Bitches…Based Upon a True Story

You are all a bunch of bitches. ‘boo hoo, i hold down the blog all on my own–sniffle, sniffle, nobody helps me out’. Now, no one is producing shit except for twitch’s brainless miney mo of football picks. the grand introduction you were afforded was quite undue. Stoney was apparently wrong in his fear of unleashing the savage that must have been. I was expecting more ridiculous puttering buttholes and second grade male teacher fantasies, but i guess the life of a savage cannot include the blog, though true savagery also does not recognize the 70 down genital coddling that is football. Yes, i love football and sports, and many unsavage things, but i do not and have never claimed to be a savage. Far from it, i am more a pinkie flipped, tea drinking, legs crossing, former weed smoker who has done everything in his power to reject savage lawless behavior for the groovy rewarding of responsibility (sarcasm).

twitch, i’m sorry for the blatant attack, but your work is limited to picking, often accurately, the upcoming weekend’s games. you offer no commentary and hardly any shittalking. i was expecting you to be ripping and stoney claimed to be anxiously anticipating the coming shittalking brought with football.

stoney, you’re gay. bucs suck, ‘your’ steelers are winning, and i can undoubtedly bet my entire net worth of -200 dollars that you have yet to watch a single play. well, maybe if i lose then me paying negative 200 dollars would actually mean i get paid 200 dollars!?! shit, why didn’t i think about that before? i think i might have a good case for wachode and chase you down a dark alley and beat you with a proverbial debt bat credit cards.

suit, simply said, thanks for the sushi dinner and getting me into academia where i certainly do not belong.

on to me, i still can’t make any money with no bills to pay and working all the time. i’m a piece of shit who fights with his girlfriend all the time and watches sports rather than do anything else. i literally have to think about, no, draw up a spreadsheet of pros and cons whether to buy an iced tea for my smoldering ashtray asshole mouth. on a lighter note, i am happy to inform you all that i have been successfully mining green gold from the deepest caverns of the Upper Dank Nasal River, wiping them on and flicking them toward all unsuspecting victims. Be careful where you reach or grap for balance when leaning to pick up that damn elusive runaway pencil. there may be a boogie man lurking in the shadows–one of my minions of ectoslime.

roughty, well you a bitch ass nancy who can’t handle liquor. i guess this is as good a time as any to relate my recent visit to the confederate capitol in which nancy reagan, roughty-as he is first lady, resides. I arrived in his spacious 13 bedroom apartment to remember the all to familiar later 1420 A smell. yes, quite noxious. however, if you have not been depraved enough to cross the river of burnt matchsticks, pay the toll man, Mikey, and sneak past the snarling starving beasts willing to tear your flesh for its first meal since a woman had visited (rarely and never prolonged), to find the beasts’ litter box, then you can hardly imagine roughty’s. overflowing like a bloated pot of chili, the smell sticks to your skin and dampens your hair and cannot be removed by the sticky shower and mildewed-bottom of the pile towel you will be lent. after given the grand tour of his apartment modeled after a bunker in Fallujah and seriously debating wearing my flip flops in the shower, I air-dried for fear of putting the towel on my head, and then roughty and i set out to watch the mets inevitably blow it and hopefully find college football game on a nearby tv at the bar.

as everyone know the mets blew it, but not without a shimmer of hope for those unfortunate enough to confuse the ny mets for the recently swept phillies with a 13-1 shallacking on that day. well, we sat and drank beer and i ate a hockey puck with bacon and cheese, roughty in nothing out of the ordinary, drinking 1-2 more beers at the bar. This will come in to play soon, but everyone should know that roughty drinking 1-2 more beers with his typical diet versus mine would be no excuse for the ultimate shamery to come. we split the tab and went down stairs where i decisively defeated roughty in the first victory of the night-ping pong. when exiting the bar i wisely asked roughty if he had paid the second tab as he had lost the wager, moronically trusting the word of a drunken irishman. he walked out on that one and we moved to his sister’s boyfriend’s house where he exploded the tonic everywhere and left the floor adhesive. roughty made the drinks, one per person, and after thoroughly wearing out our welcome, we proceeded to dinner. both of us sitting slumped waiting for our respective lasagna and sub, i began to feel the stupor of Diana and Bacchus’s love union and looked across the table at the waning, leaning tower of a slurring man. Immediately upon finishing Roughty stood up and implored me to “get out of here” claiming we were done. Being the naive sentimentalist, I asked, ‘don’t we have to wait for the waitress? No? We can pay up front?’ this was the second, but failed attempt to walk out on a tab. He ended up begrudgingly paying the unfair tarif for both of us, saying, “you ive me sa money layter” i forgot.

