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Halo 3, Tokyo Game Show, and my wishes

Today was a big day in the gaming world.  As the enormous, all-encompassing Tokyo Game Show is raging on, Halo 3 was unleashed upon the population.  See also: massive online complications with Xbox Live. 

By all accounts Halo 3 is what has been expected.  An unbeatable multiplayer experience with a good (not great) campaign mode.  However, the adequate campaign mode will get a pass from most gamers, seeing as most people will be playing the newest installment of Halo with friends, online or off.  See also: massive alcohol consumption, shit talking, and plummeting grades.


Nothing can stand up to me, Master Chief.  Not your mom, girlfriend, social life, or grades.

I have recently become the proud owner of an Xbox 360, yet I did not pre-order a copy of Halo 3.  It looks like I will have to wait a couple of weeks before I enter the fray, however I am not worried.  I am currently engrossed in Bioshock, and I do not need some other nonsense to take up the minimal free time I have left.  See also: me being absent from this shitstem.

Yet, with all the hype surrounding the release of Halo 3, I did not feel the itch to quickly grab myself a copy.  Everytime I went into the GameStop around the corner to look for a Wii, purchase, or trade in some games, I was constantly assaulted by the sales associates about pre-ordering myself a copy.  These motherfuckers can really put a guilt trip on you, especially when you tire of their bullshit and tell them you are not insanely excited about Halo 3’s release.  From the looks I was receiving from people in the store that day, I thought I was going to be excommunicated from the Church of Microsoft.


Welcome to GameStop.  How can we obliterate your bank account today?

Despite the looks I receive from most gamers, I really was not excited about Halo 3’s release.  I will buy the game, and I am positive I will enjoy myself immensely, yet I did not feel I needed to have it right away.  There are two games for the 360 however, that I will be going apeshit over, and will be purchasing the day they are released.


This game will be released this Novemeber, and it is being made by UbiSoft, the geniuses who brought my beloved Prince of Persia into the modern gaming age.  From initial accounts, Assassin’s Creed takes a lot of platforming (e.g. puzzle solving, wall climbing, environmental traversing) aspects from Prince of Persia and makes them better and more fluid.  If you have never played Prince of Persia, that is no easy feat.

Futhermore, this game is set during the Crusades in Jerusalem; an often overlooked time period in gaming.  According to UbiSoft, the combat system features over 14,000 different animations in which you can maneuver your character.  Not too much is known about the story, but I am extremely excited to get a hold of this game, and see what the minds at UbiSoft have created for a Crusades style assassin game.


If you have not played Ninja Gaiden for the Xbox, shame on you.  Shame, shame.  I got the first Ninja Gaiden the day it came out in 2004, and I still cannot put it down.  I have beaten a bunch of times, and have even bought the re-release which threw faster, more challenging enemies at Ryu Hayabusa.  There is not much more I can say about this game other than it is easily my favorite game in the last 15 years.

Naturally, with this kind of admiration for the first, I am eagerly awaiting the sequel.  Today I have seen the first video of gameplay from the Tokyo Game Show, and….WOW.  WOW.  The gameplay is fluid and beautiful as ever, and while I thought the graphics of the first already looked like the they were being churned out by the 360, I was amazed to see the strides made with this sequel.  And oh yes, it is much more grusome than the maddeningly grusome first, next generation installment.

For those loyal readers, you will remember many times on this blog I refer to my ninja alter ego, ninja powers, or ninja activities; Ninja Gaiden is the inspiration for all that nonsense.  The other Stonies used to bust my balls about my love for Ninja Gaiden, however Stoney has recently become hooked on this game while in LA.  If he ever gets enough wiggle room in his weed budget and buys a 360, I am sure this will be the only game he will buy.

Behold, the greatest game that will ever be on the 360.  That’s right, fuck off Halo 3. 

It is a bit long at 9 minutes, but I assure you, once Ryu starts dismembering and eviscerating, you will hardly notice the time going by.

If you own an Xbox 360 by the time this game is released next year, PICK IT UP.  It is a challenging (really challenging), fast, fun game in an era when these games are becoming rarer.  Oh sorry Dank, I know you wouldn’t mind buying about the millionth World War II game to be released.

Got milk?

Mmmmm, milk.  It’s delicious.  I used to think everyone drank milk at the rate me and my family did, however it turns out a lot of people either do not like it, or cannot handle it.  Both these groups of people are non-savages.  Milk is delicious bovine nectar, here to quench my thirst, kill my hangovers, and ease my mind.

We all remember the, “Got Milk?” ads, and all the puns that were made on them in the mid-90s.  Yeah, they might have been stupid, but the message was real.  If your bow-legged ass had drank some whole milk between the ages of 3-5, maybe you would be a couple inches taller and be able to reach the steering wheel.  Its true, milk does a body good…


There are kids who claim they don’t care about anything, and only their music, or their poetry can cure their ills.  WRONG!  Fucking retards.  These are the kids who mommy and daddy have to drag to the dentist every other day because junior wont brush his teeth.  Or little Jimmy has to go to the dermatologist again because he won’t shampoo his hair and the psoriasis is starting to bother other children.  If parents start these kids lives with proper milk consumption…


…they can be saved from turning into this…


Milk really can cure all of society’s ills, just give it a chance.  Fuck peace Lennon, it got its chance.

