"What the FUCK, bro? You spilled my fucking drink! No, I don't want you to buy me another! I want to take you outside and spank your little bottom blue in front of all these fine lookin' bitches."
You see, I have problems maintaining relationships because of a poor moral upbringing, so I push that out of memory by making fun of gays, yelling at women from cars and define "going out" by doing shots of Canadian Club in my studio apartment picking fights with any guy that looks at me or makes contact with me at the bar. I'm not getting laid, why not take that simmered rage out on somebody not asking for it?
"Oh, you 'just want to have fun with your buddies?', are you as big of a faggot as you look? Tweeter, hold my coat. Ricky, watch my back. I can't wait for outside. I'm going to rain dance on this half a pussy right now, rape his corpse and buy rounds for these ladies with his pocket money!"
This is where I hope my buddies pull me away to make me look like I'm not backing down. Perhaps an alert bouncer may try to make peace. Anything to make me look like a big, macho man. My friends are no help. We feed off each other's pathetic delusions that tough-talking and cheap shots are what get the girls. We say lude things to them driving by, strike out when we get too loaded, and can't keep girlfriends because of jealousy that's basically pulled out of our asses. I'm 29 and still have only lived with roommates. But, whatever. In the meantime I need to fill my own life-void by making myself look like I'm not to be fucked with:
"I will fucking END you, bro. I will fucking RUIN you, bro."
I am making this point while tapping you sharply in the chest, because this is simply all I have in life. My friends will never know that I cry myself to sleep three times a week, chances are they're competing with that number. The last time I had a one night stand was fourteen months ago, and she made have been passed out but I honestly didn't care that much since action's action. I have always seriously considered a change in game plans. However, when you have the opportunity to ruin somebody else's night while your sycophant gecko buddies leap behind you like cheerleaders, you go for it.
"Yeah, walk away pussy. OWNED. Don't cry, now. Just as I thought!"
I am thankful you decided to take the high road. That fact of the matter is I'm not that tough, but most guys want to avoid fights for some reason. I've watched Road House 72 times. Fight Club three times that amount. I have, however, taken no actual training whatsoever because I'm actually afraid of being hit. I will NEVER let that secret out.
I will stand my ground, puff up my chest, and be the biggest Johnny Cheesedick in the whole bar. Chances of dying alone increase every day, so I push out the thought with cheap cocaine and Grey Goose. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to grind girl's ass cheeks on the dance floor without permission. They will try to move away from me in a non-chalant way and I will not take the hint.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
DODGING METROSEXUALITY: Footwear Faggotry
You've probably heard of Esquire magazine-- they're the assholes that basically shout at men that if you're not an individual that follows their rules, you're simply not a man. This, coming from a shitrag that has a full-page advertisement content taking up 45% of each issue. One of this magazine's missions in the last ten years is to eliminate heterosexuality in heterosexual males, saying you should go to day spas and own at least TEN pairs of shoes. The FUCK choo say, meng?! I don't understand this sudden de-ballification of the male species.
I'm not too sure where it started, one day a guy threw on a striped shirt, wore it to a bar, and the seventh seal opened. The base majority of males these days are so goddamn obsessed with presentation. I mean, day spas for men? Let me save you some time and money: do you have two eyebrows? Good. We're done. And don't you love when you see the dude getting the manicure done, but he's facing away from the front window so nobody he knows might see him? Just because you're sporting a shit-eating grin it, doesn't hide the fact that you've been eating shit. With the money you could save on those unnecessary metrosexual rituals you could be spending on lunch time rub n' tugs at that place next door to the cemetery.
But as far as shoes go, a man needs not ten. Four, maybe five. Those would include:
Universal Beat-Up Running Shoes
They have a few years of use, so they are perfectly contoured and comfy. You can perform minor athletics in them, chill out, mow the lawn or hop in a Delorean and make sure your mom and dad meet.
Sandals/Open Foot Summer footwear
Almost any place will get hot for a while, and shoes can suck in the heat. Keep in mind wear you stick them, since feet have a tendency to freak people out, or turn them on in the weirder sector.
Dress Shoes
Black or Brown, your choice. Something that isn't contemporary. If you work a dressy office job or the like, another pair would be perfectly acceptable. Putting tap plates on the soles would we rad as well, I did that for my mom to prevent her from killing me with a pillow in my sleep.
Steel-Toed Workboots
Yes, you should own them. When I was a teenager, I used them to kick white people with dreadlocks in the face while crowd surfing at Lollapalooza, as an adult they prevent my entire foot from being shattered. Not one to be worn around, but always kept handy. Like that dress you stole out of your ex-girlfriend's house. The lacy one with the feathered collar.
