The Idiot Board Post Hall of Fame: greatest of the internet's humour

From the one and only message board (or internet site for that matter) that I frequent, there is endless amounts of deep, depraved humour.  Here I thought I'd honour the people who make me laugh the hardest.  Only their member names will be used, nothing will be edited.

Noland and his opinion towards Taylor Rain:

Yeah, she lives next door. Her front porch is paved with broken glass, her living room is piled waist high in garbage and she sleeps in a bed made of burlap. She's poison. Porn is fun, but that chick is so fucked up the guys that rape women in Darfur would question her morals.

CharlesJohnson:

What the hell is with girls wearing "going clubbin'" dresses to the library? Three of them today. They just roll out of bed, hack up some old sperm, and go rent some DVDs? Because, yeah, the library is the Blockbuster of 2012. Holy hell do they do a big DVD business. They also had a few books there.

Effinshenanigans on Facebook:

 I've always felt that Facebook is the equivalent of giving someone a bullhorn, one of those super long fold-out wallet picture holders, and a bunch of acid.
Some people take all of that and sit quietly. Every now and then, they mutter something through the bullhorn and just leave the picture fold-out open if anyone is interested enough to stop by and check it out. They don't like acid, either, so they just toss that into the grass.
Others drop all of the acid right away (perhaps even dig some up from the grass that belonged to people who tossed it) and start screaming every vapid thought into the bullhorn while they hurl their picture wallet at people passing by. That way, when the other person stops and says, "Why the fuck did you throw this at me?" they can have an excuse to show them every picture in there.

Allord on the art of intimidation:

If you're a serial killer, looking like a serial killer is a perk, as it causes your victims to panic and scream a lot more after they gradually stir to realize they're tied to a chair that's hanging from a giant rope spiderweb in your own torch-lit torture chamber. It wouldn't have nearly as much effect if you looked like Pamela Anderson in a skin-tight milf-maid outfit.

Ballsack responding to a call-out:

Whatever, fuckhead, we all know you're a hack. Besides...what's douchier? Me being annoying or YOU letting it annoy you so much you have to call me on it? Sorry son, now go fuck your grandpa's ass. If he's dead, dig him up.

Beefy Phil venting:

Enough with the shortening of full phrases to letters. FML. SMH. MLIA. Enough. Type the full fucking words. Or else I'll just have to RYSWAGSUYCMMMBMICISNMIMDNCBGIDUFEYWCDCHTTLAHOAVAUA (Rape Your Soul With A Garden Spade Until You Cry 'Mommy Mommy Mommy' But Mommy Isn't Coming, Is She? No, Mommy Is Most Definitely Not Coming Because God Is Dead. Use Fucking English, You Worthless Cosmic Dingleberry Clinging Hopelessly To The Last Anal Hair Of A Vast And Uncaring Abyss.)

Kojak reflecting on old neighbours:

 That aside, Vanilla and I had two guys living beneath us. They were both meat heads..you know..BEEFCAKE! The type that couldn't use their necks and had to move their whole body in order to look left or right. They acted tough, and talked about getting girls and all that shit, you know, how they have muscles which automatically makes them alpha males. Anyways, every night or second night, without a doubt, it would be quiet, and then all of a sudden....
AHHHHH...OHHH YEAAAAHHHHH....AHHHHHH...FUUUUUUUUUUUKCKKKK
Like they were ramming each other's ass with no lube. Vanilla and I looked terrified, and quickly realized they were probably fucking each other. I think in the 'moment', the fellas downstairs didn't realize how loud they were. We would laugh and make jokes as it continued. But after a couple weeks, we fucking got pissed and couldn't understand what they could be doing if they weren't ass-thrusting. We started yelling back, "STOP FUCKING EACH OTHER IN THE ASS! OHHH YEAAAAHHHHHH"
They would stop, but only momentarily. It came to the point when they would blast music, and not beefcake I'm hard music with metal rock or something..no..not even rap music... they blasted (I SHIT YOU NOT ASK VANILLA) Celine Dion's MY LIFE WILL GO ON! I can not fucking make this up. And then they continued fucking, but no one could hear them over the song. And they expect us to believe they get girls 'all the time'... sure.
I mean, if they weren't fucking I don't know what they were doing. I'd actually have to go downstairs and knock and ask them to stop in order get them to shut the fuck up. Even then they didn't answer the door. The moans just stopped dead and no one would come, so I'd go upstairs and wouldn't hear anything again.
I would see them in the hall sometimes and ask them, "What the hell is that sound from downstairs? What are you guys doing?"
And without a doubt, they would always reply with, "What sound? I don't know what you're talking about dude."
It still went on though. It wasn't until their left their window open, living on the bottom floor, that a group of guys walked by, heard them, and tore them up and laughed and made fun of them, calling them out that they finally stopped.

 CharlesJohnson on Nicki Minaj:

Nicki Mange is not attractive, not at all. She looks like Frankenstein's bimbo monster. She looks squished. Almost as if she was made from a Playdough Factory Playset then someone smushed it under their shoe. Last time I saw a mouth like that, it was eating Quinn's boat. I'd sooner fuck Sam Jackson in that pink fright wig. She is a diseased manatee. I'd sooner feed my balls to T-rex.

Kubla Khan on the topic of fitness:

My million dollar idea? Mens only gym as the inverse of Curves, named, Curls. It'll have 18 squat racks in a row for bicep curls. Bench press can be doubled as bench for skull crushers. Two way mirrors all around so the passing public can gawk as they pose for themselves. Straight cash homey.

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Erin Wotherspoon and the False Entitlement Generation

To my ones upon ones of loyal readers:

I would like to introduce to you a fellow Canadian: Erin Wotherspoon.  Erin Wotherspoon has recently launched herself into semi-fame as a "serial dater" who targets Toronto men with low self-esteem and deep pockets and uses them to fund her expensive taste at the city's best restaurants.  Now, despite the fact this 23-year-old with an arts degree openly brags about exploits on the internet with her Tumblr A Penniless girl, bad dates & plenty of oysters where she goes on pricey dates and then 90% of the time condescendingly decribes the "2's and 3's" she went out with, and sometimes put out with.  This is apparently getting her a possibility of both a reality show and book deal.  Despite the fact she has NO credentials whatsoever at restaurant business or culinary arts and has very poor writing skills. And has no respectable employment.  She's an "aspiring actress" which is a paraphrasing along the lines of "Best Buy part-timer".  She's more than a serial dater.  She's a serial job-jumper  who has no gainful employment to date yet demands to be pampered and treated like royalty by men before throwing them in the garbage disposal while laughing about it on her blog.  This is the face of true evil: Real, cold, unblinking and reptilian.  And a dime a dozen.  Does she think she's the first woman to try this?  Use men to quench their sense of false entitlement?  Excuse me, but I just stood up, laughed myself sick and walked out of the room.

...back again.  So, Erin got the attention of the very popular social media site Reddit, which I believe is latin word for "dipshit".  Reddit is a place inhabited almost entirely by Adderall and Mountain Dewaholics who like to rage against the machine in their bedroom/ parents converted laundry room (that machine has "General Electric on it by the way) by thumping chest and trying to get the world to stop dating her "I'd ditch her with the cheque HURRR HURRR" a) No you wouldn't, and b) NO YOU WOULDN'T.  If you're out with her your insatiable craving to try and see her naked would prevent you from doing so.  I wouldn't wipe my ass with Reddit.  No, you are going to get the right kind of dissection, from smart people who know exactly the completely NOT smart, NOT original and NOT socially conscious fraud that you are.  You are what you are: the Lowest Common Denominator.  Your entitlement is sickening.  You were BORN pretty, you didn't work for how you turned out.  That's nature.  Do you think Ron Perlman wanted to look like a gargoyle?  How moronic is it to think you deserve to be fawned over just for being pretty?  If you said you should be treated better for being white, you would be run out of town.  It's not as offensive, but equally idiotic.  I just proved it.