However, it seems like Japan needs a crash course in milk, quick.  Japanese arcades have recalled arm wrestling games. 


Do you have what it takes to not shatter your arm?  Only 5,000 yen per play!

How weak do you have to be to break your own arm against an arcade game?  Isn’t this the country that spawned martial arts?  You’re slipping Japan.  Send in the reinforcements…

Bring on the milk!  That’s a full gallon!

This arcade game style punishment reminds me of my last trip to a video arcade; the site of the, “unpleasantness”.  I was wrecking, “Time Cop” and may have gotten a little carried away when the helicopter bombed my ass.  “Honestly officer, the next thing I remember is seeing red, waking up with police tape all around me, and Chuck E. Cheese lying in a pool of his own blood.”  I was lucky to get off, because if I have learned anything from Law & Order, it’s that insanity defenses rarely work, Jack “Attack” McCoy is surprisingly dapper in a real life courtroom, oh and bringing fake ballistics reports to the interrogation will get even the most hardened criminal to fold.  

I really hope they do not keep these games out of Japanese arcades for long.   The Japanese have already taken down Godzilla, yet how are their kids supposed to train for a Sylvester Stallone rampage?  See how you like it Japan, when Sly rolls in on his big rig, and snaps everyones arms because they don’t drink milk, and this game was taken out of circulation.  Trust me, it will happen.  Will you be prepared?


And this is why you don’t try and mug somebody

Please, Please, Please check out the second video as well.  It is the best.  They’re building the army. 


russia’s new bomb

And a little local news…

the tree climbing dog.

now for something pretty good.  sorry no substance.  i’m supposed to have a task here any hour now, so i can’t get writing.  I figured i’d just post videos like our laughably lauded loser blog poster, roughty.

15 K and running

It seems like this blog has taken up a significant part of my free time, and Stoney’s work time.  However, in perspective we are neophytes in the community.  Pfft.  Whatever, we have our own flavor, and it appears like many of you out there in ReaderLand agree. 

We have only been around for four months, but have already chopped three beloved friends (and family), gone through two slogans, two mascots, and have touched upon such sensitive issues as: adult diapers, presidential canidacy, racism, Jesus, male enhancement, crack, black people, running over pedestrians, and more recently, running over cracked up black pedestrians.  We have made a few friends along the way, and have successfully spread awareness of the Crusade Against Non-Savagery.

There are a few Native American and Pacific tribes that believe when their picture is taken, their soul has also been taken.  Well, we don’t use cameras, but we have stolen your souls, over 15,000 of you.  Today we have just surpassed 15,000 views, and while that may seem meager in comparison with other sites, this has been only a word of mouth forum.  We do not advertise, we only rely on the stregnth (most of the time) of our content; and there is more to come.

I can remember the day Stoney started this bullshit, and I was forced to come on to save it during its infancy.  Since that day, we have become more blogger savvy, and have invited a few other Stonies to join (Suityourself and DankNuggets).  I never thought it would last this long, but we are just hitting our stride readers.  Just wait for reports from the front lines of LA from the StoneyWageSlave reunion in T-minus 6 days.  So crack your beers and spark those bongs Stonies (and all you deputy Stonies), the ship is still afloat.

#1 in the hood, G.

Like many pathetic, lonely, single, drunken men my age, I love Aqua Teen Hunger Force.  Its absurdity and humor are completely my style.  Plus in today’s fast-paced, go-get’em world, 11-12 minute episodes kick some serious ass. 

When Stoney and I lived together, we never had cable, fuck Cox Communications and their bullshit.  However, we did have many DVDs to watch, and the Aqua Teen sets were never far from our reach.  There is not much I can take credit for in my life, but I can take credit for single handedly bludgeoning Aqua Teen over Suit’s head until he became a true believer in the power and majesty of Master Shake.  Suit loves him some Aqua Teen now. 

All the fans know the main three characters well; Frylock, Master Shake (my personal hero), and Meatwad.  However, I am going to use my space here to pay tribute to some of my favorite villains our beloved heroes have tangled with over the years.  Gentlemen……

The Cybernetic Ghost of Christmas Past, from the Future


Yeah, just wrap your mind around that name.  With a name like that, you have got to be tough shit. 

This villain is a robot built by a super-intelligent race of Elfins who have been enslaved by the giant, “Santa Ape”.  He has come to the Aqua Teen’s neighbor Carl’s house to haunt it because it is built on an Elfin graveyard.  (All episodes have plotlines this absurd by the way).

His haunting techniques include making the house bleed and telling severely long, boring stories about nothing.  Carl eventually sells his house to Danzig (who buys the house solely for the blood flow), and that proves to be the downfall of the robot ghost.  He moves away because Danzig creeps him out too much.

Memorable Quote: “You must pay tribute to the Great Red Ape, in space……sexually.”



Now, Turkitron may look and sound like the Cybernetic Ghost of Christmas Past, from the Future, however his mission is one a much greater importance.  He has been sent back in time by rogue chicken scientists to save the great-great-great-great grandfather of the turkeys’ savior, “Goblocks”.  Alas, he arrives a little too late, as the Aqua Teens are sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner with the bird he has been sent to save.

