Damn you, iTunes

I rarely purchase music. That doesn’t automatically categorize me as an illegal downloader; I haven’t got the guts. Rather, I subsist on ripping friends’ music to my computer, and, if my library appears particularly worn and barren, I browse my parents’ collection (don’t snicker; it’s rude). One can never acquire too much Bruce Springsteen, particularly when one is not purchasing the aforementioned Bruce Springsteen.

My justification for buying music sparingly is simple: cheapness and laziness. Why buy a CD when one could merely download a free iTunes sample? Why exert energy venturing to a record store that probably closed five years ago when one can just surf YouTube? One recurring gift, however, renders my philosophy irrelevant – an iTunes gift card.

Enormously popular, particularly among elderly relatives seeking to give presents with a modern twist (simple cash has a modern twist, too, should my family be reading), iTunes gift cards have become the latest “I don’t know you very well” present. But I shouldn’t complain too much; the gift cards suit me exceptionally well. Music becomes free, and beyond painstakingly scratching the card’s reverse side to reveal the authorization code (if this takes me ten minutes, am I doing something wrong?), using them entails surprisingly little effort.

A beautiful parity surrounded the iTunes system; songs were $0.99, videos $1.99, and albums $9.99. Even a price-compulsive shopper like myself could not complain; with every item bearing an identical cost, I was saved the hours I would have otherwise spent debating whether The Killers’ new single is really $0.30 superior to Another Indie Song.

But that era is no more. Like the Harding Administration, the Hartford Whalers, and Seinfeld, it’s gone, likely never to return: Apple has adopted pricing tiers for its music - $0.69, $0.99, and $1.29. Originally, the new system seemed quite palatable; I like good music, my snooty indie-loving side nonchalantly thought. We all know nothing of quality ever achieves radio airplay.

However, as loyal Not Horrible readers surely remember, I possess an unusual appreciation for The Killers. So, after registering my latest iTunes gift card earlier this month, I immediately searched for a recent single, forgetting entirely the immense popularity The Killers enjoy. Three numbers quickly reminded me.

1.

2.

9.

How could this be happening? How could I, the high-class sophisticate who cringed when Vampire Weekend met Hollister, find myself forced to pay $1.29 – the additional fee, the philistine fee – for music?

I understand the business rationale behind Apple’s pricing decisions. I cannot blame the company for making The Killers’ music cost $0.30 more than Tally Hall’s. But I’ve always viewed The Killers and The Fray as my guilty pleasures – believe me, iTunes, I already felt conflicted enough about attempting to purchase “Human.” Now my wallet feels guilty, too.

Naturally, I declined to purchase The Killers’ new single. $1.29 is just too much – 30 cents too much. My indie brethren had taken note of my addiction to “How to Save a Life,” and Killers-fascination. I heard they were planning an intervention.

That would be redundant now; iTunes knows the road to my musical taste buds goes straight through my wallet.

Baltimore

I didn't write this (although I easily could have, it's right up my alley). Our friend Nikki did. So address your concerns to him...although I'm not providing any contact info. Track him down yourself.

_________________________________________________________________

Baltimore is a great place. Most of the city’s male population has either spent some time in jail or as the Ravens’ starting quarterback (why else would Ozzie be scouring Delaware for lads to fill in behind center). If a foreign country ever attacked America, you could find me posted up in Baltimore. When BET (Black Entertainment Television, to you readers not well versed in African American culture. Haha I just made a joke: African American culture.) did a special on real American Gangsters, I recall that at least half those brothas were from Baltimore. There are so many damn guns in that city that even the NRA’s jealous, though they won’t admit it. White folk don’t get jealous of black people. Shit don’t work that way. Ain’t never been a white fellow to say “well gosh darned, I wish I were in that brotha’s situation. Man, I wish I was in a spot like that nigga OJ. Why that Rubin Carter nigga getting all the breaks?” But if Iran or some shit attacked America, for the first time in my life, I’d feel safest in Baltimore. It’s a little known fact, but during the Revolutionary War, the British, in top secret communication, told us, “We want our colonies back, but damn…y’all can keep Baltimore.”

