Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Black and Red Friday

Man dies after collapsing in shopping center during Black Friday (Link)

Phew, and I thought America was beginning to have a soul. Am I seriously the only one that sees this coming every Black Friday? Have these department stores realized that they need stationed guards and mounted turrets to keep these fuckin’ animals under control? You think they’d learn.

And I can definitely imagine the thoughts of the soulless shoppers that passed over the poor man’s body. “Was that a dead guy? Ah well, I’m too far past him. The next customer will help him out.” Oh, and future warning to those of you with heart conditions: You wouldn’t put yourself in the midst of a herd of buffalo. Why is this situation any different? Animals are animals.

P.S. At least this man had some good taste. It was Target he was at after all.

The Sandman's a Dick

So, I’m almost too tired to write a blog post today. If I stop making sense (which is nothing unusual for me) ignore it. Anyway, my state of condition has actually brought about my choice of topic for today: an expression of my unbelievable hatred towards whoever it was that decided that America should start working long before the sun comes up.

Every morning I venture into Boston for work, the owls are still hooting and coyotes are howling. Now, I’m not positive, but I’m pretty sure that colonial America used to use the appearance of the sun in the morning as a sign that it’s time to get to work. Fuck, our forefathers probably did the same shit. I thought we were supposed to be a progressive nation, yet we are subjecting ourselves to abnormal and probably unhealthy sleep patterns. How are we supposed to create more Steve Jobses when we are numbing our minds by lack of sleep?

I would prefer to wake up and see the sun smiling in my face and birds chirping: “Chiz! Chiz! Oh, what a glorious morning to make progress in your otherwise dull, meaningless life!” Instead, I got crickets and owls talking shit about me: “What’s this piece of shit doing up at this time? This is our time to chill and shit, and this muthafucka’ is ruining it.” Getting up this early isn’t only detrimental to my psyche but also the animals’ chill-time.

So, who the fuck woke up at 4:00am one day and said, “well, I’m up…” The only rational conclusion I can conjure up is that one day, Billy was frightfully awoken by the scariest dream ever. He couldn’t stand being in his house because it related too much to his nightmare. So, Billy got out of bed and went to work early. Billy’s boss, Barney, caught wind of Billy’s supposed enthusiastic willingness to start the work day early from the office fat mouth, Becky. Barney was so inspired by Becky’s account of Billy’s initiative, that he forced every other employee to come in at the same time. Surrounding companies heard that their competition was getting more shit done through this new initiative; therefore, they instituted the same fuckin’ shit, and it spread like herpes. Companies began fucking each other and had shit babies with dumb shit gahhh.

Anyway, I think it’s silly, plain and simple.

Monday, November 28, 2011

Occupy This

The content of today’s rant is regretfully less frivolous than those previous. I know I said I would never dabble with politics, and I aim to keep that promise. The fragile topic of this post is the Occupy movement. But, don’t fret, I will attempt to keep my political views concealed and solely criticize the unfortunate course this protest has taken.

When the protest began, it was to my understanding that the 99% included all citizens under the wealthy 1%. However, recent events have shown that a majority of protesters have forgotten this. The activists believe that anyone who opposes their point of view is included in this 1% no matter their wage. I’m going to pull some South Park shit and urge them to rethink their campaign if this is what they hold true. It seems that the majority of Occupy now believes in the 70% and the 30%.

However, is this a result of a protest that has become tragically misinterpreted? I should tell you now that I work in the Financial Reserve Building by South Station in Boston. The site of Occupy Boston is located right out from of my place of work. Therefore, I can testify that the progression of this movement has been horrifically damaged and overrun by pseudo bohemians and uninformed extroverts. I walk by the site nearly every day and I see protesters waving their arms emphatically and twirling around most likely due to some psychedelic trip. I even see activists performing rain dances. These extreme leftists seem to disparage all religions, yet they resort to pagan rituals themselves. It’s pretty fuckin’ odd if you ask me.

