Kyle's Vomitorium

Bacon Burger

2008-11-06T11:06:00.000-08:00

above: The Bacon Burger and its ingredients

No, really.

Really?

Barak’d the Vote

2008-11-05T12:28:00.000-08:00

Oh that's right, America, Obama won. A black man in the "White House". Can you handle that? Well you don't have a choice, ya filthy racist!

His acceptance speech was amazing. His stoic posture and strong words were the most inspiring I have ever heard. I shed a tear and got tingles from the top of my spine to the bottom of my genitals.

My generation has never had a chance to feel this way, to experience these feelings on the political plane. What is this, hope? Pride? Excitement? All of these things! My knee-jerk reaction is to argue that the occurrences of the 9/11 tragedies came close to inspiring these feelings, but this is not so. Those were entirely different feelings. In 2001 we banded together out of fear, mistrust, hatred. We came together in defense of our nation, to protect her.

Last night we banded together in the name of an offensive strategy to rebuild our great nation. This was a positive change for our government, a change my generation has backed more than it has backed any other political movement. We never had a JFK, we’ve only had our Vietnam. It’s time for Generation Y to have our moment to rally behind a great leader. Barak Obama is that man.

We made history last night.

So suck it, bitches.

Bad Parking Cut-Outs

2008-09-26T16:40:00.001-07:00

My Year of the Hurricane

2008-09-03T09:32:00.000-07:00

Most people don’t know this, but scientists have the names for hurricanes picked out long before they start tossing Mexican shanty towns into the ocean. The hurricanes are given names alphabetically in chronological order and alternate male to female. So the first hurricane of the year gets a female A-name, the second gets a male B-name, and so on.

In an ongoing, useless effort to remain politically correct, the National Hurricane Center tries to choose a wide range of names from various worldwide influences. Here’s a list of some fun ones from recent years:

- Olga
- Ingrid
- Ernesto
- Alberto
- Humberto
- Fernand
- Teresa

It would truly suck to get killed by Hurricane Teresa.

above: run fo yo life!

In recent years, I have hoped and dreamed that my name would hit the list. I checked every single year, hoping to find that glorious combination of letters. I knew however, that the name Kyle did not really stand a chance against other, more flavorful K-names such as Kamilah or Kareem. Also, seeing as how the letter K is a male name only every other year, I’ve not been too confident that my year would come.

Well it has, bitches.

above: omg!

I’m pleased to announce that 2008 is the year that scientists have finally listened to my Mother and officially classified me as a “natural disaster”.

If you think Katrina in 2005 showed us the full fury of the letter K, you are mistaken. Readers, please meet Hurricane Kyle*.

above: Hurricane Kyle

You might consider reinforcing your shanty towns, Cuba.

*The Big Book of Baby Names tells us that the name Kyle translates into either “handsome” or “narrow land”. I don’t care to read too deeply into the latter.

Pancake Surprise

2008-08-28T14:37:00.001-07:00

Today, in the hollow space that resides between my car and the open driver’s door, I found a pancake.

above: no, really

My first thought was that perhaps it was a giant mushroom that had taken a liking to the mishmash of leaves and dirt that has accumulated over the years, but when I prodded the perfectly preserved breakfast disk with my keys, I was left with little doubt as to its yummy Bisquick® nature.

Now don’t say it, because I had the same thought: “Oh, Kyle, you silly bitch! You must have placed the pancake there while under the heavy influence of alcohol!”.

Sound logic, but no. And for one simple reason:

I don’t eat pancakes. Pancakes are, as our brothers in O-town would say, “fo suckas”. Waffles are the way to go. Their little square nooks of perfection offer to the breakfast connoisseur a considerably superior syrup solution to that of the pancake’s method. i.e. soaking up all the syrup to the point where the entire dish is soggy and has doubled in size by bite #3.

So please, if you somehow shimmied a pancake down between the panels of my car, I’d love to ask you a few basic questions:

1) Why a pancake?
2) Why me?
3) How did you get it in there? I’m the only one that drives this car and I always keep it locked
4) A pancake?

Evil By Default

2008-08-01T12:03:00.001-07:00

I’ve been toying with the idea that if there is a story in which I find myself truly hating a character, the character probably isn’t very well written.

Think about it.

Try to remember the last time you were watching a movie and you said to yourself “Woah! The antagonist is a total dick! I hate that guy.” Now try to recall anything important about the character. Can you remember anything about him other than the time he blew up that school bus full of children halfway through the movie? Can you remember anything about his history, childhood or brand of jeans? There’s a good chance you don’t even remember his name.

That is because Jonny McKills-Kittens is a hollow character written as nothing more than “I are bad guy, you must hate me”.

above: Simple Villain

I’ll give you an example: You’re reading a novel and the author introduces the bad guy. His minions call him Death Bringer and all he wants to do is shroud the world in darkness by systematically planting nuclear warheads across the globe in an effort to cloud the skies and render mother earth nothing more than a lifeless, dark sphere. To further the point that he is evil, the author has Death Bringer eat a baby in the first chapter.

What a dick!

See, that was easy. We don’t know anything about Death Bringer or why he wants to exterminate the human race, but it doesn’t matter. We know what we need to know: he’s putting forth a ton of effort to make the world a worse place to live.