...yes, Erin is pretty.  She makes a point of that seemingly every five minutes, and because of this and-- believe me-- only this guys get suckered into footing the bill.  Her game is to do whatever it takes not to pay.  Anything.  And this is her gimmick.  Dine and dash.  Maybe get laid, she mentions that to.  Here's something that she doesn't mention: she's a slob.  A pseudo-hipster who makes fun of hipsters, but she dresses like THIS for a date:

..that's her, in the flesh sporting a lovely three-wolf cutoff and sweatpants you wouldn't see on the rack at Value Village.  Mercury just exploded out of the top of the Hypocrisy-O-Meter.  In this article she complains her date was cheap for taking her to The Mongolian Grill while dressing like an insane bag lady who rips her own teeth out and throws them at invisible evil robots.  Let's drift from the frothing retard of Reddit and Digg and read some quotes from actual smart people:

I didn't know she was a near homeless schizophrenic. I give the mentally ill props when they can pull a fast one on us normies.

 I would laugh a girl out of the restaurant if she showed up dressed like that, I don't care how hot they are. And she expects people to pay for the meal too?

Kind of sad and telling of guys that just the liminal amount of attractiveness would let a girl like this walk all over them..... 

However, my favourite, and the one the sums up my point is this:

I like how she spends half of each of her blog posts smugly talking about how smart and innovative she is but is retarded enough to post a picture of herself holding her credit card without blacking out the numbers. For half of a second, I couldn't believe someone is giving her a TV show, but then when I realized that all she's done is reach the level of Honey Boo Boo I laugh to myself because these people don't realize that they are a part of the lowest common denominator of society and are being put on TV to be made fun of by everyone else.

...to be fair, she also posted a photo of herself washing her 1999 Sunfire with her license plate in full view as well.  Is she aware even what Social Media is?  Erin: when you write these posts down and take photos of yourself looking like loony-tunes..... WE CAN SEE IT!!!  Wake up.  When virtually everyone out in the world of social media is expressing contempt and vitriol in your direction, perhaps it's time to take a look in the mirror and say "Maybe it's me!"  Because it IS you.  What you are doing is a bad thing, and if you trumpet this on television or in a book to a national/international audience, you will NOT come out on top.  You will NOT look the hero.  You will become a celebrity people wish would fall off the earth, like Joe Francis or Jenny McCarthy.  You are overflowing with false-entitlement you never worked hard for to achieve.

You're also 23.  Do you think you can keep doing this forever?  When you've chased away or ducked out on every decent prospect for an actual connection and resort to banging younger guys at cougar bars because your looks went at 30 and everybody knows your scheme?  Let me spell something for you: this won't last.  Even if you get a 15 minutes it will only be 15 minutes and then everyone will dislike you except your equally shallow friends.  At least you'll have somebody to shop with while looking for Pizza Hut sunglasses at Urban Outfitters.

"These guys should feel honoured by this open invitation to date me."
-Erin Wotherspoon

...indeed.

   

THE RELATIONSHIP THAT WASN'T

Call me old fashioned.  I was born in a time when sexting did not exist, and we had to go to the store and buy a stamp, then use the post office to mail each other Polaroids of our wonderful, wonderful genitals.  And your boyfriend only showed them to his friends, he didn't post them for the world to see after you pissed him off when you dumped him!  You always wanted to be famous, and now you have your wish. 

But now there's this new so-called fad-turned fresh hell sweeping Cluelessville: Internet relationships.  These are not real relationships.  These are electronic pen pals.  You see, having a boyfriend/girlfriend in reality means that you have a flesh and blood person that you make physical contact with, share intimate physical moments with and occasionally knock the ol' boots.  It does NOT include telling her to diddle herself on her bed through a computer monitor. 

If you have never been in the room with each other, you are not in a relationship.  How easy is it so say you're macking mad bitches just because you've spoken to various females on Internet message boards?  How fair is this?  How is it possible for people to be "intimate" living 2000 miles away from each other?  Telekinetic sex?  I need SOMEBODY out there to explain me the logic behind this.   Sure, you have a "connection" with all the words you shared.  Words are words, you can be whoever you want on the Internet when nobody is there to call you out on your actual shit.  It's not the same when you're alone.  None of you have no idea right now as I type this at my handy-dandy lil' laptop I'm actually wearing a zippered gimp suit and a mask that used to be my dad's face.  To you, I'm NiceGuyStud87 on Fagsfordates.com.  Am I really?  Who knows?  And that's my point.

Let me lay this down for you one more time: that girl you talk to on a camera in Tucson?   She's not your girlfriend.  You have only ever seen her sit in an office chair and flip her hair back and forth 87,000 times in the last for months.  You have not held hands.  Been on a date.  That too-soon reach for the breast that sends your palms into cold sweats.  Dry humped your way into drunken first-time sex where you slammed her head on an iron bedrail and her dog licked your asscheeks in mid-coitus.  All that good shit.  Until you do, your pen pals.  And we ALL have more than one pal.

YOU'RE TUNED INTO THE HOME OF THE ROCK!

And now folks, it's 6am and we conclude our Sunrise Chat, please stay tuned for Mad Cat and Asshole Jack in the morning on Radio 101.3.

Mad Cat:
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD Morning Radio America!!! This is...The DOCTOR Mad C. and you can't Jack it without my main asshole, say hi to our people, Jack!

Asshole Jack:
Thank you Cat it's Friday, it's the WEEKEND and we're looking to give away lots of concert tickets, prizes and 101.3 HOME OF THE ROCK t-shirts that you will immediately use for the specific purpose of mowing your lawn.

Mad Cat:
If we call you and you answer your phone by saying "Prize me 101!" and slap your scrotum against the phone, we'll be sending YOU and a friend too see the band with the two other guys from Fallout Boy!  You know, the ones nobody knew.

Asshole Jack:
...AND you'll get to meet the band before they hit the stage for pictures and autographs!

Mad Cat:
We're gonna SLAY yooooooooooooooooooooou with a little Scorpions here while my man the A-Hole and I cut rockstar lines of blow to keep up our incredibly loud and obnoxious routine.  Here's No One Like You on the ONLY rock station that matters 101.3 HOME OF THE ROCK!!!! 

*song plays*

Asshole Jack:
...and we're back!  Man, is there anything better than German hair metal?

Mad Cat:
I'll answer that by saying "Hi-Yo!!!!" and playing some sound byte from a Will Farrell movie to show how in-touch I am with the Youth of eight years ago!

*Anchorman sound clip*

Asshole Jack:
You know, losers often stop me in the street when the recognize me from the awesome billboard of the two of us with our back to each other while yelling at the camera man and wearing sunglasses.  They say things like "You're a douchebag" and  "I'd rather listen to static than you."  Pfft.  Jealous.  Jealous of this 265 lb. Hawaiian shirt-clad scene celebrity who gets to feels up girls at wet t-shirt contests.  Of course I never go home with them, but who witnesses that part?

Mad Cat:
This job is tough, people.  We barely make enough money for the eightball apiece we put up our nose during this 4-hour broadcast.  You see, with limited songs in the morning and our inability to comment on social norms without shitting the bed we make up for it by using CRAAAAZY sound effects, idiotic contests and bringing hot women into the studio that only WE can see!!!!  And you love it!!

Asshole Jack:
You said it Cat, speaking of which beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee the fifth caller in right now and you will be spending $101.30 this weekend in DAVE AND BUSTER DOLLARRRRRRRRS!!!!