Extra option:
Sports/Cleated Shoes
Most guys over 25 should have golf shoes handy, even if you're not a player chances are you may have to play for some meeting or business expense or you're ordered to entertain the bosses nephew or he'll slit you from neck to nuts. Don't be that guy out there playing in lime green Reebok Pumps. In fact, why are you wearing Reebok Pumps? Aren't they like 22 years old? Sports shoes are also acceptable for a sport you may play in. No witty comment.
...Really, is there any others that you need? I'm sure there's some context of environment here, but I honestly think things are turning into the 1980's now the way the 90's were like the late 60's. Now, the music is sappy and shitty, the boys are feathering and styling their hair and putting getting laid first, and the clothes have no taste and will be laughed at in ten years. But the worst thing of all is this metrosexual surge. This exhaustive need for attention. We are men. We don't need six different style of clubbin' footwear. We don't need running shoes just to play video games in. We don't need to sculpt our eyebrows or shave our beards so they're as thin as a gnat's dick and wear sunglasses at night. Only Corey Hart could do that. And he was popular in the 80's. Which was three decades ago.
.
I'm not too sure where it started, one day a guy threw on a striped shirt, wore it to a bar, and the seventh seal opened. The base majority of males these days are so goddamn obsessed with presentation. I mean, day spas for men? Let me save you some time and money: do you have two eyebrows? Good. We're done. And don't you love when you see the dude getting the manicure done, but he's facing away from the front window so nobody he knows might see him? Just because you're sporting a shit-eating grin it, doesn't hide the fact that you've been eating shit. With the money you could save on those unnecessary metrosexual rituals you could be spending on lunch time rub n' tugs at that place next door to the cemetery.
But as far as shoes go, a man needs not ten. Four, maybe five. Those would include:
Universal Beat-Up Running Shoes
They have a few years of use, so they are perfectly contoured and comfy. You can perform minor athletics in them, chill out, mow the lawn or hop in a Delorean and make sure your mom and dad meet.
Sandals/Open Foot Summer footwear
Almost any place will get hot for a while, and shoes can suck in the heat. Keep in mind wear you stick them, since feet have a tendency to freak people out, or turn them on in the weirder sector.
Dress Shoes
Black or Brown, your choice. Something that isn't contemporary. If you work a dressy office job or the like, another pair would be perfectly acceptable. Putting tap plates on the soles would we rad as well, I did that for my mom to prevent her from killing me with a pillow in my sleep.
Steel-Toed Workboots
Yes, you should own them. When I was a teenager, I used them to kick white people with dreadlocks in the face while crowd surfing at Lollapalooza, as an adult they prevent my entire foot from being shattered. Not one to be worn around, but always kept handy. Like that dress you stole out of your ex-girlfriend's house. The lacy one with the feathered collar.
Extra option:
Sports/Cleated Shoes
Most guys over 25 should have golf shoes handy, even if you're not a player chances are you may have to play for some meeting or business expense or you're ordered to entertain the bosses nephew or he'll slit you from neck to nuts. Don't be that guy out there playing in lime green Reebok Pumps. In fact, why are you wearing Reebok Pumps? Aren't they like 22 years old? Sports shoes are also acceptable for a sport you may play in. No witty comment.
...Really, is there any others that you need? I'm sure there's some context of environment here, but I honestly think things are turning into the 1980's now the way the 90's were like the late 60's. Now, the music is sappy and shitty, the boys are feathering and styling their hair and putting getting laid first, and the clothes have no taste and will be laughed at in ten years. But the worst thing of all is this metrosexual surge. This exhaustive need for attention. We are men. We don't need six different style of clubbin' footwear. We don't need running shoes just to play video games in. We don't need to sculpt our eyebrows or shave our beards so they're as thin as a gnat's dick and wear sunglasses at night. Only Corey Hart could do that. And he was popular in the 80's. Which was three decades ago.
.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
HOW TO LOSE THE RESPECT OF YOUR FRIENDS/CO-WORKERS: A dissection of Karaoke Night
If there is two words that will make me do a 180 from a bar, those words would be "karaoke night". Goddamn it. Kill it with fire and brimstone. You know, sometimes getting hammered and singing for fun can be fun...to YOU. To everyone else in the room, they can't WAIT for you to finish the long form version of Harry Chapin's Taxi so they can give you a towel party in the parking lot.