Also, when this movement appeared in Boston, every day I worked I would see coordinated marches and speeches. Now, all I see is tattered tents and tumbleweeds. Don’t blame it on the weather either; it’s been beautiful in Massachusetts this winter.

I believe that Occupy is now stacked to the brim with unknowledgeable hipsters and drug traffickers. This video below proves my point:

What got me started on this topic today was after getting my 5th medium-blueberry-iced-coffee-with-milk-n-sugar I happened to witness one of the protesters approaching a nearby police officer to report a theft within the site. This frustrated me because these people are doing unto each that which they accuse the 1% of doing. They are receiving donations from several localized businesses, but they seen to lack restraint in delivering harm unto each other.

Void of whether I support these ideas of not, Occupy needs to get its shit together. Also, sorry I'm so unorganized with my rants.

I’m sorry that I’m not sorry if I’ve offended anyone. But, I am sorry for writing about serious stuff. On a lighter note, anyone think that King Hyperion is the most badass villain to hit the theaters since Heath Ledger’s Joker?

Friday, November 25, 2011

Silly Cat Videos

As you can tell by the videos I post, I am unhealthily addicted to retarded videos on YouTube. Have you every been surfing YouTube, and wind up on something so completely unrelated to what you were additionally looking for that you begin rethink your life? Well on this fine morning I started looking at trailers for The Divide (which looks like a great movie I might add). I then obviously migrated over to the part of YouTube featuring talking animals (who could resist), and finally ended at what appears to be the end to all ends of YouTube: silly cat videos. I'm not even a huge cat fan; I just find the videos fucking unbelievably hilarious.

It has been a whole hour, and I have not left my bed. I think I may have discovered the downfall of civilization.

Thursday, November 24, 2011

Happy Thanksgiving!

I just wanted to wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving, and for those intellectual pseudo bohemians who believe that Thanksgiving is a holiday all about robbing Native Americans of their land, you've got it wrong, this is about giving thanks for the things you have. You're thinking of Columbus Day; that shit's passed. If you're going to try to ruin Thanksgiving for everyone, meet up with all your extroverted friends and go boycott something by starving yourselves or whatever it is you things do. To all you who are celebrating the holiday like a true American: Happy Thanksgiving! Go stuff your faces!

This video makes me cry every time:
If you didn't shed a tear for this poor girl, you are a monster.

Monday, November 21, 2011

Again, Sorry

Once again, the evil demon of procrastination has got the best of me. I am also once again sorry for the terrible blog entry. I have horrific bags under my eyes; so, I'm going to make this quick before I turn into a cartoon character.

My brain is sore from the overload of bullshit. No, it's not aching from the intake of bullshit rather the output. What could cause this rare event of overflowing bullshit expel-age? My Western Philosophy paper of course! Similar to my blog post dismantling the inspiration of poetry, philosophy requires the same vomit meets paper technique. I have no idea what the hell I'm talking about in the paper, but let's leave it to the good old excuse: "I'm leaving it up to interpretation."

And, since I let you guys down once more, here's a silly video to make you giggle:

The only thing that got me through that paper was imagining this is how Socrates truly was.

Saturday, November 19, 2011

To The Few

Sorry, I haven't been updating my blog as much as I'd been hoping to recently (Although it's not like anyone is noticing). I'm busy attempting to do something with my life... Actually, that's a lie. I've just been busy with the two jobs on top of school. But don't you fret my imaginary internet friends. I fully graduate college in December and will have plenty of time to sit on my deflated ass and rant about more trivial things.

P.S. What's with 90% of my viewers being from Russia all about? It says my blog is being linked from sites displaying videos all about conspiracy theories. I hope I'm not relaying my democratic views to these commies, and I certainly hope I'm not considered a threat to any international governments.