Mad Cat:
Just think of all the games of ski-ball, table shuffleboard and Power Tower that will buy you and your date!!!  Looks like you'll be eating in the FANCY section of that cesspool of noise pollution.   Maybe even walking away from the prize station with a Stewie doll.

Asshole Jack:
Changing the subject for no reason, we want to remind you to be tuned in at ten for our daily Fake Orphan Funny!

Mad Cat:
Good reminder AJ!  We'll be calling a random child at ten am to let him no his parents are dead.   If he goes ten seconds without crying, we'll be setting him up with tickets to the Jimmy Eat World reunion tour courtesy of 101.3 HOME OF THE ROCK!!!

*"Please sir may I have some more?" clip from Oliver!*

Asshole:
The ROCK!!!!!

Mad Cat:
THE ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WELCOME TO CLUB La CLUB

So the weekend is here, and it's time so hit the town, huh?  Want to go to a place where girls dance in large, bulletproof circles?  A place with bass notes that can effect the earth's rotation?  A place with an overheated dance floor where douchebags with popped collars grind your ass without permission?  A place where you can walk through crowded areas and have drunk people's sweaty shoulders hit you in the mouth?  Well you are in for a treat, my friend.

As you can see, we have a velvet rope out front.  This indicates importance.  You know you are entering a classy joint when there's a velvet rope.  It really screams "exclusive."  See also: "movie theatre" or "mall bank."  You will pay a cover charge that will gouge your ass like a Vlad III pike.  Of course, we're not going to let you wear your coat in the club, so that will be four more dollars to simply put your coat on a wire hanger, and don't forget to tip this soldier of fashion for having to walk up to a marathon-esque thirty feet.

Now that you have the honour of stepping inside the premises, it's time to meet our ready and capable staff:

"Are you sure this is you in the photo?"
I roll up my sleeves to make my arms look bigger, know the radio ten-code off by heart, and call all the customers "perps".  I am under the false sense that women are into me because I am a bouncer and I give a bad-boy image of security.  I also collect empties from around the bar and stack them in cases.  Later on, I will select ten customers at random to throw out so more can come in and pay the rip-off cover.   Then I will get ice for the bartenders.  I also watch Road House before my shift.  Always.
Ego Grade: B+

"I am a bartender.  in the Industry."
My name is probably Ricky, and I do a LOT of preacher curls at the gym.  I have seen Cocktail 237 times and it still gives me the hippy-hippy shakes.  I treat hot women like royalty and all male customers with humble scorn, sometimes calling them "chief" or "bro".  I will charge you seven dollars for a Red Bull and allow you to drink one third the can, dumping the rest out of the sink.  Sometimes I will ignore paying customers for eight straight minutes to yak with my hot co-workers, finally serving them with a purely condescending manner to charge them eleven dollars for two dollars worth of beverage.  Don't forget to tip your bartender, folks.  Or his pee is going into your long island ice tea.
Ego Grade: A-

"Dude, I'm trying to spin here."
AWWWWWWWWWWWWWW yeah son this track is SLAMMIN.  I am a DJ.  I bring this up in virtually every conversation I have ever had with a new person.  I don't actually know how to mix songs, but my laptop secretly solves that problem for me.  I hardly do a thing and get paid eight times the amount of the door staff while playing pre-recorded music by various artists.  If you are a hot girl, I will invite you in the booth in hopes of rubbing up against you, if you are a dude I will flip on my headphones when I see you in my peripherals so I don't have to tolerate your bullshit requests.  Fuck off, I have magic to create here.
Ego Grade: A to B

"I have the power to fire you monkeys."
I am the bar manager.  Not the bar owner, but a guy can dream.  I wish Tony would sell me this place, I would have it SO bumpin'.  Instead, I use my little authority to keep employees on eggshells and sexually harass the hot females staff members by overstating my leverage.  When a fight breaks out, I believe I have the authority to use a blunt-force weapon in the fight, and will direct the arriving police at only customers to avoid red tape.  I have perfected skimming the count to perfection and have a lot of chest hair.  FUCK I wish I owned this place.
Ego Grade: infinity

There are various areas of the club.  First upon your arrival is the parking lot, which will consist of many poorly-parked cars by not-so-sober drivers who pee on handles of other cars after spilling out into the dirty gravel.  Guys will throw empties against granite brick walls and yell "LET'S GET SOME FUCKIN' PUSSY BOYYYYYYYYZ!!" while girls will stumble in painfully tall heels on poorly-graded construction clay.  After that little obstacle course you arrive at the front door, which consists of a long line to the right of ugly people, a shorter line to the left of good-looking people, and an invisible line where if you look close you will see women with breasts appear in front of the bouncers for a split second, then magically disappear into the club.

After the shitshow wait in line watching your friends hit on girls that hate them and listening to everybody complain about how "Fuckin' freezin' it is out here, meng!!!"  you are in the club, ready to cut rugs, dazzle ladies and put on a drinking clinic.  Of course, you have something in the way of that much-needed first drinks(s).  The Sea Of Money-Waving Assholes, a gigantic crush of mostly men waving various bills around in the air and calling bartenders "buddy" and "chief" and stealing tips off the bars by pretending to lean too far over and scooping them with their hands.  You will get drinks splashed down your side and have your feet stepped on by spiky high heels.  You will finish your drink before you finally get to your table, which will consist of a surface four feet off the floor with the circumference of a frisbee and will shake if sneezed on.

But hey, the music's bumpin' and you wanna hit the dance floor.  Now, if you're white like me this is already-- in its own way-- a lost cause, so the plan is to let the dance floor pack up with enough women and rhythmic ethnics that nobody will notice your terribleness.  If they're playing 90's R&B, that's the cue for females' asses to be ground by raging semis from behind.  House music is the cue for frighteningly happy people with large pupils to perform dancing featuring arms moving in many directions.  The top 40 and hip-hop is the usual flavour at most bars, which results in small groups of men shuffling around in trains between dancing women waiting for one drunk enough to start rubbing her shit all over him.  That's the cue for him to give his friends that sly "This bitch soooooo wants me" smirk and ditch his buddies to cut a rug with Coyote Ugly.  Guys, don't dance on speakers or tables.  Nobody wants that since it's for pretty drunk girls and if you get hit in the face with a loaded pint glass just pick yourself up, spit the blood out and accept you made a huge mistake.

Of course, you may need some fresh air to flush the pungent mixture of Axe from your lung so you may want to go outside on the patio, a concrete slab painstakingly decorated with nothing.  Here you can witness male customers on the patio throw punches at men walking by on the sidewalk and on the other end clothing-hating noisy girls sans underwear falling drunkenly when their heels catch on the slab joints.  It's a place where they force you to dump your drink into a shitty plastic cup and you can have menthol cigarette smoke blown directly up your nostrils by a woman that just vomited into an open garbage pail.  Drinks do have a habit of being cheaper out here so it may be worth having to shiver around umbrella space heaters, at least until you find a girl drunk enough to fall for one of your jokes that you stole from a stand-up comedian.

No bar journey can be complete with at least half a dozen trips to the restrooms, where people do things that by and large, are disgusting.

Eventually all good things must come to an end, and when those lights come on and nuke your retinas, it's time to start shuffling out the door and pathetically trying to locate fictitious after parties and desperately trying to score the leftovers.  Most instead will settle for street meat and discreetly throwing up on the cab floor on the way home.

Free cover before 11.

ART OF THE PUA (PICK-UP ARTISTS): No tools of the trade, just plain tools.

Have you ever pondered if the actual End Of The Internet is out there?  I talking about bottom.  Absolute zero.  The most unabashedly stupid bullshit you can possibly think of that could exist in the human race.  It's could be heaven, hell, Oz, or all three.  You roll the dice when you enter not knowing which way it's going to scar you for life.  It's like the most degenerate porn pictures you have ever seen: you just KNEW you would regret looking at them, but if you didn't look you would always have hindsight bugging you about why you didn't click on the link that said "ten-way barfcock".

