Shedding pseudo-light on non issues…
I AM NOT GAY
riiiiggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhtttttttt………..
He just likes having sex with dudes he doesn’t know.
(in a Dankalicious voice…)
“Here’s to the memories”
This one goes out to Dank. Listen up, fools.
Weekend Bonus:
President Putin Kissing a Fish
this is the first week of school. fucking worst. doing all the work for none of the money as… per… usual. worst. oh well, as we all know, the first week of fall semester means one thing above all others — girls with tans in their fresh threads. yup that’s right. all over the place. william and mary had dorky ass tanned chicks in fresh threads. when you saw them, you were like, “hey, how did that roast turkey escape from the window of boston market?” now, i’m at a dif. place and the ladies are way dif. way hotter and… wait for it… younger.
you know it’s bad, but it feels so right. my mind’s telling me no but my body, my body’s telling me ye-e-es. (if you don’t know this line from the classic rkelly song, i’ll bet you had zero darkies in your whole high school. yup.) so, that’s what school’s about. sitting here and working and staring at 18-yr old girls… sad and deplorable, i know, but it’s what i’ve been reduced to and, truth be told, i’ll bet you fucks would do the same goddam thing. uh-huh.
braves are playing terribly. i think i’m going to have to say that this may not be their year. i hate to be pessimistic, but i don’t want to fool myself either. they’ll have two great games, and then 2 terrible games. they need starting pitching, and they don’t have it. it’s a shame, but i’m taking the long view. if they don’t win it all this year, it’ll make it that much better when they do win it — next year. just the same, with 30 games left, they’re only a few games out of the WC and the Divis., so hope is not lost just yet. nearly lost, but not quite lost completely.
the mets are fucking terrible. i hate everyone on their gay team. i hate their black coach (not cuz he’s black, though), and i hate their speedy baserunners. i hate the mets and i hope their plane crashes. i’m dead serious when i say this. nothing would make me happier than if omar manaya, jose reyes, carlos beltran and david wright got run over by a bus and then gored by a bull right in their respective junks. seriously. they’re so bad, and i hate them. good thing they’re getting destroyed by the phillies every night this week on my tv! pla-zow!!
speaking of soooo bad, i hate the red sux. dankkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk, you know better than to think they were winners. now, it’s crunch time, and manny has gotten some “injury” (aka yeast infection) and papi is too busy looking like a black and even more deformed andre the giant to hit homeruns. … … this is me trying to think of some other redsux to make fun of… … … wait a minute… … … they got nobody else. their team is made up of two power hitters and a million other foreign or geriatric also-rans. i hate the redsux, and they’re getting their just deserts by getting destroyed by the YANKEES two games in a row. bla-zam!! a-rod can hit, and manny and papi should learn something about class from him.
i got a fantasy football team, and i’m in a pickle. i am in a league with several of my professional superiors. this is fine, but i know more about football than them, so i’m torn between letting them win for the guan-shi (aka asskissing) or beating them back to the stone age just cuz i can. i think the former sounds more likely, but i haven’t decided. my team includes, among others, the following destroyers:
“Fast” Willie Parker —
Clinton Portis — 
Alge Crumpler — 
Tom Brady — 
and many more villainous football rascals. get ready for a season of destruction, i’ll say to all who challenge me. i prefer baseball but have no problem embarrassing anyone who asks for it on the gridiron as well.
what i’m really looking forward to about football season is a) colder weather and b) fishing. the summer sucks cuz it’s hot and it’s hard to make the fish bite. when it gets a little cooler, i’ll get back to my main aquatic pastime, and then the deluge of fishing pictures will begin anew. prepare yourselves while there’s still time.
two nights ago, i broke off my toof. it broke off fo rizzeal. for the previous three days i had thought i had something between a couple of my teef, and i had been flossing like a mad man. then, the other night i was eating some delicious pretzels (honey mustard and onion flava) and felt something strange. i had broke off (and subsequently injested) by own toofus. it was delicious as it, too, was coated with the honey mustard and onion flava’d powder, but when i put my tongue into my toof’s former place of residence, i felt nothing but a terrible sink-hole. my toof was, how shall i say this, gonnnnnnnnn!!!!!!! ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!! it was so freaking scary. i was so freaked out. i thought my whole head was going to implode or something, and i’m almost sure it had nothing to do with how blazed i was. just the same, i went to the dentist the next day, and he told me that i had to get a crown… so i did… now i have spent 800 bizones, and i feel nobetter than i did with my old (obviously flawed) toof. this brings me to the main point of this paragraph. i have no idea what dentists are all about. on the one hand, i think it’s good to take care of this stuff before it gets out of hand (as in this particular case) but at the same time, why would you go to the dentist if your toofuses don’t hurt? after all, if it ain’t broke… (you can finish this sentence, surely). in my case, it was broke. it being my toof. and now it’s back. i have a dynamic, space-age toof now, and i will chomp the fingers of anyone who questions my oral hygiene. fyi, this is what a crown looks like
don’t question me when i say that i will verily chomp upon your fingers with my radioactive toof of fury.
