Over the years there have been a few things I’ve always wanted to say to certain people. You know, I’ve got some shit to get off my chest. So I’m just going to let it all go.
To the guy that stands on the outer rim of the dance floor and stares at all the guys who are getting some like they are the devil:
Grow a pair
To the asshole on the football team that thinks he can hide the fact he likes in the butt by beating on some smaller guy:
You’re not fooling anyone. Besides, you’re secret lover thinks you’re dick is small.
To the roommate who ate my the last half of my sandwich:
FUCK YOU
To the mailman/delivery man who tries to make small talk when they bring you a package:
The only thing we really care about it the fucking package. Stop lollygagging and do your job.
To the ethnic barber:
No one can really understand you. We just nod after everything you say
To the chick in the hall that has loud, tantric sex:
The floor really doesn’t need to hear that you want your man to “spank you and call you daddy’s little girl”.
To the people that leave pamphlets on car windshields:
You are the reason I got a littering ticket you prick. Thanks to you I owe the state $300. Guess who now thinks your god is a piece of shit?
To the repairman that doesn’t show up:
Oh, any time between the hours of twelve and four my ass.
To the other driver that refuses to go when you wave for them to:
Stop looking at me. I waved first, so stop waving back. This isn’t a fucking meet and greet. Get your fuel-efficient shit mobile to the other side of the street so I can get on with my day.
To President Obama:
Keep on keeping on
To Michael Jackson:
Keep on keeping off (little boys)
Well I feel a whole lot better now. Maybe that’s just because I rubbed one out during this whole process, but who knows? Either way, I feel free. Oh, and one more. To the kid in class that laughs louder than the rest of the room combined as if he’s trying to prove the joke was funnier for him than it was for anyone else…SHUT THE FUCK UP!!…that is all
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Blog #3 - Alex Machock gets drunk with Animals
Alright, so this is what’s up:
The format of the show would be just like all that other Discovery/Travel channel business,
You take one guy; throw him into a bunch of different environments, and he uses his special skills/gimmick to navigate and survive and whatever. Pretty simple stuff. I mean you already got your Jeff Corwins, you got that uh…British guy who deliberately has fucking insects bite him, you got the bald dude who goes to different countries and just eats everything.
I know what you’re thinking; uh yeah…so what? We already have enough that shit as it. What the fuck are you going to do that so special?
Well here’s the thing people,
I don’t have any special skills.
But I do like to get drunk.
And I like animals.
Basically what my show would consist of me:
True Story, I look exactly like Snake Plissken
travelling all around the world to a bunch of countries I’ve never been to, like uh…how about fucking Kenya? How does that suit you? They’ve got giraffes and shit.
Exhibit A: a Giraffe
And somehow, through my extremely limited knowledge of animals and their behavior, entice these wild critters to have a little sip of my O.E.
Exhibit B: Olde English
From there on end, there’s really no telling as to what’s going down as me and the inebriated creatures wreck havoc on the rest of the animal kingdom. Say for example, I’m chilling with my newly-found orangutan homies, drinking on some brass monkeys, when one of them decides we should go hyena egging. Well shit mr. orangutan, count me in! Or another week me and some shwasted elephants could go stealing road signs in Swaziland. Taco Bells the world over won’t even know what hit them when I’m bringing in packs of lions who’ve got the hardcore drunchies.
Now I know some people might get angry and call it inhumane to give such animals alcohol. To you I say don’t worry, I totally google’d “getting drunk with animals” beforehand and found out that certain animals will eat fermenting fruit to fulfill their alcoholic needs. There’s even a youtube link. So it’s cool.
The format of the show would be just like all that other Discovery/Travel channel business,
You take one guy; throw him into a bunch of different environments, and he uses his special skills/gimmick to navigate and survive and whatever. Pretty simple stuff. I mean you already got your Jeff Corwins, you got that uh…British guy who deliberately has fucking insects bite him, you got the bald dude who goes to different countries and just eats everything.
I know what you’re thinking; uh yeah…so what? We already have enough that shit as it. What the fuck are you going to do that so special?
Well here’s the thing people,
I don’t have any special skills.
But I do like to get drunk.
And I like animals.
Basically what my show would consist of me:
True Story, I look exactly like Snake Plissken
travelling all around the world to a bunch of countries I’ve never been to, like uh…how about fucking Kenya? How does that suit you? They’ve got giraffes and shit.
Exhibit A: a Giraffe
And somehow, through my extremely limited knowledge of animals and their behavior, entice these wild critters to have a little sip of my O.E.
Exhibit B: Olde English
From there on end, there’s really no telling as to what’s going down as me and the inebriated creatures wreck havoc on the rest of the animal kingdom. Say for example, I’m chilling with my newly-found orangutan homies, drinking on some brass monkeys, when one of them decides we should go hyena egging. Well shit mr. orangutan, count me in! Or another week me and some shwasted elephants could go stealing road signs in Swaziland. Taco Bells the world over won’t even know what hit them when I’m bringing in packs of lions who’ve got the hardcore drunchies.
Now I know some people might get angry and call it inhumane to give such animals alcohol. To you I say don’t worry, I totally google’d “getting drunk with animals” beforehand and found out that certain animals will eat fermenting fruit to fulfill their alcoholic needs. There’s even a youtube link. So it’s cool.
Ariel Conkel - Blog Assignment #3
So for this blog, I’m deciding to be a hormonal little pussy and bitch about shit that’s bugging me. [Cause I’m a girl and that’s what girls do.]
