There is never a reason to say “woo”.

May 17th, 2016

Waking up is pretty much enough to ruin anyone’s day. Sleeping kicks ass and I’d do it all the time whenever I wasn’t eating or engaging in feminine encounters if I could. The latter happens maybe twice a year if I’m lucky, so I might as well just say I’d do it whenever I wasn’t eating. Anyway, any day’s misery is compounded exponentially whenever I hear someone scream/say “woo”. By this I don’t mean when people use it in the sense of trying to gain favor with someone, but rather as a general expression of joy or adulation. This happens pretty much every day, which is just one of the many reasons why I’m such a bitter asshole.

Clapping is one of the most unnecessary things anyone ever does. If you enjoyed a performance, then show it by way of just sitting there, shutting up, and not heckling. If you really feel the need to clap, fine, go ahead and do it. However, you add nothing by screaming out “woo”. It’s not a word and it doesn’t in any way indicate any sort of compliment or anything meaningful at all. It’s just extremely annoying. Why “woo” anyway? If you aren’t going to use a real word, you can screech out form of any non-verbal caterwauling you want. Be original for a change and just make up your own asshole war cry. If everyone started stabbing themselves to death when they liked a performance, would you do it too? Actually, I kind of hope this would happen. That would mean more waffles for me.

Woo becomes even more annoying when it’s used as an expression of joy rather than as a form of applause. You hear it all the time at sports games, on game shows, or at any other sort of competitive event or game of chance. I think I hate it the most when it’s done on Wheel of Fortune. Some contestants will scream it after they’ve solved a puzzle, but others will do it every single time a letter they called shows up. These are the people I hate most of all.

If I ran Wheel of Fortune, all of the winnings from a woo-er would be turned around at the end of the show. For example, let’s say a contestant solved a puzzle and won $7600 and a motorcycle. If they were to say “woo” upon winning, rather than getting these things, they’d owe them to the studio. It would be even better if it happened with someone who landed on the million dollar wedge, made it to the bonus round, and won the million dollar prize by solving the puzzle. As soon as the woo was uttered, it would be time to dig deep, because they’d owe the studio a cool million. They’d only have one week to come up with the money. If they failed to do so, they’d be sterilized on the spot and forced to clean toilets in New Jersey Turnpike truck stops with a bristle-less toothbrush until they’d worked off the difference. Is your precious “woo” worth all that?

I almost forgot to consider those who “woo” but still lose. Nothing too fancy for them, just a good old fashioned stoning.

I remember once when I was in my first year of high school, the school was having a pep rally. I always hated pep rallies. In addition to the obnoxious noise and the celebration of teams I didn’t give a rat’s ass about, I always found the whole concept to be pretty useless. Nearly everyone hated the school with a deep passion, so why pretend to be in love with it for one afternoon? On top of this, every year, one of the classes would be declared to have “won” the pep rally by showing the most school spirit. There was no award for this, so it was a pretty pointless think to take part in. However, most of the students took it as seriously as a heart attack and would get pissed off at me for sitting there silently or skipping the pep rallies all together.

Anyway, to get back to the point, at the pep rally during my freshman year, an upperclassman girl who I wanted to give a ride on the Mongolian Express arrived late and for some reason sat with us rather than with her grade. I was quite thrilled to be next to her for the afternoon and was hoping at least that the excessive jumping and flailing around might provide me with a pleasurable view. When the first team came out, she started doing just that. Then she began to “woo” over and over again. Instantly, I was on the first train back to flaccid town and never again lamented the fact that I’d never be able to plumb her depths.

I hate all the woo variants as well. There’s “woot”, “woot woot”, “woo hoo”, “whoop”, and several others, all of which I despise with every grain of my being. As I type this article, my asshole next door neighbor is hosting some kind of party. As per usual, he and all of his douchebag friends are gathered around a bonfire and listening to shitty music. Every seven minutes or so, they all let out a collective shout over fuck knows what. Many of these shouts are capped off with especially long and loud “woo”s. I wish an airplane flying overhead would dump all of its fuel and blast every last one of them off the face of the planet. I’d be consumed as well due to my proximity to the yard, but it would be worth it.

 

 

 

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Stop.

January 31st, 2016

There are many, many things that people need to stop doing. Every day and whenever I go, I’m bombarded by annoying/meaningless words and actions that leave me wishing that every country in possession of nuclear missiles would send them off all at once. If I had the power to do so, I’d force every single person in the world to stop what they’re doing immediately and read this article and follow it to the letter. The penalty for not doing so would be being locked in a closet with Whoopi Goldberg while listening to Enya and being force-fed Ritz crackers chewed up and spat out by Macauley Culkin. This would continue until said violator complied with the following guidelines.

The first thing that needs to stop as of this instant is people thinking they’re part of a performance by clapping along to it. I fucking hate it when people at musical performances stand up and all start rhythmically clapping together, trying in vain to establish some kind of beat or be in time with the pacing of whatever is being played. Your ass isn’t on the stage and nobody paid to see you or hear you. Just sit down and shut up. In doing so you’ll be every bit as much of a participant and every bit as significant as you were had you been clapping in time to the music. You’ll just be less annoying and much safer from the rage of ineffectual fat 30-something Mongolians.

The other time when people tend to do this is if they’re somewhere (usually in a talk show audience) and one of the people on stage starts a stripping performance. They won’t strip faster if you clap. They won’t strip more fully if you clap. I noticed this trend back in the 90s when there used to be strippers all the time on Jerry Springer. This was back in the days before Janet Jackson’s almost-nipple slip caused the FCC to make all of television about as sexually arousing as emptying a mouse trap. I hated it then and I hated it now. The only clapping I want to hear when a woman is stripping is booty clapping.

While I’m at it, let me remind you that you are not Neil Diamond. Singing along with the “ba ba ba” in Sweet Caroline will not turn you into Neil Diamond. This is the number one reason why I never go to Red Sox games. Well that and the fact that I don’t give a rat’s ass about the Red Sox. If I were Neil Diamond, I’d immediately halt my performance when someone joined in on the chorus. I’d demand that security remove them from the stadium/concert venue and use the maximum level of force possible. Nobody should ever be allowed to sing at a baseball game anyway. Even during the 7th inning stretch they should just say “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” rather than singing it. It’s my dream in life to one day go to a baseball game  (preferably in Shitcago) and tape everyone’s mouth shut. That would kick ass.

Another thing people need to stop doing is using the expression “objectification”. Sure, there are assholes out there who use people solely for sex and consider them to have no worth outside of that realm. However, there’s a big difference between that and simply stating that someone is attractive. The PC police don’t seem to think there’s a difference though. If by saying I find a woman to be attractive is objectification, then apparently I’m normally only attracted to inanimate objects. What do you think I fuck, cuckoo clocks? I’m not quite that desperate, at least at this point in time. I guess it could work though if you removed the bird and were careful not to get any splinters. If you’re female, you can replace the bird with a dildo. You’ll have a pretty good time when the clock strikes 12.