last topic for the day — blogs. i was teaching class, and one of my students was saying, “well, you can’t believe anything you read on blogs anyway.” i replied, “sure you can. you just have to read the right blogs.” this was my gut reaction, and i would stick with it. blogs are only as reliable as those who write them. in our case, i think this is a bit different. we don’t write this shit because we want to convince people that we are a) smart or b) cool. in fact, most of the time, these blogs are dedicated to our real loserocity. this is, i think, what makes our blog different from the blog-herd currently polluting the web. everyone else is out there preaching about this or that important issue but really saying very little that matters at all. we are talking about pegasii, tv shows, fake marriages, and other meaningless, non-sensical bullshit, but at least what we’re saying means something to us. i mean, at least when stoney writes something, he knows roughty, twitch, dankklkkkiel and i will like it. when i write something, i know they will like it. when roughty writes something, he knows we’ll like it. when dankkkkkkkkkkkkkk writes something, he thinks that we’ll like it, (and though he’s usually wrong, we like him anyways sometimes). so, my point is that dankkkkkkkkkkkkiel is cool even though his blogs are not, and we are all losers who write the worst, best blog in the galaxy. just kidding. this blog sucks, and nobody should ever waste their time reading or writing anything for this crap-chunk.
[shit aint working right]
yall know…
Case Study: Antonia Puerta is toast. At 22 years old, an obviously fit and healthy footballer had a heart attack on the field, and then died a few days later. I can think of a couple of ways to go with this one. I guess the first and most obvious one is, that as people, our time here cannot be managed, controlled, or otherwise manipulated to your full advantage. Personal intervention and effort can only take you so far, because in the end, if your dad and mom gave you a heart disease, you going to die, whether or not you are ready for it, and whether or not the “odds” are in your favor. Clearly, this dude Peurta was a sick nasty athlete, playing professional soccer at 22. He had been playing at the club since he was 14 or so, so the dude was clearly, clearly at the height of his game.
It’s like the runner fanatic dude, who had a heart attack and died…while he was running around his neighborhood. The dude was a fitness freak, pushing his running obsession onto everyone, and then he just fucking died, doing the thing that’s supposed to make you so healthy.
That, little bitches, is called irony. I learned about it in college.
Speaking of college, what did I really learn in college? Nothing. I have basically summarized all my college knowledge on this shit-hole blog. Namely, that excessive slacking gives me satisfaction, I actually do hate everybody for being fuckhead toolboxes, racism is alive and well (to and from all directions), and lots of other stuff.
But what did I learn about the “real world?” Nothing. I was there with a bunch of fags, who were trying to get ahead in the “real world,” so they took business classes, drank Starbucks and were just overall gay ass fuckers.
Which is kind of like the real world, I guess, except in the real world, people go to work instead of business class, but they still drink Starbucks and are overall gay ass fuckers.
Which gets me back to my childhood. When I was a kid, everything was “real world” this or real world that. I was always on the path to success in the real world, so I focused on shit that bent and twisted me in a way that would make me almost completely incompatible with the way shit is done everyday.
Do I have a ridiculous memory, and be able to repeat stupid shit that I read in a book about some story or theory or some shit, without blinking an eye? Yes, I can do that.
Can I have a conversation with someone in the “real world,” and exude an aura of normalcy and content? No, I can’t. I’m a twisted off freak show, with no real chance of ever being normal, sane or comfortable with who I am in relationship to the world.
This gets back to what I was talking about waaaaaaaaaaaaay back in the day about racism. I’m twisted off because I grew up in a strange vacuum of richiosity and specialness, where everyone can be President one day, and everyone wrote the best paper in the class.
I’ve got news for you, little bitches. The real world is a lot different than what people tell you what the real world is, and I think you enter the real world when you realize the difference between what it should be and what it is.
