religious, easily replaced with "wow"
"TTYL"--I briefly fell for this one, but realized "later" is just one more letter and a lot less stupid
"LMAO"--you're not funny and the joke probably wasn't funny
"LMFAO"--you're 12 years old, not funny, and the joke probably wasn't that funny.
"SMH"--easily replaced with "damn"

There you have it. A pure exposure into how stupid we all are or have been. We all used "Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing", so there's really no need to abbreviate a line that takes 3 seconds to type into a line that takes 2 seconds to type.

Hope that answered your question (obviously white) friend. SMGDMFH...figure that one out.

Friday, January 20, 2012

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Holy hell, what’s going on? Why is the gym becoming that big of a deal?

Here’s a secret: every single time I go to the gym, I do the exact same workout. Every. Fucking. Time. I strictly do the vanity muscles aka the muscles people can see at any given moment and never change up my routine:

1) Fucking Curls
2) Bench Press
3) What I call the “Get Fly” machine because I’m black and it’s more fun that way.
4) That Pull-down thing that really hurts my arms and I don’t know if it accomplishes anything
5) Weird ab stuff—I pick up a medicine ball and chop wood, sit-ups, and all sorts of odd shit. Definitely a turn off for the ladies and again, I don’t know if it accomplishes anything.
6) Walk past all the treadmills and reason with myself that I don’t need cardio until I’m 40

That’s the gym for me. Arms, chest and abs. That’s all you need as a 24 year old guy in 2012. What do I need a firm back for? No one sees my back. And don’t get me started on legs. I dunked a basketball in 2005 and ran track superbly. Fuck outta here with legs. And I have a firm belief that your shoulders are just your arms extended, so I’m covered there. Call me irrational/unorthodox or even fundamentally dangerous, but if you call me inefficient, I owe you a powder slap in the face.

According to the “Gym Pact”, I’d be down about $15 this week. I wipe my ass with $15 (no I don’t). That’s not even remotely scary, so please back off with your holier than thou apps assholes.
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Boy oh, boy would George Washington Carver be proud. All of his very strange hard work establishing peanuts in the grand scheme of things to eat is finally paying off. For some reason, your boy Dub Jeezy loves peanuts. After throwing away my second container of Planters, I did some introspection and according to serving size information, I fucking ate at least 1000 peanuts this week. What?

You know those times when you drift off into a daydream and kind of blackout for a bit? When that happens to me, I come to and my hands are covered in salt and peanut remnants. On any bit of down time I have, I'm eating peanuts. Crushing them. Not even sure if I actually like them, but that shit has molded it's way into becoming muscle memory.

Sure, the "scientists" may say peanuts are healthy and this is a good thing, but 1000 of anything isn't good. If I enjoyed any of my other treats like I enjoyed peanuts, I'd be dead as hell. 1000 gummy bears/worms: type 2 diabetes and gangrene. 1000 marshmallows: I’m not sure, but I can imagine it won’t be good. What I’m trying to say is, my sodium level must be off the charts bad, contributing to adult onset inevitable African-American high blood pressure. I have no idea if non-saturated fat is good or bad, but I have a lot of it coursing through my veins. And I’m going to take the liberty to say my protein level must be so crazy I don’t need to go to the gym tonight.

All in all, I’m getting a D on this health test. And you’re out of your mind if you think I’m not eating gummy bears right now.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

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When 5:01 PM strikes, my body immediately gets sent into fight or flight. Synapses popping and the immune system starts wondering what the fuck is going on. I start sweating and crying a little bit at the same time. Basically what I'm trying to say is, every time I work late, part of me actually dies.

There's no worse feeling than seeing your coworkers walk by your desk with that, "..Damn" look on their face. Just a mixture of judgment and pity that you can't erase off your mind. It's like society picks a time to bottle up your swag and leaves you to your own devices. You, Microsoft Office and motherfucking Minesweeper against the God damn world. Kidding. There's no "Braveheart"-esque war rally to fall back on.

Time starts slowing down and you start developing phantom injuries. No lie, I was positive that I sprained my ankle while SITTING in my desk chair. Because I was alone, I was rolling around the rug writhing in fake ankle pain, completely oblivious to the fact that it was just my synapses trying to prevent me from living/dying. Not a good look when the entire purpose of staying late was getting shit done.

Needless to say, I'm in bed mode at fucking 10:30. A new career high (low) for me. Embarrassing. I'm growing up like a motherfucker.
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(NOTE: Several people lost their lives in this disaster and that's obviously a tragedy, but this is RIDICULOUS)

Short answer: A lot. I don't know about you guys, but I'm not trying to die in the most over-the-top case of irony ever.