Turkitron, a machine who is wise to ettiquette, decides to abandon his mission and invite himself to the Aqua Teen’s feast.  He eats the traditional spread of Turkey and taco pie, yet finds himself unable to fight the urge to tell nonsense stories; all of which require massive quantities of wine to tell.  Anytime you have a drunk robot, smashing TVs, ripping down curtains, and passing out in your show, you’re golden.

Turkitron unfortunately does not have the ability to create a horror show in your house, yet he does have an arsenal of weapons that he carries in his hobo-style trash bag.  These weapons include a toothbrush, some tube socks, and a bar of soap, all of which are laser guided and he gets crazy if you touch them.

Unfortunately, things go awry for Turkitron when he drunkenly decides to take the cooked bird back to the future through the “time rift”, which could be anywhere at anytime.  Godspeed, Turkitron.

Memorable Quote: Frylock: “You want to lie down and sleep it off?”

                                       Turkitron: “You want to lie down because I hit you in the face?”

The Drizzle


The Drizzle is not really a villain, but he still deserves a spot in this tribute. 

Master Shake decides it is time he has a freak nuclear accident and gets bitten by radioactive worms turning him into The Drizzle.  The Drizzle allegedly can control the rain, and uses this power to rain out planned robberies; but he has to be alerted of the crime in enough time because apprently there is a lot of prep work involved.  In typical Master Shake fashion, he goes overboard and orders Drizzle posters and stationary (which is black lettering on black paper, like the storm of justice) to pump up his rep.  Then when Shake tries to alert the public of his presence he manages to burn down the whole city.  You may think you have a good idea, but is it a “Drizzle good” idea?  Move over Superman, The Drizzle protects these streets.

The Drizzle also holds a special place in the Stonies’ hearts because he freaks the shit out of Stoney.  Whenever Stoney would eat mushrooms, or inhale massive quantities of blow, he would watch this episode.  It would always blow his mind, and he could not handle it.  Stoney has vowed never to watch The Drizzle again, but we shall see about that.

Memorable Quote: “Uh, do an internet search for villains, supercrime, or girls in trouble.”

Oglethorpe and Emory


These loveable aliens hail from the now defunct planet, Pluto.  Their world domination plans, while well intended, always end in disaster.  As Frylock so eloquently told them, “You guys couldn’t take over a damn bowl of Jell-O”.

They have tried to de-terraform the earth with a massive army of cloned Master Shakes, steal the Aqua Teen’s cable with their monster/remote control hybrid the, “Universal Remonster”, and have generally been a minimal pain in the ass for our heroes.  Their plans mostly don’t work because they are too busy getting high and worshiping a disco ball on their ship named, “Obnoticus”.

As a side note, these aliens are named after two small colleges outside of Atlanta where the creators of the show were educated.  My cousin attended Oglethorpe and went to one of their parties.  The night ended with him fixing their car.  But, I digress.

Memorable Quote: Emory (the green one): “Wait, we haven’t beta tested the Universal Remonster yet”

                                       Oglethorpe: “What you’re testing is me and my patience!”

The Frat Aliens (DP and Skeeter)


These guys had a classic episode because it was one long joke about the non savagery of frat guys.  We all know the type.  There is not much to say about them because they are vapid characters, much like their real-life counterparts.  However, they are included here because the creators did a great job at striking a blow against these non savages.

Memorable Quote:  Skeeter: “Dude, she’s got a bit of a ‘stache”

                                        DP: “It’s OK, she’s good to go.”  (then they exchange high-fives)

Honorable Mention:  “Dude, she’s like a moped.  Fun to ride until your friends see you.” 

Honorable Mention #2:  “Bros call me DP, it’s short for donkey puncher, get it?  Sometimes I’m D to the P, Big DP, Donkey Puncharello, or King Donko of Punchstania.”

Honorable Mention #3: (While showing off his greek letters tattoo on his lung) “Had to get it on the inside or my dad would totally kill me.  Had to get wasted because it hurt like eight bitches on a bitch boat!”

The list could go on.

MC Chris’s characters

There were a couple episodes when Meatwad would get addicted to a rapper’s song, and play that song ad nauseum until the other Aqua Teens could not take it anymore.  All the songs were written and sang by a guy named MC Chris.  Check out his site here.  Before I get into his characters if you haven’t heard his song about Boba Fett do so now.  If you don’t know who Boba Fett is, send me your address so I can drop by and punch you in the face.

My backpack’s got jets.  Classic.

All the rappers in the show are characterized by their yellow eyes, a diaper (for some reason), and MC Chris’s distinctive voice.  It is an ongoing joke that the Aqua Teens end up killing each rapper, sending him to Hell.  But, for some reason Satan always sends them back as another life form, and he releases a new single each time to finance his world domination schemes.

MC Pee Pants


He used a puppet to try and disguise the fact that he was an eight-foot spider wearing a diaper.

Memorable Quote: Meatwad: “What happened MC Pee Pants?  How come your lips aren’t moving?”

                                       MC Pee Pants: “Look my shniggies, I had a strizzoke in my brizzain, so I can’t move too good.”

Hit Single: “I Need Candy”

World Domination Scheme: Getting everybody hooked on candy through his lyrics.  Then luring them down to his lair at 612 Wharf Ave to use their hyperactive blood-sugar to power a drill to bore into Hell and unleash demons to run his global diet pill pyramid scheme.  Insane.