Well here’s something you didn’t know: it turns out that Death Bringer has a middle name. His middle name is Richard. Death Richard Bringer. And he likes ice cream.

Are these new facts chipping away at your blind hatred toward our Antagonist?

Well what if we found out that Death Bringer had a tough childhood? Let’s say his 6th grade friends called him DB for short and they told him that it stands for Douche Bag. Let’s say he had a raging case of acne and in 12th grade he ripped the seam of his pants while doing the robot at Senior Ball. Even the limousine driver made fun of him on the lonely ride home. These, and many other humiliating occurrences plunge Death Bringer into a spiral of self destruction and down the path of evil.

How’s that hatred holding up? Not so well, I’ll bet.

All of a sudden, DB has a touch of personality, some depth. Death Bringer has gone from being a one-dimensional jerk to a complicated individual with deep-seeded emotional issues for which he will need many years of therapy to overcome. Now you can’t help but feel a little bad for calling him a dick earlier.

Now it is you, reader, who is the dick.

above: Complicated Villain

The simple fact is that we can’t hate a fully developed character. Even if we can’t relate to a single thing about the character’s personality, past, or ambitions, we can still identify with him on the simple basis that he is human.

And isn’t that what character development is all about?

Blue Jay Justice

2008-07-25T16:30:00.000-07:00

I have a family of Blue Jays living outside my window. For those of you living in a cave or somewhere in the Antarctic, a Blue Jay is a stupid looking bird that hops around with a little fin on top of its head and is loud as hell. Their call is a raspy sort of ‘caw’ noise that doesn’t stop. Ever. They prefer to caw in the wee hours of the morning about an hour before my alarm goes off.

I am not a violent man.

I may have grown up in Texas. I may be obsessed with action movies and I may bookmark any internet video that involves somebody getting hit in the nethers, but I, myself, am not a violent person. I am, however, willing to make an exception when it comes to committing violence against Blue Jays, or Cyanocitta cristate bromia, for those of us who love memorizing biological taxonomy. No I did not Wikipedia that.

Fact #1: Blue Jays are jerks. Everybody knows this.

Except you.

Fact #2: Blue Jays will fight all other birds to control their immediate area.

Fact #3: Blue Jays have been known to eat humming bird eggs (seriously).

Fact #4: Blue Jays support Hitler.

Given these facts, I can not support a local faction of Nazi Blue Jays living outside of my window. The following is a warning to the next Blue Jay that decides 5:00am is the perfect time to start chirping in German and quoting Mein Kampf :

I am going to get out my pellet gun, aim it at your face and keep shooting until I put an end your little anti-Semitic regime.

above: Blue Jay Nazi Justice

And then I’ll kill all of your co-conspirator squirrel friends.

above: Co-conspirator Justice

Then the Toronto Blue Jays.

Just in case.

above: MLB Justice

Will Doodle for Bachelors

2008-07-24T16:08:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I stumbled upon a bunch of binders from my third year in college. As I sentimentally leafed through page after page of business theory, famous quotes and statistics formulae, I came across some doodles. I have chosen for you a short list of doodles that all came from the same school day. I think it says a lot about a person when they can both a) create such amazing art and b) get out of there with a Bachelor Degree in Business in less than a decade (barely).

Behold, irrefutable evidence that I am awesome.

Please click to enlarge.

above: Todd

This is an idea I came up with where you've got a small hot-plate built into the bottom of your coffee mug. Yes, it's a fire hazard. Sure, you might burn your fingerprints off as you cup your mug in your hands to warm them during winter months. I am well aware of the fact that this product might kill you, but c'mon! It keeps that shit warm!

above: genius

The next two doodles appear to be some attempt at amateur schematics. When I first found them I thought it was some sort of water purifier. Maybe a water spigot.

above: silencer/flash suppressor

This appears to be a dinosaur named Cody. Maybe a dragon. It is destroying a city while under attack by various warriors. Don't miss the guest appearances by: The Rocketeer, the Ninja and the Spartan. There is also a pirate with a pimp hat as well as a turd-tank.

above: Goh-zee-rah !

Thank you.

Concordia University Sucks My Balls

2008-07-18T16:15:00.000-07:00

I guess word has gotten out that I’d like to further my education because I received an email today from a University trying to entice me to enroll in their MBA program.

Apparently, word has also gotten out that I would like to fuse together my knowledge in Business with my love for Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior:

above: Biblical Marketing

Okay, Concordia.

I appreciate you thinking of me and all, but this email is teetering on absurd. I’m not even going to critique the ridiculous concept of combining Bible Worship with Business Theory. Yes, I’ll avoid criticizing you for putting together an educational combination just slightly more ridiculous than quantum physics mixed with basket weaving; a graduate-level business curriculum far more pointless than that of computer programming mixed with... something radically dissimilar to computer programming.

Grilled-Cheese making, perhaps.

You get my point.

I will instead focus on the photo you’ve included with your email in vain attempt to entice me into enrollment:

above: Biblical Business

Why, Concordia University, why have you chosen an Asian lady in a metallic-blue shirt with excessive fat rolls to spearhead your email campaign? Why have you placed the dude in the background with the red tie that reminds me of Senator Kelly from the X-Men movies? Why have you chosen a blond that looks so hideously stupid that she can’t even remember to visit her hair dresser often enough to convince me that she’s a real blond?

