Thursday, February 26, 2009
Make Like A Camel
In case you haven't noticed, things have been kinda quiet for the last couple of weeks. I'm taking some time off to do a little housecleaning and maybe a bit of R&R. If you're new, why not go back and read some earlier posts of mine to fulfill your needs, and if you're a long-time disciple, refresh yourself anyway. If you're good and pay attention, you'll know when I'll be back (hint: the answer lies somewhere in this very blog). If you figure it out, don't tell anyone, just revel in the fact that you're smarter than everyone else.
Friday, February 13, 2009
A Shot At Love From The Grassy Knoll
Cupid kind of gets a bum wrap when it comes to holiday mascots. When held up against behemoths like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, that chubby little bastard just doesn't hold a candle. Maybe it's because Cupid is the most academic one of the lot; his origins lie in ancient Greek myth after all. It is probably because he is a fat little baby that shoots people with arrows and makes them fall in love. Maybe I'm just weird, but this image is beyond rediculous. How are we supposed to take him seriously? Cupid is way past due for a face-lift in my opinion; something to make him more relevant to today's audience. I imagine a Navy SEAL whose sole purpose is to make people fall in and out of love; the illegitimate love-child of Solid Snake and Elizabeth Barrett-Browning.
Imagine this: it is a bright spring day in the city park. The birds are chirping, the sun is shining, and love is in the air. Actually, love is lying under a row of shrubbery where no one can see him. He works to control his breathing so that he doesn't rustle the leaves that cover his body to break up his form. His face is covered in green and brown face paint in order to match his leafy surroundings. His one indulgeance is a cigar smouldering in the corner of his mouth. In his arms is a modified 50-caliber Barret M82 sniper rifle. Rather than deliver a high power bullet capable of traveling nearly a mile and a half, the rifle has been altered to deliver a round that when it hits its target, it alters his or her physiology to inspire various emotional states. Some shots create a sense of extreme sexual arousal, some a deep passion that could be described as "love," and others that are even capable of creating hate and antimosity.
The hunter waits for an opportunity to strike. After many hours, he sees his window. A young man in his early twenties sits down on a bench. Minutes later, an attractive young woman walks by with her fluffy little dog. She pauses while her pooch pops a squat to fertilize the grass. The moment to act is now. *click* A round slides into the chamber of the rifle and cocks into place. With his finger over the hair-sensitive trigger, he steadies his breath and gazes through the thermal scope and finds his exact target. Without a moment's hesitation, he pulls the trigger. The built in silencing mechanism renders the bullet virtually silent as it exits the barrel and buries itself into the chest of the woman. She lurches back with a start. The man rises from his seat to see if she is OK. Their eyes meet, a conversation ensues, and the two end up walking away together. As the new couple disappears over a low hill in the distance, Cupid puffs his cigar, gives a satifed nod, and resumes his search for more victims.
Let's see Santa compete with that kind of bad-ass-motherfucker!
Imagine this: it is a bright spring day in the city park. The birds are chirping, the sun is shining, and love is in the air. Actually, love is lying under a row of shrubbery where no one can see him. He works to control his breathing so that he doesn't rustle the leaves that cover his body to break up his form. His face is covered in green and brown face paint in order to match his leafy surroundings. His one indulgeance is a cigar smouldering in the corner of his mouth. In his arms is a modified 50-caliber Barret M82 sniper rifle. Rather than deliver a high power bullet capable of traveling nearly a mile and a half, the rifle has been altered to deliver a round that when it hits its target, it alters his or her physiology to inspire various emotional states. Some shots create a sense of extreme sexual arousal, some a deep passion that could be described as "love," and others that are even capable of creating hate and antimosity.
The hunter waits for an opportunity to strike. After many hours, he sees his window. A young man in his early twenties sits down on a bench. Minutes later, an attractive young woman walks by with her fluffy little dog. She pauses while her pooch pops a squat to fertilize the grass. The moment to act is now. *click* A round slides into the chamber of the rifle and cocks into place. With his finger over the hair-sensitive trigger, he steadies his breath and gazes through the thermal scope and finds his exact target. Without a moment's hesitation, he pulls the trigger. The built in silencing mechanism renders the bullet virtually silent as it exits the barrel and buries itself into the chest of the woman. She lurches back with a start. The man rises from his seat to see if she is OK. Their eyes meet, a conversation ensues, and the two end up walking away together. As the new couple disappears over a low hill in the distance, Cupid puffs his cigar, gives a satifed nod, and resumes his search for more victims.
