Reconcile Our (Trade) Differences

For the last 3 days, or ever since I really caught on to the Great American Blog Revival, I have been wracking my brain for some shit to come up with.

Make fun of my friends and Stonies. This worked for the first 9 months of the blog, but history has proven this an inferior strategy for generating views. Too many inside jokes for non-Stonies to get into.

Complain about how shitty my job is. This worked for the first 9 months of the blog, but because I have a new job that is not shitty, this doesn’t work anymore either.

Talk about how messed up I get/ used to get. This one never gets old to me, but to other people who don’t know me, I think they take these posts a little too seriously. Yes, we did do that, but we can’t talk about it like that anymore.

Bash, compare and promote Bands. I love music, and will continue to highlight shows and bands of interest.

Come up with stupid lists that have no point. I’m doing that right now, but just without numbers. Please think of them as talking points, but not numbered.

Scour the internet for the freshest videos and pictures. Roughtonius unearthed some internet gold….where is Roughtonius anyway? (see first talking point [he’s taking it up the butt]).

Talk about politics. I am tired of useless politricks. Over the past year, I have moved ideologically from the medium left to the center. I don’t believe in the government helping people out so much anymore, if you want to be cold about it. Is global warming really real? In the end, I don’t really care.

Out with old, little bitches. There’s a little sum-up. From now on, expect less of the old and more of the new. What’s the new? I don’t know yet, because we’re not quite there. I do know that I am still a neurotic ball of rotten garbage juice. I may have fermented a little, but that’s just going to get you more fucked up off my shizzle.

I have been considering promoting a new group identity. The Stonies, as it were, have totally abandoned and fucked the cause right up its powdered ass. Right there, in the balloon-knot. You know what I’m talking about.

Anyway, I think a new identity would be cool. SWS will always be SWS, not that we have any long-timers or anything. Like the Wu-Tang has the killer bees, NWA is the most dangerous group, and……Busta-Rhymes has Flip-Mode?!?!

No but seriously…fuck all you bitches, for real. Bunch of no-good panty-waist slack-jawed dumbfuck hillbillies. Useless.

PS- Digi-cam in the house now. Maybe I’ll throw up some pictures about how to keep it real on the West Coast. East Coast is for pussies!! And bitches!!!

A Great Awakening: The Blog Revival

Well, my plan worked.  Everyone is gone and there is nobody to read/write entries.  All mine!  mwhaahaahaa.  Anyway, it’s been awhile and I just wanted to start off by telling everyone that they are gay. 

 For news, well, I ran into a long lost brother: III dog.  I was standing outside of an academic building dreading the fact that I had to go to class and up walks the one the only.  But, does everyone know that grad school is for fags?  This shit blows and if you ever feel any inclination to lead a more fulfilling life and escape your wage slavery–don’t.  Yes, that’s right.  You have an eyewitness that is telling you.  Live an unfulfilling, selfish life.  Work, put in your eight hours, go home, and forget about what hell you just went through.  The beauty of work is that you can leave it at the office if you want.  Grad school is gay.  I’ve actually decided to do my reading for once and now all I do is fucking read.  Read, Read, REad.  And, some may say,  “well, that guy is lucky.  He is enlightening his brain and reading interesting stuff.”  Well, if you think that is the case you are sorely mistaken.  Nothing is interesting in my course of study.  I mean, does anyone find gender roles in Antebellum (pre-war) America interesting?  No, only man-hating lezzies.  Well, I guess I miss not reading cool stuff and listening to people talk about it. 

On another note, all the nay-sayer can eat a big fat because the Giants won the Super Bowl.  Yep, that’s right, Giants.  As for shit-talk for upcoming events, Red Sox are looking to defend their championship.  Unfortunately, I’ll be stuck watching the National League suck the big one. 

Anyway, I’ve got to go eat dinner at 7 -11.  Ahh, the good life. 

 Also, stoney, suit, roughty, and twitch are gay. 

Monday Butt Crumbles

Let the week begin.

What’s up with Stoney’s Bucks? I traded Bulger for Garcia this week and I must say it was a good trade. The giants play tonight and I hope they win for Roughty, but I want them to lose because of Dank. Although they’ll probably win (non-savage) Dank’s Giants still eat butt crumbles.

Speaking of butt crumbles I can’t seem to get a hold of Stoney. I tried to call a few times and have come to the conclusion that Stoney is too busy (having gay virtua-sex with Dank) to answer his phone

.

 

I’m really enjoying all these recent posts about the Stoney crew’s embarrassing moments. I have a few that I would love to add but I must refrain due to Stoney’s crazy rules.

White Lips

In a conversation yesterday between stoney and i while we were both supposed to be working, we had laughed about the lockjaw incident and i jibed stoney about his own oral malfunctions.  He did not find the remark too funny, so in the tradition of assholedness and shittalking, i will relate his story.  Our dear stoney can sometimes get so excited by something he may be prone to drooling at the mouth as he snarles in excitement.  This however, is no malicious snarl like a rabid beast, nonetheless, it is a snarl of wild excitement where he loses control of his saliva and forgets to swallow.  This will usually be accompanied with snorting and mouth-breathing.

 Above this minor, occasional loss of control sits the grand pubah of oral malfunctions.  Stoney will often be so parched with excited dialogue and excessive smoking that his lips will be covered in a dry white substance that is not the storied mystery cream of another episode.  Now i know, everyone’s mouth has been so dried out that they might get a white film in the corner of the mouth, but this is by no exageration a veritable caking of dried saliva that covers the entire lips like cream lipstick.  This could be construed as an isolated episode, but i assure ye readers with full confidence in my truth-telling that it is a perenial event. 