This place exists.  Like the little girl in Waterworld, I have been there and have been scarred by it.  And like her, I can't take you there personally.  It's not because I can't remember, it's because I care about you.  Even if you're Hitler.  Because what was brought to my attention by members of The Idiot Board was so intelligence-insulting, so insane, and so impossibly hilarious it essentially defies the fabric of reality itself.  It is the domain of the Pick-Up Artist, also known as the PUA.   I have never been amongst a more delusional legion of ding-dongs in my entire life.  Exploring the Internet forums of the PUAs was like descending into a David Lynch movie but with more Ed Hardy shirts.  You have arrived, my friend.  The End Of The Internet.  Because such a final frontier as the PUA forums cannot be breached further: they are nothing short of being the work of divine intervention.  They have to be.

So now I have to either destroy or at least try to expose these clowns to the vast population of those out there who don't have any idea these nincompoops are out there in droves.  Myself and a few other board member infiltrated the PUA forums.  Let's just say it was a short journey, but it gave me an almost bottomless abyss of comedy to laugh myself sick reading.  To allow maximum impact, I will not edit spelling, remove or edit anything about the posts on these heavily-trafficked sites.  Prepare to have your eyes whirl out of your skull. It all started with this:

Hi all. I'm new here, and new to being a PUA.
I've got one major concern on my mind, and that is the issue of PUA Prejudice.
I guess I'd describe myself as your typical AFC. My game is generally lacking, and I find it very difficult to close the deal. However, I honestly feel of my problems stem from the prejudices of others. I'll give you a few examples:

1. I attempted to peacock, but the bouncer at my favorite club wouldn't let me bring my giant foam cowboy hat inside. Ironically, the commotion that resulted did attract the attention of several ladies - except they were laughing at me as the bouncer shoved me to the ground. Was I simply attempting a move too advanced for limited skill set? Or was the bouncer being (for lack of a better term) "racist" towards PUAs?

2. My good friend, who has been stuck in a quote-unquote "fulfilling relationship" for 3 years, keeps telling me that I should just treat women like actual people (his words, not mine). He'll say stuff like "Darth" (not my real name lol) "maybe if you just talked to women like they were normal human beings, they'd be more comfortable around you." Does he not understand that I want to get laid? It's
 difficult to hear such prejudice coming out of the mouth of a trusted friend.
3. Every time I try negging somebody, I am either called a creep, an asshole, or a jerkoff. I told a cute Starbucks barista that whatever she was using to whiten her teeth was working great, and she told her manager I was supposedly "harassing her again."

Sorry if this is the wrong place to post this, but I'm just getting frustrated dealing with PUA Prejudice. Wondering if you guys have experienced this, and how you have dealt with it.

May the game be with you,
Darth_Goatee

...You mind is blown.  I hope.  Now aren't you all glad you came to the show?  You think it ends there, but no.  These fuckers are everywhere.  Blind morons that are convinced that women are machines, and once you perfect the formula to crack said machine you will simply never be shot down.  Their formula is simple: wear loud asshole clothes, talk to them like an asshole, stay at arms length like a coward, suck at conversation.  They apparently can score any woman they want and kick her to the curb, but they cannot answer a simple fucking question like "How the fuck do you retards think peacocking always works?"  You see, here on Planet Reality when you dress in loud shit, like a gold-trimmed t-shirt, sunglasses and a fucking top hat in a bar women don't think you look cool.  Instead, their Gaydar is going batshit because they've found a new friend to take them shopping: you. 

You effeminate, shameless twats.  LOOK at you.  Look at how low you stoop just to get another sex statistic.  None of that "connection" or "meaningful conversation" nonsense.  Get her down, get it in, don't mess my highlights and get 'er out.  That is the fantasy life of a PUA, a fantasy that very evidently corrodes their souls like a Venus acid rain.  What we have here is the recipe for dying alone.  Even if these guys ARE scramming mad trim, out sarging every mothafuckin night for hb9's not suffering from Oneitis.  I'm talkin MAD Bethanys, bro.  Hittin that shit all GOD DAM DAY brah fuck yea....Sorry, Stockholm Syndrome.  Where was I?  Deep breaths.  Even if these guys ARE picking up all the time, their just feeding their aversion to connecting with females.  They're intimidated by them but still want sex like any men, so they use trickery over being a person and they sugar-coat it with terms like "seduction techniques".  It's so fucking SAD.

Let's continue this tragic roller coaster:

What I did right:
I went over wearing track pants and a tight black shirt so it looked like I didn't give a fuck (she usually sees me in suits), yet still looked good. Sprayed a tiny bit of Zegna Intenso cologne for the knockout punch. We sat on the couch, her on the corner and me real close next to her. I tried to make sure our legs were always touching etc. When she didn't pull away I built up the confidence to make my move. When she pulled out her phone and started showing me funny/sexy pics of her and her friends, I made sure to focus only on her in the pics of course, and pretended to ignore the friends.
At one point I just made my move and reached around and gave her a little hug and a kiss on the cheek. Started talking deep and slow, and using the usual sweet talk. At first I said things like "you look really good in your pictures" and not much else as I didn't want to risk saying anything to ruin the mood/make her feel pangs of guilt for acting slvtty. Then I just went in for the kiss and we started making out. I think the kissing part was key, if it's really good the girl gets all wet and the panties just fly off.
Other key tactics that I used: I did not become attached to this woman, who no doubt had serious issues left over from her childhood. She never knew her dad, she was physically and emotionally abused, and she had witnessed a suicide as her sister’s bf had committed suicide by filling his car with carbon dioxide. It was important to stay distant from this type of woman because not only did I protect myself emotionally, but I also made her want me more because this type of troubled woman (and all women in general for that matter) want what they seemingly think they can’t have. In essence, less was more.
So remember fellas, in a woman's eyes SCARCITY = VALUE

I'm sorry... "Protect myself emotionally"??? What a fucking spineless coward.  You're proud you're taking advantage of emotionally vulnerable women with plans of leaving them high and dry?  How do these fucktards sleep at night?   Just say what you mean: you're intimidated by women because you don't know anything about them.  The evidence is all there: you avoid emotional contact, use shiney things like ridiculous clothing as a means of distraction, you avoid in-depth conversation, you view women as a statistic and nothing more.  I can being a player in your 20's.  Maybe for a while when single.  But nothing but pick-ups and no relationships?  You think that train is gonna last when you start going bald and getting ear hair?  Wrong.  It will end, my friend.  And it could after your child-rearing years are behind you, but then again maybe cutting your seeds from the earth isn't a half-bad idea.  We have enough idiocracies brewing nowadays, thank you very much.  I mean, have you ever met a Jehovah's witness or a been in the bleachers of a high school football game?

It wasn't long before I just couldn't stand their their two-faced hypocrite ways.  No sane person could stand reading that jargon for more than a week, which is about all I could take.  I have a lifetime of memories from it.  I think in the end the final word for it is: sad.  Sad, because the guys on these sites are most liars.  Habitual, compulsive liars that lie about their lives to receive validation they do not deserve from other clueless liars.  It's time to stop being nice about these tools, they give the entire gender of men a bad name while treating women like easily programmable Speak-n-Spell.  Too lazy for social norms, choosing instead to suckle on the teat of the vapid level of the social scene,

Wean the little fuckers.

TO MY THIRTEEN-YEAR-OLD SELF

Jesus, dude.  What's with the track suits?  Do you own a single thing that doesn't have Beaver Canoe or Northern Reflections written on it?  They're called "jeans", and they've worked since the mid fifties so maybe you should stop raging against the status quo already.  Just because all of the girls are taller than you right now doesn't mean you have to go out of your way to stay unattractive to them.  While we're on the subject, those steps you have in the side of your head?  Yeah, they're yesterday as of next month.  Do you honestly believe MC Hammer will be playing arenas in ten years?  What is your damage?