And don’t think for a second that I missed her hand placement, Concordia. The “bible hand” was a nice touch.

above: Biblical Bible Hands

Combine this with the tubby Asian lady’s “swish hand”:

above: Biblical Swish Hands

…and you've painted a nice portrait of a graduate business school that supports both:

a) my love for Jesus, and

b) my sexual orientation. Whatever that may be.

Kudos, Concordia, but I'll pass.

Nexus of Happiness

2008-06-06T09:11:00.000-07:00

Is it too much to ask that a job keep me interested? A job that keeps me working my ass off, yet doesn't stress me out to the point where my home life suffers? Maybe a job that doesn't make me want to run my own company via website from my desk at work?

Maybe that is too much to ask. Maybe all I can hope for is a nice balance of work and fun that will keep me from wanting to rip out my own eyeballs and putting them in my mouth. I call this balance, The Nexus of Happiness.

above: click to enlarge

A Message From The N.C.Z.A.A.A.

2008-05-30T15:24:00.000-07:00

above: click to enlarge

Advances in Technology

2008-05-30T13:35:00.000-07:00

As globalization becomes more prominent in today’s society, we find our world getting smaller and smaller. On a daily basis, it seems, we discover new and interesting ways to harness these technological advances to improve our everyday lives. Doctors can perform surgeries from across a country, scientists can monitor CO2 levels on a different continent and I can receive Verizon Pix-Messages like this one I received earlier today:

above: click to enlarge

A Lesson in Business

2008-05-30T12:25:00.000-07:00

above: click to enlarge

A Lesson in Science

2008-05-19T11:36:00.001-07:00

above: click to enlarge

To the Girl that Flipped me off in Traffic

2008-05-05T11:30:00.000-07:00

You were the one in the newer, silver BMW on Pleasant Hill Road during rush hour traffic on Friday. If you'll recall, I was sitting there in bumper-to-bumper traffic happily munching on my pre-sliced mango pieces while listening to that new song from the Ting Tings they won’t stop playing on the radio. It was then that I caught movement in the corner of my vision.

I turned my head to see your car way too close to mine and your face plastered against your window. You were flipping me off and mouthing something that looked like “Move, ass-face”. I guess you probably weren’t just mouthing it but I couldn’t hear you as my music was on pretty loud and both of our windows were rolled up.

What did you want me to do? Where was I to go in bumper to bumper traffic? I am literally trapped between three cars and a wall of cement. There is nowhere for me to go.

I liked your hair. It was a dirty blonde set-up that came down to your shoulders and perfectly framed your face.

My lane started going a bit faster than yours and so I pulled up ahead of you. I could hear you honking and in the rear-view mirror saw you doing what I can only describe as the “Angry Driver Head-Bang”. You almost hit your forehead on the steering wheel a couple times.

Your lips were thick and juicy, your lip gloss making them shimmer in the golden afternoon sun.

I watched in fear as I saw you notice the 1/3 of a car length opening between myself and the driver behind me. My mouth lay open in disbelief as you wedged yourself between us, forcing the poor 80 year old lady in her Honda civic to slam on her breaks. Her giant old-people sunglasses fell off her face.

Your eyes were deep blue, the same color as the tie my boss wears on Fridays.

I really like that tie.

You started tailgating me, even as the pace of traffic started to pick up. You began the head bang again and I decided to take the next opportunity to get over and out of your way. I saw a space and started merging over. I guess I wasn’t getting over fast enough for you because you put two tires up on the curb and passed me anyway. You weren’t even looking at me as you drove by. You merely had your middle finger to the sky and kept it pointing at me as you passed, even though you had to crank your arm over the passenger seat in order to continue flipping me off through the back seat window.

If you’re reading this, please contact me. I don’t know where you were going in such a hurry, or how could possibly think you’d make it there on time in Bay Area rush hour traffic, but I’d really, really, really like to share some of my mango slices with you.

AIM Debaucheries

2008-04-29T10:03:00.001-07:00

Dr. Porkchops: hope you're having a blast down in Mexico, man
Mr. Meat Popcicle: I am indeed
Mr. Meat Popcicle: a big-titted midget said "welcome to Mexico" to me in English.
Mr. Meat Popcicle: just walking down the street
Mr. Meat Popcicle: it was quite possibly the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me
---------------

Troy 45cal: I get "Good Friday" off
FUNnBeer: good
FUNnBeer: Jesus got it off too
FUNnBeer: OH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Troy 45cal: snap.

---------------

Kyle: my pecks are getting firmer
Kyle: and more shapely
Matt Cherries: ooooo, sexy
Kyle: god, I'm hot.
Matt Cherries: you don't have to sell me on that, big boy

---------------

FUNnBeer: one of Monica's Friends wants me to do a website for her
FUNnBeer: and put it in her Butt
Troy 45cal: she wants you to put it in her butt? or Monica’s butt?
FUNnBeer: both
Troy 45cal: I suggest you charge extra for that
Troy 45cal: otherwise word might get out that you are handing out 2 for 1 deals
FUNnBeer: if she is hot, I am down for a "In da butt deal"
Troy 45cal: I gotta keep that as a quote
FUNnBeer: Quote This
FUNnBeer: (|==========D
FUNnBeer: Bitch.

