Moms... Pfffft!

Posted by Doodface

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

I am the proud father of a 2 ½ year old daughter. She is absolutely the best thing that has ever happened to me. With her and my wife in my life, my life feels “complete”. I try my best to be a great father to her, and give her the best chance to have a healthy, happy life.

I know that it is mostly MY relationship with her that determines whether or not she ends up on the stripper pole!

I am constantly trying to make sure that every aspect of her life is the healthiest that it can be. I play with her all the time – normally something that is teaching her, while still being fun. Every day I am doing things with her like: teaching her piano, reading to her, taking her to the park, teaching her counting and understanding numbers, singing songs, etc. I try to make sure that most of her food and drink is healthy, while still being things she likes. I don’t force her to eat when she is not hungry, or things she doesn’t like, as this has been proven to cause eating disorders later in life. I buy expensive soy milk with DHA, as this has shown to increase brain function. I limit her TV to less than an hour a day, since more than this has been shown to cause A.D.D. We don’t curse in front of her, and we won’t let our friends do it either. If there are people that just won’t stop dropping F-Bombs around my little girl, we simply do not see those people any more.

I watch her far more than my wife does. This is not my wife’s fault, her schedule just sucks.

Ok, do you get where I am going here? AS Dads go, I’m a fucking badass.

But because I am a DAD, and not a mom, I am considered the “backup” parent to the rest of the world. Moms are supposed to take care of the kids, Dads are supposed to make money, drink, and be annoyed by their kids. Well FUCK THAT.

When we took her in to the doctor for her very early visits, I went EVERY time. And EVERY time, I would sit in a chair behind the door, and they would talk only to my wife (even though I was asking questions, and making comments). I would occasionally get the “Oh wow, what a good dad” like it was a novelty that I am involved in my child’s life. Now as she gets older, I take her to the doctor almost every time due to the inflexible nature of my wife’s job.

When we put my daughter in day care, the day care would NOT call me. My wife’s job does not allow her to talk on the phone during the day. Even after multiple requests by her, they ONLY would call her phone when they needed something, or if my daughter was sick. Finally after I called the director myself and explained the situation they started calling me.

Every time I am looking at a parenting magazine or book, it is 95% aimed at moms, and there might be a little “isn’t that cute” article geared towards dads. Some gem like “You can change a Diaper too!” or “5 ways you can help”.

All of the product marketing for kids’ products are aimed at moms. I was actually standing at my fridge yesterday, pissed at a bottle of Juicy Juice. There was a label on the back saying something to the nature of “WE know what Mom’s want for their kids”. I guess dad’s will give their kids whiskey, as long as it stops that fucking crying, right? “Choosy moms choose JIF!!” Fuck you JIF! Daddy does all of the shopping, chooses the peanut butter, therefore Peter Pan has one more customer!

So is this mentality a left-over from the 50’s? Is it due to the actual number of disconnected father still existent in our society (which should be castrated)? Is it a politically correct thing, since single mothers may get boo-boo upset at seeing things referring to BOTH parents?

Whatever it is, it pisses me off.

Alright, I’m done ranting. Back to my whiskey and cigar.

The Death of Golobulus

Posted by E

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

The teenage years are a rough time for any male; a tsunamic flood of hormonal and physical metamorphosis that renders the majority of us into confused drooling monstrosities. It was much the same for me, finding myself overwhelmed by the thirst for carnage and blood that ravages the minds of the demented. For my part, my pubescent transformation resulted in the ultimate obliteration of many an unfortunate toy.

There were only two "races" of action figure spared from my genocidal tendencies: Star Wars and Transformers. These both ranked as sacrosanct, outside the bounds of even my most homicidal urges. Sometimes they'd even be brought along for the sheer joy of the kill, to laugh alongside me as their plastic brethren departed the earth.

Without question the most frequent targets for my destructive actions were the good men and women of the GI Joe unit. Wankers, the lot of them. I had no qualms whatsoever in proposing and carrying out creative methods of execution, all for my twisted amusement.

For every termination there were two important parts; the determination of method and the reading of the last rites. Every toy sentenced to death would have their charges read out before them. Occassionally I would allow them to argue for clemency, though I'm afraid that the majority found that justice's ears are firmly plugged.

The methods varied. Duke found himself bound a pair of bottle rockets, launched into the stratosphere only to suffer a violent explosive episode before plummeting back towards the Earth at terminal velocity. Gung Ho found himself strapped to the outside of a helicopter on its way to a head-on collision with a tree. He found the pilot of said vehicle to be a terrifying master, indeed, as his splintering crash had to be repeated seven or eight times until the headsman was satisfied.

Another Mengelian experiment in which I took joy was the grafting of the limbs from one victim to the ample torso of another. To facilitate these actions would require a blowtorch and a great deal of creativity, heating the limbs on victim number one until soft enough to be pulled from the torso, only to attach the limb to his compatriate and let the bubbling plastic cool. Many a mutant was created in such a fashion.

Ahh...the mutants. Herein lies my finest hour.

Golobulus was the mutant leader of Cobra-La, the original incarnation of Cobra, the primary nemesis of the GI Joe universe. Good old Golobby was a serpentine mutant, half man, half snake. He came into my life not as a single figure, but as part of a three pack of Christmas joy, accompanied by Nemesis Enforcer and Royal Guard.

To his credit, Golobulus was a pretty cool figure, what with his segmented mutant body and accompanying baddies. All in all I was rather fond of the lot of them.

But fancy can be a fickle thing, and the following summer I found a death sentence handed down from the high courts, boldly stamped with Golobulus' name, his two henchmen named as accomplices.

I'd love to say that I argued eloquently on their behalf, acting as an informal Clarence Darrow with the hopes of swaying the opinion of the judiciary. I'd love to, but it would be a bold faced lie. In truth, I relished the idea of their forthcoming execution and quickly set to work with determining the means and timing of my justice.

And so it was that one fine Spring morning, Golobulus and his crew found themselves wrested from slumber and carted off to the nearby baseball field. I dragged them off to a little used nook and laid them on the ground before digging them a shallow grave with a garden trowel. A grave, I might add, that they WATCHED me dig. I made no reassurances that they would not occupy this earthen stronghold posthaste.

At the appointed hour I read the charges against them and informed them that they had been sentenced to death. A sentence to be carried out immediately. They were stood before their future grave and the ceremony communed.

Their death was to be in two stages.

Stage 1: Artillery fire. A BB gun provided the small birdshot pellets that would tear their tender flesh to shreds, or at the very least dent their tough plastic casing. This stage would cease when the final accused dropped into the plot behind him.

Stage 2: Chemical bath and immolation. Once the accused had been fired upon and laid to rest in their shallow grave, they were to be bathed in WD-40 and set alight, to smoulder and boil into a formless blob of plasticized chemicals.

When the acrid black smoke finally cleared I offered the cermonial "Ashes to ashes" speech and then covered their remains with the dirt used to construct their grave.

Years went by, and I relished the memories on countless occassions. I would even make constitutionals over to the ball field to revisit their eternal resting place. But as time wore on and my memory dimmed, I found myself unable to pinpoint the exact area of execution.

The knowledge of their forgotten grave began to eat at me, my brain shifting at odd moments to the spectral monsters that no doubt lurked the field in the evening. I wouldn't have been surprised to see the Mystery Machine pull up to investigate the scene.

And so, one August afternoon in 2003 (that coincidentally turned out to be the day of the great blackout) I took my stepchildren and brother-in-law over to the field with a metal detector in hopes of finding my forgotten prey.

We spent the better part of three hours combing the land, hoping that the BB's or metal pins in their joints would set off the detector, allowing me to glimpse with pride once more at the destruction wreaked upon those hapless victims oh so many years ago.

I regaled the children with tales of what we were searching for, pointing out the sites of various misdeeds of my youth. (Which included the area where Terry and I hid for another misdaventure.) We fervently struck at the soil at various points hoping to blindly stumble across the victims while I did my best to reconstruct the scene in my head.

But it was to no avail. The final resting place of the Cobra-La squad remains lost to the ages. I fear that Golobulus will never see daylight again.

The Hunt

I cannot even begin to count the number of times I have performed the ritual. Each time I feel its pending arrival, my hairs stand at end, electric energy flowing through my body, urging me to carry out the nefarious acts it knows will soon follow.