Sir Loin


Hit Single: “For Da Shorteez”

World Domination Scheme: To make all listeners feel bad for starving kids (Da Shorteez) and to send food to 612 Wharf Ave.  Once he has enough rotting food he will attract flies.  Since flies use acid to dissolve their food while eating it, he plans on collecting enough acid so he can use it to dissolve bank vaults and steal money so he can alleviate the debt he accumulated buying too much patio furniture.  Ludicrous.

Memorable Quote: “I don’t know why I have all this patio furniture, I don’t even sit down.”

Honorable Mention: “Look, when it comes to rhyming, I’ve got it.  But when it’s words and reading, I don’t do so hot.”

Little Brittle


Hit Single: “Uh-oh, Polio!”

World Domination Scheme:  None.  Kids stopped listening to his albums because they can’t connect with songs like, “Uh-oh, Polio!”  The Aqua Teens visit him at the hospital where he spits on them and thinks the nurses are stealing his watch – the watch that is in his mind.  Yikes.

The Broodwich


The Broodwich is a legendary sandwich that cannot be taken apart and once ingested, sends the glutton (Master Shake) to an evil plane where he will be subjected to endless torture and pain.  Ooookay.

The Broodwich is probably the most evil thing to appear on Aqua Teen Hunger Force.  It is forged from wheat in Hell’s darkest half acre, baked by Beelzebub, slathered with mayonnaise beaten from the eggs of a chicken by a one eyed madman, the cheese is boiled from the rancid teat of a fanged cow, and it is layered with 666 different meats from an animal with maggots for blood.  Oh yeah, and mustard, dijon mustard.  (I had to watch the episode to get all the ingredients.  Now that’s what I call sound journalism!)

However, much to Master Shake’s chagrin, there is no bacon.  Apparently there are no swine evil enough to sacrifice on the bed of evil; bed of evil and lettuce.  It is the most tempting sandwich you will ever come across, but it will spell your doom.

The Broodwich however fails when Master Shake eats it, yet picks off the sun-dried tomatoes because they are gross.  Apparently, it can be taken apart.  That’s right, go eat your tomatoes Nancy.

Memorable Quote from the episode:  (Master Shake, upon seeing the broodwich) “Holy crap in a pita!”

Honorable Mention: Master Shake- “Get me out of here! Dracula’s touching my leg, it’s a zombie, I can feel it!”

Honorable Mention #2:  “Taassste!”

As a side note, all the quotes provided here are from memory.  So, if any of you Aqua Teen fans think you see a discrepency, you’re wrong, because I have a mind like a steel trap.

There are so many more I can put in here, but I am lazy and I am running out of my trusty alcohol flavored blog juice.  Once the blog juice runs low, I start to lose interest.  For the Aqua Teen fans who are wondering where The Mooninites are at, I say…


Oh yeah, and…..


P.S.  If you have not seen the intro to the Aqua Teen movie that came out in April, it is by far the most hilarious movie intro since “Super Troopers”.  I went to see it with III Dog (former WageSlaver) and we drank heavily and lit up an L before going to the theater in honor of what we were about to see.  That may have proved to be a mistake, because upon viewing this intro, I came dangerously close to pissing my pants.

Insomnia is awesome

I have always been a world-class sleeper.  I have never had a problem falling asleep, only with waking up.  The rest of the Stonies know this well, and it used to be a game for them to see how much punishment I can endure before my mind can be jarred from the iron-grip of slumber.  Activities used to try and wake me have ranged from, violently shaking me, hurling pillows, hurling books, or even the dreaded, “heavy metal alarm clock.”


For those of you who are not hip to this maneuver, it is when an asshole (usually Stoney) places a guitar next to the head of the sleeping victim.  The next step includes wailing on the strings until the guitar wielder’s fingers bleed, or the victim wakes up in a severe state of panic and bewilderment.

 These were always fruitless endeavors for the Stonies, because nothing short of a sonic boom could wake me up; a sonic boom, or a precision punch to the surgical scar on my foot by Stoney.  Due to this inherent super power for sleep, I have been forced to acquire many alarm clocks over the years.  Currently, I have three alarm clocks in my room, along with the use of my phone’s alarm clock function. 

However, I found myself in a peculiar situation the other night; I, Roughty, was having trouble sleeping.  I know the reason for this, (my 6 hour nap in the middle of the day) yet still, my mind and body were delving into uncharted territory.  So I used this time to catch up on the multitude of infomercials TV had to offer. 

I am a well-seasoned veteran of the infomercial market.  We all know those nights when you strike out with all ladies at the bar, or you have no friends, and you must return home in disgrace with only your TV and enticing offers to comfort you.  I feel I would be remiss if I did not outline some of the more classic TV offers that have been filling useless airtime in recent memory. 

The “Get rich quick websites”. 

These infomercials cash in on your love of two deadly sins, your gluttony for sloth.  Are you a lazy bastard?  Excellent!  Go to this website, and you can begin working out of your home.  Watchers are regaled with instant success stories of users who are now making upward of $500,000 a year.  Or, for the more prudent capitalists, you can make roughly $2,000 to $5,000 a month, all from the comfort of your home.  (Insert token Dank hermit joke here). 

