Thursday, August 30, 2012

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It's defcom five. I'm looking for answers to questions I don't know how to ask. I'm lazy to the point that it's almost a disability. And my moral is so low, virtually anyone can make me cry right now. Let's talk move-in day:

Bed vs. Mattress vs. Frame: Probably the biggest conundrum to ever face human civilization. Told people I was buying a bed, they asked what size mattress I was getting. I said I was buying a frame, they ask "what kind of bed do you have?" Am I the only one that comes out thoroughly confused? Pretty sure I just spent one million dollars on a couple 4x4s and a screwdriver.

We talkin' 'bout thread count?!: No lie, I spent 36 minutes the other day just looking at sheets. Staring at them. Trying to figure out what makes them tick. And then I came across thread count and fell into a black hole of some of the least manly terminology possible: "Stitching" "Woven" "Sateen." Yikes. Felt like I was in the Matrix being surrounded by a bunch of numbers and words I didn't understand. The Egyptians better know what the fuck their doing.

What's the point of a nightstand?: I hear the word "aesthetics" getting thrown around far too often when people don't have a real answer for things. The only function a nightstand will serve is holding the remote, but even then losing it in the sheets isn't that bad. Nightstands are pompous as hell. Bought one yesterday. Church.

Time to take down the quilt curtain: No I don't own some sort of quilt-curtain baller hybrid. I just use a quilt as my curtain because my current curtain does a miserable job blocking out the sun. Actually, it's as far from baller that you can get. I googled "how to buy a curtain" and I feel like the internet laughed at me.

So as you can see moving is a super-stressful process, based on my lack of complete sentences. Pay movers. Hire maids. WMD needs to start pulling it's weight.

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

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And no, you pervs, it's not what you think. Plus I bat lefty.

I'm afflicted, ladies and gentleman. Afflicted with a disease that only the nerdiest, most bottom-dwelling, broken down people get. Let's face it, only chronic masturbators, World of Warcraft players, bloggers, and IT guys get carpal tunnel. It fucking sucks, but I have to deal I guess. I just want to let you guys know that I literally fight every day to give you guys 3 2 1 blog a day. Every blog is another blood vessel popping, another tendon snapping and basically another year off my life.

So what do I do? Tell my boss, "Nah, I'm all set with Excel" for today? Does that work? Should I be paying myself Worker's comp for the stress that blogging has put on myself?

Fuck it, I'm suing Working Man's Diary. Those rich bastards just swim in money all day long and laugh at the 99.5%. Should have never gave them ****** money.
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I don't know what I'm more upset about: England letting the country shut down because of a fat Garfield renactment or because people are still using that Bigfoot, blurry ass, pixelated camera. All around disaster out there.

There's no putting this lightly, this cat is obese. Like unable to do things fat. And one of the most powerful nations in the world was borderline eradicated because of it. Some homeless dude with a camera from 1927 just so happened to catch this cat expending the last of it's energy getting dusted by random rodents.

England, smmfh.

Monday, August 27, 2012

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What the shit, BiC? Why am I getting alienated from the pink, purple and sky blue pen lifestyle?

Real talk, does anyone actually write anymore? I haven't legitimately written anything of purpose in like 5 years. If I can't write it in Microsoft Word, Wordpad, Notepad, or in a Blog, it's not that important. Except if it involves pink, purple or sky blue ink. The entire game is changed if you allow me to write rent checks and sign legal documents in teal and fuchsia. Makes feel fancy and what not.

On the other side, I do feel extremely discriminated against. I'm not trying to buy pink pens and have it feel like I'm buying tampons. I don't want to live in that world.

And I'm pretty sure she doesn't either:

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Is it bad when your mother calls with a primary purpose to tell you that McDonald's is serving breakfast after midnight? While she's undoubtedly disappointed, that's just a good mother right there.

Just to clarify, through the course of writing this blog I think I have blogged about McDonald's breakfast at least 5 times. I definitely tweet about it (@WMsDiary) on a weekly basis. It's that important to me. A time that allows me to collect myself, review the week and to 'itis myself into oblivion to the point where I'm not a functioning human until 8pm. You can now understand that the post-midnight breakfast menu is going to be a problem.

Here are the things I have drunkenly eaten on a Friday/Saturday post-midnight:

-Two large sleeves of BBQ Pringles
-Microwaveable White Castle cheeseburgers
-7-Eleven burritos/nachos/...regrettably hot dogs
-So many DiGiornos
-Gummy Bears
-Teddy Grahams
-Protein Shake
-A motherfucking pear
-Other people's food
-Straight toast
-Boiled spaghetti with nothing on it

That's just off the top of my head. As you can see, things aren't pretty. And I most likely have diabetes. Add McMuffins to this list and it's going to be a bonafide disaster. But until then, I'm just going to enjoy the ride.