Everybody has their rituals, be it how they prepare their coffee, how they organize their desk, or...other things. But the rituals of others matter not I say, for my hungers find themselves unsatiated by standard fare, forcing me to seek out a darker object to satisfy my desires.

As has been noted many times before, the thrill of the hunt is half the excitement, and I will not lie, I enjoy haunting the Wal*Marts and the dollar stores in search of my elusive prey. I find that the quality of victim is little changed by the locale I find it in. They all ultimately provide the same attraction.

Once I have staked out my quarry and made my move, it's time to return to my sanctuary, so that I may carry out my actions in private, away from the prying eyes of those who could not possibly understand. The arrival at my home allows me to carry on the second, more ritualized aspect of the hunt. Namely, it allows me time to both prepare and execute the kill.

When the appointed hour arrives, I extricate my prey from its temporary storage and place it on the altar of sacrifice. Almost without exception they will stare up at me, frozen in terror, unable to move or scream.

I begin by removing whatever outfit they are wearing and placing it in a pile next to them. We wouldn't want to stain their clothing, now would we? Their naked frame remains before me, unmoving, yielding to my dark intent.

Now it's time to remove their eyes, damnable windows to the soul that would otherwise stare accusingly at me while I desecrated their home. Sometimes I'll use an implement such as a knife to remove their ocular apparati. Sometimes I'll just claw them out with my bare fingers, relishing the feel of them loosening then ultimately separating from the body proper.

The eyes are soon cast aside so that the real game can begin. But I am not an entirely heartless monster. This is the point in the ritual where I will apologize to my victim, explaining that life is a matter of survival of the fittest.

And now it's time for the kill proper. You might think from the above descriptions, that I would slash and cut at the soon to be lifeless frame, fetishistically thrilling with each downward thrust.

But honestly, I have no need for abject cruelty, so, having removed their eyes and leaving them unknowing of what will come next, I strike for the face. The intent is to burrow through the face into the frontal lobes of the brain as quickly as possible.

That I need to feast is without question. I have no desire to torment the victim. Sometimes I can make my way through the outer casing of the head in a simple crushing bite. If I (or they, as might be said) am unlucky, then a few blows are required before the fatal one strikes home.

Once I am assured that only a hollow corpse lays before me, I set to work, hungrily devouring all that remains of its mortal shell.

After all is said and done, I say a brief word of thanks for the sustenance that has been provided, then I dispose of the remnants and discarded bits.

The ritual is complete until next year, when the chocolate bunnies go on sale once again...

The Douchebag Test

Posted by Doodface

Monday, August 4, 2008

The following test is only for guys (Sorry girls, maybe I will do a Hose-beast test soon). Answer each question honestly, and then tally your score to find out how MUCH of a douchebag you are.


ANSWER HONESTLY!!


1. I have cheated on my significant other(s) in my life:

a. Never!
b. Once – I was drunk / seduced / Rolling
c. A few times, but she was a bitch and deserved it!
d. 3 times this week, bro!!! *Fist Bump*


2. My Favorite show of those listed is:

a. Sportcenter
b. I don’t EVER watch TV
c. The Hills
d. Hannah Montana – I’d SO hit that!


3. I have worn a polo shirt with a “popped” collar:

a. Never – that shit is so gay
b. Only in the 80’s
c. A few times, but not anymore
d. Polo shirt? Motherfucker, I’m wearing FIVE and poppin’ the collars on TWO!


4. While lifting weights, I have screamed loudly:

a. Never
b. Once or twice but it “slipped” from sheer effort
c. Most of the time
d. Every time! Then I drop the weights loudly to make sure everyone sees how PUMPED I am!!


5. I use the term “Extreme”:

a. Only when very relevant
b. Occasionally
c. When referring to my skateboarding
d. Everything I do is extreme *Chugging a “DEW”*


6. On Valentines day I:

a. Buy my girl something nice, and have a good dinner
b. Take my girl out to dinner and ogle all the other hot bitches.
c. Give my girl a card that I picked up last second
d. Get a blow job, GIVE her my load in the eye!! Fuck yeah!


7. The best book I’ve ever read was:

a. Manufacturing Consent by Noam Chomsky
b. The Easiest Way to Meet and Pick Up Girls…Ever!! by Dusty White
c. Anything published by Penthouse
d. My little black book


8. I moved out of my parents' house when I was:

a. 18 or younger
b. 19-21
c. 21 – 27
d. Why move out?


9. I have “bounced” my chest muscles

a. Never – what?
b. Only in the mirror
c. For friends, just as a joke
d. All the time! Look at how ripped I am, bro!


10. I have a tattoo of:

a. Meaningful things that are important to me
b. Tattoos are not my thing.
c. Some stuff I picked off of the walls at the tattoo shop
d. Barbed wire armband, naked woman, or panther scratching you


11. I have _____ piercings below the neck:

a. None – I’ll leave that to the girls
b. One a long time ago
c. One currently
d. Both nipples and a prince albert! You wanna see!


12. I value what internet tests say about me:

a. Not at all.
b. A little, but mostly it’s just funny
c. I DO like to hear that I am only 38% gay.
d. I answer the questions dishonestly, then post the badass results on my MySpace!


13. In my MySpace Pictures, the main theme is:

a. Me and My Friends / Family
b. My Car
c. Me Throwing up gang signs, or holding dollar bills
d. My Abs, My Bling, or my picture photoshopped to include a model


14. I aspire to be:

a. A good parent / husband with a stable job
b. An artist (Musician, writer, sculptor, painter)
c. A Professional Athelete
d. A white rapper! I drops flows like the crimson warrior, son!


15. I have been so drunk that I had to be carried by my friends:
a. Never
b. Once – but it was my birthday!
c. A few times
d. Every weekend, bro!!! KEGSTAND!!!!!!


16. I feel most comfortable in the following outfit:

a. A t-shirt and a pair of jeans
b. A nice button up shirt and a pair of slacks
c. A wife beater (Shows off my gold chain) and sagging jeans
d. A pink polo shirt, with the collar popped, nigga! What you think?


17. When a chick cries around me, I:

a. Rub her back and ask what’s the matter
b. Roll my eyes, loudly sigh, and say, ”Here come the fuckin’ waterworks”
c. Turn up the tv and grab another beer
d. Stop my car, throw the bitch out and head back to the bar to catch another


18. My main topic of conversation is:

a. Whatever is on my mind
b. How badass I am
c. The girls I have been banging lately
d. How ripped my lats look!


19. I usually pick up girls:

a. Through Friends / Social Events
b. On the internet
c. At the bar by buying them drinks
d. By giving 17 year old girls alcohol at a party! Jailbait Shishkebob Motherfucker!!


20. I like to brag about

a. I don’t brag
b. My Grades
c. How much money I have
d. My Huge Cock


21. I drive a:

a. Regular Car
b. Big truck
c. A used BMW 3 series with tinted windows
d. An import car with vinyl stickers, Chrome wheels, and a loud exhaust. Wanna race?


22. I have slept with a girl that could be considered “too young”:

a. Never – I stick to my age range
b. Once, but she lied about her age
c. A few times
d. All the time! Jailbait pussy is the best!! Especially if she is crying!



23. I own ______ things that have a Playboy / Hustler / No fear / Big Johnson / Vivid logo on them:

a. None
b. One – but it was a gift
c. A few
d. Half my shit, bro! That shit lets you know I am down for EXTREME FUCKING!!!


24. I call my friends ______ when I'm talking to them:

a. Their name
b. Bro
c. "G"
d. NIGGA (and I’m white)


25. I would describe myself as:

a. Just a regular guy
b. A Badass
c. A totally ripped, extreme, bitch fucking, beer drinking walking hard-on.
d. A device used to introduce a stream of water and vinegar into the vagina



*BONUS QUESTION*


You live in New Jersey:

a. Nope

b. Jersey REPRAHSENT!!!

To score your test:



A = 0 points

B = 1 point (if you answered B on the bonus question +10)

C = 3 Points

D = 4 Points



Add all of your answers together.



0 points = You're a fucking liar, which makes you a giant douchebag. Fuck you. Go back to your myspace page.



1-10 Points = You're a very down to earth guy. Join us in mocking the douchebags!



10-40 points = You have douchey Tendancies, but there is still hope for you. Go back and look at your answers that were not answered with an "A". Fix those things now, before you slip into full Douchebag status!