These infomercials are flawed by their vagueness though.  What soul-selling activities must I conspire on with the insidious looking pitch-man?  The insomniacs are never given a hint of what must be done to achieve their maximum earning potential.  Seemingly, all you must do is visit whatever site is being glorified, and soon you will be lining the walls of your urine/beer/bong water soaked apartment with cash. 

Enzyte male enhancement.


 We have all seen “Smiling Bob”, the grinning fool who prances around to an ear-piercing whistle of a theme song.  “What is Bob smiling about?”, the narrator queries.  Well, Bob has a raging boner.  The joy is not limited to Bob, his wife has an equally disturbing grin on her face which can be construed as either pleasure or fear. 

Bob also lives in a town with men who are riddled with metaphors for their ineptitude.  These poor souls are burdened with anything from limp garden hoses to sagging cocktail wieners.  Only this visual stimulus can alert viewers to the severe problems faced by men who aren’t glowing like Bob.  To make matters worse, all the women of this community are hypnotized by Bob’s beaming self-confidence, furthering the sexual drought their husbands are mired in. 

Regretfully, the vagueness of “male enhancement” may have trouble connecting with the knuckle-dragging constituency.  Those of lower brain functions may be left to wonder what is being enhanced.  Tongue-in-cheek jokes usually soar over the heads of these people, and aren’t they the ones we should be helping the most?  Get with it, Enzyte. 


Now, when you are talking about the bed infomercial racket, you are talking about two powerhouses; the “Sleep Number Bed”, and the “TempurPedic Bed”.  Each has a distinct marketing strategy.  But each strategy is predicated on the fact that you can’t sleep; therefore you need a better bed.  Genius. 




The spokesperson for the “Sleep Number Bed” is Lindsay Wagner.  You readers may remember her as, “The Bionic Woman.”  What were the ad execs thinking here?  Why the fuck would the Bionic Woman need a comfortable bed?  She’s bionic for crying out loud; just implant a sleep program in her, or whatever you scientists do. 

Okay, allowing that oversight, the Sleep Number Bed still falls short in the ad game.  The people watching these late night infomercials are mostly lazy, lonely people.  What use will they have for a bed with two different comfort zones?  Seriously, I don’t really give a fuck how comfortable Teddy Ruxpin, or my imaginary friends are next to me.  The Sleep Number Bed may be a quality product, but I will never know because I am so outraged by their ludicrous ad campaign that I will never give it a try. 




Here’s the heavy hitter.  NASA created this bed, thus, astronauts slept on it.  Hey, I always wanted to be an astronaut!  Sign me up.  However, TempurPedic’s advertising genius does not end there. 

This bed is now known for its famous, “wine glass test”.  Apparently, the rocket scientists at NASA tired of tracking galaxies and black holes, and turned their fervor toward the domestic problem of alcohol-related bed accidents.  And by God, they came through for us.  Now we can let the kids jump on our bed, or get busy with our significant others without worrying about the precariously resting booze at the foot of the bed.  The sheer brilliance of this new technology hits home when the beer or wine you just set on your bed, has spilled everywhere as you jump on your shitty mattress in celebration of this breakthrough. 

Not to be left as a one-two punch of ad brilliance, the TempurPedic also stands by its ability to get rid of, “morning stiffness”.  Wow, now they’ve done it.  I am really curious how those scientists will get rid of my morning stiffness, it seems like such a…oh wait, you mean BACK stiffness?  Ohhhh, ok.  I was about to say, that seems to be in glaring contrast to the Enzyte infomercial that was previously aired.  So, no back stiffness, huh?  That’s just as good I guess. 

Hair restoration.


I will keep this brief, because as a man, this is not a laughing matter.  I will undoubtedly lose my hair, and so will most of the rest of you.   However, there’s a societal issue that needs to be addressed. 

According to these infomercials, bald people are not allowed to swim.  Now, I haven’t attained all the particulars, but in my limited research, I have found that bald men cannot swim in public pools in the continental US, or in the Pacific Ocean.   This would explain the frightening exuberance with which men who have undergone hair restoration show, as they splash into the pool for the first time with their new head of hair.  Bald men’s civil rights are in jeopardy people, write your Congressmen. 

The granddaddy, “Girls Gone Wild”.


During each session of infomercial viewing, it is impossible not to find the never ending loop of, “Girls Gone Wild” infomercials on, “Comedy Central” or “Spike TV”.  Seeing as the core constituency of infomercial viewers is lonely, single men, this is quite a cruel trick. 

Sorry, you didn’t get that girl you were eyeing all night?  Well, with a nominal fee of $19.95, you can watch all the girls you want, and they’ve gone WILD!  Plus, they will throw in the, “Spring Break Edition” for free, because your weak ass will need a new tape on another lonely night very soon. 

It’s no secret why the guy who created these videos is worth a bagillion dollars, exploiting lonely men is easy.  The secret is, how does this mouth-breathing non-savage get all these young girls to disrobe and go wild?  Well, have comfort fellow savages, he has used up all his good luck and will be living an agonizing life in Hell. 

Well, this bores me.  I think I will pop an Enzyte, find out how I can start earning $5,000 a month from my computer, lay in my TempurPedic bed with my new head of hair, all while watching the antics of wild girls on Spring Break.  What will you do with your afternoon?  