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

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There's baller and then there's having a donkey following you around so you consistently have WiFi.

First order of business would be to immediately walk into an AT&T store, request assistance, refuse all 3G/4G LTE options on the account that "I have a donkey for that", and generally bother everyone around me. The only issue would be keeping this donkey alive long enough for my phone contract to expire. Actually, how do you keep a donkey alive period? Hay? How do you get hay? What the fuck IS hay?

This is kinda becoming an issue. A pure unadulterated test of my need to ball out vs. my inability to take care of WiFi carrying livestock. Go to the club with a donkey and the ability to FaceTime or buying a shovel to bury a donkey carcass? Questions I don't know if I want to answer.

Fuck it, we'll ball out. I need to log into this ass ASAP.
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Myths? What myths? All I see is fact, truth and real talk. Shall we review?

Pregnancy Prevention:

Mountain Dew - Yellow. Number. Five. That shit is like the Raid Bug Spray of sperm. Plus there is a TON of other shit in there that makes The Dew wildly unsafe and unpredictable. I know for a fact that I lost at least 10 good years off of my life and probably don't have a spleen. Ideal birth control.

Marijuana - Weed doesn't prevent pregnancy. It prevents people from doing anything that can make someone pregnant. It's either raining or balls ass hot in Florida, so if you combine that with weed, people ain't moving much. No babies.

AIDS Prevention:

Capful of bleach - While I wouldn't advise this, I'm pretty sure a capful of bleach can prevent, well, anything. It can prevent you from going to work tomorrow, doing your homework, calling your Grandma on her birthday and getting AIDS. You just have to deal with that whole "dying" thing. Once you conquer that, you're AIDS-free.

Do you, Florida. Do you.

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

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The sun comes out, you pay your taxes, and you can be sure China will create some wonky shit to put on their face to protect against the unknown.

I love the entire, "Fuck ya SPF" attitude the Far East is bringing to the table. Just turning their backs on conventional science and dermatology and wearing swim caps on their faces like it ain't no thang. Hey, no one said rocking latex on your face doesn't prevent sun damage.

And if anyone gives you shit, you can always get weird and go Green Man on them. Versatile selection, China. I like it.

Monday, August 20, 2012

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Very serious question: Is anyone else still hungover? Because I think I am. Or I had like 7 aneurysms today. Not really sure, but I'm kinda scared.

What happened? I truly think my liver is in the process of calling it quits. It's like 2016 Kobe Bryant taking the same amount of shots and getting pissed when it gets taken out of the game. My liver still thinks it can process beer, wine, shot combos like it used to, but if this weekend was any indication, it needs to prepare a retirement speech and look into how it wants to invest it's 401k.

The typical hangover is always rough. You wake up like you're pulling your head out of a bucket of water. Gasping for air, confused at your surroundings and a likely confusion of whether you're hungry or not. All standard stuff. What's not standard is waking up on Monday feeling literally the exact same way. I woke up and convinced myself that I was sick for about an hour. Then I thought I didn't sleep well. Then I realized I was potentially still somehow drunk. Not full on drunk, but a recognition that my liver was still processing alcohol at an embarrassingly slow pace.

I almost started crying on the train because this wasn't a war story that I wanted to tell. But then the whole "I have a blog and a God complex" thing kicked in and I immediately broke down. This is for you 24ish guys and gals that are starting to see their fastball drop, their ability to get out of the blocks dwindle and feel like they have gum on their shoe during every step they take. It's slowing down, but that doesn't mean we're out of this. We just have to adjust and get crafty. Develop a post game or some shit. I don't know, but I think the best method as of now is to drink 200 glasses of water a day.

I'd rather go out drowning in H20 than have to look up "What does it mean if you're STILL hungover?" on Google ever again.
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I hope you all were sitting down for that because that was some Earth-shattering shit. Fake scientists doing what fake scientists always do: telling us stuff we already know.

Hell I need to get that job because I'd easily be the best at saying, "The only real reason dudes get drunk is because their friends are getting drunk and because they want to hook up with chicks." If I put on a lab coat and hold a beaker, I'd be just as good as these assholes.