The Wire’s in Baltimore. Melvin Williams is from Baltimore. Even The Corner’s in Baltimore. When the writers of The Corner were thinking, “hmmm where can we find a place to shoot a movie about the devastating social effects of the heroin trade?” you know they didn’t have to think twice. If you’re ever up at 2 in the morning and you don’t have much to do, switch on BET. The Corner should be on. That movie has some good solid tips. Boy, if you’re ever stuck in Baltimore, and you’re some place to score some good heroin, you’re gonna be wishing you listened to me and seen The Corner a few times. Actually, forget that, if you’re stuck in Baltimore and you can’t find some good heroin, you’re probably blind or deaf or something, which means you can’t watch The Corner anyways. But damn does that movie have some useful shit. I get all my tips from The Corner. Like if your crackhead addict stupid bitch of a girlfriend is left alone with your stash, you probably shouldn’t trust her to divide the shit equally when its time to consume the merchandise. And if you’re in need of some heroin money by selling metal scraps, theres no better place to get it than the plumbing underneath a single mother’s apartment. Her kids will love it when the shower stops working because ole’ Willie was stealin the pipes again. And I don’t mean to stereotype, but I thought Asian people were supposed to be smart. The only convenience store on The Corner is owned by a couple of Chinese dudes, and everyday, like clockwork, theres always some mothafuckers tryin to rob that joint. Whenever they have cameras rolling in that prosperous establishment (quite the understatement), theres always some dude in a mask with a 22 jacking that place up for cigarettes, 7 up, and some Doritos.

In all seriousness, Im so sheltered that I can’t even find the bad parts of Baltimore if I tried. If I ever ended up on Alameda, the violent drug gangs would probably stop their evening gunfight shootout to escort me home. Hell, even if if I went out of my way to find The Corner, I’d probably end up in the lobby of the Sheraton. But there is one thing I noticed: there is a distinct “Baltimore accent.” Or more accurately, a “BAWmore accent.” Say it a few times aloud, so you can get an idea of how stupid it is. BAWmore.

BAWmore.

BAWmore.

“Nigga where you from?”

“Nigga, I’m reppin BAWmore. You tryna ‘front wit BAWmore?? I don’t think so, cuz me and my niggas put on for BAWmore.”

Your brain cells should be going on strike any second. Until they do, you can find me in BAWmore.

Masturbation

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Western Conference Second Half Preview

I love NBA basketball. I can't decide if it's because of my awesome athletic ability, my love of hip-hop music, or my innate skill to speak the NBA language, but any way you slice and dice it, I'm a natural baller. There's no disputing that. Particularly when it comes to bounce passes. My bounce passes are really good. I've also mastered the Rick Barry free throw.

But from Rick to Brent we go, and Brent's team, the defending NBA champion San Antonio Spurs, find themselves in an unfamiliar situation - 5th place in the Western Conference. For the last, oh, ten years, NBA supremacy has flowed through the West like water through the Mississippi River or corruption through the Republican Party. It's been a decade of Los Angeles and San Antonio gloriously succeeding, and Dallas, Sacramento, Phoenix among others egregiously failing. But that could change.

Ha. Who am I kidding. I wouldn't bet against the Spurs in the playoffs. Ever. It'd be as stupid as betting against Tom Brady...I mean Roger Federer...perhaps we're on to something.

1. New Orleans Hornets (36-15)
If a team is really good, but they play in a half-deserted, impoverished shadow of a once lively city, do they matter? The Hornets are like the NHL's Buffalo Sabres, except people actually care about the hockey team.

2. Phoenix Suns (37-16)
Hooray for big fat man in the Steve Nash offense. In other news, Barack Obama selected Tom Delay as his running mate because he felt the antithesis of his entire campaign wasn't adequately represented.