American Rock = The Blood of the Universe

Before I start, I want to mention that I did not include Pink Floyd in the Brit bands. Pink Floyd is classic, but never one of my loves. Pink Floyd, I forgot about you, but I don’t really care that much. Sorry.

The broad scope of American rock makes it hard for me to pinpoint any one thing, or to focus too long on anything. This is going to be a whambamthankyoumam kind of thing.

First, Elvis. Elvis is the fucking King of Rock and Roll. There is no other king. Chuck Berry is there too, but Chuck Berry is not the King of Rock and Roll. Elvis is the King. Without Elvis, I don’t know what would have happened. We would probably have an Elvis with a different name. Elvis, as a red-blooded American rock student, I salute you.

The 27 Club. The 27 Club is an exclusive club, reserved only for rockers who achieve amazing, superstar status through the exceptional qualities of their polyphonic debris. 27 Club members all died when they were 27, at the height of their fame. Most of the deaths can be linked directly to over-consumption of drugs, or a very closely related factor.

These people did not get rich and internationally famous because of their connections, their pretty face, their money, or any other thing than how badass they were at rocking the fuck out.

There are 5 member of the 27 club. Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Brian Jones and Kurt Kobain. How many Brits are in this infamous list, the sealed stamp of approval of rockstar god status? 1. Uno. Un. One. The ratio of Brits to Americans in this most critical list is 1:4, and that ratio plays itself out all over the place.

Is it wrong to base my decision on a list of musicians that glorifies a fiery death through rock and roll? No. Rock and Roll is a force of nature, a force unto itself, a mythical beast which exerts an enormous influence on the way people perceive and act upon the world. The thing about rock and roll is, it’s not even subliminal. These people are singing songs to us, lyricizing our deepest fears and desires, using everything that they have experienced to create a new experience for us. And we willingly buy (or steal online) these people’s souls, the product of an extraordinary effort of introspection, and then projection. It is a transcendent experience to listen to a live performance of rock; “a more perfect union” can be achieved, which is not all that different from doing the nasty.

Rock and Roll is a form of art, but it is also a form of religion. I, for one, deeply believe in the power of rock and roll, and the feelings and sentiments the music can inspire. Rock and Roll has changed my real-world actions before, it has pushed itself into my life and into the lives of the people around me. I am better for it, too.

When John Lennon said, “The Beatles are bigger than Jesus,” he was fucking right. There were, and still are, more people creating a more personal, intimate, transcendent relationship with their chosen rocker, than there are people creating those same types of relationships with Jesus. If you go to church and daze off, or do whatever, that doesn’t count, and I know it, and Jesus knows it. When you go to a real rock show, and something hits you in the stomach, you choke up, you tear up…you are having a fucking experience that can never be achieved again, ever, by anyone. It was your show, the band is on for you, and if you do it right, you can come away with something that is more than just a light show or magic show. It is a religious experience.

Now that I have established that rock and roll is a religion, I move on. Every religion needs a sacrificial lamb. The Gods of Rock are not a mellow breed. They do not take kindly to negligence. They need blood, and that’s what American rockers are here to provide. American rockers are the soul of Rock and Roll. Rock and Roll was invented here, Rock and Roll grew up here, and Rock and Roll will die here. The blues are from the deep South, via Africa, and I’m not really sure where country western is from. Mix those fuckers up, and you get some rock and roll.

I could go on. I could list band after band of American rockers, and compare them with British rockers, and see who borrowed what from who, and blabla. I’m not going to, though, because it all comes down to the fact that Rock and Roll is an American past-time, and it always will be. The altar of Rock is built on American soil, and stained with American blood.

I think that the icing on the cake is a club I kinda made up…the 28 Club. Right now, Bradley Nowell (sublime) and Shannon Hoon (blind melon) are the only two I have in there. I’m saving a spot open for Pete Doherty this year; he’ll be 29 next March.

For a sum-up, I chose Blind Melon’s song, “Galaxie.” Shannon Hoon died of a cocaine overdose, a roadie found his body in the bus, right before the band’s soundcheck.

Rock and Roll = Savage

For anyone who has shit to say about glorifying the wrong things about rock and roll, or blabla, I say, “Fuck off.” If it wasn’t about dying in the name of rock, then why aren’t there a bunch of badass rockers, making real rock and roll? They are out there, but they are few and far between. I am not lamenting the end of rock, because I believe in it too much to doubt. White Stripes, Strokes, Pete Doherty, here and there we see glimpses of eternal greatness.

There will be more.