In the make-believe real world, a 22-year old soccer player won’t have a heart attack on the field, because all the training and conditioning would have ensured his physical success. Through his own hard work, his body should have been in 100% shape.
In the real real world, that dude is dead, and his girlfriend is 8 months preggo.
Real world Case #2: Don’t Drink and Drive, Pre. Jackass
Johnnie TV is an undeniable savage.
AC/CD
Black & Missing Teeth
Ability to instantly become shirtless
Sexual
If you don’t watch the video, you won’t get it. You have 5 minutes, especially everybody who watches Roughty’s excessive bullshit.
I think sometimes, I might get a little carried away and maybe talk myself up a little too much…
Roughtonius, you are the Master of the Blog.
The top 10 posts on our blog in the last month have pulled in about 6600 individual readers. Roughtonius, you are solely responsible for 5835 of those hits, which is 8 of the top 10.
This means that 88.25% of the people who read this blog’s top 10 posts last month were reading Roughty’s words.
Nice one.
Hey bitches.
I feel like the Stoney crew is…limp. Me and Roughty are churning out posts like a goat playing the banjo, but something just doesn’t feel right. Our pseudo-mocked battles just aren’t doing it for me anymore, especially when you consider that Dank would never really step up to me because he knows I will kick his ass back to Poland and back.
Anyway, what the fuck. Any Stonies out there who are into it, write some funny ass shit, or just make fun of somebody, and send it to us. Our emails are on top. I know there are a few of you out there reading us on the regular, but you wussies never comment.
So stop being bitches, and step up to fill the massive void left by Dank and Suit’s gay bullshit.
Send me and Roughty your weak attempts at humor and sarcasm. We will post it, and then make fun of you until you cry…over the internet.
Comcast, in its infinite wisdom, has deemed it necessary to remove HBO from my TV. Ever since The Sopranos series finale, HBO is only offered to those with digital cable. Weak.
However, while I still had HBO I saw previews for their new shows, John from Cincinnati and Flight of the Conchords. Like many people I thought, “Hmm, these can’t be as good as HBO staples like OZ, The Wire, or even The Sopranos.” Thus, I cast them off because I knew I would not be able to view them once Comcast digitally castrated me.
Last month though, a good friend of mine – who has digital cable, and HBO – asked me to come to her place to watch Flight of the Conchords; she thought I would enjoy it. And man, she was right.
Let’s get a little background information on these guys first, before I detail the show. Flight of the Conchords is the name of a folk comedy duo (Bret McKenzie and Jemaine Clement) from New Zealand. What’s folk comedy you ask? It is picking up an acoustic guitar and singing comedic songs, or having comedic banter while picking. Think of Dmetri Martin when he abandons the oversized pad, and picks up his guitar. Flight of the Conchords was a huge hit in international comedy festivals, and had their own BBC 2 radio show, that served as the precursor to the HBO show. They have been around.
The premise of their HBO show is, their band has come to New York to make it big. However, they struggle to get gigs, are constantly stymied by an inept (but hilarious) band manager, and try to cope with New Yorkers who think they’re British. Sounds like a pretty generic premise. Well, it is. Yet, it is pulled of with brilliant British-style comedy, and they incorporate their comedic folk act into the show. That’s right, they break out into song, rap, reggae, etc multiple times each show, leaving the supporting cast of characters dumbfounded. This show is also great because they don’t film in any studios, everything is filmed in New York city.
I have been warned by Stoney not to put up too many videos because he is worried it will increase page load time, thusly losing a lot of our readers. What a Negative Nancy. Please Stoney, I wrote the Pegasus post, I get some leeway bitch. Let’s start with some of their comedic folk act, shall we? Let’s, because it’s business time.
It is songs like that that they incorporate into their episodes. Don’t like it? Then you should abandon this post because there is more to come. Stoney has written some bullshit on NASA, why don’t you check that out.
The Conchords are not limited to folk music, they can “hip up” their act with some rap stylings. I love the way they bring their songs to life in their show.
Hiphopopotamus vs. Rhymnocerous
They also use some outdated special effects and song genres, which leads to more hilarity.
Are you into it?
The Conchords are also very deep, using metaphors for such complex things as love.