3. Los Angeles Lakers (35-17)
How ironic would it be if the Suns twice defeat Kobe with the Nash-Marion core, yet lose as soon as they acquire Shaq? I'm sure Kobe would be mature about it.

4. Utah Jazz (34-19)
I love the NBA. Utah's a middling team until a one-dimensional white shooter arrives from Philadelphia, and suddenly they're impossible to stop. KYLE KORVER FORVER. (or threeever, perhaps)

5. San Antonio Spurs (34-17)
I learned today that Brent Barry once won the Slam Dunk Contest. Oddly enough, it was the same year Brady Anderson hit 50 home runs. Oh, 1996 and athletes doing things they had no business doing.

6. Dallas Mavericks (35-18)
I'm glad the Mavericks didn't lose 8 of their last 10 playoff games with this roster. Otherwise I'd be worried they didn't trade for Jason Kidd.

7. Golden State Warriors (32-20)
I've run out of witty comments. Of all Western teams, the Warriors probably have the least upside, although that means nothing, since it's the stupidest term since sliced bread. I prefer my bread cut, thank you.

8. Houston Rockets (32-20)
They have the best Chinese player in basketball. That's a bit like having the best black player in the NHL. They still aren't making the second round, again.

9. Denver Nuggets (32-20)
I hate this team. Actually no, that's incorrect. I have nothing against the Denver Nuggets basketball team, but such a creature ceased to exist after the Allen Iverson trade. Hooray 10 for 30 shooting nights...times two.

10. Portland Trail Blazers (28-24)
I love this team, however. Undermanned but with a raucous home crowd behind them, the Blazers are blazing their way to a playoff berth. Well, they would be if they played in the East. So it goes.

13-15. Memphis Grizzlies (14-38), Seattle Super Sonics (13-38), Minnesota Timberwolves (10-41)
So this is how ten teams have records solidly above .500. I get it now.

Conference Finals Prediction?
Utah Jazz over Los Angeles Lakers. It'll be the year of the "Teams That Forgot To Change Names When They Moved."

Political Analysts learn Hilary Clinton’s shit does smell

WASHINGTON, DC— Despite claims that would prove otherwise, political analysts found out this weekend that 2008 Demorcratic Presidential Candidate Hilary Rodham Clinton does, in fact, have some smelly ass shit.

“The smell was fucking awful,” said one political analyst who got to experience the smelly shit first hand, “absolutely goddamned awful. It’s a damn shame that instead of covering the current issues, I spend a good part of my day smelling Hilary Clinton shit.”

Good News

I'm pleased to be the bearer of good news.

No, we're not taking this site down. It's staying for at least one more post after this. Back in the days of our old website, Brick-Bats, (it's not online anymore, don't go looking for it) we maintained credibility through one piece, one bit of pure comedic genius. Shockingly, it was written by neither Jim nor myself. No, our friend "Bob" decided to write about Family Circus, and it was so good that a) We forever love "Bob," b) "Bob"'s work so overshadowed our own that we never dared write again for our own website, and c) For the last two years, everyone who read "Bob"'s original piece has incessantly bugged him to write again.

Well, my sources ("Bob"), tell me the writing recluse is emerging from his literary cave with a manuscript so impressive, so inspiring, so Bob-ish, that it can only be published on one site - Not Horrible. Here at Not Horrible, we're very glad "Bob" doesn't know anyone else who publishes a blog/website.

I don't have an exact publication date of "Bob"'s latest work, but I assure you as soon as it's in my email inbox, it will be posted here. Until then...well, there's really nothing to do but wait. And wait. And wait.

A Review of 2007

Webster’s defines 2007 as: “a fucking terrible year”. I’d like to think otherwise, and I’ve proven my point with a comprehensive month by month commentary of 2007. ONWARD CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS!!!!:

January 2007
The bird flu came back, and this time, instead of secluding itself to those dirty Asian countries, it expanded its borders to encompass the whole world. It went global, so to speak (HAR HAR HAR!) Now we all can enjoy the bird flu in the comfort of our own homes!