---------------

Kyle: boo
Kyle: boo on your face
Adamn Kampa: boo on my face indeed

---------------

affamato gatto: kyle u are such a good satirist of human culture
Troy 45cal: so is your face
affamato gatto: hahaha there again, amazing

---------------

FUNnBeer: For some reason I want cake. And vagina.

---------------

FUNnBeer: I will never again trust a Mexican used car salesman
FUNnBeer: or an Asian Craps dealer

---------------

Troy 45cal: I wanna go play halo tonight
Troy 45cal: but I gotta go to a Sharks game
Troy 45cal: scream for blood and all that
FUNnBeer: well Hockey is like Halo
FUNnBeer: but instead of aliens
FUNnBeer: they are Canadian
Troy 45cal: Your wisdom knows no bounds, my friend

---------------

FUNnBeer: Hooters right next to a Toys R Us. Which one first though?
FUNnBeer: if you went to Toy R Us first all you would think about is Hooters
FUNnBeer: its like when the Devil took Lestat to Heaven first so he didn’t think about it the whole time he was in Hell
FUNnBeer: in Memnoch
FUNnBeer: I am thinking Hooters first because then you get your fill of boobies, beer and chicken wings
FUNnBeer: then you can go play
FUNnBeer: unless you are lucky enough to take home a Hooters girl
FUNnBeer: …
FUNnBeer: I have given this some thought
Troy 45cal: yes.
Troy 45cal: yes, you have

---------------

Troy 45cal: I like the name Debbie.
ViperXL50: that sounds like fat southern prostitute’s name
ViperXL50: Debbie’s House of Pancakes and Skank
Troy 45cal: I would eat there
ViperXL50: yeah, me too

---------------

Kyle: looks like the pre-party is at Matt's
Kyle: with bitches
Kyle: and unconfirmed reports of hos
Adam: goddamn flaky-ass hos

---------------

Kyle: shall I make a list of naughty words that shouldn't be spoken at this party, Matt?
Kyle: 1) poop
Kyle: 2) fuck
Kyle: 3) fuck-poop
Kyle: and so on
Kyle: I just made myself laugh with that one
Matt: haha
Matt: yeah, I'm pretty sure I'll say all of those

---------------

FUNnBeer: so I’m trying to sneak a contract away from a lady with the last name “Bowser”
FUNnBeer: I’m thinking if I run really fast I can jump over her head and take out the ax holding the bridge up for her
Troy 45cal: careful of the fire-breath. Oh, and the princess you’re after won’t be in that castle, by the way.

---------------

FUNnBeer: so many Mexicans in the world
FUNnBeer: I got the Mexicant

---------------

Jon: HAPPY CHICKEN
Jon: BOK BOK

---------------

FUNnBeer: oh shit was gonna tell you
Troy 45cal: eh?
FUNnBeer: bank got robbed yesterday
FUNnBeer: in Redding
Troy 45cal: what ?!
Troy 45cal: that still fucking happens?
Troy 45cal: what is with that town?
FUNnBeer: Jessica's husband was the teller
Troy 45cal: HAHAHAHA
Troy 45cal: he's a fucking teller?
Troy 45cal: oh man
Troy 45cal: this keeps getting better and better!
Troy 45cal: did they rape him?
FUNnBeer: …do you even know what a bank robbery is?
Troy 45cal: it's.... where you ... rape bank tellers?

---------------

Matt: I always finish as quickly as possible
Kyle: yeah
Kyle: that's always a solid plan.
Matt: boo yah

---------------

FUNnBeer: she will just be surprised when I creep up behind her and rip away her panties

---------------

Troy 45cal: I know I'm sick because I just dropped 500 bones on a game system
Troy 45cal: and got home and went to sleep
Troy 45cal: …that or I'm gay
FUNnBeer: I think the gay part fits
Troy 45cal: it would also explain why my throat hurts
FUNnBeer: yah and it feels like you "fell down some steps"

---------------

FUNnBeer: so I killed me a deer yesterday
Troy 45cal: you are a fucking liar
FUNnBeer: nope
FUNnBeer: 4 pointer
FUNnBeer: 4 hundred pounds
FUNnBeer: breathed fire

---------------

affamato gatto: frak me?
affamato gatto: frak u
affamato gatto: check your frakkin self
affamato gatto: into that frakkin brig

---------------

FUNnBeer: Jesus does not use abbreviations
FUNnBeer: notice how I said does not instead of doesn’t

---------------

FUNnBeer: God is just Cody with no 'Y'
FUNnBeer: and a G
FUNnBeer: The pope should not have tried to Fuck me over

---------------

FUNnBeer: Im on the Holy Roman Empire’s hitlist and on the ass-end of a jihad

---------------

FUNnBeer: bitches bitches bitches I sex them every day
FUNnBeer: bitches bitches bitches but to do that I must pay