40-60 Points = You are a Douchebag Junior. People mistakenly refer to you as an asshole behind your back. Let everyone know that you are a "Douchebag Junior" so that they will know what to call you. Assholes do not want you included in their classification.



60+ points = Congratulations! You are a GIANT DOUCHEBAG. All of your "friends" HATE you, and pray every night that you will get cancer. Your family is ashamed of you, and has tried to fight the government to legalize "91st term abortions". Every girl that you have ever touched cries herself to sleep every night thinking of the douchebag that forever tainted her. Those girls' fathers are planning your imminent torture, and eventual death. You should immediately be castrated to save the rest of the human race and future generations from your doucheyness.

That Guy

Posted by E

Thursday, July 31, 2008

We all have fears that we deal with on a daily basis. I'm mindful because I fear stepping on ants. (I don't wish to indiscriminantly kill.) I struggle every day with those voices commanding me to rape the elderly. (Most days I prevail.) But my one greatest overall fear is the fear of being "That guy".

We've all dealt with that guy at some point in our lives. Whether it be at a restaurant, at the store or at the theater, we've all run across that guy who takes unimportant things WAY too seriously.

Point in case, a week ago, like much of America, I made my way to the theater to catch a screening of The Dark Knight. I had gone with a few friends to an IMAX screening. We got our tickets and made our way to the line for the theater.

After standing there for a few, I turned to one of my friends and said, rather jokingly I thought, "Now, I didn't see Spider-Man 2. Is this movie going to make any sense?"

You could almost hear the frustration coming from the geek that I offended, his hatred so palpable.

"This isn't Spider-Man. It's BATMAN!!!"

"Oh, yeah, sorry, my bad," I said, eyes rolling about in their sockets.

What the fuck, man? First off, did he REALLY think that I was unaware that the ticket I just bought was for Batman? I had to ASK for the ticket at the booth or PUSH THE BUTTON for it at the machine. You'd have to be pretty well retarded to make it all the way to the theater without realizing what film you were there to see.

Is it worth mentioning that no less than THREE people I was with were wearing Batman shirts? That nearly 60% of the LINE was wearing Batman shirts? That every fucking poster at the theater and the giant cardboard display were BATMAN?

"That guy" is always around, always getting indignant over the most banal and uninteresting things.

"NO! KITT damaged HIS Alpha Circuit towing a hatchback in episode 3, "Deadly Maneuvers". You're thinking of the episode where KARR ends up submerged in water, damaging his Alpha Circuit, which in turn required manual intervention for the turbo boost to fire."

"The ORIGINAL Grimlock was from the Diaclone series by Takara Toys that launched in Japan in 1980. So, the Hasbro version released in 1985 is technically a SECOND release."

"It was CLEARLY established in Rainbow Brite's backstory that she was originally an orphan named Wisp, who was taken to the Colorless World. She gets the Sphere of Light and befriends Twink and Starlite, THEN she got the Color Belt and met the Color Kids. Once she beat the Dark One, she was renamed to Rainbow Brite."

Surely any normal person would feel an uncontrollable rage to pummel the face of whatever greasy monstrosity belched out such pointless drivel.

I have my quirks and I certainly have several things that I know WAY too much about. But get this, you can talk incorrectly around me. I might correct you, but I would not get in a huff and throw a tantrum over it.

Is there really anything cartoon, toy or movie-based in this world that's worth defending with so much vigor? Do people really attach that much of their own identity into these things?

For the sake of it, let's ruffle some feathers:

OPTIMUS PRIME IS THE LEADER OF THE HOMOBOTS

ANAKIN SKYWALKER WAS A WHINY LITTLE EMO BITCH THAT DESERVED WHAT HE GOT

ANIME IS NOT COOL

You know, I have been in exactly one fist fight in my entire life. All these years, one fight. You know what that fight was about?

The Smurfs.

That's right, some kid challenged me to a fist fight in sixth grade because I dared to accuse Papa Smurf of being nothing more than a Marxist symbol and that Smurf village was a communist society. That was seriously enough to make somebody wish to cause bodily harm.

Oy gevalt.

Introduction To Arbitrage

"I'll be totally upfront, because you seem like a really cool person. I'm a sex addict."

At this point, I can no longer lose. 6-Love ³

I just castled with the rook. The ball is no longer under any shell. The 3 Card Monte has been executed again with precision.

You see there are only 2 scenarios that will now unfold.

A. She leaves me alone. Good. Now I can throw my headphones back on, and continue my journey through time and space. No need for small talk, maintenance, and the likes.

B. She’ll fuck me. Good. Now I can throw my headphones back on, and continue my journey through time and space. No need for small talk, maintenance, and the likes.

I can’t lose. Game, set, match.

“Arbitrage wins …Final score from centre court. 6-Love, 6-love, 6-Love”

That my friend is Arbitrage.

What is "Freedom"?

So you hear that word thrown around so often in America. "Enjoy your freedom? Thank a Vet!" "America: Land of the FREE" “Freedom isn’t free!” But does anyone really think about what it means?

free·dom /ˈfridəm/ [free-duhm] –noun
1.
the state of being free or at liberty rather than in confinement or under physical restraint: He won his freedom after a retrial.
2.
exemption from external control, interference, regulation, etc.
3.
the power to determine action without restraint.
4.
political or national independence.
5.
personal liberty, as opposed to bondage or slavery: a slave who bought his freedom.

Ok, yes, if not for WW2 veterans, we would likely all be speaking German right now. Yes, we are "free" from Nazi rule. Gotcha. But are we MORE free than other western countries? Lately I have been feeling anything BUT free. I am tired of this cowboy regime that is running our country! With their attitude of:

"Oh, the majority of the country thinks this is a bad idea? Fuck em, we run shit!!"

We, as Americans are being forced in to a lot of things that most of us want no part of. We DON'T want to be at war, we DON'T want oil companies running our country and making our laws, we DON'T want to continue to harm the environment because the car companies don't feel like improving. It is just getting frustrating.

So maybe freedom is democracy? Democracy in this country is currently the "choice" to choose the next leader of the country from a huge group of 2 ASSHOLES. And then the winner of the "I'm less of an asshole" contest runs the country for the next 4-8 years. And in our current situation, even THAT didn't happen.

I understand that this country has a LOT to be thankful for. But it just seems like so many people CALL this the greatest country in the world, and the land of the free, without REALLY thinking about WHY they say that! It's not our electoral system, our foreign policy, our immigration laws, our healthcare, our tax system, our lawmakers, or our environmental standards.

So what is it exactly that makes us "the best"? Is it because we have the biggest war machines? OK, we win the nuclear pissing contest, so what.

I guess that if anything would make this the greatest country on the planet, it would be the people. Not the people running the country, but just the citizens. We are the most charitable nation on earth. For the most part, we really do CARE about the rest of the world. We care about each other, and take care of each other.

If we could get that type of mentality in to the government, and stop all the lobbying and payoffs, things could change. Good people often go in to politics, and after a few years, they are just another one on the payroll of oil, pharmeceutical, auto, and whoever else needs taxes or laws to be changed in their favor.

Hopefully by the time my daughter is old enough to care about this stuff, she will be driving her electric car to work, paying taxes via the fairtax, and will be proud of her president and government.

I can dream can't I?

Hello to Ernie's!!!!

Posted by E

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Well, Hi-Dee-Ho to our friends over at Ernie's House of Whoopass. Getting our humble little site posted onto the front page there has been an exciting experience, to say the least. Allow me to say in my best awful Asian accent...Me rikey Ernie!!!!

If you happened across us earlier, please take a look through the archives now. At this point, specifically the archives for E. Some of our older postings have been integrated into the new site.

As you may or may not have gleaned from what was present on the front page, Omniphobic is a project created by myself and a small cadre of other writers intended to continue offering me an avenue with which to spew forth my screed while also offering a home to some new and interesting voices.

As is apparent from our respective histories, some of us are newer at this. But don't let that be a deterrant. As they say, "If there's grass in the field...play ball!"

If you'd like to take the time to browse our newly online past, you'll get a good feel for the type of information you might find here.

Are we a comedy site? No, but we're funny. Are we an angry site? No, but we're sometimes pissed off.

There is no overarching philosophy here other than an overwhelming desire to entertain. So please, peruse, make yourself at home, drop us a line.

We hope to see you again.

A new low.