Anyway, I will keep posting. I just won't be posting many of my typical long, drawn-out rants.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Death Metal Rooster

Seeing as there are countless blogs devoted to Death Metal, I'm deciding to sell out by offering a video that most of you blog surfers will enjoy.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

[Insert Title Here]

I can’t stand when I am moving around the blogs on this site and I encounter countless blogs with the title literally being “[Enter Brilliant Title Here]” or other variation of the same concept. Why one person’s lack of creativity drives me so insane is beyond me. Maybe it’s due to the fact that these so titled blogs usually contain entries of some lame family talking about how their children’s bowel movement went that day. Granted, no one likes my blog or even knows it exists, but at least ‘m making an effort to provide whoever happens to stumble upon this monstrosity with some original content. Believe me, I’ve tried finding blogs that share the same distorted views on trivial things as I do. But, try as I may, the only blogs that are constantly reoccurring are the people attempting to make their uninteresting family relevant, dedications to satanic metal, or numerous Muslim rantings.

Monday, November 14, 2011

Proper Popcorn Etiquette

Popcorn by jayneandd
Popcorn, a photo by jayneandd on Flickr.
Have you ever graciously shared a bowl of popcorn with your friend and have them disrespect you for it? Well that’s how I feel when I’m shoveling down popcorn and my popcorn partner disrupts me by rudely saying “Why do you eat popcorn by the handful,” as their limp, faggy hand grabs one piece at a time. Is there any other way to eat popcorn other than by the handful?

You don’t eat M&Ms one at a time; excavators don’t grab one grain of sand at a time; ravenous wolves don’t munch on deer blood cells one at a time. I’m fuckin’ hungry and if you think I’m gonna eat my popcorn like a snooty fairy king then you can go microwave your own bag. There is no enjoyment in eating popcorn one at a time because as soon as it touches your tongue is dissolves into nothingness wherein all you end up swallowing it slightly salty spit. It’s offensive.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Guide to Becoming Famous Poet

You want to be a world famous poet? No? Well no one gives a shit which is why I’m giving you people the gift of my foolproof, 5 step guide to making girls swoon and dudes do whatever they do when they read poetry. Prepare to detoxify all metha-don’ts and inject your mind with LSD (Literary Science… Dicks).

1) If it doesn’t make sense, you’re doing it right.

Choose any world renowned poet and analyze their highest regarded piece. Do you find yourself finding many interpretations and alternate views to a simple verse? The more a poem is open to interpretation, the greater attention it receives.
Therefore, do as most famous poets do and write a completely nonsensical arrangement of phrases. It doesn’t matter what order it’s in, it just matters that it looks like the structure that a typical poem would hold. Take my example for instance: “The rooster crows loudest in the East.” I just made that phrase up, but most overanalyzing literary scholars would attempt to find some hidden meaning. The simple truth is, I thought it sounded cool. I have no clue what I mean by this. When asked what you mean by this puzzling phrase, say, “I cannot reveal such details as it open for all interpretations.”

2) Use big, confusing words.

If you succeed in making the audience feel stupid, then you’re on the right path. Take a look at my next example: “Brandished by the unforeseeable light, the vicar brought forth his heavenly projection.” Do these words work together in this context? Are these words even real? I don’t know, but I think it sound pretty fucking smart. Remember, a thesaurus is your best friend.

3) Leave the rhyming to Dr. Seuss.

Ever wonder why poets often don’t rhyme in their works? It’s probably because they’re too high or lazy to do so, right? Well, yeah, pretty much, but they also do so to not sound childish (at least that’s what they say). Don’t burden yourself with thought; just write. If you’re spending more than 3 minutes on a poem then you’re thinking waaaay too much.

4) Capitalize random words.

This step works much in the same as step 1. If I take my example from before and capitalize a word, it brings about a whole other way of interpreting my meaningless sentence. For instance: “The rooster Crows loudest in the East.”

5) Originality is better kept in your butt hole where it belongs.

Stick to the basics: love, love lost, nature, some gay beauty thing. No one has ever gotten far by                        writing about what hair products Hitler used. I know originality is always taught to the young boys and girls, but fuck that useless shit and save yourself the trouble. Famous poetry is completely void of uniqueness.