well, we walked the few blocks home sandwich in tow knowing the state of affairs of any autonomous stonies’ kitchen. We arrived home and shortly after, i snapped this picture:

**will not upload-does not meet security guidelines**

i guess the material is too sensitive. a picture of roughty passed out at 8:30 p.m. would surely explode the head of any with knowledge of him.

so, he passed out and was eventually roused with threats of exposing his nanciness. in another failure of the night, roughty,quite out of character,did not shag the fly puerto rican girl that wanted his nutsack. instead, quite in character, he was content to be defeated in video games while she watched.

1st Victory- Ping Pong

2nd Victory- Drinking

3rd Victory- Madden (Roughty quit before half, I forced him to finish the half at least)

4th Victory- MVP 2005 (Red Sox defeat Mets at Shea-3-1. Big Papi eventual game winning homer in top 8th. )

5th Victory- Madden (again)

Roughty would only chalk his days losses to 0-4, but i assure you he was spent on drinking as i mixed up another gin. The next day i awoke to roughty going to work where i was going for a stoney style free brunch (remember the trellis? sweet) when my lady cracked the whip and was bitching, so i had to go home.

It was a very enjoyable trip. I only shit talk now because i have the god given right to make my friends feel bad for putting me up and paying for a dinner he wanted to walk out on. i only got slapped in the face once, which by anyone’s standards is another victory. i had a good time and a lesson in hopeless savagery. Now it’s time to get in my mom’s car and go eat McDonald’s and relay my exact gps coordinates to the wife.

signing off:

A Bard’s Life: What’s a bard to do?

The fair minstrel has journeyed to his summer cottage in the land, D of C.  He has been reunited with his love from the east, and they revel weekly as the fair minstrel gallavants in the diamond fields with other men; sticks and balls in hand.  Alas, this humble minstrel longs for the presence of Madame Umbilicus, who has not sojourned with the him to the land, D of C.  Madame Umbilicus remains in the womb-like palace, a fortnight’s horse ride west of the Atlantic.

The minstrel has never journeyed alone, and has taken his glowing box, bequethed to him by Lord Microsoft, in Madame Umbilicus’ stead.  This magical, glowing box has been granted the power of projection by Lord Microsoft’s jesters, and the minstrel wants nothing more than to view the lovely Madame Umbilicus, one last, heart-rending moment, before Lord Microsoft’s glowing box is flooded with the all-encompasing Blue magic from the Silicon Valley.  “To arms!” yells the minstrel…

…and the knuckle children did flow.  And the villagers rejoiced.

Keep your kids in check.

This would have to be the funniest thing I have seen today, maybe even this week.  If you go out in public, you most likely have seen what I saw today.

Bravo to the father who came into the restaurant with his little hellian tethered.  People let their kids get away with tons of shit, I see it every day.  Their deplorable motor skills create messes that I have to clean up, they whine and cry about every minor inconvenience, and their bodies are fluid factories that churn out their product at a rate any respectable company would be in awe of. 

Enough of the free pass, brats.  These kids have the world at their fingertips because people excuse their mongoloid manners just because they are young.  That’s bullshit.  Parents shouldn’t have to purchase these leashes or harnesses, they should be paid as an incentive to use them.  Slap a few company logos on the leash, or maybe, tattoo, “Pepsi” on your child’s head, just to make a buck and show the kid who is boss. 

If your kid starts acting up in public, just give little Billy a swift pull back, not enough to maim him, but enough to get it through his soft skull that that shit will not be tolerated.  Personally, I am partial to the retractable leashes.  If you are going to discipline your child, why not have fun with it?  Let them think they have some tether to work with then, BAM!  Lesson learned.  Now all we need is a muzzle accessory, and we can keep these monsters at bay.