As a D.J., I had to host these things on occasion. Rare occasion, since I told past employers that I would only do them in an emergency. Because no matter where you go, you will ALWAYS get the same people:
Guilty Party: The Flock of Shrieking Drunk Chicks
Typical Songs: Like A Prayer, I Will Survive, Wannabe
Guys will tolerate almost anything from a drunk woman if it means getting into her panties, so they tolerate this insane tone-deaf display as eight untalented tee-hees say "fuck you" to microphone feedback and eardrums as they pulverize your soul with horrible songs swung even MORE horribly. They invented outdoor patios for a reason, and now is the time to check one out.
Guilty Party: The Ladies Man
Typical Songs: I'll Be, Amazed, With Arms Wide Open, Angel Eyes
One thing is for sure: this guy is going home with pussy tonight because of his sweet skills with a mic. He dresses like a true playa and serenades the ladies like a true creep. His problem is, NOBODY is a star singing karaoke, even the talented ones. Instead, he lives in his delusional bubble until he finally ends up where he belongs: back in his studio apartment, masturbating while crying.
Guilty Party: Star Search Wannabe
Typical Songs: Just about anything, the table is open
He eats, breaths, sleeps, jerks off to karaoke. He once got past an American Idol prelim and that is his one achievement in life. He know where karaoke is at a specific bar for every night of the week. He has has time for about seven songs in the rotation, but hands in about twenty in case he gets one of his last second changes of heart that the host loves so much. He's CONSTANTLY asking "Am I on soon?" and when he is, he REALLY wants to get the crowd in on it, whether it's sing-along hand douche gestures or air guitaring like retarded kid at an Good Charlotte concert. He will he WILL rock you.
Guilty Party: The Guy Who Doesn't Want To Be Up There
Typical Songs: Something boring his friends picked
Dude, just because your friends badgered you a little bit and you're shy doesn't mean you have to go up there, stare at the floor and monotone your milquetoast ass into the mic for four minutes and kill every buzz in the room like you were paid to do it. Sack up and tell your friends to go fuck themselves like the sensible people do. You could BE that someday, champ!
Guilty Party: The "Cute" Couple
Typical Songs: Barbie Girl, Summer Nights, Love Shack
Shit-eating grins, singing to each other like they're trying to teach each other fucking magic tricks, these are the poster children for the Single Crowd. But no, go right ahead. Despite your awesome lack of ability, it's just SO fucking hilarious and original when she sings the man part and he sings the girl's! Seriously, I've never seen that before. Where is the redneck crowd from The Blues Brothers when you need them?
Guilty Party: Dr. Shitface
Typical Songs: You probably won't be able to tell.
They tap the microphone loud, slur words, scream vulgarities at random moments, they can barely stand up and they don't give even give a shit that they're up there. But they WILL sing Hotel California if it causes every single one of their friends to ditch them prematurely, goddammit!
Guilty Party: The Guy who tries to sound like The Original Artist
Typical Songs: Anything from an 'Uur Band (Creed, Pearl Jam, Nickelback)
You don't sound like them, you aren't a singer, stop trying, dude. It's bad enough you're singing "How You Remind Me" enough as it already is. Now you're just raping a corpse.
So come one, come all. Have co-workers never look at you at work the same again! Get your friends to tell mean stories about you behind your back about your delusional self-talent! Sound like the world's biggest fag while doing the actions to "Knock Three Times"! Just count me out.
As a D.J., I had to host these things on occasion. Rare occasion, since I told past employers that I would only do them in an emergency. Because no matter where you go, you will ALWAYS get the same people:
Guilty Party: The Flock of Shrieking Drunk Chicks
Typical Songs: Like A Prayer, I Will Survive, Wannabe
Guys will tolerate almost anything from a drunk woman if it means getting into her panties, so they tolerate this insane tone-deaf display as eight untalented tee-hees say "fuck you" to microphone feedback and eardrums as they pulverize your soul with horrible songs swung even MORE horribly. They invented outdoor patios for a reason, and now is the time to check one out.
Guilty Party: The Ladies Man
Typical Songs: I'll Be, Amazed, With Arms Wide Open, Angel Eyes
One thing is for sure: this guy is going home with pussy tonight because of his sweet skills with a mic. He dresses like a true playa and serenades the ladies like a true creep. His problem is, NOBODY is a star singing karaoke, even the talented ones. Instead, he lives in his delusional bubble until he finally ends up where he belongs: back in his studio apartment, masturbating while crying.
Guilty Party: Star Search Wannabe
Typical Songs: Just about anything, the table is open
He eats, breaths, sleeps, jerks off to karaoke. He once got past an American Idol prelim and that is his one achievement in life. He know where karaoke is at a specific bar for every night of the week. He has has time for about seven songs in the rotation, but hands in about twenty in case he gets one of his last second changes of heart that the host loves so much. He's CONSTANTLY asking "Am I on soon?" and when he is, he REALLY wants to get the crowd in on it, whether it's sing-along hand douche gestures or air guitaring like retarded kid at an Good Charlotte concert. He will he WILL rock you.