Rubber Matches, Growing Up, Other Reflections and another Roll Call

the first category tag i clicked was worthless friday, cuz that’s what i’m in.  it’s fantastic.  finally some time to interact with the tech-junkies, alcoholics and weed-fiends who read this link-laden, anti-american, diaperlicious bloghole. 

has anybody noticed that politics are continuing to play a large role in our blog?!  i can’t believe that shit.  if you knew, (and most of you do), the authors, you’d be as surprised as me.  four years in the burg, and we never talked about it.  now it’s all over everything.  i think that comes along with growing older.  things we never cared about before are starting to look more and more important.  we’re all realizing our global citizenship, and i think it’s pretty encouraging.  now all we have to do is change the minds of all the fuckos in general society *(see stoney’s note about the a&f models on the airplane… these are the dipshits to whom i’m referring.) 

on another very different topic, there’s this issue going on in the baseball world.  my boy john smoltz won his 200th career decision last night.  i don’t need to remind any of you who the braves defeated.  i don’t need to tell you that they beat the metropolitans.  further, i don’t need to explain to any of you that this win brough the braves record against the mets to 6 wins and 3 losses on the season.  no, i don’t need to mention any of these things.  why am i talking about it then?  to hurt your sensitive yankee feelings?  no.  to rub salt into your still-smarting wounds from last october?  of course not.  well, i’ll tell you why.  the braves are currently recruiting new fans, and if you all have been converted over the past few days, just let me know, and i’ll be happy to provide a letter of recommendation.  no guarantees, but it’s at least a 50-50 they’ll accept you.  last night’s prodigious victory over the hated mets was a rubber match.  “what is a rubber match?” all of you except the sport-savvy roughty might be asking yourselves.  again, i’ll explain it for you.  in a 3-game series, if each team wins one of the first two games, game three is the rubber match.  in a 7-game series that’s tied at three games each, game seven is the rubber match.  check out this helpful wiki article on the topic.

what’s the point of this discussion? it’s not just to make fun of the sucky mets.  in fact, i want to bring it back to politics.  since i’ve been old enough to think about politics, there have been two presidents.  (during bush the elder’s administration, i didn’t understand anything at all about it.)  these presidents have been billy clinton and george dubya bush — a democrat and a republican.  in 2008, we’ll have the rubber match between these two political powerhouses.  as in sports, this rubber match will play a big role on the way our generation will be viewed.  will our generation be defined by the shitty republicans or the shitty democrats?  lord only knows.  i got a guess, but it’s just that — a guess.  so i won’t even mention it here.  in a baseball rubber match, all we can do is drink beer and root for our own version of the good guys.  last night, my team won, and i was happy.  roughty’s team lost, and i’m sure he drowned on his tears.  in politics, however, we can play the game and get involved.  we can be the shortstop who turns the double play, or we can be the asshole who lets the ball roll right between his legs.  (by the by, what team was he on again?  hahaha.)  either way, in politics, we don’t have to sit on the sidelines.  we can cast our votes and join in the action, right?  here’s the other big difference.  if i make a throwing error, and the winning run scores for the other team, the game is over and i immediately know who won.  if i hit the walk-off homer, it’s conclusive.  i’m the big winner.  with politics, it’s not so cut and dry.  i might cast my vote and be all happy for a couple years after my selected puppet wins.  then, out of nowhere, he blows some country off the map, and my walk-off homer turns into a “you-blew-it” game ending error. that’s why, when this year’s political rubber match comes along, i’ll be drinking beer and watching from the sidelines.  the punchline of this discourse — do yourself a favor and don’t vote.  vote for your favorite amer. idol.  vote for which of the stars dances best.  vote for the best apple pie you ate at the county fair.  don’t vote for the president.  you’ll invariably be sorry!

thus ends the politics of this post.

i’m still going to school.  it still sucks.  i also work at a school.  that, too, is no good.  i am trying to learn about the material required for my degree, but all i keep learning about is that everybody only cares about money.  the only question my peers and superiors ask themselves is, “how can i make the most money off this situation?”  it’s sad to think that this is the world we’re trying to earn membership into.  maybe the solution is to drop out and move to an island and try to grow coconuts for food and decorative brassieres.  my ridiculous boss’s boss’s boss’s boss volunteered me today to take part in some terrible task around the office.  my autonomy is non-existant.  i don’t decide what i do at all.  they tell me what to do, and i do it.  it’s bad for one’s psychology.  you’ve all been there.  i guess the right thing to do is just grin and bear it until retirement… in like 60 years.  one more thing about work, i had to make a presentation yesterday to a room full of suits.  i wore a rainbow colored (ambiguously androgenous) plaid shirt untucked and my oldest, rattiest pants.  i gave a great presentation.  (probably because dank wasn’t there flicking his damned zippo to distract me.)  after this, i got an email from my boss’s boss who told me that i should have dressed nicer.  this is a big old problem in our society.  why in the world do people still judge you based on the clothes you wear?  i’ll tell you.  it’s because they’re terrible idiots who don’t know any better.  and these are the people who i’m scrambling to compete with as a peer…  sad.

well, mr dank nuggets is in, so let the fun begin.  in honor of him, i’m taking this opportunity to post yet another savage roll call.  feast your eyes on the following collection:

most savage cartoon character:  Monterey Jack — he’ll whip your ass and then console you in a lovely aussie accent.

honorable mention:  Nermal — fresh off the boat from abu dhabi

least savage cartoon character:  Rita and Runt — an ill-fated space-filler in an otherwise exceptional show

most savage world leader:  Queen of Jordan — rules with an iron fist and a lovely pair of jumblies

honorable mention:  Stalin — (translation of caption:  respect the moustache.  fear the moustache.  obey the moustache.)

least savage world leader:  Jacques Chirac (someone either just snuck up him, or he was presented with a lovely quiche.)