Did you know ‘gullible’ is not in the dictionary?

***video edited PEACE OUT

my new plug of the day: regina spektor’s begin to hope. Nick Valensi plays guit on the album and it’s savage. This is actually music, unlike whiny whinensteinish hipsters and dead burnt lesbians.

Foreign Invader Takes Over Blogres, Installs New P.M.

Similar to the blietzkreig’s lightning attack of speedy fast quickness, a foreign invader has conquered vacantly empty Blogres.  The invading invaders advantageously took advantage of King Stoney’s debaucherous debauchery on a weekend retreat into the depths of the dark wooded forest of ghouls and plentiful fairy dust.  The Minister of Defense, Roughty McRoughton, and his army of little green Alesman sensed the plot afoot and attempted to meet the insurgent infidels but was impeded by the River of COX’ s Dam break and flooding of the southern swamps of the South end of the Kingdom.  The sole availabe resource to meet invader was the King’s Huntsman, SuitYourSelf the Busy, but the woodsman was off hunting the woods for herbs, berries, fish, and small game.  Now, all that stands in the invader’s way is the Blacksmith, Twitch the White, also the Court’s Rebuter empowered solely with the title of Premier Commenter.    

Travelin’ by day in their own land, the conquerors arrived in the early hours of Blogres and seized the Book of Savagery–the incredulous edict of the King and his court.  With this powerful empowerment the invader gained total controlocity in the unthinking subjects longing for the gift of endowed savagery.  They will now listen in dumbblankfaceirification to the holder of the Book of Savagery. 

His Awesomeness, Chancellor Ixniamak, the head of the new government, has issued his first decree:

Mouth-breathing, grass smoking, wannabe Fuckenstein polska opposition like this will be eliminated:

 

Do not fear, my children, I will be victorious in battle

Your Loving Father and Chancellor,

 

We, the Royal Press, promise to bring you all the details.  We hope we can bring you an exclusive of the Chancellor’s ceremonial Sulfuric Acid baby-head baptismal.  We will exploit all means to bring you the most suffering, death, and destruction of any news organization.   

–Morel the Destroyer–

Brought to you by Apple, Pickers of the Tree of Knowledge, (censored by the Committee to Kill the Human Spirit):

politics, religion, et cetera… . .. . … .. …. .. …. .. . .

(those periods are for you, stonesylvania.) 

i have been delinquent lately and didn’t know about either of stoney’s  guys’ debauchery.  i wish i had, but politics is boring — even when it deals with blowww and hookers.  i won’t vote for this guy any more now than i would have before i knew about the drugs and sex.  until i meet a politician who will look you in the eye and say he’s never made a mistake and he never plans to make one,  i’ll be fairly convinced i could do a better job governing myself than any of them could.  i mean, jiuliani (or “orange” [in honor of his boy’s huge nose candy purchase] julius as i will call him from this day forward) doesn’t even know me.  how the shit is he supposed to know what decisions are in my best interest?  in the old days, way on back in the days of grunting, beards and hunter/gatherers, people would form a society to protect themselves from other societies (not to mention the ravenous sabre-tooth tigers, mastadons, etc.).  i’m sure at the beginning of society, some guy was laying out, chilling in the cut, maybe reading a playboy and minding his own bidness, and the tribe leader said to him, “glork, you better get that firewood.  the rest of us are counting on your lazy ass.”  and glork was thinking, “damn, it was so much better when i could do whatever the hell i wanted to do without all these dicks bossing me all the time.”  but you know what glork did?  he collected the wood.  because he needed the protection that could only be afforded by the society.  nowadays, people don’t think like that, in my opinion.  nowadays, people simply accept the fact that they were born into a society, and so that must be the best place for them to be.  i stand that this is simply no longer the case.  man has tamed the shit out of nature.  we don’t have anything to worry about except snake bites and the occasional shark attack.  furthermore, no human cares enough about me to attack me.  what the shit would they even do that for?  waste of a bullet.  i won’t attack them either.  i can grow shit in my back yard and eat dogs and cats and squirrels and shit if it really comes right down to it.  no reason for me to mess with anyone.  my point?  glad you asked.  society is no longer the same shizzazzle it was back in the day.  individuals don’t really need to protection of a huge gov’t.  besides, when people did need such protection — take hurricane katrina, for instance — where the fuck was our great society?  thumb up the ass, watching the weather channel and drinking beer, wondering where the hell they’d move mardi gras to… and that was george w.  that proves (for me anyways) that society can no longer perform its primary function — protection of its members.  that’s the main reason why i haven’t, don’t and won’t vote.  you be asking yourself, “well then suit, why don’t you just LEAVE and do your own thing if you don’t like the american way?”  well, this is a good point.  i wonder this about myself sometimes, too.  i think it comes down to this.  i gotta get mine.  if i left right now, i’d be broke before i got to a place where i could really do my own thing for real.  you gotta have money to make a real move.  hence, the master plan — participate in society to as minimal a degree as is practicable until i save up some real green.  then, peace out.  merc on to someplace where i can do my own thing without worrying about what anybody says.  part of this minimal participation is making it a priority to not vote.  voting would lock me in.  i would start to follow this shitstem and never be able to break out. 