The objectification accusation is often quite hypocritical. I’ve had people show me pictures of women who they claimed were hot. I’d also say they were hot at a later point and then be accused of treating said woman as an object. This has happened more times and with more different people than I can remember. That’s saying a lot, because I can remember exactly what I was doing on this date and at this time in 1989. In case you care, I was repeatedly counting the egg holding spaces in a torn up egg carton until my mother grabbed it and threw it out of the room. You probably don’t care about that, but now you know it anyway.

You know what else pisses me the fuck off? When people post Facebook statuses about being at home and watching Netflix. I hate Netflix more than life itself. I think the only thing I hate more than Netflix is people who use it and brag to every single person they can find  about the fact that they do not own a TV. You aren’t impressing anyone. On any given night, I can expect to see at least 20-30 statuses about people being in their pajamas, eating ice cream, and watching Netflix. The same goes for watching Doctor Who, Breaking Bad, Mad Men, How I Met Your Mother, or Orange is the New Black. I don’t give two fucks what anyone is watching unless it’s porn or 80s commercials. When people post these statuses, do they think they’re in such a sublime state of heaven on Earth that they believe they’ll make everyone else jealous? When I go to bed each night, I’m full of regrets, frustrations, and unmet goals and desires. Missing out on Netflix, pajamas, and ice cream are not among them. From now on, keep it to yourself. If you can’t do that, then just keep on eating your shitty ice cream until your fingers are so fat you can’t type anymore.

Deli workers need to stop offering slices of cheese to kids who come in with their parents. Cheese needs to be discontinued altogether, but instead it’s more omnipresent now than ever before. You can walk down an aisle in any grocery store and see nearly a whole aisle dedicated to macaroni and cheese. I know the dairy and grain diet is in place to keep us all docile and complacent so we’ll stop standing up to those who grease the pumps in the world, but fuck it anyway. It goes against the health nazi movement, so I don’t know why parents keep buying it. They’re probably just too lazy and stupid to be able to make anything else. The even lazier ones can’t even be bothered to say the whole name. They have to call it “mac and cheese.” Never call it that or give it to your kids unless you want them to turn out like Luke Gatti. If you don’t know who that is, he’s the spoiled little shit in this video. Did you know that he didn’t get arrested? He only received probation, despite the fact that this isn’t the first time he’s done something like this. Bullshit.

I guess I went a bit off topic there, but now I’ll get back to the point I was making. I’ve worked in a deli before and I’ve patronized many others. One common link among nearly all of them is if one of the customers has some snot nosed brat with them, the workers will over the kid a slice of cheese. You may be pleasing the parents and shutting up the kid for a minute, but you’re spreading the disease that is cheese. If you feel like you have to offer a kid something, give them a slice of prosciutto or pastrami. On second thought, fuck that. Give the prosciutto and pastrami to me. I’m just as pitiful as the average 7 year old and have accomplished less in my lifetime. I need it more than they do, so fork it over.

 

 

 

 

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How to eat pizza: techniques and tactics

December 20th, 2015

Who doesn’t love pizza? Shit if I know the answer to that. What I do know however is that many people habitually eat pizza in an incorrect fashion and I’m writing this article in hopes that maybe I can change that. Also included will be a few tips on how to better your pizza eating experience even if you’re already doing things more or less correctly. If you want to get better at eating pizza, please peruse this article and learn some of the finer points.

  1. Selecting a style

New Haven style pizza is the only type of pizza you should ever be eating. It’s by far superior to any other style of pizza in every way, shape, and form. Its thin crust, spicy and tomato heavy sauce, and relative lack of cheese make for the best pizza eating experience one could ever hope for. To truly get it right, it must be enjoyed with a plentiful amount of birch beer on the side. If you’re outside of Connecticut it may be hard to come by and if you can’t get any, you’ll have to resort to New York City style or Neopolitan. Both are good, but inferior to New Haven style. Never eat Chicago style pizza under any circumstance. No matter what the Chicago bastards try to tell you, it is not pizza and it never will be.

2. Toppings and other specifications

Pizza has to be covered with toppings to be palatable. Plain cheese pizza sucks because, well, cheese. The only way you can make your pizza worse through toppings is if you ask for extra cheese. Ideally you can get your pizza with no cheese on it, but if that isn’t possible, then loading it up with toppings is the only way to go. Actually, even if you can get it with no cheese you should still do this. The added flavor and greasiness will perfect your meal. The perfect combination of toppings is as follows: pepperoni, bacon, onions, clams, mushrooms, green peppers, and sausage. The sausage is something you may want to leave out though. If it’s cut in thin strip form it’s great for pizza but the shredded up meatball-looking sausage never tastes good and looks disgusting. If the pizza place you’re attending serves it that way, then leave the sausage out of the equation. Ask for double on all of the meat toppings. It’ll cost you more, but it’s well worth it in the end.

3. Crust and cooking details

Even if you’re fortunate enough to be dining somewhere that serves New Haven style pizza, things can still fuck up if you aren’t careful. If you’re eating somewhere that serves a different style then this facet of the game is even more important. Always, and I mean ALWAYS specify that you want your crust thin and extra well done. Nothing ruins an otherwise good pizza than a thick, chewy, and undercooked crust. If there isn’t a satisfying crunch with every bite and black around the edges, your crust is too soft and you ordered wrong. Send it back into the kitchen and tell them to make it again. Re-heated pizza gets a funny taste and texture to it that’s best to avoid. If you’re taking out, always open the pizza before going home to make sure it’s burned. If it isn’t, request that it be put back in the oven until it is.

Aside from improving the taste and texture, there’s another reason why you should always get your pizza extra well done. This once again relates to the only bad part of the pizza, which is the cheese. If it’s burned to a crisp, it won’t have that sickening white color to it and will taste nothing like cheese. It will be almost as if you had in fact managed to get a cheeseless pizza. Please, trust me on this one. When it comes to pizza, once you go black, you never go back.

4. Never eat your pizza with a knife and fork

There are a lot of things that people do while eating that bother me, but eating pizza with a knife and fork is right near the top of the list. When I was a toddler, I referred to this exercise as “murdering” your pizza. I think I’m going to start doing that again, because the phrase fits the offense so well. Pizza is one of the few foods that was meant to be eaten with the hands. Cutting it up makes it look like something that would be eaten in a convalescent home or hospital. There’s absolutely no worse method for eating it. Even grinding it up and taking it as an enema would be a better option. If the pizza is too hot to eat with your hands, wait for it to cool off. You can make it through the five minutes or so that would be needed. You can spend that time thinking about the number 25 because it tastes like pizza and will make it all the more appetizing.