Greetings all, Capn' Colon-blow here. When I was asked to come and write here at Omniphobic, I have to admit that my first thought was "Great, it's Marry Poppins and the seven dorks." I knew that I had been asked to come on-board so that I could keep an eye on everyone and make sure they weren't fucking off. These guys are awful about getting anything done and they need people, usually myself, to keep them productive. Now, as much as I hate playing "Nanny Do-right" to these Douche nozzles, I feel that it is my duty. Among other senses, it is my sense of piety that I fear for with this lot. If I had not agreed, I fear that these godless Schmucks would spew nothing but shit and sprinkles. I promise to not let this happen as I have everyone's best intentions in mind and Jeebus in my corner.
In Jeebus all things are probable.

I will say that one of my biggest complaints about working with these fuck sticks has been their constant railing against religion. Atheists and Agnostics, all. Agnostics, seriously... "I have seen nothing that proves that I have any knowledge of evidence that leans towards the possibility that there may be a chance of something else out there that could give us information leading to some insight on the subject of god." Grow a sack and tell people your opinion pussy. It's either, "Yes, I believe in god and I will go to heaven where my joyous soul will thrive forever" or "No, my feeble mind can't possibly comprehend the concept of God so I get to spend my eternal days in a flaming lake of Hellfire, thanks for asking!"

The reason people don't grasp the after-life is simple; People can only think in finites. Once you realize this and open your mind to the “in-finites”, it really is a lot simpler to understand. With in-finites, you get forever. Eternal bliss or suffering. Omnipotence, etc. Infinity is the key here. Open your mind and you will see how easy it is. Too many people have “Science” stuck in their vagina and resort to “logic” and “reasoning” as their path. Have fun at lake Burny McSuckit heathens! Shut your free-thinking mouth and say “Moo” with the rest of us.

Zach Morris is the Anti-Christ!

NO!!! Not our good-natured, mischievous, detention dweller from bayside high! How could I say such a thing?? Allow me to explain.

Zach Morris is just one of the characters that began the downfall of society. I am of course referring to the now commonplace “Stupid is Cool” school of thought. We started seeing it in the 80’s – the “cool” kids were the ones that failed classes, cheated on tests, cut school, and caused lots of trouble. The meathead jocks without a brain were included in this “elite” class, as well as the hot cheerleader blondes.

Society (especially young children) immediately followed this new classification of people. How is it that our society has willfully subscribed to such a ridiculous set of standards? Brainwashing.

We are constantly bombarded with media; whether it is Movies, TV, Music, Internet, cartoons, comic books, etc. The general rule for making a good, lovable character is to dumb him or her down. This lets the viewer feel superior to, and not threatened by this character. Even brilliant characters have to include aspects of mischief (such as Val Kilmer’s character from “Real Genius”). This need to make the characters approachable and funny has created 2 RULES FOR LIFE:

1. Stupid people that don’t care about school, work, or their future are cool, popular, funny and lovable.

2. An intelligent person that focuses on grades, their career or generally strives for achievement is a dork, and should be shunned.

This has turned our kids in to people that are ashamed of intelligence. Just think about that for a second. If you have a brain that functions on a higher level than the average (Americans have an average IQ of around 98 points), then you should be ASHAMED. You should hide this brilliance, and not put it to good use, or apply it to your studies or career. To do so, would make you a dork, and will assure that you never get laid.

Hip-hop culture has taken this concept to a new level. Such masters of the English language as Lil’ Jon and Soulja Boy are signs of just how low we have sunk. Using correct English makes you a nerd. Wearing clothes that fit makes you fag. Being intelligent? That shit will get you killed. And god forbid you’re black – because then you’re just “trying to act white”.

Now let’s suppose that you ignore the above RULES FOR LIFE. Just pretend that you don’t care what your classmates think about you. You determine that your brain is capable of comprehension beyond other people. You focus all of this new-found brainpower on studying, reading, learning and excelling. You may be considered an outcast in High School. There will be other outcasts that you can socialize with. It is a temporary inconvenience, so you work through it.

In college, you will notice that your focus on studies is more accepted (except for in the frat house), and that there are many more people with your same goals. You may even be able to get a like-minded girlfriend at this point!

After college, you will be able to get a good job (assuming you have chosen a good major). This means more money in your pocket, and the ability to buy nicer things (like a house and a car). You are most likely in your early to mid twenties now – with a career, house and a car. This is a very good place to be! If you apply yourself to your job, like you have to school, chances are you will move up, and make MORE money.

The “Cool” kids at school who focused more on being funny than making good grades are most likely living with their parents, working at Best Buy.

Now which of these 2 scenarios sounds more desirable? How about more desirable to the opposite sex? Let’s continue..

Continuing down your enlightened path, you will probably find a good spouse, and lead a comfortable life. You will probably have saved enough and invested enough that you will have the option to retire early.
You can now live the rest of your life in rest and luxury.

The “cool” kid may have eventually found a job in sales or real estate, but most likely stayed in some dead-end job. He will live check-to-check his whole life, and probably “retire” when he dies or just can’t handle it anymore.

All so he could hang out with the cheerleaders 50 years ago.
I wish that I could say I knew this in my school years. I wish that I could show you my degrees and my 4.0 GPA’s. I can’t. I too fell victim to this cancer on society - although not nearly as bad as some. Even though it was discovered at a very young age that I had a genius IQ, at around 9th grade, I stopped caring. I wanted to be one of the cool kids.. I got my GED at 17, and went to community college for a few semesters, but then dropped out.

Luckily, I stumbled in to a tech support job, and started my technical career at 18. Due to this stroke of luck, I have been able to undo a lot of my teenage mistakes. I am in my late twenties now, and again working on getting my degree. However, I can’t help but wonder where I would be right now if Zach Morris hadn’t planted his set of ideals in my brain at a young age.

Nazis, KKK, Religious Fanaticism, Genocide, Terrorism, and Saved By the Bell – Human Atrocities that forever have, and will continue to, destroy society.

Give It Up For Ultraporn

Posted by E

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

How about the two of us play a little game? I want you to close your eyes and think very hard about the absolute most disgusting and reprehensible thing you can possibly imagine. It doesn't matter how vile, perverse or disturbing it may be. I'd just like you to focus on it for a minute.

Done? Good, go ahead and open your eyes. Okay, tell me what it was you thought of. Don't worry, I won't think less of you, no matter what it was. In fact, if it's filthy enough I might even think MORE of you.

Now let's get to the upsetting part. Whatever it was you just thought of, regardless of whether it turns your stomach or makes your blood boil, either way somebody masturbates to it.

Don't believe me? Hit google. No matter WHAT you thought of, I'll bet it's been filmed and I'll bet somebody's charging $20 a month for dudes to come spank to it. (In all likelihood, it was filmed in Japan.)

It boggles the mind when you really sit and think about it. Every single thing that has ever been conceived since the dawn of time is somebody's total turn on. This thought occurred to me this morning as I followed one of those links I knew I'd regret seeing. (For the record, a Japanese woman tongue fucking not one but TWO dogs' asses!)

Let that sink in for a minute. Somebody had to recognize the marketability of human/canine analingus. They had to then go and analyze the market to determine just how niche it was, then take the time to get some equipment, hire an actress and get their hands on a couple of dogs. And why? Because someone out there (very likely the next cube/desk over) really wants to see a dog have its chocolate starfish violated by the probing tongue of a young Japanese woman in a schoolgirl's outfit.

As we become more numbed to perversity, thanks in no small part to the internet, peoples' tastes for the pornographic seem to be wavering more towards the extreme. Is this because we've seen it all at this point?

Why settle for plain old vanilla fellatio when you can load up a Max Hardcore film and watch him make those beauties vomit from the forceful face fucking (ooh, alliteration!) he so unpleasantly dishes out?

2 Girls 1 Cup? Pffft. How about 2 Girls 12 Eels? Seen it. Octopus stuffing? Yawn. Cakefarting? Who doesn't like cake? 620 person gangbangs? That's so 2006.

Every time I see a video of this ilk I am transported back to my childhood. (Cue Pepperidge Farms music.) NO, my childhood was NOT that fucked up. Let me explain...