---------------

Troy 45cal: are you a mexican
Troy 45cal: or a mexican't
FUNnBeer: mexiwont
Troy 45cal: mexinable
Troy 45cal: mexitarded
FUNnBeer: mexipuss
FUNnBeer: that kinda sounds like a monster from greek mythology
FUNnBeer: that breathes fire
Troy 45cal: MEXIPUSS IS DESTROYING THE CITY !
FUNnBeer: the mighty mexipuss laid seige on the mighty city of Sparta for 14 days
FUNnBeer: wait no
FUNnBeer: the mexipuss is the monster that lived in the underground catacombs
FUNnBeer: guarding the golden dildo that bestowed whoever uses it with a single wish
FUNnBeer: but in return it took away your dignity
Troy 45cal: I'd wish to not get anal-ized
FUNnBeer: I'd wish for lube

---------------

Troy 45cal: I may be dying.
FUNnBeer: well die after the weekend
FUNnBeer: wanna say hi first
FUNnBeer: then you can be an Adolph Quitler

---------------

FUNnBeer: i think she blocked me after she said "I need to lose 20 pounds"
FUNnBeer: and I told her to cut off a leg

---------------

Troy 45cal: yes, of course
Troy 45cal: I should have all that fun info to you by tomorrow
FUNnBeer: wicked retarded. bitch.

---------------

FUNnBeer: so my neighbor got this puppy
FUNnBeer: it is so cute it made my head explode into candy
Troy 45cal: did the puppy then go on to eat your gummi-brains?
FUNnBeer: yes.
FUNnBeer: yes it did.

---------------

Kyle: National Talk like a Pirate Day !
Kyle: GYAR !
Jon: Arrrrrr you kidding ?!?
Kyle: hells NAWWWWR

---------------

FUNnBeer: then I will karate chop his head off
FUNnBeer: and then eat his soul
FUNnBeer: because I can do that

King Nickelous

2008-04-09T15:48:00.000-07:00

If I could be an X-Men villain, his name would be King Nickelous.

His powers would basically be that of Magneto's, the ability to control and manipulate metal, but restricted to American currency. The nickel would be my coin of choice. I would use everyone's good friend, Thomas Jefferson, to punch holes in bank vaults, blow out the tires of armored vehicles, and even use them to fly if I could glue enough to the bottom of my shoes.

Certainly, I would employ the service of Lincoln, Roosevelt, Washington, hell, maybe even JFK from time to time, but as long as there are sufficient nickels around, you can bet that these coins-of-choice are the ones that will be flying at your face, should you be standing between me and my dastardous goals.

I would start small in my life of crime. I would sit on park benches and use my mind to carefully float the coins out of peoples pockets without them knowing. There you are, walking around with two quarters in your pocket, while the guy you are strolling by has five dimes. Then, BAM! Now you've got the dimes, and that other guy is walking away with your quarters.

FEEL THE WRATH OF KING NICKELOUS

I would go to an ice-cream shop and steal nickels out of the cash-register with my mind. I would float those nickels over to some kids ice cream and submerse them deep within his tasty treat. One moment he's licking ice cream, and the next, he's licking NICKELS. Only god knows where those nickels have been (God and myself, that is). For all he knows, he's licking nickels that have run the course of the digestive track belonging to that weird stray dog with a skin condition.

Eventually I would use my power over Jefferson for personal gain. I would find an armored truck full of money and use the nickels within to pelt the passengers unconscious. I would then lift the entire truck with those coins and take it to my secret hideout, which, incidentally, will be in the shape of a nickel, where I would extract the precious money and use it to further expand my glorious empire.

Once I melt down enough nickels and use that metal to forge a battle suit, I would be unstoppable. My battle suit, the ‘Nickel-Tastic’ would allow me to fly, deflect bullets, or simply look like a total badass. Unlike most villains, including magneto, sadly enough, I will not construct a costume that requires me to wear my all-too-tight underwear on the outside. That style is reserved for only two people in this world: Superman and Quailman. And yes, I did just drop a 'Doug' reference.

So beware, you people living in the peaceful community of wherever: the day you come home with coins in your pocket that aren't quite in the same denominations as when you put them there, it will signify the beginning of something big. Hear me when I say that it will sure as hell take a lot more than Hugh Jackman and a blue Kelsey Grammer to stop me.

Beware your Nickels...

Beware King Nickelous.

above: click for enlarged awesomeness.

The Book of Job

2008-03-13T16:27:00.000-07:00

Job 1:21 - The Lord giveth,

and the Lord taketh away.

Blessed be the name of the Lord.

The Tetris Effect

2008-03-13T10:05:00.000-07:00

Some months ago I purchased a new cell phone, the VX9900, or the ‘enV’, for those who don’t know their LG electronics product codes (for shame). It is hands down the most awesome electronic device ever engineered by man, excluding of course the remote control and the propeller beanie. My phone has the game Tetris on it and there’s nothing better in life than passing those monotonous moments with a nice game of
fit-the-blocks-together-and-
make-them-disappear-until-
they-go-too-fast-and-you-lose-
because-your-brain-is-too-slow.

Thanks, Russia.

So now, after many, many hours of Tetris, it is official. I have experienced the Tetris Effect. Yes, it exists.