Scratch that. There aren't many songs I'd rather explode/drown to than Celine's chart-topping love ballad. It's established itself as one of those un-skippable songs that pop on my Ipod shuffle. It's right up there with the "Chip & Dale: Rescue Rangers" theme song as the greatest, most timeless song of all time. The only thing holding me back from being ok with a Celine induced disaster is the fact that it's SO damn ironic. That's like getting stabbed by Jason Voorhees while wearing a Jason costume on Halloween.

Why hasn't this song been banned from all aquatic vehicles? Thought they may have added this to the boat driving handbook by now. This song either means instant tears/bliss or chaotic historical destruction. Everyone should know that.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

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Introducing Seany Sweeps! You're in for a treat.

NOTE: We didn't dress very well again.

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Aside from Elizabeth Hasselbeck displaying trace amounts of bougie/elitist attractiveness, there's not a lot to like about this bunch. I had jury duty today because I'm a grown ass man apparently and the only thing I can take away from it is the undeniable fact that I hate all of these women with a pure fiery passion.

Doing the math, jury duty wasn't that bad up until "The View" came on TV. Sat there, napped against a wall and checked Facebook and Twitter all day. Honestly, it wasn't very different from a typical day of work. Then these bitches came on the screen and put on the most outlandish display of squawking I've ever witnessed.

As soon as the show started EVERYONE had something to say. Whoopi talking about how many times people confuse her for a dude, nameless blonde white chick talking about her cholesterol, nameless brunette white chick talking about Sandra Bullock, and Elizabeth trying to squeeze in some comment about apple pies. Pure chaos. No red-blooded human could have napped through that Hurricane Katrina-esque disaster. At first I thought it was a gimmick the show pulled as like an intro sort of thing, but then 58 more minutes went by and the credits rolled. That was fucking it. That was the show. I was left flabbergasted and wanted to ask the middle-aged female jurors why that show is crack for women.

Is that like us watching PTI or Sportscenter? If so, I've regained a new found respect for the female gender. I made a list in my phone of things I would legitimately do instead of watching another episode of "The View":

-walk over hot coals
-drink a bottle of hot sauce
-end one friendship
-strongly consider quitting my job
-go deep-sea diving even though I can't swim

I would have kept going, but they told me I didn't have to sit on the jury. Easily could have reached 1000 terrible things.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

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What the fuck? Did Steven Spielberg and James Cameron get together and reincarnate Steve Jobs with plastic and turtleneck material? If it weren't for the blatant action-figure disconnect going on with those wrists, I'd be convinced that this was some cell-phone convention from 2009.

Not since the Power Rangers Megazord has an action figure caused this much of a stir in my life. Granted, this too-real Steve Jobs creation is not composed of a mastodon, pterodactyl, triceratops, saber-toothed tiger, and tyrannosaurus (and sometimes the Dragon Zord when shit got crazy), but damn I'm impressed strictly from a hologram/CGI standpoint. If we can do shit like this, I'm positive I can live forever we can make strides in medicine and other nice things. I'm definitely a little scared too though. Can't have millions of plastic, real Steve Jobses walking around with Watson the Jeopardy winning robot still somehow alive.

Regardless, fantastic presentation.
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This is the rawest, most unadulterated violation of book etiquette I've ever seen on the train.

What I couldn't completely capture in this picture is the overall size and obvious weight of the book. Shit was 4x bigger than an Organic Chemistry textbook. I almost respect the dude for keeping a stern, yet strained expression on his face the whole time while he was clearly in a lot of pain. His other hand is literally preventing his wrist from snapping.

Also, what's good with my man reading the 1st version of the Old Testament? Never before have I seen a book so white, so pronounced, and so powerful. Don't mess with the system man. Just take out a Kindle or a Nook, read the Hunger Games/Game of Thrones/Girls With Fire Dragon Hornet's Nest, and don't stir the pot. That way you won't get creepy pics taken of you by a heterosexual dude while you're reading the first edition of the book of God.

200% chance the girl next to me saw me taking this picture and was VERY freaked out.
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The simple fact that a Whopper meal can be delivered to my door anytime between the hours of 11:00am and 10:00pm is batshit crazy. If this "testing" period goes through, you can pretty much call it a wrap on my life. With just one link, I was more or less told that any future goal that I had hoped to accomplish is officially shattered and my health will plummet until they film a TLC show about me. "The 800 Pound Fight: Dub J's Story."

There's straight up not much hope out there for a blogger that orders Burger King delivery all day. Simply not a shot in hell. Might as well buy into it and dive in head first.

As a fast food connoisseur, I KNOW for a fact that there is no way Burger King can replicate my soda creativity. Anytime I'm at a BK I put on a display that can only be described as the Pablo Picasso of drink mixology. It's like I'm a bartender on the Lower East Side or some shit, except I'm dealing with Orange Hi-C, Powerade, and Fruitopia. I start with about 1/2 Hi-C purely for nostalgia purposes and the mindset that every time I drink Hi-C could be my last. Next, I drop in 1/4 Powerade because that shit has ions in it. I finish the drink off with 1/4 Fruitopia because honestly, Fruitopia is a figment of all our imaginations. Keep in mind this drink has enough high fructose corn syrup to give you instant-diabetes and kill an infant, but it's delicious beyond belief. And I think it makes you black out. The moment BK can prove that they can replicate that drink is the day I sign my immune system over to the devil.