Yes, you must think you're cool being the first in your class to own C+C Music Factory's album, but get this: you'll be able to hold 10,000 songs on something the size of your thumbnail in less than twenty years while you're wasting your fifteen minutes of fame on a fucking cassette tape.  You should be out in the yard with the cool kids helping them pick on the weak and ugly instead of designing your own movie posters in your science book, asshole.

Darryl Winkler is having a house party two blocks away while his parents are in Acapulco and here you are watching Die Hard 2 in your parent's darkened basement for the billionth time.  Steal that bottle of Sauza from the liquor cabinet since you're parents never touch booze anymore and show up at that party a hero.  No?  You'd rather piss away a golden opportunity at popularity to see McClane fight Colonel Stewart on the plane's wing again?  Your loss, ass-munch.

Nice guys finish last, and here you are doe-eyed and submissive to any half-attractive girl that talks to you.  You're one of few kids who bring a lunch box to school, shouldn't you be in the remedial class using safety scissors when you sport that sort of look? 

Ask Tanya out already.  She honestly likes you and you think she's hot, but no, you think public school dating requires effort of some kind you have no knowledge of.  BULLSHIT.  You don't "date" in public school, idiot.  You hold hands in the hall to demonstrate you've marked your territory.  In a couple years, you'll want to stick your Thing in this girl, but that won't happen because to her you were just that bashful little schmuck that never asked her out.  Swish that around in your mouth and let me know how it tastes, and take that abomination of a retainer out before you do you poltergeist.

Oh, and one more thing: stop being a Redskins fan after they win the Superbowl this year.

AND NOW, A WORD FROM THE GUY CREEPING ON THE DANCEFLOOR

"Dude, there is so much drunk, horny trim out here tonight!  We are walking away with pussy tonight or my name ain't Ricky Jakobi!"

I actually suck at dancing.  I've never actually made the honest attempt to be good at it, since I'm even to embarrassed to practice in front of the mirror.  Instead, we wait for the girls to pack up the dance floor like they always do, then randomly shove away around, grind a few asses without permission, maybe even cop a quick feel in the dark or two if it's congested enough!

"Oh, bro, that fine-looking chick in COMPLETELY eye-fucking me right now.  I just make a movement."

I am too pathetic to "make a movement".  Chances are the girl isn't actually checking me out, because I'm shallow and only try to grind the most attractive member of each girls' group.  I don't want to look like a fraidy-cat in front of my friends, so I'll think up some vague, macho-Confucius excuse that lets me off the hook:

"Aw shit, man.  Can't move in on that, there's no run-off for you.  No friends with her.  Let's move on, bros before hos!  Let's take a lap!"

Whew.  That was a close one.  I managed to save face and all I had to do was kill my soul for a bit.  Getting a drink from the way-too overcrowded bar area should kill time.  Maybe I'll bump into a girl so wasted she'll give me those "You'll do" eyes and I'll move in on it.  As long as she doesn't pass out before insertion, there's nothing wrong with it.  Whoop, another girl facing away from me, think I'll grind my throbbing semi against her leg.  Oh, shit.  She 's not into me, she's making that move when she goes to the other side of her group of friends.  Well, I'm a drunk fuckstick who thinks musical perversion is a sure-fire pick-up method, so I'll just keep chasing her around.  I'm sure she'll cave soon. 

"Hey, I'm having an after-hours party back at my place after the doors swing wide, ladies!  You should join us!  What, you have to 'work tomorrow'?  Your loss, sluts!"

That after hours party always has, and always will be my and my fellow douchebag friends here watching movies in the dark after we get home, not even finishing our first opened beer.  Tomorrow, we will tell stories from last night that we were all there for and boast about who out drank who, because hey.... that is all we have in our sad lives, which we sometimes wish would just simply end.
   

TOP 10: Songs That Can Go To Hell

I've been a disc jockey for one full decade now.  If there is one thing that baffles me about this remarkably easy and basically fun job, it's how people can still love the same shitty songs and sing along with them for the 5000th fucking time.  Some songs I could never get sick of.  You can never get tired of hearing a song like "Got To Give It Up" because they are simply too awesome and pretty much impossible to hate.

And then there's the songs that make you wish it was possible to un-produce a track.  And the biggest turds in that large bowl are:

10) MacArthur Park by Richard Harris
A great actor hyper-dramatically sings his way through what feels like seven hours of WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?!!  This song is responsible for half the suicides in America before the 1980's.  Donna Fucking Summer remade it into a disco hit.  What's next, a rain of blood?

9) Strokin' by Clarence Carter
Not a hit at first, Mr. Carter blessed the wedding world with a perfectly dull song for 55-year-old people to screw to.  The only people who dance/fuck to this song are people who were too old to watch Magnum P.I.  Christ, it puts bad visions in my head.

8) Amazed by Lonestar
To make a hit country song, just make it slow and talk about how beautiful a woman is.  The next thing you know, ten million rubes with two first names and boots made out of a deadly snake will think of you a musical genius.  I am yet to DJ a wedding where somebody with a moustache or bola tie hasn't demanded this song "For my wife.  It was our wedding song."  Real original, Jesco.

7) The Time of my Life- Bill Medley & Jennifer Warnes
If somebody requests this instantly dated migraine, first I look at them like they gave away the ending to a movie.  Then I play it, because if you've been to a wedding full of drunk W.A.S.Ps you know what's next-- some idiot couple is going to try that "lift move" from Dirty Dancing, only they don't realize that Patrick Swayze is a chiseled and all-powerful sexy Greek God, and Jennifer Grey is 5'1".  Instead, you get something better: humiliation and contusions when they collapse into the head table.  And I laugh.  Caution: insulting this song in front of a creature sporting a vagina can result in a no-sex finish to your night.

6) Sex and Candy by Marcy Playground
I will give you a million dollars if you can give me one logical reason why this uber-dull song was a number one hit for over a month.  No takers?  Here's one: it has the word "sex" in the title.  That's the only reason.  If you don't believe me, just ask Kings Of Leon.

5) What's Up by Four Non-Blondes
You know it.  And no, it isn't good in any way.

4) I'll Be by Edwin McCain
Lard-assed acoustic douche Edwin McCain turned any slow dance or karaoke night for that matter into a red nightmare that seems to melt panties away like ice on a summer sidewalk for some reason.  I think Edwin should probably drill a hole in his head to let the fucking sap out, personally.  Contrived, over-played sentimental horseshit.  If this song was any more gay, George Michael would be blowing it in a bathroom stall.

3)The Love Shack by The B52's
Women are strictly to blame for this unbelievably irritating bubble-gum faggotry, which they shriek along to like a banshee with its hand caught in a car door.  Was "Rock Lobster" not a shitty enough way to make white people look like idiots?  Who the fuck signed this "band" in the first place?

2) Young Girl by Gary Pucket and the Union Gap
You would have to be older than water to appreciate this song when it was released, but I think I'll let the chorus of the creepiest song ever made speak for itself:
Young girl, get out of my mind!
My love for you is way out of line!
You'd better RUN girl!
You're MUCH TOO YOUNG, GIRL!!!!
...Brrrrrrrrr.  I rest my case

1) Brown Eyed Girl by Van Morrison
I think the biggest issue with this song is that every single female in the solar system with brown eyes think that this bore is written specifically about her.  They become instantly smug about it, demanding a "dance radius" so they can make themselves look like an even bigger asshole.  Van Mo' made some great tunes.  This was not one of them.  This song is probably as overplayed as You Shook Me All Night Long, the only difference is this song licks sweaty skunk taint.