Guilty Party: The Guy Who Doesn't Want To Be Up There
Typical Songs: Something boring his friends picked
Dude, just because your friends badgered you a little bit and you're shy doesn't mean you have to go up there, stare at the floor and monotone your milquetoast ass into the mic for four minutes and kill every buzz in the room like you were paid to do it. Sack up and tell your friends to go fuck themselves like the sensible people do. You could BE that someday, champ!
Guilty Party: The "Cute" Couple
Typical Songs: Barbie Girl, Summer Nights, Love Shack
Shit-eating grins, singing to each other like they're trying to teach each other fucking magic tricks, these are the poster children for the Single Crowd. But no, go right ahead. Despite your awesome lack of ability, it's just SO fucking hilarious and original when she sings the man part and he sings the girl's! Seriously, I've never seen that before. Where is the redneck crowd from The Blues Brothers when you need them?
Guilty Party: Dr. Shitface
Typical Songs: You probably won't be able to tell.
They tap the microphone loud, slur words, scream vulgarities at random moments, they can barely stand up and they don't give even give a shit that they're up there. But they WILL sing Hotel California if it causes every single one of their friends to ditch them prematurely, goddammit!
Guilty Party: The Guy who tries to sound like The Original Artist
Typical Songs: Anything from an 'Uur Band (Creed, Pearl Jam, Nickelback)
You don't sound like them, you aren't a singer, stop trying, dude. It's bad enough you're singing "How You Remind Me" enough as it already is. Now you're just raping a corpse.
So come one, come all. Have co-workers never look at you at work the same again! Get your friends to tell mean stories about you behind your back about your delusional self-talent! Sound like the world's biggest fag while doing the actions to "Knock Three Times"! Just count me out.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
SOFTBALL: what passes for "sports" in your thirties
I guess one of the downsides of having a head injury is that you can't play contact a.k.a "fun" sports anymore. For me, it was no more hockey, no more wrestling, no more no-rules Indoor Riccochet Death Frisbee. Us guys, the majority of us in some way or the other love sports. If we're not trying to cripple our own best friends out on a field, we're screaming while drunk at overpaid millionaires on drugs at how soft they are between bites of an extra large hoagie. We love competetion and shit smashing into other shit. We'll drive a roadtrip all the way to Arizona just so see what happens to the car when we pack the trunk with fertizlizer and gasoline and then drive it off a canyon cliff.
So when you start getting older and creakier, you have to take it easier. My friends found a nice compromise: softball. It's still a sport, but you won't get killed by a wild pitch and you can drink beer while doing it, which is fine by me. "Competitive" is not something that's associated with me, but when it comes to some people they will die for the sake of their team (or more accurately, THEIR sake), which is sponsored by a dive bar and co-sponsored by that half-retarded guy with the scary-looking cataracts that runs the live bait stand on the weekends. It's unreal how many take this shit seriously, especially the men. I am sorry, you cannot be taken seriously when you're arguing if you're wearing shorts and stirrup socks. It's just plain science.
And boy do they love to argue, usually with solo umpires who are only there to avoid spending time with their wives for a few hours a week. Go ahead, throw your glove down in the dirt over a bad call! You had so much riding on this BIG GAME, after all softball (we call it "slo-PItch in the Frozen North) is what we like to refer to as Serious Business. If you can't beat the McCarthur Plumbing Buttmonkeys, how will you face your family? There they are, cheering you from the sidelines. You promised your son a home run and if you don't, he'll die of cancer. Your wife hasn't had a reason to date you since high school when you were a sports star and the novelty of making you wear your old varsity jacket while she fucks you with the lights off is wearing thin, so it's your big chance to win your family back. Ooop! You fouled on the third strike! Take a seat, ass-munch and wallow in shame as your son cries. There's no third strike foul here like those big league pussies!
Then, you have the Poseur ball players. Softball is NOT a sport that requires dire athletic ability. Most people can play it. Then, you have the ones that LIVE it. Draped head-to-toe in Under Armour. Backpack equipment bag. A spare ball glove in case your first glove wears out for no reason or is carried off by baseball glove bandits. Pinstripe pants too, because if you're going to LOOK like a total asshole, you might as well look like a Yankee and complete the circle. You're a regular dirt diamond handjob now, Champ! Now back to work on that screenplay, dude. They just haven't recognized your genius yet.