It's a foregone conclusion that, "The 800 Pound Fight: Dub J's Story" would be some of the most moving television of our generation.

Thanks to former co-blogger "G"

Monday, January 16, 2012

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Not many scenarios where you are faced with the decision of whether or not you should step on fire, but I guess we're officially covered. Love the seagull wildcard they added to the picture as well. Creates such a "WHAT does the seagull mean?!" type of vibe. I challenge any of you to name me a sign that can possibly more absurd.

PS. I want to have a beer with the person that was in such a bind, they needed the assistance of a sign to tell them not to walk into fire.
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I don't mean to be so brash, but this frog is an absolute son of a bitch. Blah, blah, blah, I'm smaller than a dime, take a picture of me. I'm smaller than the CVS up the street from me and I didn't call Time Magazine to photograph me standing on top of it.

Serious question: what does this frog eat? Can't be flies, right? In my opinion, a fly would FUCK this frog up no question. Six-handed slaps straight to the face. I even think mosquitoes and ants would cause this thing some problems. It's only option very well might be some dried up soda on a table at a local McDonald's. If that's the case, this thing must have eaten strictly debris, dirt, and algae all the way up until it turned into a frog. That's not a life any mini-frog would want to live.

Sidenote, how do you feel if you were the guy assigned to take this picture? This has to be an all-time career low for a photographer. That's like if I go to work and someone comes out and tells me, "Hey Dub, just don't bother turning on your computer today. Here's a mop." It goes without saying that I'd flip some tables and say inappropriate things to the secretary if I got assigned the mini-frog picture.
// //

My actual job? Pfft, a mentally-handicapped chimp with a moderate knowledge of Microsoft Office can do my job. Wingman-ing is truly my calling. And call me crazy, but I'm like 75% sure that that black silhouette with the golden wings in their logo is supposed to be me. It's as if they know I'm an extraordinary wingman and created this company knowing I'd find it with my blogger internet sleuth skills.

True story, I'm the Scottie Pippen of Wingmen. Notice how I didn't say Michael Jordan? That's the mentality you have to have if you want to be dominant in your role as the setup guy. My strategy is as follows:

1) Spark up conversation with the less desirable girl.
2) Make a few jokes talking up my friend without making it seem obvious that I'm doing that
3) Separate myself and the less desirable girl from my friend and his girl
4) Make it abundantly clear that I'm not interested in anything further than friendship. (NOTE: If on a dance floor, don't dance too close because you don't want to give the wrong idea)
5) Discuss how crazy it would be if our friends hooked up
6) Receive a high five and $100 in the morning from an appreciative friend.

Kidding. If you don't think I will be ordering a professional wingman as early as Thursday night, you are outside your mind.

Friday, January 13, 2012

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Blah, blah, blah, funny intro. FB Friday #6.

Number 1 Reason Why You Don’t Go Past the Danger Sign On The Beach:

Hissing fanged-creatures with basketball shaped-squid heads WILL swim around you and spray water at you from their mouths and noses. Hey Joey, maybe you should stop bleeding for 90 minutes in monster infested waters and get some medical attention. That way your friend and his muppet-sounding wife won’t get shook up by these eel-shark-basketball-mammal hybrids. Got a little dumber watching that. Thanks MD.

Boy Gets Ticketed For Recklessly Driving His Toy Motorcycle Into SUV:
Was this kid hammered? Had to be right? My guess is some fermented Mott’s Apple Juice was in play. Probably got a little too aggressive on the playground and took some Mott’s to the face. Another reason he was most certainly drunk is because kids treat any remote control/motorized vehicle with an absurd amount of care and respect. I’m almost positive I would have killed or died for my motorized Tonka dump truck. Gael, lay off the juice and watch out for the fucking Escalade next time, ok? Thanks BB.

Megabus Now Taking People That Want To Go To West Virginia to West Virginia:
The extremely large and robust market of people that have long awaited travel to Western Virginia have had their prayers answered. I’m tired of taking a $1 Megabus to DC, taking the Metro into Virginia, buying an Amtrak ticket to West Virginia, and hitchhiking my ass along a dirt road into Morgantown where there is a higher than 50% chance I’m going to get hacked to bits by a serial killer. Megabus made the right business decision here, because when you’re tired of NYC, Boston, D.C. and Philly, there’s nothing like a relaxing trip to West Virginia to set your mind right. Thanks MA-K