5. Add salt and say no to oregano

Nearly every food on this planet is made better by either adding salt, butter, or both. Butter doesn’t really work on pizza, but adding extra salt will make it better every time. One of the best ways to enjoy extra salt with your pizza is to eat your way down to the edge of the crust and then dip it in some salt that’s on your plate and then dab it in some of the pizza’s grease. It’s better than sex with Jessica Alba.

Oregano on the other hand has a terrible taste and smell to it. Admittedly, I’m a little biased on this one here due to a childhood nightmare I had. In the nightmare, I was walking down the halls of an especially disgusting convalescent home that had an overpowering oregano scent. When I reached the end of a hallway, I found a very pale pizza covered in oregano. It was sitting atop one of those steel colored pizza platforms you see in restaurants sometimes (another thing you should never do with a pizza.) That was pretty much the end of the dream, but it was enough to sour me on oregano for the rest of my life.

6. Choose the right accompanying beverage

While birch beer is the best drink to go with a pizza, root beer, orange soda, and most any other traditional soda flavor will do just fine. Pineapple soda is good, but avoid it with pizza unless you’re having Hawaiian style. Beer can also work in this situation, but it has to be ice cold and not too bitter. Heilmann’s Old Style and Rolling Rock are probably the best beers to have with pizza. Schlitz, Sam Adams, and Piels are the worst. If you want to go with something other than soda or beer, red wine can work as can grape juice, grape drink, and orange drink. Extra cold non-tap water can also be serviceable. The one thing you absolutely never want to do is have milk with your pizza. Milk should never be consumed other any circumstances. If you’ve ever been on this site before, you should know that by now.

7. Pick optimum appetizers

There are six correct options when considering an appetizer to go with your pizza. They are mussels marina, fried calamari (the type with the tentacles, not the bands), garlic knots, stuffed spinach bread, garlic bread,  and breadsticks, in that order. If none are available, skip the appetizer unless you know it’s going to be an extremely long time before your pizza is served/will be cool enough to eat. Then nearly any appetizer not featuring cheese or pasta can step up to the plate to pass the time.

8. Never buy a white pizza

White pizza isn’t pizza. Aside from marshmallows and lemon ice, nothing white tastes good. Buying a pizza with no tomato sauce and just cheese is like asking for a stripper who is morbidly obese but has no tits. It’s a waste of time and money and if you’re not careful, it may very well distort your senses and ruin your ability to tell what is pizza and what isn’t. The most disgusting forms of white pizza would include any kind topped with broccoli as well as chicken florentine. Macaroni and cheese pizza is the most revolting kind of all though and anyone who makes it should have their rights to operate in a kitchen permanently revoked. Nobody has the right to bring that kind of evil into the world.

9. Try to find Italian people to eat it around

This will make your pizza more appetizing. Just make sure they don’t murder their pizza. You’ll also want to be sure that they eat with their mouths closed, aren’t having milk, and don’t spit food as they talk. In the event that no Italian people fitting the above description can be found, then you can just skip this step.

Now you know how to eat pizza. You’re welcome.

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Nobody cares how old your baby is

November 22nd, 2015

I don’t know if it’s something people have always done (at least since the days of screen printed t shirts began), or if it’s just a recent fad. Whatever the case may be, it’s annoying as hell and it should stop being done. If you wonder what “it” is, refer to the title of this post. That’s right, I’m talking about those shirts everyone puts on their infants every time they pass another month in age. Whether you’re going through your Facebook feed or just going most anywhere in public, you’ll be barraged by beaming young mothers pushing carriages containing their offspring in t-shirts. On these t shirts will be a circle with a number inside of it. If you haven’t figured it out, it’s to show how many months old the former fetus is.

There are very few things that I care about less than babies, but one of them is their age. Your kid still can’t read, write, talk, walk, or go ten minutes without shitting itself, so stop acting like it’s the greatest miracle since pulled pork fries. I’ve experienced obtaining additional months of age before and I have to tell you, the experience really isn’t that special. I think this is the new trend now that most everyone finally realized how needless those stick figure family bumper stickers are.

Let’s forget the obnoxiousness and banality of these month shirts for a moment and shift the focus to economic feasibility. If you’re going to buy one of these for every month until the product of your sperm/egg reaches a year of age, you’ll be purchasing 11 shirts. I hope it stops there at least. I hate it when a toddler is over a year old and the parents continue to refer to the age of it in months. If you’re going to tell me your kid is 19 months old, don’t talk to me. Just fucking say it’s a year and seven months old. If you can do that, well, still don’t fucking talk to me.

I was digressing a bit there so let’s return to what I was trying to say before. It’s a huge ass waste of money to buy 11 shirts that will only be worn on one occasion. Even if you plan on having additional children, what will you do if your 2nd child grows at a different rate than your first? Or if your third grows at a different rate than the first two? What if bastard #4 also grows differently? What if #5… well fuck that. If you’re having five or more kids you’re already insane and there’s nothing I can do to help you.  Let’s say you’re Joe or Jill average and have three kids. That’s a whopping total of 33 shirts purchased that will each only be worn once. That’s a huge fucking waste of money. I say save the money up so you can spend it all on making your kid’s first trip to Wendy’s an event that they’ll never forget.

I wonder what people do with these stupid shirts once they’ve seen their one day of action. Do they just throw them out? Do they pack them in a box somewhere never to be seen again? Do they hang them up in the attic rafters like retired basketball jerseys? The fact that I can’t think of one useful thing to do with these shirts after their one and only use only goes further to cement their uselessness. Just save yourself the time, money, and trouble and trust me when I say that nobody gives a fuck how many months old your crotch fruit is.

You know what else I don’t care about? If you’re one of those people who calls soda “pop”. The places where they do this are kind of spread out throughout the country, but it seems to be most common from upstate New York to as far west as Iowa. I went to Iowa once and rode a bus in Cedar Rapids to a Hardees restaurant. I was seated next to a retarded gentleman with a bad cough.

There are lots of different regional dialects throughout this country, but for the most part, when someone moves to a new area they get on board with the local vernacular. For some reason, people seem to be very reluctant to do this when it involves soda. Not only do they call it pop, but they’ll take every chance they get to tell you that they call it pop and will strain to find a way to interject it into as many conversations as they can. Here’s a conversation you could expect to have with someone who refers to soda as pop:

                                    Regular person: “I’m going to the convenience store to get a soda. Do you want one?”

Pop person: “I know what you’re talking about, but I call it pop.”

Regular person: “Oh, I see. Well would you like me to get you one?”

Pop person: “It’s called pop.”

Regular person: “I know. You already told me you call it that. Do you want one or not?