See, I was a kid back in a simpler time, a time when all we had was a 9 year old issue of Playboy that we'd surreptitiously read in the storm drains at my elementary school and the occasional late night Skinemax movie. We were 14 before we were able to get our hands on our first adult movie, thanks to Terry's dad being piss poor at hiding stuff. (For the record, it was called Live Nude Girl and featured a great lesbian scene set to a muzak version of "We're Not Gonna Take It" with dialog so hilarious that 20 years later we still quote it when we get together.) For years the best we could do was an occasional GIF image on a floppy disk.

And today? Jesus. If I could have had access to 24 hour a day amputee fisting, I don't believe I'd ever have left the house. I would have grown up without friends. Why go out and hang with other kids when you can watch a Japanese woman vomit into a bowl, eat that vomit, then force herself to RE-VOMIT it out, only to RE-CONSUME it. That shit is amazing.

Alright, so this is largely tongue in cheek. (Pardon the pun.) I shudder to think that today's kids will actually view this material and find it humdrum and ordinary. What the hell are they going to have to do for the next generation of kids? If everything I've described above becomes the norm, then somebody (the Japanese) is going to have to produce something even MORE vile.

Just like rock and roll has always been about bugging your parents, so too must modern day porn be about offending the shit out of everybody. (Except those who would rush over to eat it afterwards.)

So, I guess it's up to us, as the adults of today, to come up with the ultra porn of tomorrow. Let's take a gander at it, shall we? (If your name is "my mother", please stop reading if you have not already done so. If your name is "my psychiatrist", please pretend that somebody else is writing this.)

The scene opens on a putrescent corpse, green and bloated, with all manner of creepy crawlies munching on the skin which has begun to slough off the skull. A young hermaphrodite lays nearby, inserting the rotting toes of the corpse into her female parts while jabbing at the male bits with a cactus connected to a car battery.

A man with a knife enters the frame and begins stabbing at the corpse, explosive bursts of decompositional gasses blasting forth with each abdominal thrust. The hermaphrodite continues the self satisfaction as a donkey is lead into the room, a box of scorpions affixed on its back.

Almost on cue, as the hermaphrodite begins fellating the donkey, the man with the knife begins pulling out large handfuls of maggot laden viscera and excrement from the corpse. He carries this detritus over to the man in the gimp suit who is missing his lower jaw. The man with the blade affixes a funnel into gimpy's cavernous gullet and forces the foul mixture into the gimp's stomach.

As the gimp begins to shudder with violent, retching spasms, blade man goes back to the hermaphrodite and stabs he/she in the abdomen . Gimpy quickly runs over and vomits into the gaping knife wounds before taking the knife from blade man and carving off his own testicles, which he then excitedly tosses to the mating tigers in the corner.

Gimpy then loosens the funnel wrenched in his throat and affixes it into the pulsing rectum of the hermaphrodite. Blades then proceeds to fill the funnel (and consequently the rectum) with the writhing contents of the scorpion box.

At this point the parade of disfigured midgets marches into camera, each waving their dessicated and missing limbs at the camera before making their way over to the litter boxes. After ganging up on the weakest of the lot, the midgets proceed with smashing out the teeth of their victim before taking turns urinating into its bleeding and swollen mouth.

The whole scene concludes with the placing of the hornet hive over the manhood of the hermaphrodite, while the most muscular midget fists its abdominal knife wound.


This whole depraved and disturbing scenario brings forth a few burning questions that I intend to set to work immediately to answer, such as; where can I rent the cameras, where can I find some midgets and how much do I charge for it once it's filmed?

No, I Will Not Fix Your Computer

Would you call your paleontologist friend up at 9:00 at night just to ask with help differentiating a Cambrian from a Paleozoic trilobite? Would you expect some physicist that you barely know as a third-party acquaintance to drop what they're doing and assist with your kid's homework? Then why would you expect me to come and fix your computer?

Has it ever occurred to you that I spend my entire day working on machines and that JUST MAYBE I would rather not have a pile of them to deal with when I get home? Did it cross your mind that perhaps I like to enjoy some of my free time, just like anybody else?

Have you noticed that stores exist that make a lot of money by helping people out with their problems? Just because I have a little knowledge I should be expected to do it all for free? (Or at least dirt cheap)

Let me say this one more time, a little more clearly. No, I will not fix your computer.

You see, if I agree to come to your place and work on it (or allow you to drop it off at my place), then you make assumptions about our future interactions.

For example, if I work on your machine today, that does not mean that you get a lifetime warranty from me, nor does it mean that I absolutely insist on resolving every issue you ever experience.

"Remember when you installed Office for me in 1997? Well, now Internet Explorer won't start. It must be from something you did."

It isn't.

I know little Jimmy is having a rough go of it, not being able to use his computer. Perhaps he shouldn't have installed Limewire so that he can get all of these infected warez. Fuck, kid, if you're going to pirate, at least do it right.

Good job infecting that thing with over 3,000 different kinds of malware, grayware, spyware, adware, trojans and viruses. Thank god cleaning that shit up is a breeze and guaranteed to maintain stability.

Here you go, Jimmy, I just spent nine hours cleaning it all up for you. What's that, you downloaded "deadly_virus.exe" and ran it? Looks like you hosed your system up again. Let me give you two words of advice.

Fuck you.

Fix your own goddamn problems.

As much as I love sitting down to work on a machine only to see 119 programs loaded in the system tray, I'm gonna have to pass.

Shocking, I know, but I really have no desire to deal with your constant phone calls, asking for this answer or that, demanding your machine be finished and otherwise hassling me while I'm trying to scour your machine for whatever halfway decent porn you might have stashed away.

What? You don't even have GOOD porn? Sigh, why am I even looking at this thing?

Seriously, Jimmy, I don't give one shit about your computer woes. If you would just practice a little common sense, perhaps you wouldn't have clicked the link in the spam that simply read, "Good boner is what she really need".

And, for the love of Christ, do NOT give my phone number out to others. Yeah, there's nothing greater than the late night phone call from the friend of the sister of the aunt of the cousin of the hairdresser of the dog groomer of some dude that was friends with a guy that I bumped into a Burger King back in 1984 asking for computer tips because they heard that I'm "in the know".

I can appreciate that you're a neophyte. I'm the same way when I have to take my car to a mechanic. You see, Jimmy, I can call my mechanic friends and ask them those kinds of questions because I can barter with them. I'll fix their computer if they can help me with my car. You, being a teenager, have little to nothing of value to me. Ooooh, you'll give me a bunch of mp3's from My Bloody Valentine and Jimmy Eat World if I help you? How can I say no to that?!?!

I'm not trying to be an asshole here, Jimmy. If you had a marketable or useful skill, you'd understand. But I've noticed that you seem to have difficulty tying your shoes without drooling all over your hands.

You're an idiot, Jimmy. Plain and simple. Quit asking me for help.

The Worst Day EVER!!!

Posted by Doodface

Monday, July 28, 2008

God, today was pure hell. You would not BELIEVE the day I had!

It started as soon as I woke up. My atomic alarm clock played the WRONG mp3 for my alarm! How am I supposed to start my day without the theme from Rocky getting my blood flowing!?!

Then I go to step in the shower, and the shower CD player's volume won't go high enough. AGAIN, I am denied my motivational music being delivered to me properly. I had to bathe with barely audible "Eye of the Tiger" playing! More like eye of the 3-toed sloth, right? RIGHT?

After my shower, I get dressed, and head out to the kitchen. The automatic timer on the coffee maker was set to PM instead of AM! I actually had to PRESS the "Brew" button, and WAIT 4 minutes!!

I should just go back to bed.

I gather up my PDA phone and MP3 player, and get on my way to work. I try to make a call using my car's bluetooth, and it's telling me it can't find my phone!! WHAT THE FUCK??? IT'S IN MY POCKET! How am I supposed to live like this? So after I turn on bluetooth on my phone, it FINALLY connects properly. THEN I tell it; "Call Work". What do you think it does? It responds with "Calling Mark"!! DAMMIT!!!! So at this point, I actually have to take my phone OUT OF MY POCKET, and select which contact to dial. Infuriating.

I plug in the MP3 player to my car's USB port, so that I can continue listening to the audio book that I have been enjoying. Well wouldn't you know it, after I plug it in, and it synchronizes with my car, it can't find the book files. So now I can't even listen to a book on the way to work (what, like I have time to READ??). So now I am stuck with the choices of the other 1000 songs on the MP3 player, Satellite Radio, or plain old radio. Shit.