The finish product should look something like this:

(P.S. Titles don’t matter. Make something up…

“The rooster Crows loudest in the East,”
Said the Father unto his child.
Brandished by the unforeseeable light,
The vicar brought forth his heavenly Projection.

The adolescent treaded through the river,
Unknowing of what his father bestowed upon him.
The current pressed Hard against his fragile mind.
The boy thought his Will might shatter under the pressure.

He found an elevated point in the river.
As he propped himself up, the sky sank closer.
And over the turmoil and Chaos of the rushing water,
He could hear the faint caw of a Rooster.

Okay, I timed myself and that took about 4 minutes. A bit longer than I had expected, but you guys will surely rush through these poems with more practice. Bullshitting is an art my friends. Now go and awe the literary world with your brain farts.

Friday, November 11, 2011

The Anatomy of Farts

Alright, so I have a job at the Federal Reserve Building in Boston. It’s veteran’s day and there are hardly any people in the building. I was even one of the last to leave the office. Anyway, let me get to the point. So, I’m leaving the office when I have the sudden urge to fart. I don’t like holding in my farts because they give me a tummy ache. It’s probably vital to tell you at this point that I do not know how to burp; therefore, the only way for me to expel gas is out my butthole. Nevertheless, I reach the elevators at 4:45pm. Usually on Fridays the elevator makes a straight B line to the bottom floor as everyone has usually left by now. I enter the elevator and the vent is blaring… perfect condition to release. As soon as the doors close I shoot the fahts out my ass. The elevator stops moving… but at a snail’s pace. Why you ask? Because of fuckin’ course it stops at the next floor. An old woman steps on the elevator. It’s starts to move again, and meanwhile, the woman is violently sniffing the air to let me know she smells my fumes. Whatever, what’s one person to think I’m inhumane. But then, the elevator stops at another floor… and then another floor. Pretty soon the elevator is full of snobby business men loudly sniffing my fahts. “What’s that smell?” each of the business people utter as they continue to pile on the elevator. I lied in agreement “Yeah, it smells like fahts doesn’t it?” They could all see through my lies; I was sure of it. Finally, after what appeared to be an elongated process of marinating in my own poop soup, the elevator reached the ground floor. The doors opened, and the people fled as heat from my fahts hit the cold air of the lobby and created a violent front.

I mean, that’s basically my story. However, the reason I relayed you that wonderful and magical story is to ask you this question: Why is it that every time you fart, there is always someone close by to come barging in to witness it?

It always happens to me. I’m at work, in the break room; no one has shown for several minutes. I take it as my chance to let loose. The sick heat seeps out my butthole, and as soon as the smell fills the air, some creeping person opens the door.

I feel like there is some sort of scientific explanation for this. There has got to be. I feel like human farts contain a hormone that attracts other surrounding people. If anyone knows anything about this, please clear the air (pun completely intented).

P.S. If you’re wondering why I switch from ‘fart’ to ‘faht’ at points well… it’s essentially for my own amusement. I feel like the different dialects act in various ways. Put simply, I’m a fucking lunatic who laughs to himself in public.

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Big Trucks, Big Wheels

Being a man who drives a Nissan Versa doesn’t exactly elevate my manliness factor to the highest degree, but as you are about to see, these big, rustic pick-up trucks aren’t the epitome of manliness either. Now, don’t get me wrong, carpenters, construction workers, landscapers, and other such workers have every right to own a pick-up truck. In fact, they need it. But, it is a select few people who completely ruin my image of people who drive trucks: Those who purchase trucks to boost their “manliness.” Here’s what I mean:

Picture a college student by the name of Chet. Chet is an over-privileged child whose parents pay for everything. Chet hates gays and all races. To assert his manliness and compensate for his lack of social skills and penis size, Chet uses his parents’ money to buy a big ass truck. This truck guzzles 3 gallons to the mile and, by itself, contributes to 7.3% of the world’s noise pollution. But, despite the economic and  environmental issues that accompany this slow moving hunk of machinery, Chet takes pride in his truck as he scoffs at all the sedans and hatchbacks that speed by him on the highway has he pushes his truck to the limits.