Pop person: “Fuck you mother fucker. It’s called pop and I don’t want any from a dumbass who calls it soda!”

Regular person: “All right, calm down. I’m sorry I ever brought it up.”

Pop person: “You’ll be even more sorry if you don’t call it pop next time. By the way, did you know that where I come from, what you call soda we call pop?”

That has nothing to do with the month-marking shirts, but I figured I’d get in two bitching sessions for the price of one. I think I’ll go and have a soda and then refer to someone as being 1 year and 3 months old.

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The top 10 reasons why I hate the Chicago Cubs

October 22nd, 2015

Last night was a breath of fresh air. That’s a rare commodity when one considers I live underground in a house where the toilets clog on a daily basis and half of the windows haven’t been opened in 20 years. Anyway, the brief respite was provided by way of the Mets securing a 4-0 NLDS sweep over the Cubs of Shitcago. While I’m a lifelong Mets fan and this is the third time I’ve seen them make it to the World Series, I had always dreamed it would one day happen by way of destroying the Cubs. Last night, it finally happened and let me tell you, it almost made up for the past 32 years of being the most pathetic man on the planet.

So many people ask me, “Why do you hate the Cubs?” I don’t know why they even need to ask me that. I don’t know how anyone who has ever watched a single baseball game in all their lives couldn’t hate the Cubs. That’s why I’m typing up this article concerning my reasons for hating MLB’s unlovable losers. Read along and be converted. Note that the list is in no particular order.

10. All of the fruity Wrigley Field traditons

Baseball is a game of superstition and tradition and I’m fine with that. Usually the ones employed are fun or pleasurable in some way and therefore at least make some degree of sense to engage in. Wrigley Field traditions are assinine at best. First off, there’s the whole throwing every home run ball back on to the field thing. That’s not so bad if it’s a player’s first career home run, but when you do it with every single ball it’s just stupid. The balls usually don’t make their ways back to the players who hit them, so the whole thing is an exercise in futility.

Adding to the stupidity is their refusal to abandon the dinosauric scoreboard. They finally did get an electric one in place, but still use the manual one too. That’s like requiring a student to use both a calculator and an abacus. Then there are all the stupid day games. Wrigley field was the last MLB stadium to get lights (excluding the teams that didn’t exist yet at the time), yet they still do a shit ton of day games every year. If you’re a fan of the opposing team, you’d better remember to DVR the game or else you won’t be seeing it. I don’t know how the hell they fill the stands as well as they do, unless the lion’s share of their fans are unemployed.

9. Nearly everyone from Chicago is an asshole.

I’ve had to spend a lot of time in Chicago and it’s about as enjoyable as officiating a convalescent home bukkake festival. The layout of the streets is nonsensical and public transportation is unreliable at best. If you’re able to catch a cab, you’ll soon wish you hadn’t, as the cab drivers there are among the douchiest on the planet. The only city with ruder cabbies is Phoenix.

Chicago is also probably the most racist city I’ve ever been to. During my times there, I’ve been called nearly every slur in the book. Ironically, most of them were Hispanic ones which is just about the only race that doesn’t appear in my lineage. They aren’t just directed at me though. You can’t go five minutes without hearing an anti-black slur, anti-white slur, anti-Asian slur… you get the idea. Chicago is also the only city I’ve ever been to where it appears to be an official pastime to taunt the homeless. I’ve never understood why homeless people stay there. There’s no pressing job for most of them, so getting away to Milwaukee shouldn’t be that hard to do. Their lifes would be infinitely better there.

8. Cubs fans are assholes

While they walk around with their painted-on smiles and act like they’re so quaint and cute with all of their Wrigley Field bullshit traditions, Cubs fans are among the most classless fans in all of professional sports. The racism issue from item 9 holds true for this one too. Go to a game (or even listen really close to one on TV) and you’ll frequently hear fans taunting the opposing outfielders with racial epithets. They also seem to have a special place in their hearts for throwing debris on to the field.

Do you remember Steve Bartman? Back in 2003, the Shitcago Cubs were leading in the NLCS 3 games to 2 over the Marlins. It was the 8th inning and they were in the lead. With one out already registered in the inning, a shallow Luis Castillo foul ball was hit down the left field line. As left fielder Moises Alou was running over to try to make the catch, several fans in the stands were trying to nab the ball as well. (Yeah, you’ll hold on to a 150 foot foul ball but don’t want a home run ball. Typical Chicago logic.) Though several fans were grabbing for it, the one who managed to get a hand on it was a man named Steve Bartman, who instantly became my personal hero.

The umpire declared there was no interference as the ball was out of play and therefore fair game for fan to try to catch. Moises Alou went batshit crazy for a few minutes, but then play resumed. The Marlins scored 8 runs in the inning and went on to win the game and the series as well. In fairness to Bartman, there were 2 Cub errors that took place in that inning after his incident which were far more costly. Still, being the assholes that they are, the Cub fans took all of their anger out on Bartman and literally tried to kill the guy.

After being escorted out of the stadium by security, Bartman could not return home as a bunch of assholes put up all of his personal information online and his home and workplace were subsquently swarmed by an angry lynch mob with a collective IQ of 13 and a collective total of 0 people possesing souls. I guess these guys were the original doxxers.

7. The Cubs aren’t “lovable losers”.

The Cubs are losers all right, but they’re sure as hell not lovable. Nearly every star player they’ve had in the past 30 years has either been a cheater or an asshole. Do you remember Sammy Sosa’s 66 home runs in 1998? The guy was a bat corker. Ryan Dempster? Enough said. Michael Barrett was another beloved douche of theirs who would never back down from a fight and would also never win one. All of their notable players now bring your piss to a boil just to look at them.

The Cubs haven’t won a World Series since 1908 and haven’t played in one since 1945. They try to blame this on curses but it’s really just an effect of them flat-out sucking and never being able to execute in the clutch. It makes me think that maybe their players have some sort of a latent soul to them after all and know they don’t deserve to win anything meaninful. That’s why they’re such great choke artists.

6. Transplanted Cubs fans

Transplanted Cubs fans are even worse than the ones who actually live in Chicago. They never shut the fuck up about how much they love the Cubs (and every other Chicago team for that matter.) They’ll never miss an opportunity to be seen in Chicago sports garb or to post a picture of themselves in it. Many of them never even lived in Chicago and others have never even been there. They just love every Chicago team by default, simply because of the team’s city of location. I don’t know if it’s the fact that they just like the way the name sounds or if they’re premanently caught back in the 90s and think that Michael Jordan is still dominating the sports world and therefore all Chicago athletes are equally great by assosciation.

The only Chicago team that’s won anything in recent years is the Blackhawks, but fuck them too. Fuck all hockey teams. When the Whalers died so did hockey.