I pull out my phone on the way to work to check e-mail, see what the weather will be like, and see if there are any new blog posts. It is so goddamned slow that you would think I was on a GPRS connection, and not 3G! GPRS - ha, imagine that!

I finally make it to work, after my GPS tries to get me around traffic. YES, I avoided all of the traffic associated with that wreck on I-85, but I had to go through like 3 stop signs!! What a peice of crap.

When I get in to my office, for some reason, my computer had shut down over the weekend. So now I have to sit there and wait for it to boot (there's 15 seconds of my life I will never get back!!). After it FINALLY boots up, I have to wait as my anti-virus, anti-spam, firewall, and e-mail update. This is normally done all the time, but since it had been shutdown, I had to wait while it caught up. This is just getting ridiculous!! So while it is updating, I continue to work (but at a slightly slower pace, since the computer is BUSY doing other things).

After e-mail updates, I see that the automated spam filter is really dropping the ball. I had to MANUALLY delete like 20 messages from my inbox! Again, 15 seconds of my life; GONE.

After 8 hours of similiar frustrations at work, I finally am off the clock, and on my way to the gym. I grab my MP3 player, and head in to do some cardio. A mere 45 minutes in, the MP3 player dies!! RIGHT in the middle of "You’re The Best"!! I JUST had it on the charger 3 days ago, WTF?? So I have to finish my workout listening to the shitty radio they play at the gym. And you guessed it, not ONCE did they play "eye of the tiger". Tragedy.

After I get home from the gym, I sit down to watch some TV. I grab my Logitech Universal Remote, and turn everything on. On this remote, I am supposed to press one button, and the TV turns on, the Sound is un-muted, and the Tivo is set to the main screen. Well, the surround-sound system didn't automatically unmute. I have to hold my arm like 3 FEET to the left to get it to unmute. Shouldn't this $350 remote be able to send signals AROUND the couch and laundry basket?

So now the TV is on and ready to go. I know that my favorite show was recorded last night, so I pull up the Tivo list. HOLY SHIT. It didn't record last night's "Deadliest Catch"!! Apparently, I had scheduled 2 other shows at the same time, and it recorded those instead!! So now I either have to go download the show (which would take like 10 minutes!!), or wait until it repeats tonight at midnight.

Fuck it.

What an infuriating day! I cannot imagine having it any worse. I am sure you are sympathetic though. Thanks for your prayers!

Wait! When Did That Happen?

Posted by E

Thursday, July 24, 2008

The arrival of a new Star Wars film in the theater is always a major event in my life, and the release of Revenge of the Sith in May of 2005 was no exception. In the context of my own life experience, the arrival of Episode 3 could be considered the most important and exciting cinematic event of my lifetime.

My whole life had been building up to the release of this film, beginning with the release of the original Star Wars in 1977. My entire childhood had been built around the mythology that these movies created. Even during the 16 year gap between trilogies, I could still be found watching the films, collecting the toys and reading the novels. Hell, when Episode 1 was released and I saw it for the first time, I cried when the opening music blasted and the text crawl began.

Yes, I really am that much of a geek.

Episode 3 was to be a milestone in my life, marking the end of the Star Wars series as a live action theatrical experience and finishing the story begun nearly thirty years previous. Not to mention the focus of this episode was to be the rise of the Empire and the fall of Anakin Skywalker. This would be the emergence of Darth Vader, quite possibly the coolest character ever created in any medium. In the space of two hours, George Lucas would present to us the final events that turned Anakin from the universe's whiniest bitch to the darkest force of evil ever known.

Within the first 24 hours of its release, I had managed 4 viewings of Revenge of the Sith. As is standard for me, I took everybody I knew to see the film, sometimes paying for both tickets. All of my friends wanted to see this movie with me, as they all know what the Star Wars universe means to me. (And it doesn't hurt seeing a movie like this with a walking encyclopedia to help explain everything that's happening.) One such pairing for this film was my sister and her husband, who joined me for a weekend matinee.

My sister has been exposed to the Star Wars films for the entire run of my life, more or less. I watched them obsessively as a child and could recite the scripts verbatim. I cannot count how many times she came to watch the television, only to have to deal with me geeking out for the umpteenth time.

But despite the endless barrage of movies, toys and discussions, she's never really figured out what the movies are all about. Yeah, she's seen them, but she never cared enough to fully digest them. Starting a discussion on the topic brings to the forefront almost immediately how little she's paid attention all these years. The final hour of Return of the Jedi, with its four plots intertwining has always remained a source of confusion for her.

I knew full well going into this viewing that she would not fully understand what was going on, but if nothing else the movie was exciting and had plenty of eye candy to stare at. But her complete lack of comprehension of the plot was fully divined to me as we left the theater and made our way back to the car.

Me: So, what did you think?

Her: Honestly, I really liked it. That's the first one of those movies that I truly enjoyed. I think I'll probably buy it when it comes out on DVD.

Me: Really? That's awesome! Yeah, I really liked it, too. It really tied everything together quite nicely.

Her: I do have one question, though.

Me: Okay, what's up?

Her: At the end, when Darth Vader got up off that table, he kind of wobbled when he walked. What was up with that?

Me: Well, he just had robotic legs put on. He wasn't used to walking on them yet.

Her: Robot legs? When did that happen?


Allow me to remind you of the ending of Revenge of the Sith. Anakin, having turned to the dark side and assuming the title of Darth Vader, was sent by the Emperor to Mustafar to eliminate the remaining separatists. He is followed there by Padme, who seeks to confront Anakin about his actions. Obi-Wan, unbeknownst to Padme, has sneaked aboard her ship. He appears during Padme and Anakin's discussion and in a blind rage Anakin attacks Padme. This quickly devolves into a confrontation between Anakin and Obi-Wan, followed by an extended lightsaber duel on the molten surface of Mustafar.

Obi-Wan emerges the victor in this battle after successfully liberating Anakin's left arm and both of his legs from his torso. Obi-Wan leaves the limbless form of Anakin to die on the surface, and as he leaves Anakin bursts into flame.

Anakin is rescued by the Emperor, who takes his charred body to a secret lab in order to have robotic limbs grafted to his body. Vader's transformation is completed when he is encased within his mask, making him more machine than man, completely dependent on his suit for survival. This entire scene is played out with a myriad of droids assembling his limbs and surgically attaching them to Anakin while he screams in agony.


Me: That's what that whole scene was! They were giving him new legs and arms since his had been cut off.

Her: Cut off? When did THAT happen?

Me: Are you serious? Obi-Wan sliced them off in their duel.

Her: I didn't notice that.

Me: DIDN'T NOTICE?!? You don't remember him writhing on the ground and screaming before catching on fire?

Her: No.


I was stunned. Absolutely flummoxed and flabbergasted. Like I said, I know she doesn't pay much attention to the films, but really, she didn't notice the fetishized closeups of his mangled frame rolling around while burning?

I found myself more amused, than anything. I have related this story many times over the years. I mentioned it to her yesterday and she didn't have any memory of that conversation. Too funny.

Since then, I have many times considered taking the same stance after a film, just to get a rise out of my fellow movie watchers.

"Yeah, Passion of the Christ was really good, but what I couldn't figure out was, why did he die at the end?"

"I really liked Pulp Fiction, but why was Marcellus Wallace going to have Zed killed?"

I guess some of us just watch movies differently.

Karma: It’s a cold, procrastinating bitch.

Posted by Doodface

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

I am not one that believes in supernatural powers of any kind. I don’t think that there is a God, ghosts, poltergeists, levitation, ESP, etc... That being said, at times there does seem to be a force that punishes evil (or at least shitty) deeds.

In junior high, I met a life-long friend of mine – we’ll call him “Jim”. We were in some of the same classes together, and had almost nothing in common – besides being white kids in a 99% black school. We never really talked until one time I saw him at the skating rink on a Saturday night. And for all of you haters out there; the skating rink was the shit. He was out of school that Friday, so I just went up and asked where he had been.. From that point on we were best of friends – even though his sister scared the shit out of me (long story, but she was crazy)!

We quickly were inseparable, and spent most weekends spending the night at each other’s houses. One night while I was spending the night at Jim’s house, he was talking to a girl that he was trying to hook up with (whatever that means at 14). We’ll call her “Ashley”. He had been out on a ”date” with her recently, and apparently they had made out. All was looking well for him, until I came in to the picture.