February 2007
Anna Nicole Smith died with a very bad case of bird flu.

March 2007
The WWF declared a new species, called the Bornean Clouded Leopard. Unfortunately, Bornean Clouded Leopard Flu spreads not long after.

iMonth 2007
Apple Corp. releases its new project, a whole new FUCKING 13th MONTH.

April 2007
South Korean National and well accomplished shit fuck, Seung-Hui Cho, is responsible for the death of over 30 students in the Virginia Tech shootings, then commits Seung-Hui Cho-icide (that’s the correct term when you commit suicide and your name is Seung-Hui Cho). This stemmed from his anxiety disorder called selective mutism, and later investigation found trace amounts of dickhead in his blood.

June 2007
Chris Benoit, a well-known wrestler and killer of his family, kills his wife and strangles his son to death. However, it was later figured out that it was steroid-induced “roid rage”. So when I say Chris Benoit killed his wife and child, replace Chris Benoit with “steroids”. Surely Chris Benoit can’t be blamed for the actions of the Evil Steroid Monster.

Not long after, “Steroids” committed Seung-Hui Cho-icide (Chris Benoit-icide sounds so fucking retarded that I’m gonna borrow that term for Chris Benoit, Seung-Hui Cho shouldn’t mind though, because he’s dead).

On an interesting side note, Peanut Butter killed O.J. Simpson’s wife.

July 2008
First off I know I wrote July 2008. And no, we didn’t skip ahead a whole year when July came around, you stupid, stupid asshole. July was just so uninteresting that I had to borrow an event from the future. So here it is, July 2008 baby!

Bill Gates stepped down from the daily Microsoft duties and was appropriately replaced by Bird Flu. Bird Flu now owns 8% of Microsoft, in addition to owning 8% of your mother. ZING!

August 2033
Out of fucking no where, as soon as August started the whole world went 25 years in the future as a sneak preview, courtesy of Disney Studios. Unfortunately that August 2033 preview showed us that the future is much like the present only with even more Britney Spears’s Vagina (it’s appropriately capitalized, if you remember English freshmen year of high school, Britney Spears’s Vagina is a proper noun). Needless to say, I got enough of that back in February of 2007 (and last night, HAR HAR HAR).

September 2007
This month marked the sixth year anniversary of the September 11 attacks, which it’s a good thing I was reminded of this constantly or I might have fucking forgot.

October 2007
Track star Marion Jones willingly gave up her five gold medals and accepted a two year ban from the Olympic Games after using a prohibited performance enhancing steroid.

THEN IN A FIT OF ROID RAGE, STRANGLED HER SON!

HAHAHAHAHAHA! Just kidding, she’s not Chris Benoit or anything.

November 2007
The Hollywood Writer’s strike started after a feud between writers and producers. This is because the producers didn’t allow the writers to fuck their cousins. Creator of Family Guy and world-famous cousin fucker, Seth McFarlane had this to say:

“This is an outrage, I’m expected to write for Family Guy and NOT fuck my cousin.”

December 2007
At the San Francisco Zoo, three dipshits and most likely, terrorists, rightfully got the fuck mauled out of them by an escaped Tiger named Tatiana that they fired a slingshot at and taunted. Carlos Sousa was killed, while brothers Paul and Kulbir Dhaliwal got their shit messed up BADLY. Cops eventually killed Tatiana before she finished the job and permanently pwned Paul and Kulbir, unfortunately.

This is a photo taken from the scene. Unfortunately, Tatiana was killed before the real LOLs could commence.

How Bad We Are

The Ravens are 4-11, soon to be 4-12. Our season got so bad so fast that a Baltimore man decided to camp out on the roof of a bar until the Ravens won a game. His decision earned national acclaim, "the goof on the roof" became something of a local celebrity. He was certainly more popular than Brian Billick.