5. “Rookie of the Year”

Did you ever see that movie? I know I say I hate pretty much all movies, but that one holds a special place in my deep dark volumes of hatred. Fuck I’d love to trip that kid when he came up to the plate and then use him for batting practice – as a baseball.

4. They’re from Chicago

3. The media loves them for no good reason

The only Chicago team that I’ve ever been reluctant to hate has been the White Sox. This is because as a Mets fan, I know how it is to back a team from a major city that has another team that always gets top billing. If you go anywhere in Connecticut, you’ll be asked if you’re a Yankees fan or a Red Sox fan. Then they’ll always laugh and say nobody is a Mets fan and that’s why they didn’t ask. The Mets don’t have anywhere near the money the Yankees do yet still manage to outperform them now and again. With the amount of money  the Yankees have, they should be in the World Series every year.

This is relevant to the White Sox because they have to play out a similar role to the Mets in Chicago. Everyone loves the Cubs, everyone wears Cubs gear, all the stores sell Cubs merchandise and everyone automatically associates Chicago with the Cubs. The White Sox meanwhile go virtually unnoticed. Even when they won the World Series in 2005, there was hardly a word spoken. Sure, maybe it was just one championship, but it’s still one more than the Cubs have managed to bring to the city in the past 106 years.

All supposedly neutral announcers constantly root for the Cubs in televised games. Politicians love to identify themselves as Cubs fans. There have been numerous movies made about the Cubs. A log of shit deserves more celebration that the Cubs do. At least by evacuating, it managed to save some organism from a bowel impaction. The Cubs have never done that.

2. They’re from Chicago.

1. They’re fucking from fucking Chicago. Fucking. Fuck.

There. Now you hate the Cubs as much as I do.

 

 

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Dox a Doxxer Day

October 4th, 2015

I suggest we introduce a new holiday to our calendar. I call it “Dox a Doxxer Day”. Now you may be asking, “What does it mean to dox and what is a doxxer?” To put it plainly, a doxxer is a person who goes out of their way to completely destroy somebody’s life. They find as much personal information they can about a person and release that information against them. They do this to their victims to try to gather up angry mobs against them, try to make them lose their jobs, try to make them lose their homes, and in most respects, try to make them lose their entire lives. Does anyone deserve this kind of treatment? Sure – if they’re a rapist, murderer, child molestor, animal abuser, or Madoff-level embezzler.

The problem with nearly all cases of doxxing is this – almost never is the target a horrible criminal who has earned anything close to this. Do you want to know what the most common crime is for which doxxing is the reaction? Disagreeing with someone else’s opinion. That’s right; in this PC culture where we have to be tolerant of everything and everyone (except for those people and things the PC police oppose), simply voicing your opinion is a bad enough offense to earn you a life destroying act of retribution.

Most doxxers are young assholes with egos the size of Jupiter and IQs lower than their shoe size. Most, but not all, fall into the group that is sometimes referred to as social justice warriors, or sjws for short. I hate social justice warriors, but what I hate even more is the title. Though it’s a pejorative name meant in jest, it’s just too complimentary. Social injustice warrior is much more like it. These are the brainwashed young people who preach love, tolerance, and acceptance. If you love, tolerate, or accept anything they dislike, they’ll be foaming at the mouth and on the attack.

Social justice warriors seldom if ever actually do anything to help anyone. They’ll preach at you until they’re blue in the face and they’ll also go out and wave around a sign every now and then. When push comes to shove, they  don’t actually do anything to support the causes or people they claim to act on behalf of. Instead, they just sit around marinating in self-satisfaction and trying to make life hell for anyone who dares to disagree with them. At the end of the day, they just want to be seen and heard and then revered to being so progressive. They tend to care very little about the actual causes they ineffectually stump for.

Tumblr is full of SJWs which is one of the many reasons why I hated temporarily being on there. Tumblr and Reddit are the places where you’ll most frequently find these self-contradicting bigots. Those are also the two biggest sources where doxxing gets most of its fuel. Of course not everyone who uses these sites engages in doxxing. Both sites have many users who are great people who come up with informative, entertaining and engaging content. They’ve also generated great acts of charity, so doxxers and SJWs in no way represent these online communities as a whole. However, the fact remains that these are two of the biggest sources of this problem. When some bratty kid (or overgrown kid who refuses to mature) with too much time on their hands reads something that runs counter to what they’ve had pounded into their empty heads, they don’t respond with tolerance. They don’t respond with understanding. They don’t agree to disagree. They go for blood.

Doxxers are basically terrorists who are too cowardly to handle actual weapons. They dream of a society where only they and their ilk are allowed to express their opinions and make their own choices. They feel that everyone else had better do exactly what they say and think exactly how they think or there will be hell to pay. They wish to use intimidation and unimaginable cruelty to silence anyone who isn’t exactly like them. Despite promoting diversity, diversity is probably the thing they hate more than most anything else. They wish for a dystopian utopia where they dominate and anyone who differs from them in any way will only be found in prisons. Their bigotry knows no bounds and they are the garbage in humanity’s soul.

This is why I propose the idea of Dox a Doxxer Day. If you know anyone who’s used doxxing to unjustly attempt to or succeed at destroying someone, give them a taste of their own medicine. Give out their address, work address, phone number, e-mail address and anything else you can think of. Let them see how it feels to be engulfed by angry mobs, have their jobs and homes put into jeopardy, and handle a massive public shaming. The only difference between what they’ll face and what they’ve caused is that they’ve actually earned the punishment.

Let’s work together to make every day Dox a Doxxer Day.

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Shut the fuck up about beer

September 13th, 2015

God damn it. Just God damn it. I can’t go ten seconds without either seeing a Facebook post about beer, seeing a commercial about beer, or hearing someone babbling about beer. Yes, beer is great and you love it; we get it. That doesn’t mean you have to spend every waking second talking about it. If beer is the lone basis of your social life and the only thing that’s ever on your mind when you’re not working, then you should head to your local Home Depot and invest in some strong, solid rope. You know what it’s for.

I drink because my life sucks ass and so do I. It’s an escape. It’s not something that I do to fit in socially, it’s not in any way comical, and it’s not fun. It’s a simple numbing agent, no more, no less. That’s pretty much all it is for anyone else for that matter. If you need to be drunk to be able to socialize or to enjoy the company of other people, then you’re better off just living out your life as a hermit. Plus, I go for either Jack Daniel’s or Jim Beam. Unless there’s absolutely nothing else available, I leave beer alone (I used to like PBR, but no longer. Thanks hipsters for ruining that for me.) I went sober for a while but that blew and I abandoned it. However, at least I manage to drink in ways that aren’t annoying. Read on and soon you’ll be able to make the same claim.