While he was talking to her on the phone, I was in the background saying “funny” things and making her laugh. She actually told Jim to hand the phone to me, because I was funny. From that point on, she was mine. Yes, I had just swooped in, and stolen the girl that my best friend was trying to date! MAJOR violation of bro-code. At the time, this thought never crossed my mind. I was even more of an asshole then than I am now.

Well I ended up dating Ashley for 2 years, and she was truly my first love. I can’t describe to you how infatuated I was with her. And she was PERFECT. So nice, so caring, big boobs (which is like daily trips Disneyworld when you’re 14 or 15), and she let me get to third base with her on a regular basis. But she was actually TOO nice, and TOO submissive, and I started to take her for granted.

We went to separate schools, and there were girls at my school that I was interested in, and that were interested in me. So I would pull the ultimate asshole move: I would break up with her, date one of the girls from my school, break up with that girl when I got bored of her, and then go back to Ashley a week later. She took me back every single time, like my personal slave. Until she didn’t.

No amount of begging would get her back; I had fucked up for the last time. The cold realization of what I had done flooded over me, and I realized that I had lost her forever. And even worse, I had recently transferred to her school, which started the month after this went down. I had to see her every day.

Over the next few years, I dated a crazy girl on again and off again that we’ll call Elizabeth. Strangely enough, this girl too started off as Jim’s girl, but this one he turned away by his choice (VERY smart move on his part). Elizabeth was a giant pain in my ass, and extremely immature. I don’t know that I have one good memory of her... But this was only the first dose of karmic ass-rape.

Over these years, Ashley never left my mind. I thought about her a lot, and always thought of her as the perfect girl that I let get away.

In December of 1998, I had a good paying job, had lost a bunch of weight, and was feeling pretty damn good about myself. I figured if I ever had a shot with Ashley again, it was now. I called her up out of the blue (3 years after last speaking to her), and asked her if she wanted to go out some time. Even though she was dating someone, she agreed (this should have been my first clue that she was unstable).

We went out a few times, and once again, she was mine. I quickly noticed however, that this was not the same Ashley from my younger years. Sweet, submissive, caring Ashley had turned in to Jealous, Controlling, OCD Bitch. Even with all those wonderful traits, I loved her. I think I still saw her for what she was in the past. We moved in together pretty quickly, and in November of 2001, got married.

Now before we got married, I knew she had issues. I had VERY close female friends that I basically was forced to abandon due to her uncontrollable jealousy. She would spend hundreds of dollars on beanie babies and her favorite band’s memorabilia, but then scream at me if I bought a coffee on the bank card. I would get yelled at if I didn’t hang shirts up in the closet facing the right direction. She would make fun of all my friends, and judge them. We weren’t allowed to hang out with my friends, only hers – which I referred to as the “Redneck Rampage”. Bitch was crazy. I stupidly hoped that marriage would change things - It didn’t.

10 months after getting married, I found out that she was cheating on me with a co-worker of hers.

Karma, you fucking bitch.

She never could explain WHY she did it – she said that I treated her perfectly, and was the best guy ever, she just wasn’t happy. I couldn’t figure it out either – until after we split up. At first I wanted to work things out, so I was given a book on “tough love”. This book is basically a manual on how to keep crazy bitches in check. So following the book’s suggestions, I started backing off, acting like I didn’t care, acting like I was moving on. This immediately made me so attractive to her, that she was chasing me like crazy, and trying to get me in to bed. It felt real good to turn her down, by the way. While it was tempting to take her back, seeing this display really solidified how crazy she was. I moved on for good, and she eventually married the guy that she cheated on me with.

Jim stuck with me through all of it (even though Ashley had hurt my relationship with him as well), and Karma got the revenge for him. I guess I had paid my dues, as I soon after found my current wife. She is almost too perfect. She is way too hot to be with me, very easy going, shares my world views, and is someone that I can just talk to for hours. I am glad that Karma punished me early in life.

I hope she is done with me.

Spoiler Alert!

Posted by E

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

I read on the internet prior to my trip to see The Dark Knight this weekend that showings of the movie on IMAX would be preceded by an exclusive 15 second trailer for the new Harry Potter movie. First off, YES, I am a dork for Harry Potter. I've read all the books (at least twice each) and can readily argue and debate the entire story arc ad nauseum. Knowing this, it should come as little surprise that I was intrigued by the possibility of an early glimpse at the sixth movie.

But, of course I am the jaded type, and I knew full well that 15 seconds ain't shit when it comes to previewing a new film. We bandied the idea about in the office that the trailer would consist of nothing more than Harry standing there, wand drawn, only to have the title drop down in front of him.

We weren't far from the truth.

In actuality, it was a single line of dialog (spoken by Dumbledore) followed by the title and the announcement that it was coming in November. A bit of a disappointment.

This got me to thinking about the awesomeness that COULD HAVE BEEN, had they hired me to edit together the trailer for the sixth film. My trailer is thus:

Camera zooms in on Severus Snape, his wand drawn, face curled back in a sneer.
"Avada Kedavra!" he shouts, and a green flash fills the screen followed by Dumbledore's corpse flying out of a window.
"WHAT HAPPENS NEXT? HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF BLOOD PRINCE - NOVEMBER 2008"

Now granted, for the millions of children that haven't read the book yet, this will upset them. Fuck them, I say. If you can't be bothered to read the book, you have no business complaining. Personally, I think that'd make a great trailer.

You could really work these out for a ton of films.

Trailer 1:
"Coming this summer, the exciting conclusion to the Star Wars trilogy."
Clip 1: The Emperor says to Luke, "And now, young Skywalker, you will die."
Clip 2: Yoda dies and then disappears.
Clip 3: The Emperor says, "I assure you we are quite safe from your friends here."
Clip 4: Vader throws a screaming Emperor down the reactor shaft.
Clip 5: The Death Star explodes.
Clip 6: A maskless Darth Vader falls back and dies.
The title appears on the screen: "Return of the Jedi, coming summer 1983"


Trailer 2:
Rawlston: What were Kane's last words?
Dissolve to Kane laying in his bed, dying. He utters the word "Rosebud" and drops a snow globe onto the floor, shattering it.
Rawlston: When he comes to die, he's got something on his mind called Rosebud. What does that mean?
Cut to a pile of items being shoveled into a furnace. Atop that pile is a sled. The camera zooms in and we see the word Rosebud written on it.
"Citizen Kane - Coming soon"


Trailer 3:
Charlton Heston looks at the screen and screams, "Soylent Green is people!"
Title card: "What is the secret of Soylent Green?"


Had I seen any of these trailers prior to seeing the respective films, I probably would have gone to see them, figuring if the stuff they're showing is that earth shattering, just imagine what the rest of the film must be like!

As an aside to this, I really did have a similar experience with Return of the Jedi.

Jedi, as mentioned above, came out in May of 1983, a time when movie theaters only had one, maybe two screens. Being a child of that era, I was absolutely obsessed with Star Wars, and the three year gap between the films was an eternity for me. I tried to pass the time as best I could with the myriad toys and novelties available, but nothing could match the excitement of actually seeing the films on the big screen.

As the release of Jedi approached, I began a full blown campaign to remind my parents on an hourly basis of the exact date of release, and implore of them with my biggest and most adorable eyes to take the family to view what was, for my money, the third arrival of Christ.

You see, I had a man crush on Darth Vader. Vader was my boy. I was absolutely inspired by a man who could walk into a room and have every mouth close out of complete fear. This was a guy who didn't sweat bad news, he just strangled the messenger. Vader was not one to be trifled with. If I could have grown up to be anybody, it would be Vader. (Fun fact: The life-size Vader that Doodface referred to? Still in my house. As well as a painting of Vader that has hung in every bedroom I've slept in since 1986.)

After weeks and months of cajoling, I finally got the parental units to agree to take us to the film. Though I had immersed myself in Star Wars lore, I had done my best to avoid spoilers, as I wanted to savor the movie as it arrived. Especially since Empire had ended on such an awesome note, with that candy ass Luke getting his hand lopped off and having his innocence stripped from him. (Again, mad love to Vader.)

Off to the theater we went to stand in line for who knows how many hours. You didn't just "pop in" to see a new Star Wars film, you had to tough it out. Boys became men in those lines. And wait we did, until we ended up in the final stretch of waiting in the lobby of the theater.

Like I said, this theater only had two screens, both of which were showing Jedi at the time. And as we stood there in the lobby I couldn't help but notice that we could hear the movie coming from one of the theaters.