Then, we get to my favourites: the ultra-competitive assholes who ruin the game for everyone. Winning is everything, and if I have to scream at every single fully-grown adult on my team to get the job done than goddamnit thy will be done, or my name ain't Johnny Jackson. Don't swing at pitches that are outside, a walk's as good as a hit! Tag up the the fly, that chick in right field has a weak arm! WHY THE FUCKING WOULDN'T YOU TRY FOR HOME, THE CATCHER CAN'T CATCH WORTH SHIT!! WHY THE FUCK DID I MARRY YOU, BITCH!?!!?... Look, sorry, guys, Baby. You know I'm a little competitive, it's just fun to win once in a while, y'know? We're still a team. A family. And like a family, I will mentally abuse you the minute beer hits my lightweight lips.
So here I am, the pitcher on my friend's softball team. I have been hit twice with line drives in four years that I couldn't catch, though I was comforted with "You're lucky, getting hit in the heart with a flight-restrictive ball hurts a lot less" which is a warm thought while lying in dusty, sun-parched dirt while gasping for breath like Doug Quaid decompressing. Then, there was the time I ran around third and passed out at full speed and woke up covered in blood and contusions. I WAS however, "safe" because I managed to torpedo through home into the backstop face-first. That I don't recall.
So yes, so much safer here than contact sports.
So when you start getting older and creakier, you have to take it easier. My friends found a nice compromise: softball. It's still a sport, but you won't get killed by a wild pitch and you can drink beer while doing it, which is fine by me. "Competitive" is not something that's associated with me, but when it comes to some people they will die for the sake of their team (or more accurately, THEIR sake), which is sponsored by a dive bar and co-sponsored by that half-retarded guy with the scary-looking cataracts that runs the live bait stand on the weekends. It's unreal how many take this shit seriously, especially the men. I am sorry, you cannot be taken seriously when you're arguing if you're wearing shorts and stirrup socks. It's just plain science.
And boy do they love to argue, usually with solo umpires who are only there to avoid spending time with their wives for a few hours a week. Go ahead, throw your glove down in the dirt over a bad call! You had so much riding on this BIG GAME, after all softball (we call it "slo-PItch in the Frozen North) is what we like to refer to as Serious Business. If you can't beat the McCarthur Plumbing Buttmonkeys, how will you face your family? There they are, cheering you from the sidelines. You promised your son a home run and if you don't, he'll die of cancer. Your wife hasn't had a reason to date you since high school when you were a sports star and the novelty of making you wear your old varsity jacket while she fucks you with the lights off is wearing thin, so it's your big chance to win your family back. Ooop! You fouled on the third strike! Take a seat, ass-munch and wallow in shame as your son cries. There's no third strike foul here like those big league pussies!
Then, you have the Poseur ball players. Softball is NOT a sport that requires dire athletic ability. Most people can play it. Then, you have the ones that LIVE it. Draped head-to-toe in Under Armour. Backpack equipment bag. A spare ball glove in case your first glove wears out for no reason or is carried off by baseball glove bandits. Pinstripe pants too, because if you're going to LOOK like a total asshole, you might as well look like a Yankee and complete the circle. You're a regular dirt diamond handjob now, Champ! Now back to work on that screenplay, dude. They just haven't recognized your genius yet.
Then, we get to my favourites: the ultra-competitive assholes who ruin the game for everyone. Winning is everything, and if I have to scream at every single fully-grown adult on my team to get the job done than goddamnit thy will be done, or my name ain't Johnny Jackson. Don't swing at pitches that are outside, a walk's as good as a hit! Tag up the the fly, that chick in right field has a weak arm! WHY THE FUCKING WOULDN'T YOU TRY FOR HOME, THE CATCHER CAN'T CATCH WORTH SHIT!! WHY THE FUCK DID I MARRY YOU, BITCH!?!!?... Look, sorry, guys, Baby. You know I'm a little competitive, it's just fun to win once in a while, y'know? We're still a team. A family. And like a family, I will mentally abuse you the minute beer hits my lightweight lips.
So here I am, the pitcher on my friend's softball team. I have been hit twice with line drives in four years that I couldn't catch, though I was comforted with "You're lucky, getting hit in the heart with a flight-restrictive ball hurts a lot less" which is a warm thought while lying in dusty, sun-parched dirt while gasping for breath like Doug Quaid decompressing. Then, there was the time I ran around third and passed out at full speed and woke up covered in blood and contusions. I WAS however, "safe" because I managed to torpedo through home into the backstop face-first. That I don't recall.
So yes, so much safer here than contact sports.
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