There are three different categories of the most annoying beer obsessors. First off are underage kids who have either never had beer but pretend they put away a case every weekend, and secondly are the ones who actually do drink and think they’re a bunch of little badasses. If you need to drink at this age, (hell, I did) do it, but kindly shut the fuck up about it. That, or seek therapy. Otherwise, you’re just an annoying little high-pitched speaking bitch who even the most pathetic of adults could wipe out with a single punch. You aren’t tough and you’re not scaring anyone. Even the nerds you bully in the locker room will eventually stop being afraid of you in a few years and just laugh their asses off. That’s right – even the pathetic people you look down upon are still better than you are, so eat shit.

The next annoying group of beer goggle-wearing cunts are the college kids. Holy shit, where do I even start on this one? I hate pretty much everything about college students. I hate the way they dress, I hate the way they think it’s their duty to go around preaching their newly-brainwashed views to every person they see, I hate the way they get so proud after scoring clumsy and awkward sex, I hate the way they talk, I hate the way they walk … I just hate them.

The only thing that can make your stereotypical college student even more annoying is when they obsess over getting drunk. You have the kids who stack beer cans up in pyramids to show how many beers they and their roommates have collectively managed to drink. You have the fake ID kids who spend every spare second in bars and then fill everyone’s social media feeds with their pictures. You have your spring break drunk college kids too, but at least the girls who moon/flash their tits aren’t so bad.

I remember when I was in college, whenever I’d get stuck doing a group project in a business class, some sort of alcohol would ALWAYS be the product the group would want to use. 9 times out of 10, this would be beer. These annoying little fucks have grown up watching college-themed movies and want to live out the lives of stereotyped fictional characters. In doing so, they somehow become even more annoying than the theatrical characters whom they idolize. If I were in charge, the drinking age would be raised to 23 and the only thing that would happen in dorms would be sleeping, eating, and studying. If anything else is done, a session with some cat o’nine tails would ensue.

The third group of people who just won’t shut the fuck about about beer is the group I hate most of all. These are the 20, 30, and sometimes even 40-somethings who are mentally stuck in their college days. They do all of the same things the college kids described above do, but it’s just more annoying coming out of someone older. It’s kind of like how you hate it when some brat kid screams and kicks the back of your seat when you’re on a plane. It’s annoying as fuck, but you manage to get through the experience without resorting to violence. Now imagine that it’s a 30 year old man or woman doing it. You’d want to beat the living intercourse out of them.

These are people who are usually pretty successful and have managed to go on to build nice lives. They have the trophy spouses, perfect homes, and high-level jobs they don’t really deserve, but were able to schmooze and ass-kiss their way into. When they aren’t bragging about that, all they seem to be able to do is get drunk and then talk about it, whether in person or online.

When every picture you’re in shows you drinking a beer, holding a six pack, visiting a brewery, pouring a beer, singing about beer, or engaging in self-described drunken antics, you just need to do the world a favor and die. It’s not funny, it doesn’t make you sexually attracitve, and it doesn’t make it seem like you’d be fun to hang out with. It just makes you look like a douche bag. The more I think of it, maybe it’s not so bad when people do this. At least they aren’t false-advertising or masquerading as someone tolerable or worthy of breathing.

I don’t much feel like talking about this anymore. Time for some whisky and porn. Yes, I suck and I know it, but for the moment, it’s time to watch lesbians sucking some tits and clits.

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I hate mobile internet

September 5th, 2015

If nobody else is going to come out and say it, I guess I’ll have to. Not that I mind. I hate mobile internet. I hate smartphones, I hate tablets, I hate that fucking Google or Apple watch (I’m not going to bother looking up which company it was that made it, because they both suck ass) and I also hate any other mobile internet device that I haven’t yet mentioned.

I made a post a few years ago talking about how I was hoping the iPad would be a flop. At first, it seemed like it would actually turn out that way. People realized there was nothing they could do with it that they couldn’t do with a phone. The screen was too small to view videos enjoyably, it was too awkward to use as a camera, and its keyboard was too sensitive and difficult for some viewers to use. They’ve since come out with a detachable keyboard, but fuck that too.

For a while, things were going great. Then all of a sudden everyone stopped caring about how worthless these devices were. I don’t know if it was the non-stop advertising, the fact that the “cool” friend in their groups started buying them, or if people’s ADD became too bad to allow them to sit in one place and use an actual computer. Whatever the demonic cause may be, these cursed items started selling like hotcakes. I read recently that in 2014, tablets outsold laptops and desktops combined for non-business users. That was depressing as fuck.

Tablets also were a boon for Netflix. I fucking hate Netflix too. It was actually okay when it first started out around 15 years ago or so. When I was in college I used it to rent DVDs online for some bullshit film class I was forced to take since Quinnipiac wanted to require as many random useless classes as possible so I couldn’t graduate on time and spend a year there without a scholarship. Anyway, they were fine for that purpose; basically they were an online Blockbuster.

The Netflix of today is something entirely different. It’s the preferred choice of hipsters everywhere to watch movies or television series. Now there are even series made exclusively for Netflix. What the fuck is so horrible about sitting still and watching something on a television set? Netflix doesn’t allow you to avoid commercials, it’s not a free service, and you (as far as I know) can’t get any sports coverage on it. If I find out that you can, I’m never setting foot inside of a bar again.

Do you remember a few years back when the parents of spoiled rich kids had tv sets built into their cars to make sure their brats were entertained every second? I fucking hated that. Now every kid has their fucking Netflix on their fucking tablet programming them around the clock. Nobody under the age of 18 should ever be allowed to have a tablet or cell phone anyway. You can’t go anywhere without hearing someone talk about Netflix or having to see someone viewing it. If one more person brags to me about how they don’t own a television set or don’t subscribe to any sort of TV service because they have Netflix, I’m going to have a stroke. Ideally it would be multiple strokes that ended up killing me. Then I’d have a nice 80s style death via different strokes. Nobody can  overexplain a joke into no longer being funny than I can.

I can’t lay all the blame into tablets and Netflix though. They never would have become what they did if it weren’t for the prior development of smartphones. That’d be like yelling at your underwear for showing instead of yelling at your pants for splitting becuase your fat ass got too big for them and you bent over a bit too quickly. Cell phones were a great convenience when they first started out. Even texting was okay in the beginning. It made it easy to communicate on the run and to just spout off a quick sentence when you didn’t want to have an entire conversation. Oh, if only it could have stayed that way.

Once smartphones came along, texing became pretty much the sole mode of communication. Every asshole you walked by was holding up their phone to take a picture and every asshole who wasn’t doing that was cruising the net while enjoying some slow-loading and visually unappealing website. Right around this time, social media was in its infancy. I miss the days when Facebook was just limited to a very basic profile and only used by college students. I miss MySpace being the outlet of choice. You never had to worry about elderly family members looking at your page or having to worry about every single thing you typed because a prospective employer might see it and choose to not hire you. I post to Facebook a lot, but that’s mostly because I like to bitch and can’t masturbate all the time.