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.

Christmas Ads

It's holiday season, which represents a perfect time for Presidential candidates to continue upon their chosen path of campaigning: ignoring the issues. Luckily, nearly every candidate released a special Christmas advertisement. Like all other campaign advertisements, they are inane and useless, but two in particular struck me as scary. Hillary Clinton's was simply pathetic, while Mike Huckabee's was a bit too genuine not to be scary.

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.

Childhood Memories

So I was watching pornography and it reminded me of my first boner.

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!"

A BALTIMORE RAVENS CHRISTMAS

Here's a Ravens Christmas comic for all of you. Made it in like 5 minutes. Click on it to open the picture in a new window.

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 Lake Michigan
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 Lake Michigan? But it gets better.

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.

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.

Here’s my life, you anal douche! My phone gets stolen and I’m dirt ass poor. So I have to reactivate a phone my dad used is his childhood. This fucking monstrosity of a phone weighs about 40 pounds. If you drop it on a child, IT WILL KILL THEM! It also emits radioactive cancer causing discharge. I have five types of cell-phone induced ball cancer. Contacts are the least of my problems. My first problem is that I look like a jackass lugging this piece of shit in a wagon behind me when I leave the house. My second problem is that if I lose this fucking refrigerator phone, instead of getting another one I’m left with an even OLDER DAMN PHONE that explodes when it rains.

So don’t invite me to your groups anymore, just because it’s so hard to be you, without your contacts. Most of the time I’m not even really friends with you so I’ve dumbfounded you want my phone number. Just because you wipe your asses with iPhones and go through them like a fucking Night Elf Huntress goes through a horde of enemy Orcs (YAY WARCRAFT!), doesn’t mean you have to leave me to wallow in my shit life.

Fuck face.

This is an honest to God description that someone made for their “I’M HELPLESS WITHOUT YOUR PHONE NUMBER” groups.

“So after winning some champagne in a karaoke contest on a cruise in Alaska, I dropped my phone and it happened to slip right through the little crack between the floor and the elevator i was about to get on. Needless to say, after falling down seven floors, it is no longer usable.”

Cruise with an elevator? My cruises are fucking inner-tube rides in the Persian Gulf. And what paper thin delicate luxurious phone can fit through an elevator crack? If I dropped my phone in an elevator it would pull the elevator off its threads and the whole goddamn thing would force itself into the Earth’s core, setting off volcanoes all over the world. I don’t just have a phone, I have a device capable of destroying the entirety of human existence.

If I get another one of these invites I’m gonna give your sorry ass a big DECLINE button.

Oh yea, and Facebook creators, thanks for helping me make that threat I just made. If I didn’t have your “scary/ominous” “DECLINE BUTTON” as a tool for my threats, then who knows? I might finish this piece off with some masculinity. Can’t have that.

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.

It’s about the history of Thanksgiving, we both had input in it with each of us writing alternating paragraphs. Everything written by me will be indicated in italics, and anything written by Alex will be painfully unfunny.

In the 1600s, the devil-worshipping pilgrims sailed across the Atlantic in search for a place where they could quietly sacrifice their young without persecution from the Europeans. Religious freedom wasn't so prevalent, but luckily for the pilgrims, there was more than enough small pox to go around.

However, these were not completely evil people. While their descendents tried, and burned, young ladies on suspicion of being witches, the Pilgrims were perfectly normal people, who just happened to be the only whites in a vast area filled with trees, fish, and Natives. However, the Pilgrims were retarded, and needed help with basic things.

Where could they get their help? Why none other than Indians!? Oh yes, there were plenty of Indians to sacrifice to Satan. So this begun the start of mass killings of Indians. This is most likely where the favorite family tradition of abusing Indians on Thanksgiving came from.