Male Umbrella Usage:
Can’t believe this was a question. Is my manhood questioned because I prefer not to get drenched, have my headphones destroyed and be unable to aggressively play Word With Friends as I’m walking down the street? Mayyybe my manhood can be questioned because I currently rock a maroon-ish, fushia-ish colored umbrella because no one got me a douchey New York Jets golf umbrella for Christmas. No one likes to sit on the Friday afternoon commute looking like a wet dog. That’s when my best eye-contact flirting goes down. I think. Thanks CG

Girls Scouts Cookies Boycotted Because Of Transgendered Scout:
Listen, if these little brats keep making Samoas and Thin Mints they are fine by me. They can be blue, orange and have as many sexual organs as they want. As long as I get my 4 boxes of Samoas and 2 boxes of Thin Mints I won’t snap. Now if this transgendered scout somehow hurt the production of either of these cookies with their lack of work ethic and cookie knowledge, I’m all for this ban. Thanks Tino (KILLING it with submissions—unfortunately could only use one for now)

They Clonin’ Wooly Mammoths Out Here:
Absolutely thrilled to hear this news. This is based solely off of Snuffleupagus though as he is the only wooly mammoth I’ve fake encountered in my life. Eh, maybe the Mastodon the black ranger used in Power Rangers, but that’s a stretch. I’m just so down for mildly depressed, insightful shaggy elephants to roam the streets. Would make leaving the bar a LOT more interesting. “Hey Dub, you want to take this cab with us?” “Nah guys, I think I’m going to climb this wooly mammoth and see where he takes me.” Thanks KCon.

What’s Really Good With Bassett & Dash Hounds?
Got no real explanation for this other than the fact that God kind of messed up making these things. A bassett hound has way too much skin and runs like an asshole. A dash hound is built low to the ground and runs like an asshole. What they lack physically, they make up for in “not give a fuck”-ness. Eating shit they shouldn’t eat, sleeping anywhere they want, and biting you for no good reason. I can get on board with that attitude. That Spellgirl, is the skreal with bassett and dash hounds.

Thanks errybody, have a good weekend.
// //

It goes without saying that this is the most egregious waste of letters in the history of letters. No matter how you cut it, there’s straight up no need for any word to have TEN vowels in it. Every time I try to pronounce it, I get halfway through, get tired and ask myself “What am I doing?”

If Jason Voorhees had no affiliation with Friday the 13th, there would be absolutely no hoopla and it’d be just a regular day that you wouldn’t make a Facebook status for. Unfortunately movie producers decided to create a 7’3, 400 pound dude that wields a perma-sharp machete and is immune to: fire, stab wounds, gun shots, death, drowning, explosions, and reason. A killing machine in the purist of forms.

If you’re one of those people that can’t function because of the date on the calendar, then you’re an asshole. Not trying to be mean, it’s just true. If it’s rainy out or you’re hungover (like today…and me), it’s understandable, but don’t bring luck or superstition into play. It’s January and there’s tons of motherfucking precipitation outside, of course today is going to suck.

If someone can change the name of Friggatriskaidekaphobia to “I’m an asshole”, things would be set back into order.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

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Now this is what I'm talking about. Strap up your boots, grab 17 rolls of masking tape, some yellow construction paper and you've got real-life Iron Man. The blue balloon taped to his hand really brought everything together. Art truly imitates life.

How absolutely pissed is that kid on the right? Just has a "that's not fucking Iron Man" look on his face.
// //

I thought this was going to be one of those rinky-dink Youtubes of some crow misjudging a step and slipping a few feet down the roof. Nope. This crow was actually trying to sled down the roof because it was a good fucking time.

How much better are Russian crows than American crows? Exponentially? Every time I see a crow on the street I get mean-mugged until I'm out of it's way. Crows here just sprinkle obscene amounts of hate all over the place because they're pissed at the world. Not in Russia. This crow saw a coffee lid on the ground and took initiative. Said to himself, "Hey, today's going to be better than yesterday because my life is in my hands" or something inspirational and took to the slopes. Determined as all hell to get that lid in the right position for maximum acceleration.

PS. My grandma told me something so outrageously crazy about crows, I still think it's a joke. She said, "Every time you see a crow, a person just died." Chill with that shit grandma. It doesn't make sense and makes you even creepier than I thought you were.
// //

Before I dive into this ridiculous battery-life claim, I want to talk about the equally absurd makeup of this phone.

1) It's not even a flip phone: At this stage in the game, you've either got to be a flip phone or a Smartphone to compete in today's cell phone market. Not SpareOne. They scoffed at such nonsensical terms like, "market share", "advancement" and "it's 2012" and kept it real as hell.

2) What's good with that blue alien button?: That's an alien right? I've seen my fair share of Sigourney Weaver "Alien" movies and that looks like a dead ringer. I'm not saying SpareOne needed this button, but the ability to call up Mars when you need someone to talk to is unparalleled.