For those who don’t know what that is, you can click here:

For the 100% of you who read on hoping for a brief explanation, it is as follows: It’s when you play too much Tetris and see the colored blocks semi-transparently in everyday life overlapping your normal vision, as well as involuntarily trying to mentally fit together the various shapes that normal, everyday objects can make. Trust me, it’s fucking annoying. Try picturing stuff like this all day, every day:

above: Normal View

above: Tetris Effect

And by the way, if the world of Tetris was a group of high school kids, the red 1x4 stick would be the handsome jock and the yellow 2x2 square would be the unpopular fat kid that has a habit of saying things like “uh, Miss Foster, you seem to have forgotten to assign us our homework assignment for the evening”. Then all the 1x4’s beat him up after class because he effing deserves it.

Nobody likes a 2x2.

above: Playground Justice

Fun Game!

2008-03-03T16:29:00.001-08:00

Okay, kids.

Let's play a game called: "How Many Police Officers (The Role Models for Our Easily Influenced Youth) Can You Spot Parked in the Beverages & More Parking Lot?"

Ready?

Go!

above: click to enlarge

How many did you get?

Click here for a hint!

The Pimpingest President in American History

2008-02-29T14:36:00.000-08:00

“Fuck Taft!”

- Teddy Roosevelt on William Howard Taft

above: Theodore Roosevelt

Some of us remember him as “the mustached dude” who ran around making Fair Deals. Some remember him as the one that said "Speak softly and carry a big stick", but believe it or not, there is more to Theodore Roosevelt than meets the eye. This man was a machine. A machine who’s sole purpose was to manufacture pure awesome. Liquid awesome.

For this reason, it is my opinion that Theodore Roosevelt was The Pimpingest President in all of American History.

Interesting Pimp-Facts:

As a boy, little Theodore’s father forced him to take boxing lessons to ward off the bullies that had a habit of flushing his face in the latrines. This problem arose due to his size and various ailments that plagued him during his childhood, namely asthma. His father’s actions would carry Roosevelt into a lifetime love for boxing. So much love, in fact, Roosevelt would invite people to the white house for meetings and then later, to box in a boxing ring set up in one of the state rooms. Supposedly, he would tell people he wanted them to visit the White House for business matters, but would offer them gloves the moment they stepped through the door. He did this a lot.

above: TR after having boxed an elephant to death

Finishing up business with a nice one-two to the face is just one example of what a bitchingly pimp-righteous president Roosevelt was. Another example? Sure. In 1908, he was permanently blinded in his left eye during one of his boxing bouts in the White House and didn’t even care.

Also, he invented the term White House. I guess he figured The Executive Mansion was too boring a name for his presidential pimp-crib. I think we can all agree.

During the worst of the outbreaks, Roosevelt used the Army's medical service to eliminate the yellow fever menace and install a new regime of public health. Yes, you read that right: He used the U.S. Army to murder the yellow fever.

When he wasn’t committing genocide unto various diseases, Roosevelt was helping with the design of add-ons to his presidential home. He decided the White House needed to have a West Wing and promptly began the design-work. This is apparently because he could see into the future and knew that there would be a popular television show called the West Wing some 100 years later. I should also note that he was a fan of dramas.

Roosevelt was the inspiration for the monopoly guy. Parker Bros. has yet to return my phone calls to verify this "fact", but c’mon:

above: c’mon!

According to historians, “He had a photographic memory and developed a life-long habit of devouring books, memorizing every detail.” Re-read that last quote: the man devoured books.

Roosevelt is known across the globe as having been the inventor of the pimp-hat. As illustrated with photos throughout the rest of this article, you will find that it was a long and tiresome journey. The process was a multi-staged ordeal.

above: first stage of the Roosevelt Pimp-Hat

At one point he accidentally invented a globally recognized tagline with his offhand remark, "good to the last drop," in reference to some coffee he drank at the Maxwell House hotel in Tennessee. There is no punchline in this paragraph, only liquid awesome.

According to texts: “He could multitask in extraordinary fashion, dictating letters to one secretary and memoranda to another, all while browsing through a new book.” The texts don’t specify as to whether or not he was also juggling butcher knives at the time, so we can only assume he was. The texts go on to say “He was an eloquent conversationalist who, throughout his life, sought out the company of the smartest people.” So that he could box with them.

above: second stage of the Roosevelt Pimp-Hat

Upon graduating from Harvard, Roosevelt underwent a physical examination and his doctor advised him that due to serious heart problems, he should find a “desk job” and avoid strenuous activity. Roosevelt chose to embrace strenuous life instead, as well as embrace the doctor with a punch in the face.

Roosevelt decided that the currency of his day was simply too boring and became the first to put a human face on American coins. Who’s face did he decide upon, you ask? Well only the second most pimpingest president to date: Abraham Lincoln. Oddly enough, Roosevelt did not perform this service in tribute to the greatness of the late president Lincoln, but as a demonstration of his apprehension that Lincoln might reign in history as “Pimpingest Prez”. His speech to the public is noted for being remarkably short and to the point:

“Nobody likes a Lincoln, and nobody likes a penny. I have combined the two so we can hate them as one. Fuck that guy.”

above: third stage of the Roosevelt Pimp-Hat

Having been promoted to Colonel in the Spanish-American war, Roosevelt preferred to be known as "Colonel Roosevelt" or "The Colonel.", even after he had returned to his civilian life. The public called him "Teddy", a name which he loathed and would subsequently earn you a he-smack to the dome, but political friends and others who worked closely with Roosevelt customarily addressed him by his rank. Which is effing awesome.