If your friends aren't drinking and you have a girlfriend/wife, but you still want to drink, you're an alcoholic straight up and you need help. If you're a single guy, you drink mainly for liquid confidence at the hopes of eventually picking up a girl. If you're a dude in a relationship you drink because all of your single friends want to drink, but you're really just out there for moral support. It's a vicious cycle that will never end because guys are primal idiots.

Girls are a special infuriating breed. Girls know guys are primal idiots and use that to their advantage to the tune of free drinks and skipping lines. They also don't drink much in their youth because it is a BILLION times riskier to be a shitfaced girl than a shitfaced guy. At the most guys can get arrested. Bad things can happen to a girl when he head isn't on a swivel. But you find a girl in a relationship and she is literally drunk all the time, praying for the next "Girls Night." She got complacent when her man was a mild booze hound, but now that he's toned things down all he wants to do is hang out and is always around. Another vicious cycle that evolution has created. Why do you think Mom ALWAYS has that glass of wine with dinner?

So basically, dudes drink to get chicks and chicks drink because they get sick of seeing that dude's face everyday. Where's my PhD?
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God dammit, man. Wearing leotards with laptops in them so you can connect to your headphones? That implies that:

a) You somehow don't own a Walkman, CD Player, Mini-Disc Player or an MP3 Player, but you own a laptop.

b) Bought a leotard.

c) Hopefully this a joke

d) If it's not a joke, you set black people whatever ethnicity you are back at least 8 decades.

Was it worth it? Was 246 strips of bacon worth it?

Friday, August 17, 2012

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Ah, Scramble With Friends. The best time waster since...Word With Friends. Throughout my day I probably play between 5-10 times, each in different settings. Because I moonlight as an amateur social psychologist, I fake wrote down my findings of every scenario that I play the game in and how I perform. Here are those fake, made-up, fabricated findings that I am thinking of on the fly:

On the train: Under duress. Crowd watching. Restricted hand movement. That's the name of the game on the train. My brain isn't functioning when I have a morbidly obese woman leaned up against my hip and a baby crying two feet away. If anything, I just have to let a few larger words go by the wayside to prevent accidentally sticking my finger up another persons butt. Very precautionary and my least favorite.

Work bathroom: Easily my most effective. Quiet, serene, and comfortable temperatures make this location a nightmare for whoever I'm playing. Once the "deed" is done, you best believe I have nothing to focus on other than going HAM on trademark infringed Boggle. Win tons of games on the toilet. (FYI, if you see me put up over 100 words, I'm in the bathroom)

Home on the couch: Scramble sucks when I'm home. The game becomes infinitely worse when you leave the treachery that is the work day. My motivation is extremely low and I lose a TON of games when I play the final round at home, because I simply don't care. Motherfucker, I have a Playstation and an HDTV, what kind of maniac would play a phone game in those conditions.

Right before bed: Similar to the toilet, but with zero, um..distractions. Probably my most dangerous Scramble mode. If I'm not sleeping, blogging, or looking up VERY WEIRD things on the internet, you can best believe I am in hyper vigilent ready to drop coins on all sorts of hoes. They happen very rarely though, because as I have said, Scramble is virtually unplayable at home unless you're in the bathroom.

It's Friday, why did you just read a post about me playing Scramble with Friends on the toilet? Go have a drink and enjoy the weekend.

PS. My username is DubJ1023. Get at me.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

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Love how this movie didn't change the plot, added Chuck Norris (who is 72?!) and is somehow going to gross 600 million dollars worldwide. Sly Stallone is just attacking the shit out of the meathead US populous.

And we all know how "Expendables 2" is going to end. No one of importance in the main cast will die and they will win the battle through incredible odds. That's easy. The hard part is determining what remaining Hollywood badasses and fringe badasses remain after the dust literally settles. Fuck it, throw Lautner in there. Plop Christopher Walken's creepy ass on screen for a second. Have Quentin Tarantino's face scare filter out the small children that weren't supposed to be there anyway. It's Sly's canvas and we're just watching a really weird painting.

Couldn't they sneak me in there? I've been hittin' the gym a few times a week and we all know I'm the 64,349th ranked blogger worldwide. Almost seems like a no-brainer. At least have me explode via rocket launcher or something. If WMD can't get me in The Expendables cast, what's the point really?

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

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Not even mad about it either. Ain't no shame in a 24 year old working male watching cute ass videos to break up the week.

Wait, what? You thought I was going to make fun of that concave-chested kid holding the kitten? It's fucking "Kitten Wednesday" (doesn't even have the slightest bit of a ring to it), even I'm not even in a hatin' mood after seeing that baby cat go HAM on that comically small bottle of milk. Bless his heart, I don't think he got a drop of milk, but god dammit did he try.