3) The outer layer of the phone is called "PowerSkin": I've seen bootleg phones before, but none of them have had the brass to come out and call the outer layer of their phone something as off-the-wall as the PowerSkin. Straight out of a 1995 Saturday morning cartoons commercial. If I had a guess, I'd say that obstruction poking out of the top part of the phone was some sort of game changer, but again, that's just a guess.

Now onto the 15-year battery life. You're telling me this phone can outlive most dogs and cats with a single charge? Hell, if you're making that claim, the alien button makes a helluva lot more sense. My phone dies if I walk too fast, let alone make a few calls so my ears certainly perked up when I heard this claim. But 15 years is too much. Too unrealistic. It's like that dude who's doing push-ups at the gym when a girl by and he counts aloud, "9001, 9002." That's stupid. If he said something like, "76, 77, 78" maybe that girl would be a little more inclined to give him a shot.

If one of my readers is stupid enough to own this phone, can you PLEASE let me know what the alien button does?

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

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I'm sitting here disheveled as hell. Confidence at an all-time low. In dire need of a 32oz container of non-existant Swag Juice.

What twisted, genuinely mean individual would socially blue-ball me like that? I logged on to the Creepbook this morning and saw a little "+1" next to the friend request button. That NEVER happens. I damn near fell out of my chair scrambling to click it and when my jackass phone finally loaded, it said "No Friend Requests Available." Naturally, I thought it was the phone's fault so I reloaded the page like 48 times. Still no new friend. This wasn't a technical occurrence. Someone second-guessed being my motherfucking digital friend.

I admit, my profile isn't the most appealing or inviting profile in the world, but that's not enough for someone to think, "..Ehhh actually, I'm better off not being his friend." Sure my interests are generic and my "Favorite TV Shows" section hasn't been updated in awhile, but give me a second chance. Maybe my quotations make me sound like a douchebag, but I was just a freshman getting into college and after Googling "great quotes"that was the best I could come up with. I don't know why I'm here pleading with an unknown person to take me back, but it's now or never over here. As an aggressive status-updater, I run the risk of losing friends at an exponential rate every day. I can't afford to lose them before they even have a chance for me to creepily message them (if they're a chick) or steal their cool pictures/videos (if they're a dude or a chick). Hurts the blog more than it hurts me. Please take me back random person that refused my Facebook friendship.

PS. I've been fluctuating between like 925 friends and 934 friends everyday. What's the deal with that shit? People deleting their accounts cold-turkey and come crawling back like addicts? Has to be it.
// //

Before I get too deep into this bout of ungratefulness, let me just say that I always appreciate any presents people get for me. It just so happens that my parents are the most unintentionally hilarious gift-givers out there, and it’s high time the world heard about it.

Through the years I’ve acquired too many unwearable sweaters and indescribable oddities to keep track of. To give you a taste, two years ago my dad bought me a three-pack of sports blooper videos. On VHS. From 1987. One year my mom bought my brother and I matching rollerblades. I was 17. My brother was 28.

This year, though, was something else. That picture up there is of all my presents from this year. Let’s break down the haul real quick. It’s a little tough to see, but if you look closely you’ll find:

a leather jacket
a fire extinguisher
body wash
some weird ass rice mix
a thermometer
dish cloths
gardening gloves
a scented candle
a set of sheets
a 17-piece culinary set
three, count em THREE, different tool sets

Not even sure where to begin here. I guess I’ll start with the culinary set. Real talk: I had half a Snickers for dinner tonight. Odds of me needing a cheese grater in the next four years are outlandish.

Next we’ll go to the…fire extinguisher? Really have no words for this one. Had a tough time stammering out a thank you after unwrapping this little guy.

Hmm…Gardening gloves…Is it weird that my first thought was to wonder how these could somehow tie into masturbation?

Yes. Yes that is weird.

Lastly let’s look at those toolboxes. Bear in mind, my dad gave me a toolbox before I moved out in August, so now the number of screwdrivers in my apartment is flirting with triple digits. And two saws? Unless a tree limb starts growing through one of my apartment windows, don’t see those coming into play.

I’ve never really been one for fixing things (read: broken toilet), but I guess in the four months since I’ve moved out my parents got the impression that I turned into some sort of motorcycle-riding, tidy-house-keeping handyman. Who knew?

PS. The saw in the lower right is some straight up serial killer shit
// //

No matter how you cut it (pun intended), your day is going to SUCK when you're missing 1/4th of your dome-piece because it got lopped off by a rogue leopard on the street. Knocks the pep right out of your step. I'd love to feel sorry for this guy, but I have to believe this is entirely his fault. Leopards don't just "pop up" in the middle of your local flea market. Dude's awareness must be staggeringly low to not hear the rustle of a leopard tearing through the street.

Shout out to the dude 4-5 feet away taking this picture who is undoubtedly chillin' in riot gear and football pads.