Well I will tried to adhere to Stoney’s warning about too many videos…..pffft whatever. Knowing him, most of these videos will be deleted by the end of the day because he is a prick. However, I will leave you with probably my favorite on stage song the Conchords perform. It is like trying to choose my favorite beer, they’re all delicious and fuck me up. Except, “you know who”.
You should feel priveledged to view this song because it was not intended for humans.
The Conchords used this song as the closing credits to one of their episodes. If you would like to see how stand up transfers to TV, check it out. They changed it a little, but the point still gets across. The humans are dead, they used poisonous gasses to poison their asses, and BINARY SOLOS ABOUND!
Hopefully you will get to see all these videos before Stoney chops them. I love Flight of the Conchords, you should too. They have been picked up already for a second season after they have hit it big, which is a lot more than I can say for John from Cincinnati, Suit.
Owen Wilson is a classic. He cemented his place in the movies with Zoolander and Meet the Parents. What does he do for a living? He acts like himself. Wilson is one of those people who really come across as exactly who they are in real life, mostly because he plays the same character in every single movie…himself.
You can dereLICK my balls, el capitan.
What has she ever accomplished with her life?
Owen Wilson, do you really want to kill yourself? I mean…is this really the END of it all for you, is it really that bad?
Let’s see…
Millions and millions of dollars- CHECK
Movie Star- CHECK
Anything else?
NOPE
That’s about it. He is a fucking paid ass dude, his family is all in the business with him…how can he really be that lonely and depressed? He and his brothers just came out with a movie…did anyone watch it? Not really, but that’s ok.
Anyway, I just wanted to publicly say that I don’t understand why he would try to kill himself. The whole thing reminds me of The Royal Tenebaums, which he helped to write as well. He’s a mix of Richie the tennis player, who tries to kill himself, and Eli Cash, the neighbor who also kind of tries to kill himself.
Anyway, if you’re not happy when you are rich and famous, I guess that’s not what makes you happy.
Guess how much NASA’s proposed budget was for this year? I just read it was $16.8 billion dollars. That is a shit load of money.
Let’s do a quick recap of the NASA fuckups in the recent past (what I can remember easily).
Who can forget this crazy bitch?
Let’s see…she cheated on her husband, ditched her kids at home, and drove from Dallas to Orlando non-stop, wearing diapers so she could piss (and shit) herself, to save precious minutes on her mission to stalk and kill her rival lover.
Oh shit.
Now, I keep hearing about the astronauts who “flew the spaceship drunk.” First of all, who the fuck let the drunk ass astronaut take the wheel. You’d think that somebody standing around him, while he’s putting on his fucking space suit, would see that he was fucking lit up. And then I hear about “a culture of booze” or something like that within NASA pilots. They were talking about removing booze “from the astronaut lounge.”
So I can just consider that all my tax money went straight to the liquor cabinet of a drunk ass astronaut lady on a mission to kill another astronaut lady?
NASA, what the fuck is wrong with you? I mean seriously.
I’m looking at the budget PDF file for 2007, and it’s fucking 465 pages long. It’s like a Steven King book for drunk psycho nerdbots, and that’s pretty strange.
And then just the other day, all of the sudden, the space shuttle in space “has chipped its styrofoam shell.” You’re telling me that we give these losers billions and billions of dollars and you build a big styrofoam cooler strapped to jet fuel and electricity? Sounds safe to me. And then, all day for like 2 weeks, all I fucking see when I walk by a TV is something about “running tests to see if the styrofoam crack will be able to withstand the atmosphere.”
NASA is a perpetual fireworks display for the United States, like July 4 every day of the year. Do we need to spend billions of dollars to “test bone density changes” and shit like that? No. NASA exists so that, as a country, we can all sit around and feel good about the fact that we can send rocket ships up in space, carrying drunk psychotic middle-ages fuckheads, so they can go in space and kill rats and shit, just for the fun of it, to see “what would happen.”
What would happen if we didn’t give NASA all that money? A bunch of USELESS fucking nerds would have to….get a real job, instead of sitting around doing physics calculations that have no basis in REALITY, but are instead mere figments and creations of the human imagination and logic.
So we are spending billions of dollars and other resources, so we can gain practically zero worthwhile information, and at the same time, remain captivated by a program that has deep roots in political Cold War agenda…which is really good for world politics right now.
In a slight stretch, how about this Russian annexation of the North Pole shit? Now that is some classic geopolitical upstagery. For what a weird, KBG, fucking ice-master Putin is, he sure knows how to put on a ridiculous PR event. Fuck you guys, we are taking the goddamn North Pole, and there isn’t shit you can do about it. As an even further aside, don’t fuck with Putin, or he will make your sushi radioactive, and you will die a slow, nasty death.