Let's see Santa compete with that kind of bad-ass-motherfucker!
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
It's A Sad Sad Sad Sad World
If any of you out there who follow my inane diatribes are gambling people, now is the time to call in your bets on whether or not I decide to shit all over Valentine's Day. I mean, I've already deleted any hope for online dating, and knocked over falling in love, so this would be the natural culmination, right?
Wrong! In a suprise move of metacognition, I am instead going to shit on the people who shit on Valentine's Day. Sure, all the pink hearts and kissy-face teddy bears drive me up a wall, but you know what? That saccharine tripe bugs the hell out of me every day! You know the people I'm talking about. Here's a quick checklist to see if you fit the profile.
Do you:
A: Feel a certain sense of hopelessness in the weeks preceding February 14th?
B: Refer to Valentine's Day as "Singles Awareness Day?" (Awwww...it spells "SAD"...how clever)
C: Thank God that you don't have a machete every time you see two people holding hands?
D: Feel sick to your stomach when you smell chocolate?
E: Think bears are something to be feared, not hugged?
If you answered "yes" to one or more of these, hang up that colostomy bag, 'cuz I'm about to rip you a new asshole.
I admit that misery loves company (hell, I do it all the time for shits and giggles), but letting one single day completely ruin your life? Some people even have the audacity to claim that Valentine's Day is the most depressing holiday of the year. Seriously? A couple months ago, Christmas was the most depressing holiday. Before that, it was probably your birthday. I think the problem here is commitment. I don't mean the inability to commit in a relationship which is probably why you've never had a real boy/girlfriend, or maybe it's your over-willingness to commit that scares away anyone who likes you because you start talking about kids on the third date. I refer to none of these things. You need to commit to your misery. If you're going to be sad, be sad all the time. Don't wait for a holiday to creep up on you to bum you out. At the very least, be depressed for all of winter like me. Consistency; that's the key.
Also, stop ragging on people that were actually lucky enough to find somebody to mate with them. I have no woman to call my own at this point, but I don't blame every other person for it. I don't blame myself either, actually. I prefer to think that I am merely unappreciated in my own time, and one day all those chicks who turned me down are gonna cry themselves to sleep every night for letting me go. I'm sure you probably think you'd be too cool to care if the situation was reversed, but you're not. Admit it, if you get this bent out of shape single, a significant other is a surefire recipe for certifiable insanity.
Advice? No, it's your shit, I can't tell you what to do. February 14th is a day on the calendar. It is no different from any other day. Folks bitch and moan about its significance because they want it to have meaning. If a person waits for one day out of the whole year to express love, then I say "fuck you" to that person. Or if you wait for one day to say "fuck you" to love, then I respond with "double fuck you!" Everybody wants love all the time...deal with it.
Sorry for all you folks out there who lost money. Even I bet the other way; I lost $100.
Wrong! In a suprise move of metacognition, I am instead going to shit on the people who shit on Valentine's Day. Sure, all the pink hearts and kissy-face teddy bears drive me up a wall, but you know what? That saccharine tripe bugs the hell out of me every day! You know the people I'm talking about. Here's a quick checklist to see if you fit the profile.
Do you:
A: Feel a certain sense of hopelessness in the weeks preceding February 14th?
B: Refer to Valentine's Day as "Singles Awareness Day?" (Awwww...it spells "SAD"...how clever)
C: Thank God that you don't have a machete every time you see two people holding hands?
D: Feel sick to your stomach when you smell chocolate?
E: Think bears are something to be feared, not hugged?
If you answered "yes" to one or more of these, hang up that colostomy bag, 'cuz I'm about to rip you a new asshole.