While I don't necessarily like my milk churned via rickshaw, I don't hate it either. I'm not the type of guy that disrespects an honest effort to be innovative. Put your milk in large metal moonshine jugs and attach it to the back of your bicycle in scorching heat all you want, just make sure there's no fucking bleach, detergent, or fertilizer in it. Is it that too hard to ask? Can't get into any sort of morning rhythm if I'm starting my day with Cinnamon Toast Crunch that tastes like poop and Tide Free & Gentle.

-What it comes down to is preference. Do you want to be mildly maimed for the rest of your life, but drink some of the most baller milk imaginable on the daily? Or do you want a sound scalp, but lack severely in vitamin D, calcium and die a slow bleach induced death? Choice is yours.

PS. It would take $1,000,000 in unmarked bills to get me to CONSIDER going to India for 24 hours.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

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Obviously this app reeks of not-so-subtle racism, but let's be honest, who out there is excited to roll through the ghetto? Not me. Nuh uh.

Fun fact about me, I was born and raised in the Bronx, New York. While shit wasn't always gumdrops and sugar plums it certainly wasn't WWIII and molotav cocktails weren't being hucked at luxury sedans anytime they rolled down the street. I didn't consider my area to be "ghetto", but I'm sure some people would have. Everyone has their own relative idea of the ghetto. It's like those Russian Egg Dolls that keep getting smaller each time you remove one.

Large Russian Egg Doll=Well to do suburbs
Med-Large Russian Egg Doll=Suburbs close to trailer park
Medium Russian Egg Doll=Urban neighborhood with some suburban tendencies
Small-Medium Russian Egg Doll=Urban neighborhood with some projects
Small Egg=Financially, educationally and socially deprived projects
REALLY Small Egg=Fucking Afghanistan

As you go down, each egg wants nothing to do with the other egg. I was told by my Dad, Mufasa style, to never go into the South Bronx. I never knew why, but whenever we had to drive through that area, I was fucking terrified. It was an ignorant thought, but 10 year old me would have 100% wanted that app.

I got a little older, I got a little more perceptive and with that said, there's still a 100% chance I'd want that app if it prevents me from ever ending up in the South Bronx. To this day, I haven't been there and irrationally and ignorantly never want to. Papa Jeezy struck the fear of God in me about that place and it ain't going away.

PS. On the real though, this app should be shut down. Can't take 60 yard shots downfield on 4th and 1.
// //

Potentially 1000x better than the first podcast. Had a really good time making it. Also dressed a little better. I think by the 10th podcast we'll be in tuxedos or some shit.

If you didn't check out the first one, click here. Really bad compared to #2.

Monday, January 9, 2012

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I would watch a 2 hour and 30 minute documentary titled: "The Shit NBA Players Did During The Lockout." I'd want it to be like "True Life" from MTV and follow 3 different NBA players doing very different things.

Dirk Nowitzki: After a torrid 127 day bender following their NBA Championship, it's back to work for the tall German with the herky jumpshot. He goes to the gym for 10 minutes, hits his first two shots and realizes he honestly doesn't need to work out. Dirk then calls Mark Cuban, pops on some hipster shades, takes a small hit of ecstasy and cranks out a dramatic reading of Britney Spears' pop hit, "Oops I Did It Again." Lockout defeated.

Blake Griffin: Quickly becoming the "NBA Funny Guy", Blake Griffin decided to go a bit overboard. As a pro athlete, Griffin didn't realize that people only want to see you X-amount of times. Do your profession and be in 1-2 commercials max or else you run the risk of being annoying as hell. Kia, Subway, and that's fucking it Blake.

Delonte West: Gun store, liquor store, gun store, gun store, liquor store, where the fuck are we?! We're with Delonte West. If you want to get precise, we are sitting behind Delonte on a Yamaha motorcycle, clutching a Guitar case full of AK-47s and Sour Patch Kids. This segment doesn't last too long because the sound is clouded with Chopped & Screwed music and sirens.
// //

^I WILL go out of my way to haphazardly swing every cab door open for the rest of my life.

It's a foregone conclusion that I am going to get my brains scrambled beyond belief by some clown riding a bike down the street this year. Instead of a New Year's Resolution, this is a New Year's Realization. I've successfully dodged like 35 "cyclists" this week alone. Chicks and dudes flying down the street all willy nilly like they're Schwinn fucking Armstrong with no disregard for human life.

What's the deal with rules and regulations on a bike? I know people said there's such thing as a BUI, but if you have the coordination and wherewithal to direct yourself on a Huffy, you're innocent in my book. A Youtube video waiting to happen. And what's up with traffic lights? 2, maybe 3% of bikers obey the traffic light, which leaves me in a lot of "limbo" like situations where I'm just wobbling in the street wondering what's going to happen. Granted some of it's my fault because no 24 year old dude should be wobbly out in the street, but in my defense there are TONS of lights flashing every which way. That red 'stop' hand is just a mystery. Sometimes it's up and the light is red and other times it's the opposite. Needless to say, the odds are stacked against me to get clipped before 2013.