However, the tradition was practiced earlier this year, by the Chicago White Sox. (NOTE: THIS WAS WRITTEN AFTER THE WHITE SOX WON THE WORLD SERIES IN 2005, YES IT’S THAT FUCKING OLD, IT WAS ALSO WRITTEN BEFORE HUMOR WAS INVENTED APPARENTLY) (Sorry, I can't resist a good baseball joke when I see one) Back on track, the mass killings of Indians were not without a cause. You see, God came down and directly told the Pilgrims that if he did not receive 100 Indians every week, he would be very mad. The Pilgrims used their power of imagination to think of what God would do if he were mad. The Pilgrims thought God would sleep, eat, pray, or work, since those were the only activities they knew.

Fearing that God might, heaven forbid, SLEEP, (something that the Astros seemed to do earlier this year when being swept by the White Sox!!!DAMN DOUBLE THE BASEBALL JOKE!) (NOTE: I’M A FUCKING DUMBASS) the pilgrims began to harvest the Indians and killed everyone in sight. This is most likely where the favorite family tradition of abusing Indians everyday came from.

But, the next day, the Pilgrims realized they had no food. They also had no way of getting it. For this, they would need the help of dead people. So they prayed...

A young pilgrim emerged from within all the stupidity, and thought, maybe all this praying wasn't going to help them get food, maybe God wants them to find the food on their own. This young pilgrim was killed moments later.

Obviously, God was trying to teach the Pilgrims a lesson. You do what I tell you to do, or you die. By scaring the shit of every sensible Pilgrim, God proceeded to part the waters of Cape Cod, revealing Michelangelo’s painting "The Last Supper" except the food was real, and Jesus wasn't.

Jim, having no idea what the hell message Alex's last paragraph was trying to convey, stuck needles into his skull.

Alex, seeing Jim with needles in his skull, proceded to his Thanksgiving Feast, thankful for the great miracle God had performed for the cyber community.

And that's why every Thanksgiving the souls of the damned raise from the dead and feast on the living.

This year, it is my prediction that the feasted upon human being will be...LARRY KING, what a douche.

And my prediction is of course, well, yea, Larry King.(lousy douchebag)

However, Larry King isn't all that dumb, he at least allowed himself to be on the same set as Jerry Seinfeld only two days before he dies. If there's one way to ensure you're going straight to hell, it's to be Jewish (Or at least once been), and to have one of the last acts of your life be a conversation with yet another Jew.

And that’s the story of why all Jews go to hell.

I mean Thanksgiving.

If you don't accept it, let's plan to meet up in hell, because you'll be there too.

Fucking terrible, right? Well if that wasn’t bad enough, we actually wrote one prior to that that we didn’t put up because it was so awful, it gave me cancer of the prostate.

For many years, Americans have given thanks in November, and it's not for being able to vote. Now, it's to remember an arcane event that happened nearly 400 years ago. Most Americans do not understand this event; they just know to eat the turkey. However, we do know the reason, and will impart to you the Story of Thanksgiving.

So whether you are a fan of the moist turkey, the delicious mashed potatoes, or the disgusting radioactive pile of shit, cranberry sauce (how the fuck are cranberries can-shaped), keep in mind your not eating food. Oh no my good friend, your eating a pack of lies. A PACK OF LIES!

The common theory taught in public schools is that the Pilgrims and the Indians worked together to create a better life for both cultures, and that they celebrated with a feast; Thanksgiving. However, there is a new theory out, only in Kansas, called Intelligent Slaughter. It suggests that the common theory of Thanksgiving has holes, and that it's a theory, not a fact, and students should be able to pick which one they prefer.

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.

Jim apologizes for his behavior. I don't care. If I was actually mad at him, I'd send him to Kansas. There, they learn that in reality, the Pilgrims were ordered by god to kill the Indians, because they were a threat to the establishment. The good Indians were allowed to eat leftovers of the Pilgrims. They were so thankful, they called it Thanksgiving. There's the story of a bad theory made short.