Why does Chet feel he is entitled to such superiority of mankind? Because trucks prove to be the iconic symbol of the physically embodied working man. Even though Chet works part-time at his father’s company filing papers, Chet wishes to include himself in this group (One can see this as an extension of my Northern Redneck rant, but it’s a case I must argue in its own).

Well let me tell you this, my car will last at least 100,000 miles more than any truck. My car gets 31 mpg. It can go above 60 mph. I don’t need to compensate for shit. Therefore, in the long run, my car will keep me financially stable while maintaining speedy access from point A to point B.

So all you assholes who think owning a truck automatically makes you the essence of manliness, have fun living in a pick-up truck down by the river. Plain and simple, if you don’t actually need a truck for the purpose in which it was created, stick to a car that will conceal your douche baggery and expenses.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Movie Review: In Time

I get free movie tickets because I work at a cinema. Despite that fun fact, I’ve never felt the need to walk out of a movie… until was subjected to “In Time.”

I initially thought it was going to be a great movie. Justin Timberlake plays the main role, and there isn’t a thing he’s not incredible at. Well, at least that’s what I thought. As soon as the movie began and I heard JT utter his first line, I immediately thought to myself, “wow, Justin isn’t acting very well.” I think we have finally discovered the one thing that JT isn’t good at. That is acting in this particular movie.

I also figured it was a pretty original movie idea. However, I realized that I already think of currency in terms of time. For instance, I bought Modern Warfare 3 yesterday and pooped my pants a little when I realized it is costing me an entire work day to pay for this (I got Elite cause I’m aweso—a sucker). So we can cast aside that notion.

Now, besides the horrendous acting, let me guide you through the rest of the reasons that drove me to prematurely leave.

I realize that clichés are unavoidable and sometimes necessary to convey a point in most movies. However, when entire dialogues are composed of nothing but cliché lines, it’s hard to take the characters seriously. The following is essentially the jist of most of the dialogues:

Fuck 1: “That’s a nice watch you have.”
Fuck 2: “I get that a lot.”
Shitstain 1: “Can you tell me the time?”
Fuck 2: “It’ll cost you a minute or two.”
Shitstain 1: “I got all the time in the world.”

I’m sorry, but that is basically the formula to which every conversation was comprised of.

Aside from my distant stance from the characters, there wasn’t any action in the first 45 minutes or so I saw of the movie. It was the same conversation over and over again. Finally, when we made the decision to leave the theater, a chase scene commenced. Finally, this is what we’ve been waiting for. However, after the 20 second chase scene, a car careens off the highway and is brilliantly displayed in some of the worst special effects I’ve seen in the past decade. SciFi channel originals put more time into their graphics. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not an asshole who’s obsessed with special effects; I’m an asshole who is bothered by poorly constructed special effects.

I could keep going about the overall poor quality of this movie. But, my train’s about to hit the station so I’ll bottle up my rage and let it loose on someone’s dog later (I fucking love dogs; I would never do that).

Bottom line: Don’t waste your…time… on this movie.

Overall rating: 6 poofahts.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Drunk Facebooking is So Cool

Steven Chisholm wrote: “Woaaah… I’m so drunk!!!1 I can barly speel I’m so drunk!. Man My lyf is so coo! Wah I’m such an alcoholic! hmu”

Yep… That’s the issue I’m taking on today… The drunk Facebook update. Now, as you well know by now, I’m the one to get worked up over the stupidest shit, and this is no exception. Of course all you Facebook users out there are well aware of the various statuses that socially deprived users are capable of posting. We’ve got the “I’m-ugly-please-tell-me-I’m-pretty” status, the “boys/girls-are-all-stupid” status, the “desperate-plea-for-help-due-to-some-minor-negative-occurance-in-my-otherwise-incredibly-opportunistic-life” status, and the obviously reoccurring “here’s-some-song-lyrics-to-express-my-depression” status. But, out of endless cesspool of attention whoring updates, the one that pops the most blood vessels are the “I’m-drunk-I-have-a-life-I-swear” statuses.

“Why, Chiz! How come you don’t just ignore them if you hate them so much?”

Good question stereotypical dumb respondent. However, the answer is… because I have a big heart. What am I talking about you ask? Well, whilst scrolling down my news feed, I come across these statuses displaying horrendous spellings and emitting an aura of desperate struggle. I immediately think: “Holy shit, someone’s having an epileptic seizure. This person needs help!” I halt my scanning of the news feed to frightfully locate clues of the whereabouts of this person or some other floating hint of their distressed situation. Panicking, I finally come to the conclusion that this person—this… fraud—is simply creating a ploy for attention. But, I’m not angry at how I responded to the update. No, I’m angry at how well the status performed its goal of forcing me to read it. Now I’ve got this image of a lonely drunk at a party Facebooking on his phone, a sober child who’s trying to gain attention, or some clam cake drinking by himself in my mind. It’s frustrating. Forget that important subject I was thinking about before. I can kiss those thoughts goodbye. Now, I’m focused on this monstrocity of a status. It enrages me… I’ve already forgot what I was writing about it worked so well.  Bah, well that’s about it. The vents are clogged.

Monday, November 7, 2011

Most Horrific Diss in History

Smoking pot never looked so uncool.

He's going to need a glacier to ice that burn. Little do people know that this commercial stopped airing because the drug dealer died from 3rd degree burns. Who's the true killer here? I am so funking tired.

P.S. Michelangelo is clearly blasted and has the munchies.

Indestructible iPods

I picked my iPod out of the washing machine the other day. I read the dark error message on the screen that was clouded by the iPod’s newly acquired water stain. However, for a change, I wasn’t ferociously infuriated. I looked back on how many times the iPod should’ve been destroyed in the past:
  1. Whilst driving on the highway, I reached for my iPod that was attached to a wired cassette. You     know,    because such an advanced piece of technology asks for the company of primitive machinery to level out the coolness. Well, when I couldn’t locate the iPod, I decided to follow the cassette cord. To my surprise, the cord let out of my car door and into the harsh blizzard that was raging outside my vehicle. I quickly open the door while flying down the highway and reeled in my iPod which was somehow connected to the cassette. It was covered in snow so I brought out my technological familiarity and devised the perfect plan to blow on it until it was dry. And since I’m such a genius, once the iPod rid itself of all the snow forced into its hardware, it began working again.
  2. Once more, a trip through the washing machine, and in addition, the dryer.
  3. Multiple launches off of treadmills. 
  4. Several high dives into varying depths of puddles.
  5. Torturous water logging from spilt beverages.
  6. …and the general wear and tear that comes from high altitude drops onto concrete,
Anyway, I was ready to say goodbye to my courageous iPod. I couldn’t blame it for leaving at this point after all I had put it through. So, I did what any good person would do, and I laid it to rest on the floor in my room. Hours passed. Much television was watched. But it was 4am, and that meant it was time for bed. So I ventured up to my room and saw the lifeless shell of a once brilliant piece of technology. I picked it up to give it one more look… when all of a sudden. The iPod awoke from its slumber. A beam of light projected from the screen, and I had to shield my eyes. Once they had adjusted to the glow, I stared down and my iPod was already playing Don’y Wanna Stop Me Now. It was then I discovered the most indestructible matter in the universe.

Now, I propose this my friends:

In the future, after we are discovered by a more advanced light form and become extinct after the 20 day world war. The Earth will be void of everything… everything but cockroaches fashioning sick iPods. So, whatever matter these iPods are fused with, why not inject it in the human skeleton. Think of the new extent of the human condition! We will understand true and everlasting life!  No longer shall we worry about the future! We will rule the present!

Yeah, that’s all I got today. Sorry.

Conspiracy of 'Rest'

 rest (n.) 1. the refreshing quiet or repose of sleep (Definition from

There's something ecoustically pleasing in the word 'rest'. Despite its flow, why are so many lacking in 'rest'? I will show you:

Say 'rest' repeatedly fast like so: 'restrestrest'

Do you notice something offsetting? Well, you should because saying rest in such a manner gives the illusion that you are repeatedly saying 'stress'. (stressstressstress)

There's something sinister in the word 'rest'. There is a conspiracy that's only solution requires the abolishment of the word. For this word has adverse effects on the human psyche.

Sorry, I'm stuck in my tiny cubicle. I will post a more extensive and thoughtful blog later. Hope I didn't waste too much of your time.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

The Pen Trick

Brilliantly constructed rhetoric of the construed mindset of a tortured Irish news anchor.

You can't argue with that logic.

The Undeserving Citizen Kane

Take a gander at any movie database or film critic website. Why is it that Citizen Kane is still rated the best film of all time? I vaguely remember having to slam my head against the desk to keep myself from slipping into a coma while being forced to watch this monstrosity in one of my college film classes. Why is this movie still critically acclaimed? It fucking enrages me.

First, let’s all take a look at the premise of this movie. Sure, the story of a big shot newspaper executive sounds like the makings of a genius movie plot, right? Just kidding, that’s a terrible idea. But why are we honoring a movie based on unrealistically accumulating wealth? Sorry Tiny Tim, no wealthy man is ever going to come take you from your shit parents and turn your shit life into a vast landscape of unimaginable wealth, castles, and rainbows. No, fuck you Kane with your unobtainable ambitions.

 If children in the upcoming generation realize this wealth is out of reach, they’re going to construct unbelievable elaborate crimes to obtain this wealth. If Kane enjoyed himself that much in the 1920s, think of the shit we can do with that wealth now. So much electronic shit. I can turn my mansion into Tron then construct a reenactment of the Battle of Helmsdeep with midgets equipped with tazers. Shit’s nuts. Anyway, the movie’s a menace to modern society and stuff.

But my main argument against this movie comes from the ending. Yes, the ending was ridiculously bad. Rosebud is a fucking sled? Are you kidding me? I mean, I know it represents his loss of childhood and innocence, but who the fuck would want his shitty childhood over immense riches? But, no… That’s not the true reason this movie sucks. A lot of other films pull that same morality crap. It is the sole fact that the ending of this mystery, this MYSTERY, was the use of a scapegoat. Not once in the movie was it referenced that the sled’s name was Rosebud. There is no way the audience could partake in this “epic” mystery for the only one who had any hint towards the ending was the selfish screenwriter himself. But yeah, those are my basic rants about the film. It sucks, and it should be held with such esteem.

Saturday, November 5, 2011

The Future Scares Me

I asked a wise old man when the world would end. He told me, "when the smiling dog bears its face." I spit in his food and laughed...

...I am now fearful.

Northern Rednecks

I try to make myself fairly open to all lifestyles, but try as I may, there is one emerging group of people that slowly eat away at my already fragile tolerance. Being a Massachusetts resident all my life, nothing boils my poofarts more than helplessly viewing fleshbags convert to what I like to refer to as Northern Rednecks. I'm sure many of you from the North might already realize what I'm getting at, but for those unlearned folk, let me indulge you in this horrific epidemic. Consider the disease in “28 Days Later.” Imagine that same widespread epidemic, but those infected can give you rabies without any physical contact. To spot a Northern Redneck, look for these signs:     

      1) Constantly request shitty country music about sheep herding and sheep fucking (i.e. Toby Keith, Tim     McGraw, Garth Brooks, etc.).

      2) Drive obnoxiously loud and big trucks (P.S. Don’t worry about their gas consumption; their parents got that covered).

      3) Wear cowboy hats or pre-shredded mesh hats with some super faggy southern symbol or bottom of the barrel beer logo.

      4) Proudly display the confederate flag on any piece of shit they own (i.e. things their parents bought for them).

Now, I shouldn’t even have to write about these fucking idiots because they already demean themselves enough on their own (They associate themselves with the Confederacy. Confederates lost the war, making them losers. Therefore, if A=B and B=C, then A=C and that means they’re losers). However, I feel that this atrocity needs to be recognized before MTV makes a reality show out of them.

Don’t get me wrong though, I don’t mind southern-born Rednecks. They’re inbred; they can’t help how deformed their brains are. But, these Northern Rednecks were born with a silver cock in their mouth and only seek the redneck lifestyle in an attempt to shed their image as a spoiled rich child. I assume it’s to appear more independent and rugged then they actually are. So my suggestion to those who know (or God forbid are) one of these mentally unstable souls, confront them, have an intervention, tell them that they don’t need to pretend to be inbred, or prejudice, or stupid,… or ugly,… or put on a fake southern accent… Ah, fuck it. These people are helpless.

Friday, November 4, 2011

Mirk and Soda

While ordering my fourth Dunkin Donuts coffee of the day, I noticed an unfamiliar employee working the counter. I ordered my usual “medium-blueberry-iced-coffee-with-milk-n-sugar.” It wasn’t hard to tell that this old woman was straight off the boat. She copied my order back to me to verify if it was correct. “You want a brooberry ice coffee wit mirk and soda.” Wait… soda? Well since she probably wasn’t accustomed to American culture, I replied, “no, sugar.” To which she replied “what kind?” I hesitated and said “regular sugar?” So she left the counter and headed to the fridge and pointed at a Coca-Cola. I didn’t really know what to do. Just then, a follow employee, who was probably smelling fahts in the back, came to my aid and corrected her. I finally got my coffee and exited the building to the sounds of learning.

I sipped on my coffee in enjoyment as I galloped back to my wonderful job. But then I stopped… “No fucking way,” I thought. Little did I realize, that foreign lady was a freaking genius! They make coffee flavored caffeinated beverages; why not make soda flavored coffee then? It would have the roasted flavor of coffee mixed with the fizzy kick of a soda. I should’ve fucking listen to her. With the combination of my lack of business sense but amazing skill of bullshitting and her surreal sense of innovation, we could make millions... Fuckin’ billions.

On the realization of this, my world collapsed. I awoke in a blurry daze and stumbled back to Dunkin Donuts only to realize that the foreign lady wasn’t there… her coworkers had no recollection of her… the foeign woman never worked there… Did I encounter an angel?

Thursday, November 3, 2011

The Revolution

Before I publicly release my first blog post, you are to review the following warnings:
         1)      If you are easily offended, don’t read my posts.
I am not particularly concerned about your feelings; I just don’t care. I mean, I enjoy a good debate now and then. But, if I see anyone commenting on my choice of words or my general concern for frivolous things, you can be sure that I will… not really give a shit. 

         2)      I’m not trying to influence your view of society. I AM changing your view.
You are ordered to cast aside all your opinions and heed my words of wisdom. You are my students, and I am your teacher.

         3)      I don’t argue politics because they are boring.
I don’t need any captions to back this up. Politics are really mind-numbingly boring and make me constipated.

         4)      Don’t take anything I say seriously... unless it’s serious.
Yes. I am contradicting my previous warnings. But, I realize there are weird people who will read this garbage and take it as a rallying call to do weird shit with their weird friends (or lack thereof).

Other than these stupid warnings I made up in the last 5 minutes, have fun reading about the stupid shit I go on lengthy rants about. Also, I’ll post random things now and then that I find interesting. I will try to get a blog up every two days. 

Blah blah blah. Enjoy.