IS OUR KIDS LEARNING?-- How to leave the children behind

For the what seems umpteen jillionth time in the past year, my utterly unnoticeable home town of London took centre stage as shit-for-brains teenagers who re-define the term "lightweights" decided that is was their lawful right to torch a CTV truck and try to kill any firefighter, cop or EMS worker that dared intervene.  Granted, the cops retreated like bitches toward the crowd of 1,000 strong in full riot gear, making sure to keep their $300,000 water cannon-armed urban assault vehicle was kept sparkling in the parking garage of police headquarters while throngs of vile little turds chased tax-paying families from their homes, tore fences down, hurdled hundreds of empties at public servants and flipped vehicles over, including blowing up the earlier mentioned news truck with a barbecue propane tank.

So naturally, like the cowardly retards that ripped apart their own neighbourhoods in Vancouver almost a year ago, they posed for cameras, bragged about it on Facebook, boasted their supreme retardation on Twitter, and then allowed me to shame them world-wide right now:

Sometimes, I am just in awe that retard like this could even get accepted into going for a Cayman Islands Barcode Communications degree.

You see, Katey Meyer, when you post something
on the internet, the world owns it.  And you, Katey Meyer
have been owned, period.

But then again,  who's fault is it? the quick excuse for the kids that "got caught up in the moment" is to not blame THIS generation, but the generation that raised it. Well, yes and no.

Exploring the "Yes" possibility, parents collectively today are complete pussies. They don't raise their children, they DATE them. They buy they're love, never judge them with fair criticism, and never put a big mean red "X" on a test, because that might think they actually did something wrong.  The horror!  You know what my teacher did to stupid students in Grade Four?  If you failed a test, he would march you to the front of the class and make you read you lame brained answers out loud to the class, so everyone could bask in your dumbness.  That wasn't cruelty, that was tough love.  And it WORKED.  Had he done that nowadays 20 plus years later,  They would wrap him in razor wire, dip him into a salt water tank and let sharks gnaw his legs into bloody stumps.  THEN he would be fired.

The above whiskey dick poster boy for vasectomy
was filmed tearing down a backyard fence and
screaming "Fuck tha police!!" into a video camera.
I guess they didn't learn anything about the small incident
out west 10 months back when some innocent kids
in Vancouver tripped and fell onto some mean cop's
nightsticks.  Except you can't lie to the camera, Einstein.

 Then you have the much stronger "No" argument: this wasn't five year olds left unattended in Tommy Lee's backyard.  This was grown-ass college students destroying shit because a) It isn't theirs and b) It isn't theirs, so why the fuck not?

This is a simple case of shitheels that can't handle their booze and feed off the equally toxic attitudes of their fellow Shit-For-Brains.  Hey, they're throwing bottles at the cops!  I might as well too!  Hey, they're shaking that van with a family of five inside it!  I might as well too!  You can't stop a person from being an idiot if they're an idiot.  It's science.  It's not like they're PAYING for their education or rent, their mommies and daddies are!  And those mommies and daddies will have to be answered too when you they sent home in your second semester with a criminal record, an expelled education and a lost security deposit.

So in the end, nobody wins.  You want somebody to blame?  Look in the mirror.  You want to stop problems like this?  If a thought crosses your mind like "My son is a complete tool.  And seventeen years old.  Time for him to go out into the world!" then maybe you should think again. And maybe stop blaming yourself.  Somebody in their late teens should know better in the first place, so THEY are the problem.

Fix them.

ZUBAZ FOR SALE: Buy my gnarly meathead pants

For Sale: One Pair of Zubaz adult male XL (the extra large is for my GUNS, bro)

You could already look fly at the gym in these like-new Zubaz, and you too could look like a retarded meathead fuckstick just like me!


Imagine how cool you'll look, walking around with your witch's brew-like energy drink, checking yourself out in the mirror when nobody's looking, or at home wacking off to your ceiling-mounted Kevin Sorbo poster.  Believe me, I've done plenty of the three and it makes me the incredible-looking specimen with traps to die for that I am today.  Anything to mask the fact that my soul is dying.

Some people would want to know why a guy would wear Zubaz, or do steroids.  The answer is simple: to look astonishing to the ladies, faggot!  There's nothing that turns on a woman more having a body that looks like a mattress a bunch of stank homeless perverts had group sex on.  Do you know how many ladies have asked to touch these arms?  Plenty.  Granted, I never had sex with them since my generally poisonous and sexist attitude towards females serves as a deterrent, but scope these fuckin' BICEPS, bro.  You quiver in jealousy and fear, don't you?

So you need to buy these fucking Zubaz.  You too could have the legs of a baggy gay zebra in no time.  Throw in a loose-fitting sweater and Bandana and yer LAUGHING, bro.  You're the magnet and pussy is electrified iron.  You can't lose.  Losers lose.  Look at these arms, dude.  Would a loser own seven Affliction t-shirts and sculpted arms swirled in tribal tattoos?  Thought so.

Seriously man, just BUY 'em!

AND NOW, A WORD FROM THE GUY YOU JUST BUMPED INTO...

"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.

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.





.

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. 



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.

ME & LENNY

Lenny Kravitz and I have a few things in common.  For one, we both cheated on Nicole Kidman.  Except instead of the company of groupies, I banged Tom Cruise.  Another, is we smoke the scary and internationally dreaded "marijuana" for inspiration.  He uses it to write his psychedelia-drenched stoner rock, I use it to write half-assed sarcasm that pretty much nobody reads.  So, that makes us boyzzz.  To know how serious I am, take note the rest of this will be written while extremely high:


Look kids, we "stoners" as you like to call us nowadays-- with our custom vans and lumberjack coats-- give us a lot of grief.  It's not our fault, we smoke it to put up with YOUR bitchy intolerance!  Just kidding, I luv yas.  But what is so bad about the shit?  It has been scientifically proven (along with mushrooms) that they are less damaging in short and long term than alcohol or tobacco.  The last few celebrities that have died prematurely have been from those friendly prescription drugs-- mostly downers which eat your body like little Ms. Pac Mans-- they were murdered by their own doctors just to shut them up.  America consumes 83% of the planet's painkillers.  That is some scary shit, why so much pain?

Pot smokers, they aren't tough to deal with.  I mean, even if we DO bother you, you just have to throw a frisbee and run in the other direction while we admire how fuckin' round it is.  But we aren't putting that poison in our systems.

And we love booze just like YOU party animals!!  Oh, FUCK do I love to drink!  From straight Canadian rye to those faggy-looking mojitos, alcohol is a very important step in my life.  But there's a time and a place for it.   I can't use it to kill anger or pain, the wrong affect arises and I don't think my three-year-old daughter would appreciate me throwing her through the sheetrock after mistaking her asking for a glass of water as a midget home invasion because daddy wanted to see if Hemmingway daiquiris could help him to sleep.

We don't like it as an escape.  We like it for:

- A painkiller.  Which is what I use it for (usually)
- A medical usage.  It helps with eye diseases, cancer patients, it's been proven to deflect tourette's syndrome and degenerative bone diseases as well.
- Allows you to rock out to your buddy's shitty jam band without laughing hysterically at the same time.
- Makes a trip to the movies more amusing
- Makes you non-violent, relaxed, easy to contend with.
- You just HEAR the music, man.  I see and FEEL the music, motherfucker.  Look at me when I'm talking to you... (sometimes people put cocaine in joints)

And we have Woody Harrelson in our corner, too.  I LOVE that guy, with his dilated, dead eyes and his love for the booya.  Amongst other celebrities, there's  McConnehey, Bill Maher and every band that played Lollapalooza in the 90's.  Don't forget Steve Jobs and this guy:

See?  It even says it under his photo.  You're gonna fuck with the Billions And Billions Dude?  He used pot to help prove Christianity a sham, don't we all owe it a little something?