So anyway, after Russia claims the NP, Denmark goes, “I can do something, Motherfucker, we’re sending out an exploratory committee!”
And there you have it, folks, the political landscape of the future. Denmark vs. Russia in a battle for control of the North Pole, while a bunch of drunk ass American astronauts contemplate the meaning of life by killing rats, thousands of miles above the surface of our crusty dick shit planet.
Well, last night snapped the Mets’ four-game winning streak as they lost to the Dodgers, 6-2. Furthermore, as this was a nationally televised game, the sting was that much more biting. It’s baseball though, one out of 162 games, no big deal right? Yeah, in some respects, I suppose.
Yet, as a die hard Mets fan each loss tortures me a little. I had just enough booze in my system, and the right mixture of douchebags in the vicinity to morph from my mild-mannered alter ego, into “Roughty”. “Roughty” will embarass you in front of your girlfriend by ripping your popped collar, yanking out your gelled hair, peeing in your daquiri, then taking her home. It’s been done before.
“Roughty” was always the person who was arrested all those times, and lately I have been able to control his presence because I don’t want to go to a Richmond jail a lot more than I like your girlfriend at closing time. So naturally, I kept him at bay, had a shot, paid my tab, and walked home; all the while cursing under my breath the verbal beratement I was sure to receive from Stoney becuase of his fickle and convenient love of the Dodgers.
But one Queens resident takes Mets losses to heart. Read. That is right. The title is, “Losin’ Mets made me kill my mom”.
“Michael Anthony, 26, was frustrated with the Mets’ 6-5 loss to the Washington Nationals in the second game of Saturday night’s doubleheader when he started arguing with his father, according to a statement he gave police.”
(File photo of a Mets fan getting ready for a little, ultraviolence)
Ok, I can understand his anger. I mean, who doesn’t get pissed when their team loses to the Nationals. They are even worse than the Expos were. While the Anthony household sounds like a replica of Mayberry, I would venture to guess that Michael and his old man were boozing quite heavily.
“We started fighting and my mother jumped in,” he said, adding that she took a knife from the kitchen of the Fresh Meadows home. “I took the knife from her and it got stuck in her head.”
Once again, seems reasonable. The Mets just lost to a garbage team, the old man is on his case, and now mom comes leaping in with a goddamn butcher knife. In my experience, there is no family disagreement that cannot be resolved by brandishing a weapon. Unfortunately, mom had to ruin the fun and put her head in the way of Michael’s stabbing motion.
“Fischman then fled to the bedroom, where Anthony said he thought she was going for a weapon in a dresser drawer. “I grabbed a weight from the top of the dresser, swung it, hit her and she fell to the floor,” Anthony said.”
Whoa, whoa, whoa. The bitch ran into the bedroom after getting a knife stuck in her head? I know the mothers of Mets fans are known for spewing out superior sons – Spartan mothers come to mind here – but, holy shit. If I get a knife stuck in my head, I’m cashing in my chips and waiting for my direct flight to Hell. I will lose the will to fight. But not this woman. Unfortunately, her mad dash alarmed her son, who then clobbered the woman (with a knife stuck in her head mind you) to death with his heaviest barbel.
Now, this barbel could not have been more than 5 pounds. He must not be doing any serious lifting if he feels threatened by his elderly mother, who again, has a fucking knife stuck in her head. I am a huge Mets fan, but this Michael Anthony is my new hero. (Bonus points for having two first names). My only wish is that the AP does a follow up in depth look at how Michael reacts to a Mets loss while watching it at Rikers Island. I smell a Pulitzer.
METS UPDATE / BRAVES DEMISE
NL East standings as of 8/27/07
NY Mets (73-56): 1st place
Philadelphia Phillies (67-62): 6 games behind
Atlanta Braves (67-64): 7 games behind
THE BRAVES ARE TOAST.
CHIPPER JONES UPDATE:
Hey Suit, you know how you love that ass grabbing jerk-off, Chipper Jones so much? Well guess what he named his son? Shea. That’s right, Shea. As in Shea Stadium, home of the Mets. Seems like he wishes he was playing somewhere else. But fuck him, we don’t want his bullshit.
There there, Suit. I know it’s sickening.
Stoney Wage Slave 