(ps — when you register to vote, you also have to fill out a draft card.  i knew this was a shitty idea when i was in high school, and so i didn’t fill out the shit.  therefore, i am registered for neither voting nor slaughtering brown people.) ((pps — the gov’t teacher in 12th grade tried to fail me for for not filling out the form, but i aced all her tests, so she didn’t have a leg to stand on.))

as far as breeding terrorism, i’m either too stupid or too smart to question the fact that all politicians have spin doctors (and i don’t mean the “2 princes” spin doctors).  to reference a simile i made earlier, discussing politics is like going all in on a blind hand of poker.  doesn’t make any sense because you know neither what you have nor what your opponents have in their hands.  all i know is this:  the golden rule is faulty.  “do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”  if we hurt the arabs, then we deserve to get sliced a bit, right?  it’s the golden rule, after all.  if arabs did bad things to us, they deserve to get bombed, too, right?  it is in the golden rule.  but then what?  people all know the golden rule, yet bad stuff keeps happening.  if people keep “doing unto others” based on what has been “done unto [them]”, we’ll all be fucking DEAD!  this is not what i consider a good time.  the golden rule doesn’t work.  it just breeds recursive murder wars.  neither the victor nor the loser is ever happy.  everyone’s still got a bone to pick, and the killing continues.  here’s what i propose.  throw out the golden rule.  adopt another rule.  how about the one jesus came up with?  how about “turn the other cheek”? how about “love thine enemy”?  i mean, america is a judeo-christian nation, right?  it says so right on the money.  that means we all believe in heaven, right?  that means that what we do down here makes no difference in the big picture, right?  sure.  because heaven is eternal, but life on earth is “but a blink of the eye.”  that means, if some asshole wants to shoot us, who cares?  they’ll go to hell, and we’ll be laughing our balls off, playing hop-scotch with john lennon in heaven.  fuck this killing.  for real.  i am over it all for real.  a guy from my high school just got killed.  i was a total ass to him (roids, teenage hormones, popularity… you know), and now i will never be able apologize or slap him a high five and come back on the flip side.  it’s fucked up for real.  and the worst part — he thought he was doing right by his country!  sad sad scene.

so, any of you who have made it through this post are all stupider for having read it.  i award you no points, and may god have mercy on your souls. 

now, go slaughter some people whose skin is darker than your own!!  before they do it to you first.

and don’t forget to vote.  in fact, vote three times.  keep on voting and voting until you cast a fat, brown ballot in your pants.

Sweet

***editor removal of flagrant picture*****

Well, i started this post looking for a funny cycling picture to add some humor to my rather bland story of an incident related to an earlier post. Of course, in finding this i was compelled to share this golden nugget with my brethren of the blog. this one’s for you guys. stoney, no stall ones up in the heezy.