If it's not for you, more power to ya.  But if you want to try, by all means.  I'll doubt I could get mad at my daughter the first time I catch her smoking it (and I will).  I'll feel like a hypocrite, and probably just be hurt that she was holding out on me. 

Or maybe I'm going to hell because I'm a fucking idiot.  Now, where's my propeller hat?

BE THE BEST LITTLE ATTENTION WHORE YOU CAN BE!

We now live in the "Me Generation". I guess it's shorter than the "What part of ME don't you understand Generation"

Ah, attention whores.  Without you 90% of my rants would be about dried ketchup around the bottle rim.  Ironic for me of all people to belittling the club I am so avidly a member of, but there are classifications.  I fall into the category of the Ugly Truthers- those who will expose you for what you factually are.  Then, there are others...

The Pop Star:
It seems that every female singer nowadays took a cue from The Prodigy's Keith Flint and now go out of their way to look like the ugliest, scariest-looking Hell Clown imaginable.  I am talking DIRECTLY TO YOU Nicky Minaj, Lady Gaga, Jessie J and the like.  Face it.  You're horrendously unattractive and you got dealt a shitty hand.  However, instead of leaving us all the hell alone you not only embrace your mediocrity but you put it in bolds, capitals and italics.  I mean, look at Nicky Minaj.  No really, look at her.  If you don't, she'll die.
Minaj recently catapulted herself into the spotlight with a "unique" performance using an alter-ego like so many of the hideous bitches do nowadays.  If God saw this horrendous display, he would turn Atheist.  It was a disgrace to having eyes and ears, and yet.....two-digit IQ crowd lapped it up and called it brilliant and of course "edgy", the go-to word morons use when they don't understand something.  I call them wrong.

The Male Hipster
Women are hipster too, but women hipsters just stand there usually and do what they do best: look stupid.  The men however like to flaunt their loserness like a 16-year-old with a new driver's license: their brown-bagged Pabst, their solipsistic opinions towards anyone else's thoughts on pop culture, and of course their fashion sense speaks volumes for them.  For instance, a fellow Idiot Board member whathasbeenseen can speak through me for your entertainment:

I saw this Indian guy in the tube this morning with a haircut straight out of No Country For Old Men, some gigantic off-brand headphones, a ready tied bow tie, hipster glasses and blue wing tips. Mind you he was also over 6'3. I rubbed my eyes and just shook my head at how my brain could not process that level of a need for attention.

...isn't being ironic so...ironic?  Isn't also that the people who brag about how much they DON'T want attention actually want more attention than any other human being on the face of this earth?

The Two Girls Kissing:
Kids, before you stand in on me just hear me out: Ladies, we appreciate the show.  What we don't appreciate is the fact you think we are naive enough to buy into the show.  It isn't real.  You won't actually be scissoring each other later on and you never go past first base because you CRAVE MALE ATTENTION.  To the women that actually ARE into this, well, you go girl!

I'm Awesome:
The internet gave way to a flood of people who never would have become famous through Hollywood or other pop culture machines-- many of them "normal" people just talked about their own life, some exploded into popularity like Tucker Max and The Philadelphia Lawyer.  It was observational humour written with brutal honesty, the problem is is spawned 100,000 other repulsively egotistic douchebags who tried to use megalomania as a front and is fails miserably.  Sure it gave them temporary fame, but not in the way they wanted.  John Fitzgerald Page tried  to demonstrate to women how awesome he was in every department, but he didn't admit to the fact that he was a balding, out-of-shape cunt.  His match.com post to some woman says it all:

"I think you forgot how this works. You hit on me, and therefore have to impress ME and pass MY criteria and standards - not vice versa. 6 pictures of just your head and your inability to answer a simple question lets me know one thing. You are not in shape. I am a trainer on the side, in fact, I am heading to the gym in 26 minutes!
So next time you meet a guy of my caliber, instead of trying to turn it around, just get to the gym! I will even give you one free training session, so you don't blow it with the next 8.9 on Hot or Not, Ivy League grad, Mensa member, can bench/squat/leg press over 1200 lbs., has had lunch with the secretary of defense, has an MBA from the top school in the country, lives in a Buckhead high rise, drives a Beemer convertible, has been in 14 major motion pictures, was in Jezebel's Best dressed, etc. Oh, that is right, there aren't any more of those!

Regards,
John

...wow.  WOW.  An 8.9, huh?  Naked, perverted gay 300 pound men find this dipshit to be quite a dish.  There are so many of these dinks out there: Arthur Kade, Ryan Milliron, Joey Porsche and of course the sensuous photos of Lee Hotti and his boyyyyyyyyyyyyz.  Winners all.

So, where do we go from here?  The internet and TV has given everyone a license to stand on a soapbox and do whatever the fuck they want, so that's that.  What can the rest of us do?  Well, if you're one of us, you can expose these tools.  The only way to end a trend is to stop liking it, and you can start by not liking Jersey Shore.



THE HIPSTER RANT

Urban Outfitters everywhere rejoice: the hipster fashion grows more and more each day, spawning out from it's bacteria-spore mother ship parked in the sewers of Brooklyn into as far as my home of Canada.  Nowadays, we have jerk everywhere wearing safety glasses, neon-coloured plaid shirts, moustaches, and poor hygiene.

The Hipster considers themselves the ultimate rebel of society today: they don't wear the trendy things (because it's easier and cheaper to steal if from donation bins), the don't listen to trendy music (because it's awesome to listen to music that isn't good enough to be liked) and they don't do trendy things like socialize outside their so-called "group, take showers or work full-time.  They are trust fund cheque-wielding spoiled brats and wounded ex-dweebs (actually, NOT ex) that have never worked hard for anything in their life, so they disguise this by dressing in such humiliating swag homeless people flip change at THEM.  They stink, drink Pabst (aka turkey vulture piss) to show off their "ruggedness" and absolutely HATE paying bills, so they usually live at least 17 to each studio apartment.

Of course, this is all about "rejecting the norms of society".  The problem is, when people rejected norms in the past, it worked.  There's now way to shock and impress us anymore.  Back in the 50's, Milton Bearle would dress up in drag onTV and people watching would laugh themselves sick.  Saying "Fuck you" to the norm doesn't work anymore, because the norm in now Norman Bates.  But, that doesn't stop Hipsters from trying.  I just can't wrap my head around what they're trying to prove: They're always ugly, pale, disheveled, out of shape, and look they they get their entire calcium intake from eating 2 Rolaids per day.  However, in their own eyes they are the epitome of cool.  Never looking up from their Blackberries and rolling their eyes and sighing whenever anybody tries to explain ANYTHING to them.

Hipsters are a fucking disease.  I used to think that douhebags (metrosexuals) were the greatest social group threat to society.  I was dead wrong.  At least douchebags have jobs and ambition, even if that ambition in to have the shiniest forehead in the universe.  The Hipster plague just keeps on growing, popularizing skinny jeans, fake glasses and self-starvation.  They constantly bitch about people that get everything handed to them, while they themselves are the one always sucking on the teet of society.

Wean the little bastards.

You won't be needing that calculator
on your watch to count how many friends
you have, cool dude.

.

TOP 10: Celebrities We Could Do Without

10) Katy Perry
This super-stacked raven would be great if she were a fucking mute, but unfortunately bubble-headed girl everywhere like bouncing around their poster-laden rooms to her tired, recycled tripe that caters to Idiot America.  She can't sing well at all and despite her firm position that she's original she is anything BUT.  I do admire the fact that's she can actually put on more make-up than The Ultimate Warrior, so you go girl.