most savage cereal mascot:  Sonny (cocoa puffs) — this guy has “junkie” written all over his face

honorable mention:  Andy Milonakis (fruity pebbles)

least savage ceareal mascot:  Tony (frosted flakes) — why don’t you find a gayer bandana.  we’re not all convinced you’re a homo yet.

most savage car model of all times:  AMC Eagle (no competition)

honorable mention:  El Camino (the original cross-over vehicle)

least savage car model of all times:  ford tempo (my first car)

most savage blogger:  suityourself (no photo available)

least savage blogger:  you (look in the mirror and recognize your inferiority.)

finally, most savage drugs:  steriods

least savage drugs:  whipits (you’ll freeze your lungs)

Huggies Cool Alerts promote cool heads

I was sitting in my room this evening gearing up for another heated contest between the Mets and Braves (which the Mets unfortunately lost, yes Suit, I will admit defeat at times) when the first round of commercials hit.  Naturally, my bullshit detector was primed to be assaulted.  And rightfully so, because by the third commercial I was introduced to the newest innovation from Huggies; Pull-Ups Cool Alert diapers.  For those unlucky readers who missed this life changing promotion for child rearing, here are some of the specs for these new diapers.

That’s right, you did not read that wrong, the diapers give a cooling sensation when your child wets his or her pants.  This breakthrough in diaper technology actually alerts your toddler when his or her pants have been pissed.  Brilliant!  Unfortunately we are still a few years away from the diapers that can give a preemptive alert, but we will just have to cope for the time being.   

I don’t know about you, but as a frequent pants pisser, I don’t need to rely on a cooling sensation to know when I have just ruined another first date, business acquisition, or family dinner.  I was not aware that it was that hard to tell if you had sprung a sudden leak, that this diaper technology was so imminently imperative.  Let me tell you parents, if your child is having trouble discerning whether his or her pants have been leaked upon, your kid has bigger problems than smelling like a urinal. 

Additionally, Huggies contends that this cooling sensation will be so uncomfortable for your child, further reinforcing the need for expedient potty training.  I suppose the warming sensation of urine in their drawers was not enough to shock them into learning how to function like an adult.  Not to mention the embarrassment of having a huge wet spot covering their nether regions. 

I commend Huggies for also listing on their website certain triggers to alert parents as to when their child has just shamed the family.  These include: 

Walking funny after wetting

Stopping activity and stand(ing) still

Making a funny face

Pulling on pant(s) more than usual

Asking to be changed more frequently or to use the potty 

If you noticed the parentheses, I took the liberty of making some grammatical changes from the Huggies website.  Apparently, Huggies is so invested in child development, that they have their target consumers write for them. 

I love these alerts to parents.  Not everyone can be fathers of the year, so it is necessary to let these delinquent parents know how their children act once they have wet themselves.  I especially like, “making a funny face” because come on, when do children NOT make a funny face.  I also like the visual image of kids goose-stepping after they wet their pants.  We all know that diapers severely inhibit a child’s capability for normal bipedal motion.  Basically, Huggies is telling us that children always have urine soaked pants, thus making their product extremely necessary.  Now that’s smart business! 

I do have a concern about these new diapers though.  What are children who reside in cooler climates supposed to do when winter rolls around?  Huggies is setting up children, especially male children, for severely frozen genitalia.  I can see the news reports and recalls now.  “Huggies puts a freeze on Cool Alert sales after toddlers testicles freeze to diaper.”  This just seems cruel.  Your kids may not be able to reproduce after the tender age of three, but at least they learned how to piss in the pot.  That will show them. 

After viewing this commercial, I am not too sure how much farther we have to evolve in diaper development.  Clearly we have come to the apex of diaper technology, but I was also preaching this belief after the release of the first Pull-Ups.  “I’m a big kid now!” 

P.S.  My favorite diapers would still have to be, “Fergie’s Rockin’ Adult Diapers.” 


What more could you want than the teaming of a grizzled “Black-Eyed Peas” dancer and adult urinary problems?  Plus, you get a free, “Black-Eyed Peas” CD.  So, while you piss your pants as you listen to this drivel, you will simultaneously be covered for your everyday activities.  It’s win-win.  Kudos to Fergie’s manager for this endorsement choice, and for managing someone with a single name.  The single name celebrity is such trite, it’s not as though Fergie is a Brazilian soccer star.  

Chart analysis


What we have here is a classic case of support and resistance. Historically, we have never been over the 142 mark, so that is a huge line of resistance, and it’s going to take energy and momentum to get over it.

One major positive is that we are creating higher levels of support and higher levels of resistance as we are moving on. The nearest point of resistance is about 115, so watch for that number to be broken before we start to make a serious move up. “Most Savage Roll Call” is getting tons of TalkingHeads clicks, and people seem to be coming back.

I think that the TalkingHeads crowd is a little more Stoney-friendly, as opposed to the Sid Vicious crowd. I mean think about it. People who look up Sid Vicious are probably between 12-17 years old, whereas it takes a couple of years to mature enough to listen to TalkingHeads. So now we’ve got a more mature crowd coming in, and they’re feeling us a little more. Right now, showing about 20 TH search clicks.

Suit, you are still a full-fledged bitchboy in my book. Making that list only got me started in listing a long list of flagrant abuses of common terms of friendship, you fuckhead.