PS. Took this pic like 7 months ago and knew it would come in handy some day.

Friday, January 6, 2012

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Honestly, I have no idea how many FB Fridays I've done. That can't be good. Anyways, here we go:

1) Kay Jewelers Commercials
Life isn’t gumdrops, fairy tales, and Open-Heart necklaces by Jane Seymour. It’s a grind out here ladies. Every 30 seconds it’s either your birthday, Christmas, I cheated, or Valentine’s Day and I have to spend 1 month’s salary on an expensive piece of jewelry you’re probably not even going to like that much because you want me to get you “gifts from the heart.” I agree with the ridiculous practice of engagement/wedding (is there a difference?) rings, but I’m not about to let savvy TV advertising back me into financial burden icing you out like Lil Jon and the Eastside Boyz. Thanks JD-sorry for forgetting you.

2) Botched Marriage Proposal Video

This video reeks something serious of being fake, but for the sake of this write-up I have to say that this is exactly how I see my proposal going. I’m just so off-tune with what women are thinking that I may be dumb enough to take my future ex-girlfriend to a Jets game (fully knowing she hates the Jets, football and Jumbotrons) and propose on the Jumbotron in 2054. Can’t knock this guy’s hustle for one second. Thanks HS.

3) Justin Timberlake Engaged To Jessica Biel
Fellas, we lost an angel today. A true beautiful soul that kept us on the edge of our toes always wondering what the next move was. Anyone who thinks I’m talking about Jessica Biel is crazy because the male population lost one of the last true cocksmen this week. Gone are the days that I will see intros to “Extra” and “Access Hollywood” telling me that JTimbs went on a quadruple date with Sloane from Entourage, Halle Berry, and Adriana Lima. Not it’s time for lame US Weekly articles telling me that Justin and Jessica named their kid “Trashcan” or something celebrity stupid like that. Biel is a dime, but 7th Heaven was F-grade gremlin juice. Thanks JT.

4) Opinions on Vodka Ice-Cream
There is a 100% chance I gag when I take a shot of vodka. Call me a bitch, but my esophagus just ain’t down for that action. Ice cream really isn’t my bag either. I’m not gagging, but I’m not enjoying myself either. Plus people make fun of me because I only like Vanilla flavor and that leaves me open to TONS of “Vanilla Personality” jokes that I’m not prepared to defend. Ipso facto, this is a just a terrible fucking combination. BONUS QUESTION: “What hockey team do you like more: Bruins or Rangers?” Haven’t watched a hockey game ONCE in my life, true story. Call it stereotypical if you want. If I had to pick on a whim, I’d go Rangers because I’m a born-again NY sports fan. Thanks CG.

5) Dude Builds His “Fairy-Tale” Home for $4700

It goes without saying, that this has got to be the worst, most piece of shit house ever assembled. Must be dilapidated to all hell with rats and termites running the show from all corners. One of those places where “Yo Mama” jokes thrive. Like, “Yo mama so poor, she ring the door bell and her toilet flush” type shit actually ends up being depressingly true. I legit may have to go to the bathroom, wash my hands, leave the house, and ring the door bell to complete the operation. Sounds fun on paper, but it’s definitely not a good look in the winter. Thanks Tino.

6) Guy Gets Hit By Train, Gets His Body Severed, Severed Body Slams Some Unattentive Bitch In The Face and She Proceeds To Sue His Estate
This is just another cut and dry case of “watch where your body goes after it gets obliterated by a train and gets sent 100 feet in the air.” Saw that shit today. Dude got hit, made sure to have the dead person wherewithal to angle his body to avoid hitting bystanders. Now he’s able to have a standard closed-casket funeral with no financial complications. (Seriously, I didn’t even want to post this because there’s not many situations where you can put a funny spin on train-splattering gore, but I think I nailed it). Thanks Tino, you morbid fuck.

Thanks everyone!

Thursday, January 5, 2012

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I'm just sitting here trying to watch the Jersey Shore in peace while MTV keeps throwing up this terrifying trailer that makes me pee myself and cry at the same time.

This movie might be too scary to even consider seeing in theaters. Poor marketing scheme. At least with "The Ring" you had no idea what it was about and you ended up surprisingly shitting your pants. Not with this one. I know for a fact that I'm going to pull my shirt over my eyes and plug my ears the minute that wacky bitch contorts her elbow the other way. Hell, I may be "fashionably late" to the movie by 45 minutes just so I can say I didn't hide my eyes during the whole thing.

1000% never seeing this film.
// //

"Mommmm? Why isn't Doug on, and more importantly, why is this Popsicle stick imparting his views on me?"

That's basically what I said the first time Nickelodeon pulled this absolute fucking stunt before it's afternoon banger lineup. You remember that lineup, right? Hey Arnold, Doug, Rugrats, and either Rocket Power/Ren & Stimpy/doesn't matter because you were on Cloud 9 for 90 minutes straight. Then Stick Stickly showed up.