One episode stands out beyond all the rest.  Sitting in a frat room with some friends and some fiends, we were extremely overcrowded as many had seen that the people with the weed had showed up.  Stoney, Suit, and I being the carriers of the sacred nuggets, and at this point, Stoney emptying his bank account after mine had dried out from the Fall and being the true carrier, we proceeded to smoke weed per usual.  Well, the crowded ridiculousness and gayness of the group soon, as it always did, got to us, but none more than stoney.  Looking over at stoney i see he had proverbially just taken a bite out of a piece of wedding cake too big for his face.  well, as i discreetly let him know, he was already noticing a huge bump on his arm.  In my not so discreet way, everyone looked at stoney and hence the bump on his arm.  As a room full of questions pummeled stoney his bumps multiplied with every ‘oh, my god’ and ‘what’s wrong with you’.  In front of everyone, his hives as we came to understand just kept going until he was forced to leave.  Of course, i had the bag cause i was the only one who can roll and suit and I continued to smoke stoney’s bag until we met with him shortly after. 

On completing this story, i have realized that it is poorly written and extremely unfunny.  I hope though at least the stonies will have a smile at the memory of a suffering white lipped leper. 

 With that said, i’d like to move on to another topic.  If anyone is looking to get paid to do nothing at all, i have two recommendations for you.  Temp or substitute teach in northern virginia.  it seems that the employers are as worthless as the citizens of this forsaken land.  or, maybe i’m just as worthless, but that is besides the point.  i have sat at this job all week and have yet to be explained my responsibilites.  though i’ve only made 13 dollars an hour, i still have not done any work.  that’s about 500 bucks to do jack shit.  Stoney can sympathize as we’ve both done nothing and gotten paid.  I ask you, our readers, are you as lazy and worthless as us?  i know the other stonies are just as worthless, but they’ve prolly been busy.  however, i’ve been too busy watching tv on my computer to talk to them. 

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:

Stoney, the Fairweather fan shittalker

another moronic uninformed post by stoney below.  if he had any knowledge of the game last night, he would know that eli manning was just about the only thing happening in the game for the giants besides plaxico burress and amani toomer.   oh yeah, third stringer derek ward looked fucking good as hell too.  Eli Manning went 29-40 with 312 yards, threw 4 tds and one interception.  Detractors must know that the interception returned for a touchdown was caused by the venerable plaxico burress, 3 tds and 120+ yards, losing his footing on a comback route. 

 Stoney however, prolly does not know what a comeback route is.  I must blow up this idiotic  attack on Roughty and I’s NY Giants.  I was called late last night to talk about whatever it is we stoneies decide to poop out of our mouths at any given moment.  i informed the said fairweather flan, as in without much substance, i had watched a dissapointing loss by the Giants.  He exclaimed, “oh, i was watching a little bit of that”.  Now, to my surprise, Stoney was actually watching a sporting event.  I was not surprised that he did not watch much of it.  You see, dear readers, Stoney has the attention span of a pre-geico caveman and the patience of a snarling rabid dog.  He watches sports only to be one of the ‘boys’  and plug is whiny vagina for a few brief moments with acceptance and masculinity. 

 Anyone who watched the game, even briefly, with the slightest knowledge of football (mine is certainly slight due to my entrenched knowledge of the world’s game and america’s past time) would have recognized the categorical breakdown of the vagiants defense.  This is been the problem for the last two years, none so evident as a night when the offense looked great.  If anyone wants another reason why they sucked, just look at the blank face of Tom Coughlin. The team is beyond his control, but luckily Eli has manned up and taken responsibility as a quarterback.  The defense however, is weak and lost.  Not to detract from the natural ability of Tony Romo, but the secondary (that is everyone but the linebackers and o-line, stoney) is swiss cheese and has been for awhile.  Nonetheless, the Giants will still be the best team ever to play in history and will overcome not only its own obstacles of disorganization, motivation, and injury, but crush the critics of crass cantankerousness.  Now, onto the original motive of my coming out of retirement. 

 wait, one more, tiki barber retired, stoney.  his brother is still playing for your team.

 ‘Your Team’  a quick rundown of Stoney’s ‘teams’. 

Baseball-Yankees, when they win; Dodgers for a sense of belonging

NHL- Red Wings

NFL- Colts, Pats, Bucs,

Soccer-Brasil

if ever unsure, check the column marked ‘w’ and pick the top one. 

To completely emasculate my dear brother, stoney, I must reveal that the ammunition for his uninformed attack came from yours truly.  Before abruptly ending our conversation on his own terms, he double-checked the primers on his shit-talking munitions asking, “so it was the Giant’s defense?”  So, not only was his misinformation blatantly retarded, but also totally gay.  Next time Stoney, don’t smoke dope in the proverbial munitions storehouse. 

On a side note, Twitch, you never staked your claim for your ‘team’.

The list goes:

Stoney-Bucs

Suit- the one with the fastest black man

Roughty- hometown Foreskins

Dank-Giants and any team with fast black men, especially qb’s.

Twitch-?

Thanks for reading, readerous readers, you’re a loser if you think we’re cool. 

This message brought to you by the following:

YO, JOE!

 Who’s ready to get drafted?

Sincerely,

Finally getting paid to do this like you guys.   Done 20 minutes of work today. 

Getting Paid!

Roughty, Where’s the Giants?

I’ll give you a hint…they aren’t in the state that they say they are.

Anyway, Giants got toasted by the Cowboys, who are gay too. Roughty, I’m sure you had a blackout to handle the emotional shitstorm you endured watching Eli Manning choke it like he knows how to.

It’s on!

Bonus Brother Round. At least the shitty one quit while he was ahead…

Owen Wilson: Why Do You Want to Kill Yourself?

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.

NASA, Get Your Shit Together

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.

Mets fans are lethal

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.