unrelated to this post’s purpose i wanted to relate my cyclist story. so, i’m flying around town as everyone knows i do, (especially suit– i know how you hate me in the driver’s seat when i’m not stoney baloney) and i see a cyclist coming onto the busy mountain road i’m cruising up. i anticipated his upcoming disregard for traffic law because of the previous story about dumbass cyclists. he runs the stop sign turning in front of me to maintain his speed to get up the hill. now, of course i was all but prepared by my defensive agressive new jersey fuck you driving skills (my only weaknesses being looking out the window and looking at the people i’m talking to) and i yelled “that’s a stop sign” out the window at 45 in a 35. when reached the top of the hill i decided it prudent to pull over and try and reason with this american flag jersied cyclist. hoping to fulfill my duties as a good american, objectors note t. j. our great hypocritical alumnus’ quote, “dissent is the highest form of patriotism, i waited for him.

tj: oh yeah, he liked pure chocolate. he bought as much as he could

surprisingly he reached me fairly quickly and pulled right to the side of my car, hand on my roof. he looks at me and i say, “you know there was a stop sign back there, right? you could have gotten killed out here.” in a wanker english accent, defiling our constitution by wearing the flag as a garment, he responded, “you’re right.” well, as i was about to say something to the effect of “it’s a little different in the states” or something selectively patriotic to the tune of love it or leave it, he interupted with a rude good bye. well, that was the end of the encounter, i almost got a flat pulling to the side of the road to wait for him, but i thought of the irony of the situation in checking the wheels. obviously a good cyclist judging on the speed he took the hill, you would figure he would first, know the rules, second, enjoy the hill climb, and third and finally, not be so gay. i guess i think it’s nice he is representing lady liberty, but nonetheless it’s pretty gay. if he truly analyzed the importance of old glory and the time it was made, as well as refined, he would know that his motherland represents everything we fought against. however, rather ironically, it now represents that which americans fought so hard to rebel against. i guess it all comes down to how gay the age of the nation state has become and always was. if we want to be realistic about it, it all comes down man as beast (ahh, my favorite topic)

while visiting the extremely gay d.c. infected nova, i found a first year secondary school paper documenting a school required event that was possibly sponsored nationally. it was called random acts of kindness week. now, far superior to tv turn-off week, i found great joy in reminiscing as well as disgust in the requiring of such week. while waiting to pick up my buddyon his last day i began talking about high school life at my school with some lady and a beautiful dog panting in his huge coat not made for any climate like ours. She put it clearly in saying, “it’s so different here from virginia. it’s like the cool kids are mean. if you’re nice you’re weird”. in the land of the almighty dollar and the bottom line, as opposed to the equally bad image obsessed west coast, their is no time for southern hospitality because you interfere with making another buck. ever notice when you ask, “how ya doin’ “, people don’t know what to say. they have so long heard it used as a statement rather than a question that it shocks them, stuttering out a response after you wait seconds for one. anyway, this post did not go in any direction i intended, but i am resolved to invite my fellow brothers of the cough to participate in random acts of kindness. in now way am i suggesting you do not already act in kindness , but i hope you will join me in spreading love at your most busy and difficult time.

if you don’t well, that’s your bag baby, but i hope you will join me in search of self-improvement.

on another totally unrelated side note, stoney, i was reminiscing with roughty about blasting the curveball you tried to sneak by me at the monticello fields. what a cowinky dink– monticello–sweet.

and, i’m slumping in the drunken firemen’s softball league of champions at a dissapointing .667, but i’ve been shagging plenty out in the cornfields and ripped my first inside the park homerun of the year though it’s in question by my harshest critic– good ol’ i me mine. i would mark it as excellent base-running and terrible rag arms though it’s in the book as a giddyup.

that’s for you, suit. that’s my boy, a buffalo soldier. though he plays nothing like me, i enjoy his love of the game and hatred for the business. that’s why he takes as much money as he knows they’ll give him and jogs to first base. all while working on his hitting more than any player in the majors. plus, you know he smokes the pot. sweet.

Editors note: an act of kindness could be removing the objectifying pic at the top, but in the passage of time (seems 70’s-80’s) this violated lady might revel in her beauty and youth. in addition, anonymity is on her side. the backside, oh snap!

2nd Editors note: (other driving weaknesses include, but are not limited too: lighting cigs, talking on the phone, rolling blunts, rolling joints, bouncing a tennis ball against the windshield when bored, searching through my ipod, the combination of up to three of these at a time, improper maintenance as evidenced by the baloney skin i’ve been driving around on for months, and hands at 12 and deez.