I admit that misery loves company (hell, I do it all the time for shits and giggles), but letting one single day completely ruin your life? Some people even have the audacity to claim that Valentine's Day is the most depressing holiday of the year. Seriously? A couple months ago, Christmas was the most depressing holiday. Before that, it was probably your birthday. I think the problem here is commitment. I don't mean the inability to commit in a relationship which is probably why you've never had a real boy/girlfriend, or maybe it's your over-willingness to commit that scares away anyone who likes you because you start talking about kids on the third date. I refer to none of these things. You need to commit to your misery. If you're going to be sad, be sad all the time. Don't wait for a holiday to creep up on you to bum you out. At the very least, be depressed for all of winter like me. Consistency; that's the key.
Also, stop ragging on people that were actually lucky enough to find somebody to mate with them. I have no woman to call my own at this point, but I don't blame every other person for it. I don't blame myself either, actually. I prefer to think that I am merely unappreciated in my own time, and one day all those chicks who turned me down are gonna cry themselves to sleep every night for letting me go. I'm sure you probably think you'd be too cool to care if the situation was reversed, but you're not. Admit it, if you get this bent out of shape single, a significant other is a surefire recipe for certifiable insanity.
Advice? No, it's your shit, I can't tell you what to do. February 14th is a day on the calendar. It is no different from any other day. Folks bitch and moan about its significance because they want it to have meaning. If a person waits for one day out of the whole year to express love, then I say "fuck you" to that person. Or if you wait for one day to say "fuck you" to love, then I respond with "double fuck you!" Everybody wants love all the time...deal with it.
Sorry for all you folks out there who lost money. Even I bet the other way; I lost $100.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Don't Fall For It
Today, I would like to talk to you about falling. Falling is a serious matter. I still remember when my 92 year-old grandfather fell last year and broke a hip. The subsequent surgery and recovery almost killed him from exhaustion. Falling is the second most common work-related injury, and almost 400,000 people die from falling related accidents every year, not including the people who do it as a form of suicide. When an angry populace cannot get their hands on enough rope or swords or fancy-ass guillotines, what do they do with their shitheel rulers? They defenstrate them; throw their asses out of windows. Y'see? Falling has gotten so complex that we have different words to describe certain types of it. And how many times have you been woken up from a peaceful night's rest with that stupid freefall sensation? To be sure, falling is a most unpleasent experience, so why should falling in love be any different?
Falling requires three key ingredients: I'll refer to them as the trip, the fall, and the landing. The trip is the moment that instigates falling. It can be deliberate, such as stepping off the edge of a building or sticking your leg out in front of someone, or accidental, like just not paying attention to where you're stepping. To place this into the context of love, the trip is basically the thing that causes you to notice someone, be it a glance, a conversation, a hug, or anything else that makes you say to yourself, "damn..."
Next there is the fall proper. Technically, it is the space between the trip and the landing, so it could be argued that the fall does not actually exist; similar to how cold is merely the absence of heat, or dark being the lack of light. Semantics aside, this is also where we are the most helpless. We become victims of gravity. You are going down and there is not a thing you can do to change that. The paradox is that this is where the mind does the most work. Although usually brief in a temporal sense, the action appears to slow down and a thousand thoughts rush past. Conversely, you may not even be aware of what is happening until you're already on the ground. In all likelihood, the first and most common feeling is shock and fear. Our reptile brains take over and our first priority becomes survival. There is seldom time do anything other than reach out an arm and hope for the best. The unbridled passion you feel for your paramour sweeps you along whether you like it or not. This is the same cerebral cocktail that is responsible for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. You get that? Chemically, love is a mental disorder.
Finally, we land from the fall. The old maxim says that it's not the fall that kills you, it's the landing. That's true enough. Falling forever might mess with your inner ear a bit, but it probably wouldn't be too bad. There may be one way to fall, but there are a thousand ways to land. Of those, very few are pleasent. Unless you fall over something soft, you will be shocked, bumped, and quite possibly hurt. Do I have to keep drawing these love parallels, or can you figure out the landing part for yourselves?
I could tell you to just spare yourself and never fall in love, but I won't (I'm not that cynical). The truth is that no one is immune to falling. Everyone from babies to the elderly fall, although those two groups do seem to take up the lion's share of it; kind of a reversed bell curve if you think about it. It's part of the human condition. Does it suck? Most times, yes it does. In fact, most times, you'll probably get hurt, but rarely will it kill you. Just pick your ass up and watch your step to make sure that it doesn't happen again.