9) Stephen Colbert
Dude, we get it.  I'll give credit where it is due: Colbert is the master of sarcasm and throws it together in statements brilliantly, but he has no "off" switch and it's really starting to get old with the same routine over and over and OVER again.  At least Jon Stewart gives us the opportunity to take him seriously, this guy I just can't figure out anymore.  Change the record.

8) Kanye West
You can explain to me all you want how he's a "musical genius".  No, he isn't.  He's Puff Daddy 2.0, a guy who should have stayed in front of the studio glass instead of behind it so we wouldn't have to be constantly bombed by his weekly bouts of retardedly megalomaniacal stunts.  Metrosexual douchebag numbskulls like this make me sick, and you should feel the same way.

7) Ke$ha
Without a doubt one for the "Why the fuck?!?" pile.  Can't sing, can't rap, songs that sound like cavemen beating amplifiers to death with rocks.  She has the face of a shaved rat and the body of a tackling dummy.  She is worthless in every way, and those "porn" pictures of her were vomit-inducing to say the least.  Enjoy your future drug overdose after MTV idiots wake up to your lack of talent, girlfriend.

6) Jay Leno
I have long lost any respect I may have had for the host of The Tonight Show the minute he refused to bow out and let Conan O'Brien deservedly take over in his place.  Aside from not being funny and having a face dying to be slapped, he snubbed out Conan leaving him jobless and the rest of us wondering why this dipshit still has a job in the first place.  Even Headlines is tiresome now.  Fuck off.

5) Mathew McConnehey
Why?  Why are you still famous and headlining these terrible movies?  When you were Wooderson, you were the coolest character ever.  Now you're a fucking joke.  Smoke more weed, broham.

4) Lady Ga-Ga
I have seen fire hydrants with more sex appeal than this irritating Madonna wannabe.  Her fashion sense alone should have her killed by firing squad, but we also have to deal with her unabashed insanity, airport hangar-sized ego and second-rate house music beat ripoffs.  Bitch, I've seen piles of dogshit cuter than you and they probably smell better too.

3) Kim Kardashian
"Celebrity".  HA!!!!! "Useless retard" fits it better.  This good-looking but unrepentant champion of all sluts is a fucking disgrace and possibly the stupidest woman in California, if not America.  You could get the clap just by looking at one of her photos.  I'm sorry, you can do Sketchers ads and appear at every single awards ceremony all you want, you let a fifth-rate rapper give you a porno golden shower for the world to see and you suck at life, period.  Please kill yourself, and take your equally worthless sisters with you.

2) Glen Beck
Meet the new century's poster boy for vasectomy: Glen Beck, the tear-shedding, single digit IQ rambling Mormon (big surprise) who carries the flag of the world's worst news network, Fox.  From flip-flopping on Health Care issues monthly to having a nervous breakdown on air because America elected a black president (who he often compares to Adolph Hitler), isn't it time we threw this fat racist fuck into Mt. St. Helens already?  He redefines "worthless", and targets naive, stupid people as his audience (which explains his huge popularity).

1) Charlie Sheen
Charlie Sheen is a bag of shit.  Aside from threatening to beat up his boss to getting entire show seasons cancelled to doing blow with porn stars less than half his age to being a FUCKING 9/11 Truther (those stupid assholes that think 9/11 was an inside job) to trashing hotel rooms, this guy has dozens of different ways for demonstrating his knack for irresponsibility.  Tiger Blood?  Vatican Assassin Warlocks?  It's a party, man!  WINNING!!!!!!!!!!

ROOMMATES: Society's Russian Roulette

Have you ever had the perfect roommate?  You know, the guy who always pays his share of the rent, does the dishes, cleans up his room, doesn't play video games naked for ANY reason, etc?  Of course you didn't.  You got the guy that built skyscrapers out of pizza boxes, put Nair in your shampoo and shaved your eyebrows off in your sleep.  You were probably that asshole at one in your life, too.  Remember when your laundry got so out of control in college you abandoned it like a foreclosed house at the end of the year, or when you used to steal money out of the purse of whichever girl your roommate was banging?  Of course you do.  But which roommates are you familiar with?  The most well-known are:

Lady MacBeth
There's nothing wrong with somebody that's a neat freak.  You get sick less and you don't have to worry about being humiliated when you bring company over.  However, his incessant bitching about not putting the sponge back in the sponge tray or leaving clothes hanging over the top of your laundry hamper is enough to get on anybody's last nerve after a while.  Jesus, man.  You just vacuumed 4 hours ago.  Relax.

The Exhibitionist
Some guys are just waaaaaaay too comfortable with their sexuality, and often advertise this pride by never wearing clothing at any time unless the law forces them to.  There are no boundaries with this guy, and bringing home dates to find him watching action movies nude in your living room is sure to staple a no-sex clause to the end of your evening.  We get it, man.  You're your "own man".  Well, the rest of us have appetites that we'd like to return some day and they won't as long as your testicles have become the third roommate of our home.

The Prankster
Sure, he can be the life of the party.  Pranks are only funny when they're NOT happening to you, though.  And whether you're nearly breaking your arms falling on the kitchen floor he's buttered or pissing your pants at night because he uses the bowl of water trick, it becomes tiresome when you have to watch your back constantly in your own home.  Ditto with getting camera ambushed in the shower or taking a dump.

The Fungus Amongus
Who needs to do laundry when you can just spray your dirty clothes with Right Guard and wear them again and again?  Slobs usually aren't bad people at heart, but moguls of old clothes, silverfish infestations and black mould are about as sexy as a death camp tour.  Laundry is not a difficult task and putting your dishes in the dishwasher takes all of 10 seconds, you lazy asshole.  Also, air freshener isn't a fucking deodorant.  You stink, Stinky.  Clean up your act.

The Slider
Here is one of the greatest roommate pests: it starts off with a friendly and innocent "mind if I crash on your couch a few days?"  You know him, so you can't say no.  He promises to chip in during his stay, which never happens.  However, the days soon become weeks, and you are supplying 100% of his food, lodging, cigarettes beer and anything else he can welch from you.  Soon enough, you basically have a kid you never knew you have.  Only revealing the hard truth can get rid of this menace.

Cannonball
It's your first place, you own castle, and for the first time you can treat your home however you want.  Why not destroy everything you see?  Drop an elbow on the coffee table like Randy Savage used to.  You've always wanted to see if you could punch through the wall like Robocop, why not try it on your roommate while he's studying?  Hell, pick him up and throw him into the ceiling fan while you're at it!  Wrecking a household item or two is commonplace in college, but it gets tiresome+ quick and nobody's getting laid bringing home a girl to a house with no sheet rock dividing the rooms.  Kiss your deposit goodbye, and enjoy taping drywall by yourself, cool dude.

Dude Awesome
He cooks, he cleans, he pays bills on time and he's into the same shit as you.  He even floats you if you're having financial woes and he's never in the way.  In other words, he does not exist.

The Roommate's Girlfriend
This starts as a few platonic sleepovers and eventually you have a female living amongst you.  Naturally, there are different girlfriends for roommates.  Some only come over sporadically, always giving you a friendly "hi" when they do rarely see you.  The other lives with him a lot, but help cook meals, cleans up and never hogs the washroom or TV because she is aware this isn't truly her home.  However, the one that YOU get stuck with eats all your leftovers without permission, uses all the hot water in the shower as she plugs up the drain with her nappy-ass hair and litters your furniture with her nappy-ass cat (who also moved in with her).  Hogging the TV constantly to watch her precious, idiotic reality TV.  She leaves her clothes scattered everywhere meanwhile making scornful, passive-aggressive remarks about how messy the place always is, meanwhile she chips in NOTHING on food or rent.  It is perfectly fine to call her a cunt at this point.

That is all for now.  If you can think of any for me to add, feel free to drop me a line and I'll happily add it.