Use this as motivation for your Thursday, "Keep fighting for that milk even though you know that you can't get any." Kitten Wednesday words of wisdom.
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"When police asked him what day it was, he replied 'three but now it is four'."

0.627? Gollllllly, that's pure rubbing alcohol, mixed with Listerine and Neutrogena facial cleanser. Dude must have injected that shit straight into his heart to the point where he became more alcohol than human. Walking around like a live-action bottle of Remy Martin, causing chaos on the road and answering questions that weren't even close to being asked.

He looks like one of those scary drunks too. That friend you have that never gives off any of the signs like, slurred speech, red eyes or woobly movements. The one that just sits in the corner, doesn't talk to anyone, but keeps slugging back straight whiskey. You know he's not ok, but frankly you're afraid to ask. Well maybe it's time to start checking up on your creepy drunk friend more often. There's that small chance that their blood may be 63 percent alcohol.

"Hey, man, you alright?"

"Tomb Raider was a good game, but Crash Bandicoot was better"

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

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Merriam and Webster must be turning in their grave right now and the Mayans are probably right. Flimsy doesn't even begin to describe how flimsy this idea is. Here's WMD's analysis of how we're screwed as a society:

"F-Bomb": I guess you can never have too many connotations of "fuck" in the dictionary, right? Sweet Queen Coretta, this is bad. Indian kids in the year 2045 will be asking Spelling Bee judges to use F-Bomb in a sentence. We're f-bombed people.

"Sexting": Dick pics. Mirrored boob shots. Insecure ass poppage. That's what sexting is and they BETTER use my definition for it. I know this is going to make me sound old, but are kids really getting x-rated pics all day erryday? Is T&A being hustled around the playground like Pokemon cards? If I have a daughter, it's undoubtedly a wrap for her.

"Mash-Up": God dammit. This one is the most frustrating. The others are irresponsible, but this one is just lazy and legitimately stupid. Did we really need this hyphenated idea to actually be defined? I just can't get behind a word that gives Girltalk dictionary-esque credibility.

We in trouble, ya'll.

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The nerve of the Japanese media. I know the country is still dealing with the plight of the nuclear disaster, but don't lie to us with pictures like this. Saying convenient things like, "the butterflies have abnormalities" and "they have wrinkled wings." Show me a flaccid-winged butterfly and maybe, just maybe I'll believe you. But let's be honest, this is probably what we're dealing with.

Oh ho hum, it's just Mothra droppin' silk all over Tokyo looking loud as a motherfucker. It's funny how Jay-Z says things like, "I invented swag" when you can clearly see Mothra rewriting butterfly fashion laws while destroying a major metropolis.

"Mutant Butterflies" my ass. Someone call Godzilla and Matthew Broderick. They'll know what to do.

Monday, August 13, 2012

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"Cause she wears underwear with dick-holes in 'em"

But seriously, this dude-chick looks like an old version of MacGruber with a dash of Jeff Daniels and a little bit of Philip Seymour-Hoffman.

PS. RIP Olympics. Until next time, swimming, gymnastics, handball, women's basketball, diving, soccer, and table tennis.
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We get it everyone, Mondays aren't a good time. The weekend ended, everything sucks, and your life might as well be over. I fucking get it. Well folks, I hope you're sitting down because I have some startling news for you...

Tuesdays are much, much worse than Mondays.

Despite what Facebook and Twitter tell you, Mondays aren't that bad. Everyone just thinks they partied harder than they will ever party again. Newsflash, you're going back to that same bar next week, ordering the same drinks, and hitting on the same people. Wait 4 days and you can do it again. Plus you're riding high from a relaxing Sunday. If you got "wild" during the weekend, chances are you were too hungover to do anything except order a pizza and watch On-Demand all day. Doesn't really sound too strenuous. And NO one shows up to work on time on Monday. It's basically the day you're supposed to fuck up and lose the company money. The problem with Tuesday is that it's the complete opposite AND represents zero hope.

Tuesdays are an absolute dead zone. The purgatory of days. Nestled right between Monday and Wednesday, you literally have nothing to keep you moving and nothing to look forward too. Like yeah, you made lasagna on Monday and maybe you watched whatever was on NBC, but you didn't really do anything. And Wednesday is, well, Wednesday. How can you not be depressed? Hell, I'm struggling to even keep this post together without tearing up.

So everyone should chill out with the "Ugh, Monday already?!" statuses and get a little creative. Maybe wake up tomorrow, realize how right I am, and throw up a "Ughz, Tuesday?!", because that's incredibly creative.