The fusion of mobile internet and social media was like the sperm of the devil fertilizing the egg of Michelle Obama. I’ll eat what I want to and move when I want to you preachy, self-righteous bitch. By the way, how are those school lunches working out? Horribly. How many fat kids are out there? Millions. Do you actually eat healthy or send your daughters to schools that implement your lunches? No. Either back up what you say by doing it or shut the hell up. If you can’t do that, at least be a decent person and don’t get all pissed off if someone asks you to help them reach something off of a shelf at Target. You’re not royalty. I wonder how much of my already minute audience I’ve managed to alienate with that anti-Michelle Obama rant. If it helps, I hated Laura Bush too. Oh well.

Getting back to the issue at hand, this is one of the worst things to happen to modern society. Communication has been destroyed for all practical purposes. Why say something meaningful or have a deep conversation when you can just say some fucking stupid shit on Twitter? Damn Twitter to hell too. Their introduction of “hashtag” into our lexicon is worthy of castraion, if only they had balls to begin with. That’s not entirely Twitter’s fault though. People didn’t bother to learn the actual meaning of the hashtags and/or how to use them, so now they’re just useless clutter both online and in speech.

Mobile internet has fucked me in two different ways. Actually, it’s fucked me in one way and un-fucked me in another. It’s fucked me in the sense that it ended my career. For a few years I was doing organic SEO and was gradually building up a pretty good business and making a decent wage at it. Back then, if you had quality content and knew the basics of html, you could make good money working for yourself in that field. Now, it’s all about social media sharing.

In a bold-faced lie, Google says it now bases search engine result positioning  on the quality content of a page’s content. What they actually mean by “quality” is the most mentions of whatever happens to be trending online, getting the most tweets, or getting the most likes on social media platforms. Since everyone is always on their fucking smart phone or tablet, they’re also always on Twitter or Facebook, which creates the perfect storm for shitty search engine results.

This is actually resulting in a much worse user experience when using search engines. As a side note, before you start riding my ass for hypocrisy for using social media to promote my site, read the area why I address that later in this article.  Rather than finding content relative to what you’re actually looking for, you’ll get results to your query based on what Google now deems to be of high “quality”.

For example, let’s say you’re in Gary, Indiana, and you’re looking for a place to buy shoes. Let’s say during this same time, the Olympics are going on and some track athlete is emerging as a star and has a lucrative shoe deal going. You type into a search engine (without the actual quotes, if you’re like 99.9999% of the population) “shoe stores in gary indiana”. Instead of the first results being what you’re looking for, they’ll be sites that happen to mention the aforementioned athlete/his shoes and also happen to somewhere on the page say “Gary” or “Indiana”. You’ll be lucky if you get what you’re looking for within the first 30 links provided. The fusion of social media and mobile internet has ruined search engines. If what you’re writing about isn’t related to what’s trending, isn’t feasible for social media content, and you don’t have the money to buy social media buzz for it, your site isn’t going to be seen.

Now on to the way that mobile internet has un-fucked me. As you can likely tell if you’ve seen any of my images on here, I’m not much of a looker and I’m not talented at spontaneously coming up with a smooth line to catch a young lady’s fancy in person. I’m not the kind of guy who can walk into a bar and get a date. For years, I’d depended on dating websites and instant messaging platforms to allow me to engage in one-on-one actual conversations in which I could use my writing ability to help me communicate and eventually end up with a date or rarely (even back then) a girlfriend and/or coitus.

You can’t do this anymore. Nobody uses any instant messaging other than Kik, which is basically the same thing as texting except it’s free and drains your phone battery at an amazing rate of speed. The only real reason to ever use it is if you don’t have a texting plan or if you think you may be talking to a creep and don’t want them to have your number. Regardless, it works in the same way that texting does. You get a chance to give a quick one or two sentence hook to pull someone in. If you can’t do that, you’re fucked and you’re not going to get fucked.

The worst part of mobile internet, smartphones, and tablets is the even stronger symbiosis they’ve created between humans and technology. People have predicted that one day androids would come into existence. They pretty much have, only in the reverse way of what was expected. We didn’t build technology that could exist in the manner of a human. We’ve created generations of humans who now function as technology, dependent on their mobile devices for their every action. The programming from the media is now available and flowing in every minute of every day. We’re being told what to think about and how to think about it (constant reports telling us what’s “trending” so we’ll look at it and take the stance on the topic of the media’s choosing) and flamed into silence or submission by other users when we don’t.

Gone is the annonymity that once made the internet so great. If you want to say something online, you’d better fucking watch what it is, because your name WILL be attached to it, even if not directly to the public.

Largely due to Google’s new way of ranking pages, this site has virtually no exposure anymore. It used to come up within the top 5 search results for hundreds of different queries. Now it rarely breaks the top 100. This has led to me having to create a Facebook group for this site and having to link to posts in it, which makes me want to shoot myself in the balls with an M-60. I realize this rant will likely go unnoticed due to that fact, but for anyone who does see this, please, realize the damage this shit is doing to you, your relationships, and society at large.

Fuck mobile internet, fuck smartphones, fuck tablets, and start fucking your significant other. You’ll find it’s much more enjoyable.

 

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Celebrating 21 years of relish

September 4th, 2015

 

The relish at 21

The relish at 21

When Preserve the 80s was first launched, this jar of relish was 15 years old. At the time, it seemed like quite a feat for a jar of relish to hang around for so long. As the years have gone by, the jar of relish has been there for me through all of the slings and arrows life has thrown. Now fully legal at the age of 21, the relish is old enough to drink. That’s probably good, as it’s nearly pure liquid now and quite possibly fermented.

You might notice that I’m holding the relish jar with a plastic bag wrapped around my hand. Unfortunately, it’s become a bit grimy as I haven’t washed it in a while and this fills me with great shame. In 2019 when the relish turns 25, it will be as shiny as Isabella Rossini’s ass after a thorough oiling. If you don’t know who Isabella Rossini is or why I want to oil her ass, I submit the following:

Isabella Rossini - owner of the world's hottest ass, even topping Vida Guerra. Image courtesy of CelebrityBottoms.com

Isabella Rossini – owner of the world’s hottest ass, even topping Vida Guerra. Image courtesy of CelebrityBottoms.com

You can’t get too many pictures of her (there’s one youtube video) unless you subscribe to Naked News. It’s cheap and well worth it. If I can afford a subscription, so can  you.