Falling requires three key ingredients: I'll refer to them as the trip, the fall, and the landing. The trip is the moment that instigates falling. It can be deliberate, such as stepping off the edge of a building or sticking your leg out in front of someone, or accidental, like just not paying attention to where you're stepping. To place this into the context of love, the trip is basically the thing that causes you to notice someone, be it a glance, a conversation, a hug, or anything else that makes you say to yourself, "damn..."
Next there is the fall proper. Technically, it is the space between the trip and the landing, so it could be argued that the fall does not actually exist; similar to how cold is merely the absence of heat, or dark being the lack of light. Semantics aside, this is also where we are the most helpless. We become victims of gravity. You are going down and there is not a thing you can do to change that. The paradox is that this is where the mind does the most work. Although usually brief in a temporal sense, the action appears to slow down and a thousand thoughts rush past. Conversely, you may not even be aware of what is happening until you're already on the ground. In all likelihood, the first and most common feeling is shock and fear. Our reptile brains take over and our first priority becomes survival. There is seldom time do anything other than reach out an arm and hope for the best. The unbridled passion you feel for your paramour sweeps you along whether you like it or not. This is the same cerebral cocktail that is responsible for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. You get that? Chemically, love is a mental disorder.
Finally, we land from the fall. The old maxim says that it's not the fall that kills you, it's the landing. That's true enough. Falling forever might mess with your inner ear a bit, but it probably wouldn't be too bad. There may be one way to fall, but there are a thousand ways to land. Of those, very few are pleasent. Unless you fall over something soft, you will be shocked, bumped, and quite possibly hurt. Do I have to keep drawing these love parallels, or can you figure out the landing part for yourselves?
I could tell you to just spare yourself and never fall in love, but I won't (I'm not that cynical). The truth is that no one is immune to falling. Everyone from babies to the elderly fall, although those two groups do seem to take up the lion's share of it; kind of a reversed bell curve if you think about it. It's part of the human condition. Does it suck? Most times, yes it does. In fact, most times, you'll probably get hurt, but rarely will it kill you. Just pick your ass up and watch your step to make sure that it doesn't happen again.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
I Think I'll Stick to the Carbon Variety
I'm going to make an official ruling: dating is the most rediculous ritual in our culture. In honor of all the lovey-dovey vibes that permeate the air like a landfill in August this month, I am going to periodically take some time to ravage various aspects of dating, relationships, love, and any other similar concepts. That's right, I am going to systematically dismantle the entire foundation of Western Civilization. After all, they say that all of human progress was constructed in order to impress the opposite sex. So where to start in this one man crusade? As this is a pissant little online soapbox, why not start with my nearest neighbor: online dating. I hear stories all the time of people meeting online and finding happiness, but frankly, I don't buy it. For every story that ends with a happy ending, there have to be hundreds more that end with you tied to a bed after having been robbed, beaten, and minus one kidney. This is the internet after all; the child of nerds and pornography. A little bit of anonymity can go a long way. Take this sample profile, one that is like any other you'll find on a dating site:
"Hi! My name is Mike and I live in the bustling town of Kirkwood. I'm a guy with big dreams, but right now I'm just looking around to see what's out there. I'm a little over six feet tall, have brown hair, and a strong build. I'm finished with school and I've got my own job, my own car, and my own place. I absolutely love kids, so if you have any, it's not a deal breaker. Heck, bring them along, I'd like to meet them, lol! If you're still interested, shoot me an email and we'll see where it goes from there! :)"
Sounds like a real catch, right? Well before you start printing up wedding invitations, check out who you're actually going to go out with:
Uh-oh! It's Michael Devlin, the guy who kidnapped Shawn Hornbeck! Oh boy, I'll bet your face is red. Touche, internet, touche. So in all likelihood everyone on the internet is not a child molester, that would not be fair to the other specimens in the online dating menagerie. There are just as many weirdos on the ladies' side of things. Here are some of my favorites:
1. Young Single Mom-She's looking for a guy who can prove to her that not all men are dogs, so no booty calls! She's cute in her picture, and she says that she loves to go out when she gets a chance, can cook great, and is always willing to adjust to your needs...and oh yeah, she has a kid. Sometimes that little detail gets front and center attention, other times she coyly slips it in amidst all of the stuff that is so great about her, hoping that you'll just glance over it. After a date or two, you'll ask where the baby's daddy went; not out of concern, but because you want to go there too.