Friday, August 10, 2012

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Just a weird fucking animal. Some random human features mixed with rat-like features and anime eyes. Plus my man was just carrying a fork. No idea why or if he actually knows how to use it, but that really unsettled me.

-Kinda cute
-Makes hilarious expressions
-Loves rice?
-Has a tiny human hand
-Can survive in a bowl with no natural light
-You can name it anything you want and not feel bad
-For example: Dexter or Octavian

-Kinda gross
-No idea what it's thinking
-I'd venture a guess and say they probably don't live long
-They don't seem very efficient
-"Urgency" is not the word
-That hand

Jury is out, but I think I need to own one for like 4 days to be sure. Anyone out there that owns one of these things and has blind trust that their favorite blogger won't kill it? If so, hit me up at

Just kidding, I'll 100% unintentionally kill it.

Thursday, August 9, 2012

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There's drunk and then there's somehow sneaking past the TSA, hopping on the X-Ray machine, passing out, and getting arrested when you pop out the other side drunk. That's some next level, wood-grain, blinding alcohol type of non-sense.

Double props for having some mangled, disgusting organs too. Dude's literally dead on the inside so it's no surprise that he's living everyday like it's his last. Who am I to knock a bucket list task? Some people want to see the world and some people buy a boarding pass, slug back some rubbing alcohol and a box of Ambien and see what happens.

Shout out to the security too. You can't make me feel any safer than letting a blacked out pygmy nap on the conveyor belt while you pat my balls and tell me I can't bring deodorant on the flight. Bang up job, guys.

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

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Jokes aside, I literally have no idea what's going on. One day I woke up, checked Twitter, saw a bunch of Tweets about Mars, made the same Chappelle "Mars" related joke I made in the title, didn't read CNN, and was left confused. Well today, I decided to read CNN and predictably I'm confused. Straight befuddled to the n'th degree.

First things first, what the fuck is this:
We got a robot out here Instagramming dirt and NASA blasting it out using words like "findings" and "progress." I'm no expert, but it just looks like a lot of sepia.

It doesn't add up. We have pictures of nothing, Obama's acting like Black Bush and frankly I feel like I'm getting duped. Mars HAS to be super wack, too. No internet, TV, bars, or shit to blog about. It's hard enough finding decent topical stuff to talk about on planet Earth, I can't afford to blog about red fake dirt pictures all day.

If these pictures don't start looking like Disney's John Carter soon, "Curiosity" will be an absolute failure.

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

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Exhibit A:

Confederate flag "Southern Pride" knife right in your face. Clearfield don't care. They'll see the melanin in your skin, disregard all societal norms and progression, put a smile on their face and hand you a symbol of racial divide. Sure you may ask, "Dub, why are you involving yourself in things that involve knives?" There's no answer that I'm proud of, but I'm just fucking sick at that "Throw the Ring Around the Knife" game. It is what it is, but I'm pretty sure Clearfield is stuck in non-racist 1956.

Exhibit B:

Clearfield also doesn't keep up with current (year long) events. Like, oblivious to newspapers, television, the internet, Reaganomics, and well publicized pedophilia. But like I said, Clearfield don't care. They'll throw a deflated rape ball at you and not bat an eyelash. Won't even ask if you need it pumped. Unreal.

Is it bad that I still had a blast, though?

I repeat:

Thursday, August 2, 2012

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We won by 4 trillion points, but at what cost. We lost James Harden's pelvic muscles, pride and dignity. The internet should sign a sympathy card.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

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"Never Mind the Anabolics" is the cockiest name that a beer chock-full of anabolic steroids can have. Just proud of the fact that their beer is banned anywhere that requires a piss test. While everything at the bar can be considered "bad", steroid beer is flat out irresponsible.

Can you imagine how many people will be mindlessly beaten to all shit? The answer is everyone. Even meek dudes like myself might slam a dude or two's head onto the table after a few bottles of NMtA. Hell, everything will be ramped up a bit. Standard bar fights will turn into criminal cases involving words like "maimed" and "severed." Situations where one guy looks at another guy's girl may result in 2-3 hour headlocks. And the world will be filled with large bicep'd guys with beer guts. A bunch of alien looking dudes. This ain't progress America.

With all that said, you best believe I'll be on a strict diet of NMtA and watching TV come 2016 to get myself together for the next Olympics. Don't know what sport I'm going to try yet, but I do know I'm going to be so jacked and ball shriveled that it won't even matter.