Maybe I was a little ahead of my time, but didn't the overall concept of a stick with googly eyes and some crudely applied arts & crafts supplies throw anyone else off? It was just a childish display that took time from the important questions of my pre-teen world. Like: what rerun of Doug am I about to watch? Will Helga finally roofie Arnold? Why haven't I gotten Reptar for my birthday or Christmas yet? Instead I'm subjected to a finished ice cream stick throwing bad joke after bad joke at me for an awkwardly long 2-3 minutes. I just sat there trapped in my own house, scared to turn the channel because my alternatives were Home Improvement and General Hospital. No thanks.

Stick Stickly..really? That's like if I was Jewish and my blog name was Blogger Bloggerstein.
// //

I've seen fuckery in a lot of places, but I thought shower curtains were going to be left out of it all. Now I see this and have absolutely no idea what to think about anything. My mind has been blown in the worst possible way.

When you throw in a 1950s bathtub that no one uses anymore, an asshole in a Manu Ginobili mask, and like 7 really bad jokes, I'm going to hate your shower curtain advertisement every single time. On a unrelated note, what the FUCK is a basin? Is it the "proper" way to say sink? I hope not because that's just an asshole thing to do. Needless to say, if I end up at your house and have to go to the bathroom and I see this, I'm burning that shit down arson style. Not even thinking about it. Just waltzing into your living room, grabbing a phonebook, going into your kitchen, lighting that shit on fire on your stovetop, tossing it in your closet, and walking out. Hell, I'll stand outside on the street and wait for the cops to show.

All I have to do is show them a picture of your shower curtain and I'll be acquitted of all charges. May get the key to the city.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

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I guess my soul ran out of juice. Clearly something very important within me expired and now I can't get through automatic doors.

A real chunk of your manhood gets blasted away when you straight up run into an automatic door that was supposed to open. The other day I was crushing someone in Words With Friends when all of a sudden my life flashed before my eyes. I made square contact with the auto-door at my work and hit my face right on the glass. Easily had a mild-concussion and a sprained MCL. Luckily no one was around when I did it, but regardless I had to take the revolving door like a defeated mule. The next day I watched a countless amount of people walk in and out of that door like God was sitting on a lawn chair with a glass of lemonade and a fresh grilled cheese giggling at my misfortune. "Oh Dub, that just sounds like a random unfortunate malfunction." Nope.

Walked out of the grocery store yesterday and crushed another fucking door. Smashed it. At that point I had to ask myself, "Why are you darting into automatic doors with reckless abandon in the first place?", but then I realized it's an automatic door and I should never have this dilemma. The person behind me definitely laughed, made sure I wasn't crying, and proceeded to walk through the door no problem. What's really good with that? Do I seriously have no soul? Do my sneakers not have the proper rubber to trigger the auto-sensors? Am I straight up a bad person and is this my punishment? If that's the case, it's an outlandishly bizarre and straight up cruel method of torture.

I'm not much of 'say your prayers' kind of guy, but tonight I'm definitely going to be getting my hymn on.
// //

So I googled: diabetes, coronary heart disease, gout, amnesia, and stomach cancer today. Know why? Sausage pancake bites are back. Want to know the other reason why? I have a Dunkin Donuts $25 gift card.

I think the picture is self-explanatory, but I'll give you a brief idea of what's going on with a Sausage Pancake Bite. It's (what I hope is) a sausage surrounded by (what I hope is) pancake fluff. Really nonsensical if you break it down. For reasons I'm not particularly proud of, I'm obsessed with them. Got them one day in an ordering fumble and haven't looked back since. My defining SPB moment was back on a particularly aggressive night at the bar when I got stranded out in the cold near a Dunkin Donuts. Went in and literally said, "How many of those sausage things can I get for $15?" If you do some brief research/math, you'll find the answer to be 24. Granted I didn't eat them all at one time, but I assure you they got eaten. Easily a top 5 worst, most despicable moment in my life.

With that said..they're back. It's like at the end of a "Nightmare on Elm Street" when you think you killed Freddy. Then all of sudden you're in the middle of "Nightmare on Elm Street 2" with Freddy inexplicably unscathed haunting your dreams. Except instead of a knife-handed, burn victim from hell, we have sausage-encased pancakes. It's like I'm eating deliciously disguised razor-blades full of cancer and snake poison.

What I do with this gift card can legitimately shape the rest of my life.

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

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That's us sitting there in my kitchen with an absolutely surprising setup. Microphones out the ass. A soundboard worth more than all our lives. Only 6 beers! Stunning developments left and right.

We're dressed like bum ass dudes too to add to the appeal that we are roughing it something serious out here. Without further ado, here is A Working Man's Diary Podcast Episode 1: