Friday, December 28, 2007
How Bad We Are
But today The Baltimore Sun reported the man on the roof, Ronald Stach, to be nearly as lame as the Ravens themselves. According to the mother of his child (and ex-wife), Stach owes nearly $45,000 in child support.
Perhaps Stach should get off the roof and join the Ravens. He'd probably fit right in.
Actually, ignore that last sentence. Making fun of the Ravens for their legal troubles is so 2004. They were respectable back then. Now they're slightly better than a high school junior varsity squad. And slightly worse than the Miami Dolphins.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Christmas Ads
Here's Hillary's Ad
Please. Hillary, please. Stop trying to portray yourself as a caring, motherly figure. You're a cold bitch. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but you're trying to have your cake and eat it too. One day you're the strongman (woman) of the Democratic field, tougher on terrorism than those wimpy men, Obama and Edwards. But now you're just a kindly mother, looking for that one gift lying amidst the clutter?
And speaking of the gifts...could that ad have any more phoniness? Is it too hard to simply say "I'm Hillary Clinton and I'd like to take this opportunity to wish all of you a Merry Christmas/Happy Holiday Season"? Believe me, we've heard enough about universal health care, bringing the troops home (which you don't even want to do in the first place), and all the other issues you not so subtly tried to advance in this ad. Don't overdo it. Most Americans would rather get an iPod for Christmas, anyway.
After bashing Hillary's ad for its phoniness, I'm now going to take a moment to attack Huckabee for an ad that's the direct opposite. His Christmas ad showed America (Well, Iowa, since all other Americans are second-class citizens and don't deserve to choose their nominees) exactly who he is.
I sure as hell hope he doesn't win.
Here's Huckabee's Christmas ad
Before I criticize him too much, I would like to thank Huckabee for not being excessively politically correct. That's refreshing. What's not refreshing is that he's a religious nut.
At this time of year, sometimes it’s nice to pull aside from all of that and just remember that what really matters is the celebration of the birth of Christ and being with our family and friends
No, you Jesus-face, what matters is gifts and commercialization. Where have you been? This is also a tad explicit for my tastes. Merry Christmas is fine - "celebrate the birth of Christ" is not. Is he doing an advertisement or preaching? I doubt have the "Christians" I know who are getting gifts today could tell you about the birth of Christ.
The fact that he refers to this time as "Christmas season" shows who he is - a rural Arkansasan. And guess what? I hate those people. I'd rather have a Mormon.
Well, maybe not. Romney's a jackass.
RON PAUL FOR PRESIDENT.
Another one line paragraph.
And another.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Childhood Memories
I was parading around the house, so happy at my bountiful hog. I hopped around and I yelled "MY WEE WEE, LOOK AT MY WEE WEE!!!"
To which my dad said:
"JIM! Either you start acting like the 16 year young man you are, or were kicking your ass out of the house!"
Friday, December 14, 2007
A BALTIMORE RAVENS CHRISTMAS
Thursday, December 13, 2007
To Be Alone With Sufjan Stevens
I love Sufjan Stevens with a virulent passion. I really want to have his kids. But most of all, I want to be alone with him. If I could only have one thing in life, that would be it. Actually, I’d prefer to find a $20 bill on the ground, but outside of that, I want to be alone with Sufjan Stevens.
Funny enough, Stevens actually wrote a song about being alone with…me! I’m not kidding: "To Be Alone With You" is actually a song by the burgeoning artist. It may not be his most famous song or his best, but boy, it really turns me on.
I'd swim across
I'd sell my shoes
Personally, this isn’t all that impressive to me. I mean, what good would a pair of shoes do if you are swimming across
I'd give my body to be back again
In the rest of the room
Oh Sufjan…I’d love your body.
To be alone with you
To be alone with you
To be alone with you
To be alone with you
Ok, I got the point after the second time you sung that. Just get in bed already.
You gave your body to the lonely
They took your clothes
I’d much rather give my body to you, Sufjan. And you can take my clothes, too.
You gave up a wife and a family
You gave your goals
Yeah, I did have a wife and a family. But then I realized, Sufjan, I want you to be both my wife and my family…you are my goals.
To be alone with me
To be alone with me
To be alone with me
You went up on a tree
Can you come up into my tree, Sufjan? Please?
To be alone with me you went up on the tree
I'll never know the man who loved me
Oh, wait, you’re talking about Jesus Christ. Never mind. Ignore this entire post. I'm not gay, either.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
LOST MY PHONE! NEED CONTACTS!
Fuck Facebook! I have no fucking friends and no one ever requests me. All I ever get is invitations to groups from people who lost their phone. The infamous “I Need Phone Numbers Group” because for some reason everyone else has a fucking assload of cash and when they lose their phones can afford another goddamn $50,000 cell. Then they complain “OH NO MY FUCKING CONTACTS AREN’T ON MY NEW SHINY RICH ASS IPHONE (on a side note, blow me Apple Inc.), GIVE ME YOUR PHONE NUMBERS VIA FACEBOOK GROUP”. I get about 30 of these a day, and I only have 2 friends on Facebook. Which means everyone’s losing cell phones at an alarming rate.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Not Horrible 2005
Me and Alex wrote these two things for our disgusting awful excuse for a website two years ago but never put it up because HTML coding took too long and took away from things that were more interesting like getting my asshole stapled.
Jim, having no idea what the hell message Alex's last paragraph was trying to convey, stuck needles into his skull.
Oh. yes the Intelligent Slaughter...fuck, goddamnit, sorry, but that cranberry shit is so bad. It's so bad that this may accidently end up to be a rant about cranberry sauce instead of "accidently" being a rant about Mexicans as I orignaly planned.
Wait, aren't we supposed to be talking about Thanksgiving.
(NOTE: I DON’T HATE MEXICANS ANYMORE, THAT WAS MORE OF A 2005 THING)
Saturday, December 1, 2007
I HAD SEX!
What's better than me putting a story on my blog that I've told numerous times to many different people that was barely humorous in the first place? Who knows. I guess the only bad thing about it is I won't get to see the priceless reactions I receive from telling people face to face.
(sample reaction)
(upon finishing story)
Person Hearing Story: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! THAT WAS FUNNY!
Me: You actually liked it?
Person Hearing Story: Oh sorry, I was thinking about something funny I saw on Seinfeld last night. Your story was shit.
I love using screen-play dialog to represent conversations I've had in life. Some day I hope to piece a bunch of these together and make a Broadway play of my shitty life.
On to the story. It's a wonderful story of my love life.
I was in
Monday, November 26, 2007
Interview With Steve McNair
It’s been two weeks since Steve “Fumbles” McNair “fumbled” away his starting job to Kyle Boller. Much to the satisfaction of the fans, who have enjoyed the exploits of young Kyle.
Though McNair has been pushed to the side, I had time to sit down with the forgotten quarterback in an open interview.
Me: Well hello Mr. McNair, let’s jump right into the questioning with no dilly-dallying. My first question is: are you happy with your performances this year on the Ravens?
Steve McNair: Of course I’m not. We’re not the same team we were last year. Our offense isn’t clicking and we just can’t seem to get the necessary points. The turnover column holds the grim news for us.
Me: Yea, well on the subject of turnovers. You fumbled twice against the Bengals, and continued to lead the league in fumbles. Is there any reason why you look like half a fucking retard when the football’s in your hand?
Steve McNair: Oh man, it’s hard to say, I just have had a very bad grip on the ball. I wish I had a good answer.
Me: How do you hold onto your wiener when you’re pissing, you shit head?
Steve McNair: It’s actually a funny story. I don’t hold my wiener, I just let is spin around like a fucking oscillating fan. It’s a good metaphor for how shitty a quarterback I am.
Me: The fans booed you every time you came out on the field because they wanted Boller. Wouldn’t it be just as productive to just fucking snap the football into thin air?
Steve McNair: Oh, most definitely.
Me: A few weeks ago you set the record for least yards for a quarterback who had 13 or more completions. Ever consider killing yourself?
Steve McNair: That’s not cool. [both laugh]
Me: [still laughing] Oh McNair, well thanks for your time, you pussy.
Steve McNair: Anytime, you want an autograph?
Me: Fuck no.
Super awesome, I'm gonna go stick my dick in the toaster now.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
My Flirtation With Popular Music Culture
That bit of unnecessary lyrical recitation behind us, let’s get down to business (to defeat the Huns). Often, popular bands/items/people suffer a backlash from their popularity; in some circles, liking what’s popular becomes itself unpopular. Being popular is unpopular. War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is Strength. If you, for some godforsaken reason, possess the gall to enjoy the music of a popular band, you will find yourself entirely fucked.
Yes, paradoxes suck - so do three bruises on your left arm received for humming “Somebody Told Me” one too many times back in the 7th grade. I learned my lesson though - people in that “We’re too cool for the rest of American society” group have more muscle than I had previously thought. (I suppose I only believed the group weak because of my own physique)
The Killers essentially play pop rock. To many, a negative connotation accompanies the word pop. But to a person with an adequate (i.e. – not horrible) definition of the word, The Killers music is simply popular rock. It’s not bad rock – it’s not good rock – only popular rock. Of course, their first album, Hot Fuss, was admittedly not much more than a blend on a synthesizer and vocals kindly described as catchy. I wouldn’t deem the album jaw-dropping music, or even no-effect-on-the-jaw music. Musical heaven’s not close from album like this.
Nonetheless, the band had potential and it sure as hell wasn't confidential. I had braced myself for them, said “maybe”. I need to stop writing while listening to music. For some reason this paragraph has an uncanny resemblance a Killers song.
Unfortunately, my favorite songs from their debut album, “Somebody Told Me” and “Mr. Brightside”, soon became radio hits, thus rendering them worthless crap in the eyes of my little group (The “We’re too cool for the rest of American society” group). I had a decision to make - tell my friends to suck it and continue liking The Killers, or wilt in the face of the peer pressure presented by the anti-society society. Since I only had about three friends at the time, The Killers soon found themselves banished from my iPod, iTunes, and iBrain.
2006, however, brought a new beginning. The Killers produced an album, Sam’s Town, which was critically acclaimed but significantly less fawned over than Hot Fuss. Sam’s Town even garnered comparisons to Bruce Springsteen’s early work, all but assuring that Americans between the ages of 13 and 35 would never appreciate its value. I could finally sit back and listen to a band I enjoyed without worrying where I went wrong musically and lost a (the) friend. Few appreciated the complex societal messages of the title track, or the sheer awesomeness of "Read My Mind", a song Brandon Flowers called the best the band has ever written. Because of this, those songs flopped commercially relative to Hot Fuss hits. Life was good.
That is, life was good until Guitar Hero III and Rock Band simultaneously decided to put When You Were Young in their respective setlists. The dreadful result is occurring as you pretend to read this. After overexposure through those admittedly amazing games, The Killers classification will revert to pop rock. When that happens, I hope my “We’re too cool for the rest of American society” brethren forgive me. This time, I’ll ditch them. The Killers will remain on my iPod, nestled somewhere between Fall Out Boy and Nickelback. Even though they aren't so great.
I’m only kidding; Fall Out Boy is fucking awful.