Not only did Roosevelt receive the Nobel Peace prize for helping negotiate the end of the Russo-Japanese War, but he was awarded the Medal of Honor for commanding his Rough Riders in the dual charge on both Kettle Hill and San Juan Hill during the Spanish-American War on July 1, 1898. He is the only person in history to receive both his nation's highest honor for military valor and the world's foremost prize for peace. I’ll reword that last statement for everyone: he got the highest achievements possible in two opposite things. The man could kill you to death and still be honored for his advancements in world peace.

above: fourth stage of the Roosevelt Pimp-Hat

Assassination Attempt:

On October 14, 1912, a saloonkeeper named John Schrank attended one of Roosevelt’s speeches and took a shot at him, lodging a bullet in his chest. Before piercing Roosevelt’s extra thick man-flesh, however, the bullet traveled through his eyeglasses case as well as a folded copy of the 50 page speech he was carrying in his jacket pocket.

above: assassinated speech

Roosevelt, having not even fallen down, decided that the fact that he wasn't coughing blood meant the bullet hadn’t done enough damage to keep him from still giving the freaking speech. In what may be the pimpingist act ever performed in presidential history, Roosevelt delivered his 90 minute speech with blood seeping into his shirt. The awesomeness is further emphasized by the fact that he still read the same copy that had two holes in every page and without his reading glasses.

above: assassinated reading glasses

Afterwards, doctors determined it would be more dangerous to attempt to remove the bullet than to leave it in place. Roosevelt carried it with him until he died. It is noted that Roosevelt was saddened by this news as he had been hoping to “bling-ify” the removed bullet with a gold chain in tribute to his “fallen homies”.

above: fifth and final stage of the Roosevelt Pimp-Hat

Book Titles

2008-02-26T11:44:00.000-08:00

I think I’ve broken the code for coming up with a title for new novels: use ominous sounding contradictions or oxymorons.

I saw a novel on somebody’s desk titled Innocent Traitor and thought to myself “oh no, you di’int”. A stupid title, no doubt, but one that necessitates the passerby to wonder: how can a traitor be innocent? Are they an unwilling accomplice, their family taken hostage and threatened with murder unless this ‘innocent traitor’ shoots the president? You start to wonder if perhaps the author might actually know what’s up, having named his book something so deviously provocative.

Then you realize you don’t care and move on.

It has been said that naming a novel correctly can help determine whether or not a book will sell. I’ve come up with a short list of enticing oxymoron/contradictory novel titles for you to peruse at your leisure, feel free to use them if you write a book:

The Guilty Law-Abider
Shadows at Noon
A Speedy Yugo
The Clever Retard
Hot Ice
Comcast not Sucking Fat Cock
Parallelograms that are, in fact, not Parallel
Violent Peace
Peaceful Violence
Filthy Soap
Soapy Filth
Foapy Silth
Silthy Foaps

Of course, the world doesn’t need my help coming up with stupid book titles…

Voting

2008-02-08T12:21:00.001-08:00

I voted today.

It’s a great feeling. I always walk away with my head held high, chest puffed out and grinning at anyone that walks by. Today’s polling place was hosted by a retirement home, so it turned out I was actually hitting on a bunch of elderly people this time. While leaving, I grinned at this one old lady sitting at the receptionist desk and so she hit the button to have the door automatically open for me so I didn’t even have to touch it. I turned around and gave her the patented finger snap combined with my irresistible sideways grin. The cocky one. My pure, unadulterated awesomeness induced her to orgasm so hard that her heart gave out. Poor thing.

The point is, voting is great for one’s self esteem. It is one of those rare moments where you feel like your voice is heard. You feel like your opinion actually makes a difference in this country. That is, until the person standing in front of you is retarded.

Literally, the person standing before me in line to vote has a mental handicap. My emotions flare and just before I burn this old-folks home to the ground and pee-pee on the ashes, I hear familiar mumbling behind me. I turn to discover that I am actually in the midst of ten or so individuals, all with mental handicaps and ballots in their hands. This must be a fieldtrip planned by the “School for the Mentally Handicapped, Yet Remarkably Political” because they have all come here to cast their votes. Votes decided this morning, no doubt, over a nice bowl of potato chips in milk.

Easy, now. Put down those pitchforks and give this some thought. I will be the first person to stand up and advocate rights for those with mental deficiencies, but we need to keep this in perspective.

Fact: It is a federal offense to vote under the influence of alcohol or other mind-altering substances.

Why?

Fact: One cannot legally enter into a contract of any sort unless they are of sane mind.

So,

Fact: When voting, one must sign their name to verify their identity and are therefore entering into a contract stating that they are who they say they are.

Finally,

Fact: I once saw a mentally handicapped person pry open a peanut butter and jelly sandwich only to stick the jelly side to their forehead while they licked the peanut butter off the other half. These actions do not exemplify a person of sane mind.