Here I was, just minutes away from seeing the glory of Jedi with my own eyes and I was hearing the ending. The awful, devastating, miserable ending. The Emperor dies? The Death Star blows up? Vader dies?!?!? DARTH FUCKING VADER DIES?!?!?!?

In that instant my heart dropped through my stomach, my bowels released and I fell to the ground in an inconsolable heap, tears streaming from my eyes as I looked to the heavens screaming "WHY? Why Vader?!? Take me instead, but NOT VADER!!!"

My parents did their best to ease my suffering, but I merely rocked back and forth, clutching at my sides, repeating over and over, "He's not dead, he can't be dead, he's not dead, he can't be dead..." I can't really recall the rest of the evening, particularly after the EMT crew arrived and gave me that shot.

It's 25 years later now, and though I've never forgiven George Lucas for taking away the greatest hero of all time, I've at least come to grips with the fact. Most days I can make it through without crying. The medication helps.



SPOILER ALERT!
If you haven't read Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince or seen Return of the Jedi, Citizen Kane and/or Soylent Green, DO NOT read the preceding article.

He's not making this shit up..

Since I am a guest on Mr. Heittenflaugen’s blog, and this is my first post, I will give you MY perspective of the man you know as E, and how I came to know him. In November of 1999, I was 20 years old, and recently had quit my shitty IT job. The company that I had worked for was a joke, and run by complete assholes. That company went under a couple months after I quit, which made me very happy.

Of course, being 20 years old, I quit this job without having a new source of income. Being fresh out of my teen years, I was indestructible, so I knew the rent would get paid "somehow". Luckily for me and my roommate, I found a new job very quickly doing technical support for a software company. This is where I met E. I will get to him later.

The support department consisted of 4 people: Me, E, Giant Cockface, and The Smartest man alive. I was hired not for my knowledge, but for my track record, and the ability to learn. What this boils down to, is that I didn't know shit about shit.

Giant CockFace was my boss, and as you can gather by his name, was a Giant Cockface. I will have to write another post about him one day, as I cannot stress to you the level cockfactiousness that this man exudes in this paragraph. I immediately started off on the wrong foot with this guy by giving him a nickname that basically referred to him as a giant, walking phallus (which E found to be hilarious). Needless to say, we became enemies from "go".

The smartest man alive was extremely intimidating. He also lacked patience with anyone less intelligent than himself (which is everyone). Asking him a question, even a complicated one, would result in the most condescending attitude imaginable. After asking what I considered to be a complex technical question, he would look at me as if I had just inquired on how to remove the feces from my underwear. No matter what the question was, it would usually result in an eye-roll, a sigh, and a patronizing response. This got real old, real fast, so I quickly began to avoid him at all cost.

I was quickly running out of people to turn to. Did I mention that I am kind of an asshole, and tend to alienate myself? Luckily E was there. He was immediately friendly, helpful, and forgiving of my assholish ways. He took me under his wing, and taught me how to properly do the job. If it were not for him, I can guarantee that I would have been fired pretty quickly. To repay him for his kindness, I gave him the name Heittenflauggen in my first week on the job - mainly because I couldn't remember his real last name. While being a very nice guy, and easy to get along with, this is not the "fun" part of E.

As I soon found out, E is a weird guy. The more I worked with him, the more of his little quirks started to surface. It started innocently, with his fascination with Star Wars. Yes, that in itself is nerdy, but E takes it to another level. At the time, his apartment was filled with Star Wars toys and memorabilia (including a life-size darth vader). Oh, did I mention the 3 Star Wars tattoos? He can also name pretty much any character that has ever showed up in the movies (even the ones in the background that are never mentioned), and give their back story.

My favorite of E's quirks has to be the endless list of phobias. One of my favorite cures of office boredom is to get him to start naming some of the things he is afraid of. Some of my favorites are: Flushing Toilets, Corners, Hallways, open windows, CLOSED windows, and Dolls. The dolls are especially fun, because you can get to see it in action. For a real fun day, just leave a doll sitting on his desk. He will become visibly frightened, and shy away while making references to their dead, soul-less eyes staring at him. I love hearing stories of him flushing the toilet when he is home alone, and immediately running in fear (I also picture a girlish squeal as he runs from the toilet).

As previously mentioned, E is a good boredom killer. Listening to his stories of a strange childhood, or of his phobias is quite entertaining. However, my all-time favorite boredom killer is the "what will he eat?" game. Being a typical office, we get fast food or food delivered here quite often. We hang on to the condiments from these meals in case we need them for future meals. We also keep food in drawers for lunches and such. Well over the years, these condiments and snacks turn in to new creations. These are the tools that make this game possible. On a day of extreme boredom, I will start digging through drawers to find the weirdest, oldest stuff that could be consumed. E immediately takes on a look of dread, as he knows what this means. I will put something in front of him, and beg him to eat it. he occasionally puts up some resistance, but unless it is unsafe, he will eventually give in. Watching him choke down these goodies puts me in tears every single time. To see him struggling to get down a heaping spoonful of powdered chicken bouillon is just magic. He once ate a slim jim that was so old, it could have been considered petrified. All of the oil had seeped out from the "meat", and left this shriveled, leathery stick. Yes he choked it down, but it wasn't easy. In other feats of gurgitation, he took down 12 packets of splenda at once, a giant pouch of chili sauce, and countless "aged" condiments.

E is by no means a side show freak that everyone laughs at. He laughs at himself, and knows that his idiosyncrasies are strange and amusing. He thrives on the fact that he is an outright geek, and will proclaim it proudly. His fascinations with horror, blood, guts, and other atrocities do not make him menacing in any way. To read some of his posts, you may wonder when he is going to go on a killing spree, but trust me, he's harmless. I describe him as "lovably quirky", not psychotic.

Greetings and Salutations

Posted by E

Thursday, July 17, 2008

Omniphobic...The icy chill that runs through your veins when you hear a noise downstairs in the middle of the night.

Omniphobic...The terror that shoots through your body as you see the imminent accident approaching.

Omniphobic...That sick feeling in the pit of your stomach as you sense your rights being stripped away by a government gone mad.

We are all living in an omniphobic state, our existence merely a collection of reflexive instincts in the interest of self preservation. Whether we come to grips with our fear and adapt or let it run our lives, either way those fears compel and drive us, causing us to be the people we are.

The world around us sees fit to keep us pumped full of fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of failure. Fear of owning the wrong car. Fear of others. Hardly an hour goes by where fear doesn't force our hand on some decision.

Fear is reality. Fear is natural. Fear is intrinsically human. We ARE fear.

How we choose to live with this fear determines who we are as a person. Some of us cower from the world, wrapping ourselves in comforting tales intended to shield us from that which we cannot understand. Some of us live behind a mask, hiding our vulnerabilities behind a veil of humor or anger. Some of us use that fear to fuel our personalities, turning negative energy into positive.

Fear binds us as a species. We may not share the same fears, but fear lives in all of us.


With that, welcome to Omniphobic, a new project from yours truly and a host of other writers, some familiar to the Bonez readers, some you will be experiencing for the first time.

Let me begin your time with Omniphobic by putting forward a simple and direct philosophy for what we will be doing here.

Content is king.

That's it. It's as simple as that.

The overriding spirit of this blog is to provide our readers with interesting, original, and above all varied content.

Predictability is boring.

It is our intent that every visit to Omniphobic will be a new experience for our readers. It is our intent to ensure that you never quite know what to expect here.

Don't let the title fool you. This is not to be a dismal blog filled with unhappy or frightening tales. No doubt you will find some darker fare here as well as some more mature topics, but you are just as likely to find whimsy and amusement as well.

This will not be a collection of links. Though we will not hesitate to provide links to expand on our feelings or add flavor to an article, you will never find us posting links just for the sake of having something to post.

More than anything, Omniphobic will be home to original thoughts and ideas.

We encourage participation. This is your space as much as it is ours. We love hearing from our readers, whether it be for discussion, suggestions or just plain old conversation. We welcome all voices. A link will be provided shortly should you wish to join the team and offer your own thoughts.


Omniphobic...The recognition of thoughts outside our normal boundaries.

Omniphobic...The burrowing of new ideas deep in your brain.

Omniphobic...The feelings that take control when rationality has failed you.

You are omniphobic, too.

And we welcome you.