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I hate the Grateful Dead

July 6th, 2015

Unless you’re lucky enough not to know any, (I’m not – several of my friends are Deadheads) you’ve by no doubt been having your Facebook feeds and conversations filled up the past few days by Grateful Dead fans going apeshit over the fact that their beloved band is finally calling it quits. Thank fuck they are, because that’s just about the only positive thing that’s happened so far this year. They’re one of the most overrated bands of all time. Actually, they go beyond just being an overrated band, because their shitty brain cell killing music has created an entire subculture of “deadheads” who never shut the fuck up about them. They base their entire lives around a band whose collective musical talent equals that of a profoundly retarded swan.

It boggles the mind how the Grateful Dead have managed to last so long and have such enduring popularity. Not only does their music blow, but every one of their songs sounds almost exactly the same. Every song is an eternity of whining, high pitched guitar riffs that don’t go anywhere, accompanied by a virtually non-existent contribution from bass and percussion. Actually there is some percussion involvement, but never really when the guitarists are playing.

The Grateful Dead often employ two drummers, which I always hate. The only band that was ever able to make that work was the Butthole Surfers, who are an infinitely better band. The only time the drummers in the Grateful Dead do anything is when they have annoying drum solos that just prove how ill-fitting drum solos are in the jam band genre.

Sometimes there’s a lame attempt at a bluesy keyboard line, but it always falls pathetically short. For a brief time, the music goes down a notch so that a jumble of meaningless lyrics can be spouted off. It’s the kind of shit that seems profound and inspirational when you’re stoned off your ass, kind of like looking at a sheet of aluminum foil. Once you sober up you want to ram your own balls through a salad shooter for having listened to it.

A few of my friends are self-proclaimed deadheads and their entire existence revolves around shitty music and multi-day Dead festivals which are pretty much hell on Earth. All of their social media posts are Dead quotes, pictures of themselves at Dead performances, or YouTube videos of the Dead. Many of them have tattoos with those fucking Grateful Dead bears accompanied by some of their favorite lyrics. It kind of reminds me of the anime fandom subculture. Their obsession with a random subject explodes far beyond a simple interest and soon it becomes the only thing they ever talk about and the only thing they care about. Instead of being a part of their life,  it overtakes their entire existence.

Some friends of mine who fit the above description constantly went at me for years trying to get me to go to one of the concerts. They told me if I just went I’d completely change my mind about hating the Grateful Dead. Knowing this wouldn’t work and not really having any desire make it work, I always refused to go. I deviated from my refusal last year after meeting a rather attractive (well, attractive for the kind of woman I’m able to get) woman who wanted me to attend a Grateful Dead festival with her. I agreed to attend, in hopes that it would help me score some coitus. It didn’t.

The lack of getting to populate a vagina was nowhere near the worst part of this experience. We were in a large outdoor area, surrounded by literally thousands of Grateful Dead fans, nearly all of whom were constantly stoned and looked like they never bathed. Everything literally smelled like shit, as there were several of those portable outdoor bathrooms. Many of them were consistently occupied, so you never knew when you’d be faced with the horror of having either an aging hippie or young neo hippie crouching down to take a shit five feet away from you.

My date and I, as was the case with most everyone else, were staying in a tent. It was hot and humid as fuck the whole time and in addition to the terrible smells and uncomfortable lodging, there was a never ending swarm of mosquitos, fruit flies, and gnats all over everything. As bad as all of these things were, they were no match for the constant sound of the aging jam band which made Chinese water torture seem like a Thai massage. When the band wasn’t playing, half the assholes in attendance were playing their music on their personal devices, so there was never a break.

I don’t know how a bunch of elderly, brain-dead stoners are able to even stand on the stage for as long as they do, let alone pluck away at their guitars and vomit out lyrics into microphones for such long stretches of time. They must be blessed by some sort of evil power. Every member of the band looks like they’re one tap on the shoulder away from crumbling into a pile of fat, hair, and hemp. Having to spend a weekend with these pricks and their legion of fans who never shut the fuck up made me hate the Grateful Dead even more than I used to. The only thing that kept me going was the hope that lightning would strike and take them all out.

Even if the Grateful Dead didn’t lack musical talent and didn’t have their army of deadheads, they’d still piss me off. They campaigned for Obama, who recently wrote some half-hearted letter congratulating them on being assholes for so long. Anything, once liked by Barack Obama, loses a great amount of whatever appeal it may have otherwise held. A few of the deadheads I know hated Obama up until he did this and now they love him. Now I know I’m a rare case in that I never tend to like any of the mainstream Democrat/Republican politicians. I realize many people do like Obama and that’s fine. However, if you like a politician, it should be because of his character, deeds, and achievements – not because he happens to like the same band as you do.

I also hate their symbols and merchandise. Every time I see one of those fucking Grateful Dead bears my day is automatically ruined. They look like the wall decorations of a special ed classroom, except for the fact that retarded kids could probably produce drawings of a much higher quality. Their other main emblem is a skull tagged with a red and blue circle divided by a lightning bolt. It’s misleading, because it looks like it could be the icon for metal band that would beat the living fuck out of every deadhead on the planet. It builds your hopes up only to smash them. If you ever see a sticker of one of them plastered on to a stop sign, get the fuck out of the neighborhood. If you don’t, you’ll probably end up going into a rage and killing someone within five minutes.

Anyone who possesses a guitar and working vocal cords can produce the same music as the Grateful Dead. Here’s what you have to do:

1. Plug the guitar into an amplifier.

2. Turn the bass and mid-range down to 0 and turn the treble up as high as it can go and turn off the distortion.

3. Take some weights and slam your head with them until you’ve lost whatever musical talent you may have had. If weights aren’t available, a hammer works.

4. Write down 30 to 50 random words on scraps of paper.

5. Put the words into a hat and draw them out one by one.

6. Paste the words into a line in the order in which they were removed from the hat.

7. Get a few people with other instruments to stand around with you, but make sure they don’t actually play them.

8. Move one hand over the frets of the guitar aimlessly while weakly picking at the strings with your other hand. Keep this up for at least 20 minutes.

9. Start singing the pasted together lyrics in your weakest and most sickly voice.

10. If you don’t smell and look worse than death, stop immediately and wait 2-3 weeks. Do not bathe during this period. When you’ve achieved this, go back to step one.

11. If you don’t get that gang-banging-your -ear drums-with machetes-merciless-torture sound, repeat step 3 until you do.

12. Congratulations! You’ve just written and performed the newest Grateful Dead hit. Now you can start putting on concerts and charging admission. Just say you’ve come out of retirement and their brain dead fans will be too happy and probably too stoned to notice you aren’t the actual Grateful Dead.

As I read through this article, I find some irony in the fact that it’s a lot like a Grateful Dead song. It just kind of drones on and doesn’t go anywhere and fails to make any real cogent points. That’s probably because I’m one day removed from an injury that caused me to experience a leak of cerebral spinal fluid, so at least I have an excuse. The Grateful Dead do not.

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