Therefore, and I’ll connect these dots for everyone, a person with a mental deficiency is not of sane mind and cannot legally vote. The idea is that we don’t want people who are not thinking clearly going out and casting votes for the leader of our country. If I am not allowed to vote under the influence of alcohol, then you should not be allowed to vote under the influence of retarded.

above: Liberty

pwnd

2008-02-01T12:15:00.000-08:00

Gather around, children. I am going to tell you the story of how a little word came to be.

You see, back in the hay-day of online first person shooters, the days of Counter Strike, kids would play with one hand on the keyboard and one hand on the mouse. This is, as we all know, the best configuration to use when playing a first person shooter. In the occurrence of a kill, a frag, of an opponent to whom a player had previously been talking trash, the player would sweep their mouse hand to the keyboard to type some form of insult. The word owned made its way to the foreground as a popular cornerstone for trash-talking, as it is a versatile word that can be mixed into virtually any flavor of insult. “I owned you”, “You just got owned, bitch”, or even “Oh snap, owned to the domed with my boned” are just a few variations one can come up with on the fly.

Eventually, players decided this was too time-consuming, and many shortened their post-frag trash talk to one or two words, often only typing in owned. Some argue this came to pass due to the laziness ingrained deep within each and every child of our society, an example of how everything can be shortened into one or two milliseconds of entertainment and then passed by like so much discarded refuse. Others subscribe to the belief that it is a simple matter of taking the least amount of time to effectively talk trash so as to quickly get that hand back on the mouse for further “ownage”. Regardless, the abbreviations continued and eventually owned was shortened to ownd, as the letter ‘e’ is the most expendable letter in terms of retaining maximum readability.

The next stage in the birth of this wondrous word was unintentional. If you look at your keyboard, you will notice that the ‘o’ key is dangerously close to the ‘p’ key. I’m sure you can imagine that in a flurry of emotional trash-typing, it can be very easy to hit the ‘p’ key instead of the intended ‘o’. The product of this mistake is pwnd. This rarely corrected typing accident occurred so often that certain players began using the term pwnd in jest of other players. This led to a more widespread use of the new word, which eventually went from flippant remark to standard slang. Thus, pwnd worked its way into the lexicon of online gaming we have today.

Now get off my lap before I pwn your face off.

above: pwn-age

Two Gifts, One Day, All Awesome

2008-01-28T12:47:00.000-08:00

Gift #1

Today a man walks into my office. He is dressed in a charcoal suit with a white shirt underneath and dark blue tie, the color of the ocean on a crappy day. He has a bright red igloo cooler in his right hand. His name is Kurt. He strides over and places his cooler on my desk, between us.

“There you go. Four. Four big ones.”

“…4 big what, Kurt?”

“Ducks, fool. And don’t worry, they’re on ice.”

Then he walks out.

Truth be told, I’m not worried about ice. Ice is the least of my problems as my mind is occupied with the thought of the cooler on my desk that may or may not have four dead animals in it.

I’ve yet to open the thing, but I’m really hoping Kurt decided that today was the day to go into Chinatown and pick up some roasted duck to give to good, old Kyle. I’m hoping this because the other alternative is that he went out into some field early this morning to shoot four ducks and throw them in a cooler. He will later laugh over the thought of me in my kitchen trying to gut four animals that had been alive earlier today. Unfortunately, the latter seems likely as he’s the type to openly discuss his love for hunting and/or killing.

Gift #2

This morning I was the first person into the office. Yes, I get in early on Mondays so as to properly suck the wing-wang of my female boss. I have ambition, sue me. As I entered my office, I found a giant jug of Carlo Rossi on my desk. Those of you who went to college, or had any sort of post-pubescent childhood will recall that Carlo Rossi is the lowest of the low on the spectrum of wines. As a testament to its superior insuperiority, it comes in a giant jug with a thumbhole, so that you can toss it over the crook of your arm and sip from it Moonshine-style as you walk down the street with your “homies” whilst “holla-ing” at “the bitches”. Yes, even the fat ones.

The most awful wines can be identified by the fact that they desperately try to pass themselves off as a higher-class beverage. One example can be found on the Carlo Rossi website which states: Always remember: from a full jug of Carlo Rossi flows good wine. From an empty jug flows inspired ideas.

What?

An even easier way to identify some of the worse wines on the market is by the nicknames society has bestowed upon them. The more lengthy and complicated the nickname, the worse the wine. For example, you know that Trader Joe’s line of Charles Shaw wines must be bad when people started calling it “Two-Buck Chuck”. Armed with that knowledge, one can only conclude that Carlo Rossi’s wine must be even worse, having been imbued with a nickname like “Top of the Line Rhine”.

It looks like ass, tastes like ass and makes you look like an ass when you are seen with it in your possession. It is to be referred to by its nickname and only its nickname. I have already broken this cardinal rule of the streets just typing out these details for you, so be grateful I was keen enough to teach you about how the world in the “hood” works.

Fun Fact: “hood” is short for “neighborhood”!

No one has come forward, as of yet, to take credit for the gift of Rhine left on my desk, but it’s a good thing I’ve got it because I don’t know where else I am going to get the nerve to type into Google, “how to butcher a frozen fucking duck”.

above: Duck a l'orange & The Rossi