Though, we here at Brick-Bats (NOTE: THIS WAS THE NAME OF OUR SITE IT WAS ORIGINALLY TO BE POSTED ON) don't settle for the short story, we go all the way. We all know that Alex hadn't finished because he forgot to mention the Mexicans, and how they can't keep a job.

Ah yes, the Mexicans. Well, as all this was going on, the Pilgrims got lazy, and hired the Mexican immigrants to build a ship that would take the Pilgrims to heaven. The Mexicans built the ship. The pilgrims got in. They ended up in Massachusetts. Man, were they pissed.

But that was a story that shouldn't be told. And surely, Alex will be killed tomorrow for revealing the true secret of Thanksgiving. And I'll stay perfectly unharmed until a Mexican reads this site (in theory, I could live forever).

Is that because no Mexicans can read, or because no one will read the site?

Oh you sly devil you!

Wait, aren't we supposed to be talking about Thanksgiving.

Yes, we are

We are the definition of Asshole. Happy Thanksgiving TO ALL! Except you Mexicans. (I'm that confident)

Happy Thanksgiving to all except the Dallas Cowboys. When it's an American holiday, be patriotic, and root against America's team. It just makes sense.

(NOTE: I DON’T HATE MEXICANS ANYMORE, THAT WAS MORE OF A 2005 THING)

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 DisneyWorld with the family (don’t worry this doesn’t turn into some family incest love bullshit, this is legit). If you know Epcot, you know of the World Showcase, a vast land of many small towns all representing one country. They have a small Italy town, China, Japan, Norway, and so on. Well this story takes place in the romantic country of Disney’s Mini-Retarded Italian Clusterfuck (they call it Italy there).

The family was off somewhere leaving me without them. I don’t know exactly where they went, my guess was a wholesome family dinner. They left me there leashed to a light post with a bowl of trout heads.

None the less, I was alone. I went into a fantasy world of chocolate mountains and gummy bear people, when all my day dreaming stopped when I saw this very attractive woman!

She was oddly enough an Italian, for some reason visiting a dumbed-down schizo shit town of her home land. I don’t know if these people actually visit Disney versions of their homeland, or if the Disney Corp. just planted them there to fuck with all of us. I was in the U.K. and saw some Brits, and for reasons unknown they disappeared into a foggy mist when I tried to touch them. Good try Walt, you Nazi sympathizer asshole!

Describing her is hard. She was breathtaking. She had a body like a goddess, with stunning maroon/red/brownish hair flowing endlessly like the blood from a kitten when you stab it right in the fucking heart. I stared at her lovingly.

As I was looking at her, to my surprise she stared back at me too! Oh my God! Well, maybe I shouldn’t give myself TOO much credit. I was hopping around, throwing dildos at everyone as I screamed “I’m the dildo fairy!” She also wasn’t giving me the old “you’re attractive, I want you” stare, she was more giving me the classic “who in the fuck throws around dildos in the middle of Disney World” stare. But that’s beside the point. She was very attractive, and my vain and superficial dick ass self was in love.

The problem was I only got to look at her for 30 or so seconds. Which means I knew that with my completely unstable mental capacity, I wouldn’t remember her face later that night for further “exploring”. Sure enough, my fucking retarded dumbass couldn’t remember. I find that really fucking odd because I can never remember anyone who’s attractive and how they look. However, I see ugly dumb cunt Bette Midler’s face for about a second on accident and now she haunts my dreams every night. FUCK!

Easy come, easy go. Girls in Florida always seem a lot more attractive then up North. Shit, the hottest girl I saw up North had an extra arm and a foot for a face. I’ll never forget you, you little Italian bitch whore (why don’t I get girls?)

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.

My Flirtation With Popular Music Culture

Screw you. I like The Killers, no matter what certain segments of society think. I readily ignore the annoying throngs of teenagers obsessed over what somebody told them. I prefer looking on the Brightside. Believe me Natalie; I adore The Killers like I mean it.

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 7^th 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.