2. Lonely Fat Girl-She always had plenty of Care Bears and gay friends to keep her company, but now she needs something more. Her main selling point is her awesome personality, which makes up for any areas in which she might be lacking, which will most likely be evidenced by the noticable lack of any sort of photo. She may or may not be upfront about her weight, and may even try to hide it under the acronym "BBW," but don't fall for it. "A little extra meat on my bones," mostly likely means, "you'll have to come to my place because the forklift they use to lift me out of my bed is in the shop." And finally...
3. Crazy Sex Chick-She wants sex, and she wants it now! No strings, no romance, no bullshit, just crazy monkey fuckin' as soon as possible. Her hook is listing of all the dirty things she wants you to do to her. "First, I want you to go down on me like no other man can, then fuck me in my ass until I can't take it anymore, then I want you to tar and feather me, cover me in two-week old garbage from a Chinese restaurant, and set the bed on fire with me in it! If that doesn't get you off, then don't even bother responding ;)" That made you horny just to read it, didn't it? Often times, these women don't actually exist and are robots for porn sites. It's just as well, at least now I don't have to get out of my chair to have a good time.
So there you have it, the best the internet dating world has to offer. If this is what you're looking for, then happy hunting. If you are a normal and sane individual however, instead of wasting your internet time cruising for dotcom-tail, read my blog instead. At least you'll learn something.
"Hi! My name is Mike and I live in the bustling town of Kirkwood. I'm a guy with big dreams, but right now I'm just looking around to see what's out there. I'm a little over six feet tall, have brown hair, and a strong build. I'm finished with school and I've got my own job, my own car, and my own place. I absolutely love kids, so if you have any, it's not a deal breaker. Heck, bring them along, I'd like to meet them, lol! If you're still interested, shoot me an email and we'll see where it goes from there! :)"
Sounds like a real catch, right? Well before you start printing up wedding invitations, check out who you're actually going to go out with:
Uh-oh! It's Michael Devlin, the guy who kidnapped Shawn Hornbeck! Oh boy, I'll bet your face is red. Touche, internet, touche. So in all likelihood everyone on the internet is not a child molester, that would not be fair to the other specimens in the online dating menagerie. There are just as many weirdos on the ladies' side of things. Here are some of my favorites:
1. Young Single Mom-She's looking for a guy who can prove to her that not all men are dogs, so no booty calls! She's cute in her picture, and she says that she loves to go out when she gets a chance, can cook great, and is always willing to adjust to your needs...and oh yeah, she has a kid. Sometimes that little detail gets front and center attention, other times she coyly slips it in amidst all of the stuff that is so great about her, hoping that you'll just glance over it. After a date or two, you'll ask where the baby's daddy went; not out of concern, but because you want to go there too.
2. Lonely Fat Girl-She always had plenty of Care Bears and gay friends to keep her company, but now she needs something more. Her main selling point is her awesome personality, which makes up for any areas in which she might be lacking, which will most likely be evidenced by the noticable lack of any sort of photo. She may or may not be upfront about her weight, and may even try to hide it under the acronym "BBW," but don't fall for it. "A little extra meat on my bones," mostly likely means, "you'll have to come to my place because the forklift they use to lift me out of my bed is in the shop." And finally...
3. Crazy Sex Chick-She wants sex, and she wants it now! No strings, no romance, no bullshit, just crazy monkey fuckin' as soon as possible. Her hook is listing of all the dirty things she wants you to do to her. "First, I want you to go down on me like no other man can, then fuck me in my ass until I can't take it anymore, then I want you to tar and feather me, cover me in two-week old garbage from a Chinese restaurant, and set the bed on fire with me in it! If that doesn't get you off, then don't even bother responding ;)" That made you horny just to read it, didn't it? Often times, these women don't actually exist and are robots for porn sites. It's just as well, at least now I don't have to get out of my chair to have a good time.
So there you have it, the best the internet dating world has to offer. If this is what you're looking for, then happy hunting. If you are a normal and sane individual however, instead of wasting your internet time cruising for dotcom-tail, read my blog instead. At least you'll learn something.
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