Presidential Hopeful Bows Out in Disgrace

 “I’m not a rake”;

George Shrub leaving Campaign Headquarters in the middle of the night

 He has retracted his bid for the Presidency in the middle of the night, June 1st 2007, under a cloud of public disgrace and failure.  It seems the Commander in Chiefing was not prepared for the epic battle between right and wrong.  In violating his code of ethics and going back on his campaign promise of outlawing pre-marital sex with life imprisonment, he could no longer vie for the coveted position.  His political rivals quickly attacked his questionable morality, unsteadfast inner fortitude, and in old political jargon, his political wishy-washyness.  Furthermore, the promise of plasma screen TV’s for every American was quickly dismissed when sensitive financial documents revealed his net worth at $187.  Ironically, he spent all of his campaign contributions on phillip morris products, the major soft money contributor to the political slush fund known as the The Committee to Elect a President Who Smokes.  It is even rumored that he participated in free expression this past weekend while retreating in the sin filled capitol of Thailand.  He claims he will return to his father’s oil farm and redeem his sins through stern lecturing, old-fashioned farm work, and a non-indulgent residence.  It is also rumored he invited a one Stoney McStoneystein to join him because of the following’s fondness for stern lecturing. 

In the political vaccum created by dropping out of the clear favorite, as shown by the latest poll of the American public, approving nearly categorically of his arch-conservativism, war mongering and supposed morality, I, Lester von Cherrytree, am annoucing my candidacy.  I hope the public will support my l****al persuasion in their new found distrust of the right.  Published below is my first campaign speech.

It is no longer a time for our fathers to McGovern,

We have the responsibility to alter or abolish the old regime as we see fit for the future.

It is a new time, with new dynamics, that requires the trained but untested wills of children entering the grand forum.

No longer can we caged by familial reliance, unfounded defiance, or blind contrivance.

Only through blistered hands, broken backs, bee sings, and scraped knees will this lingering foreboding be addressed.

As children of the Republic we cherished our leaders and teachers.

We exceeded their expectations with our own resilience in dealing with the slaughtering of innocence.

And as we matured in this world, we were equipped with the instruments needed to understand it’s dynamic.

We must love it and care for it before it’s beacon is extinguished. 

*edited by the CIA  

 

Speech Writers

Wash your hands, dirtballs.

Nobody likes getting sick, aside from the token missed day of work/school/jury duty, being sick is no picnic.  People are constantly in search for the miracle cure, or prevention from that yearly flu, or nagging head cold.  I have seen people guzzle vitamin C, swear off red meat, or enlist the services of the local black magic syndicate.  For all these ridiculous methods, I am always amazed to find that most people rarely take the most basic step of disease prevention; washing your hands.

I am not a clean or germ freak by any means, but I think it is an innately basic thing to wash your hands after you use the bathroom.   I see people always neglecting this important step after relieving themselves.  The most vicious cesspools known to man are public restrooms.  These places are just big assembly lines of human waste. 

You think you are clean and hygienic?  Marvelous, but what about Joe Bran-Fiber rushing to the corner stall, or Bobby McDrunk whose alcohol shakes force him to spray piss up to a three urinal radius?  Not to mention the little kids who strut in, insisting they are old enough to, “do it themselves” only to find themselves crying for daddy as they ruin another outfit. 

Personally, I treat public restrooms like I would a soccer match; no hands allowed.  Because, I have no idea what goes on in there before I enter.  Ahem…

  

 

 I’m I’m kicking up toilet seats, using my elbows to work the sink spigots, and shouldering the buttons on the automatic hand dryers.  There is no way I am placing my mitts on anything in there when I see countless people leave without washing their hands.  Then suddenly, I become the asshole when I won’t shake your hand just because you look like the type of mouth-breather who doesn’t lather up after fondling your no-no area.  Please, I don’t want to have your testicle sweat all over my hands. 

With our government controlling so many aspects of our lives, I am surprised that we have not seen sweeping legislation mandating proper cleanliness in public restrooms.  Washing hands is not just for doctors, cooks, or any other public servant.  We need to stock these restrooms with bruisers who enforce washing with an iron, well cleaned, fist.  You want the use of a free, public restroom?  You better believe you are going to wash your grimy hands afterward.  

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.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rubber_match

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)