Annoying roommates who think their wanted in a conversation so they just walk in to a room and join in. Bitch, I do not like you. We are not friends. Don’t talk to me. I really could give a fuck less what you have to say, you ginger freak.
Bumper stickers. Again, I do not care what you have to say, nor do I care about your likes and dislikes in this world or the fact that your child is student of the month at Who Gives A Shit Elementary. If you like Obama, kittens, and not contributing to world wars, good for you, I just want to drive the fucking speed limit asshole. Do you think as I’m honking at you to move your car out of the way that I give a shit that you love Jesus and Coexist. No. Not particularly. Just get the fuck out of my way.
Marxist lovers. Marx was a tool. His ideals would only work on a tiny utopian island. America is far from that, so get over yourselves already. You’re a tool.
People with backpacks on in a crowded bus. Hey dick bag, the refrigerator sized book bag you have strapped to your back and hit me in the face seven times since you got on the bus. Please refrain from being suck a dick bag and leave some of your crap at home. It is not necessary to lug around every edition of the D&D rulebooks around. If Gandalf is beckoning, I’m sure he won’t mind stopping by your crib to pick up some necessities.
[Spellcheck would like to make ‘Obama’ -→ ‘Osama’ Just thought I’d let you in on the humor that is getting to me at 2am]
Annoying roommates who think their wanted in a conversation so they just walk in to a room and join in. Bitch, I do not like you. We are not friends. Don’t talk to me. I really could give a fuck less what you have to say, you ginger freak.
Bumper stickers. Again, I do not care what you have to say, nor do I care about your likes and dislikes in this world or the fact that your child is student of the month at Who Gives A Shit Elementary. If you like Obama, kittens, and not contributing to world wars, good for you, I just want to drive the fucking speed limit asshole. Do you think as I’m honking at you to move your car out of the way that I give a shit that you love Jesus and Coexist. No. Not particularly. Just get the fuck out of my way.
Marxist lovers. Marx was a tool. His ideals would only work on a tiny utopian island. America is far from that, so get over yourselves already. You’re a tool.
People with backpacks on in a crowded bus. Hey dick bag, the refrigerator sized book bag you have strapped to your back and hit me in the face seven times since you got on the bus. Please refrain from being suck a dick bag and leave some of your crap at home. It is not necessary to lug around every edition of the D&D rulebooks around. If Gandalf is beckoning, I’m sure he won’t mind stopping by your crib to pick up some necessities.
[Spellcheck would like to make ‘Obama’ -→ ‘Osama’ Just thought I’d let you in on the humor that is getting to me at 2am]
Ban Meterosexuals!
“A party promoter has banned "metrosexuals" from a popular club night in a bid to stamp out violence.” A real article in the Herald Sun (sounds legit) from Melbourne, Australia banning Ed Hardy muscle tees, unisex skinny jeans, and basically all of American Apparel because more than hand guns and Swiss Army knives, deep v’s cause more hostility in clubs than the mix of bros and alcohol. I mean I’ve never been violently accosted by a man who chooses to groom himself over a man that doesn’t, but I guess a meterosexual can get pretty hostile when there’s some “accidental” spillage on their new white Ralph Lauren Oxford button down. The only men that I’ve been scarred of are the Downtown LA crack dealers, the Arizona Frat brothers and Mickey Rourke. Like honestly when have you ever been scarred of a meterosexual? Maybe when he’s approached you telling you your outfit was so five years ago or your tri-blend navy blue cardigan doesn’t match your Minnetonka moccasins, but honestly, has a meterosexual ever come up to a BLOOD’s member confronting him that his tall tee didn’t compliment his figure or that his flat hat is clashing with his Nike dunks? I don’t think so. Since meterosexuals usually come in petite packages, not to be confused with twinks, the effeminate pre-pubescent gay boy. Bros, the antithesis are alpha male idiots, usually inarticulate, belligerent douche bags, who enjoy spending their afternoons engaging in such games as beer pong and flip cup. I doubt these two males would ever approach each other in a nightclub, let allow be seen/photographed in that club together. A meterosexual is far too concerned with public appearances, photo ops, and bathroom primping to spend time in a dingy dive bar, playing pool while trying to score a tit and tap with Hugh Heffner’s college pick of the week. Ever get near a crowd of bros with six packs and massive guns? Terribly bad idea, you’ll find yourself in a brawl between flying buttons off a fitted Marc Jacobs blazer and rips in a some oversized logo shirt that says something along the lines of “don’t tase me, bro”…I’d say it’s time to get the Axe or can I recommend the new Gucci Pour Homme cologne? Touché.
Board Games By: Kevin Cowie
Lately my the building I have been living in has been having board games competitions that start out being friendly fun, yet they seem to end up becoming gladiator battles or striping sessions. I know its its hard to contemplate how a board game can lead to mass destruction or a free lap dance so let me explain. Everyone always gathers in one apartment to start the so called “board game night”. Eventually when you get further into the game one of 2 things happen. One, everyone argues on the rules of the game and two people get heated up enough to take light sabers and go at it outside for a while, for everyone's entertainment. George Lucus has not only made bad ass movies but at the same time solved trivial arguments by influencing everyone to use brute force instead. Two, someone (usually the creepy guy who stared at you in the naked run) influences that the game be switched so it involves striping and everyone gets naked. Makes board games a lot easier especially monopoly. That girl is going to have to do a few things if she wishes to just pass by my Park Place. But let me talk a little bit about the board games. One of the most popular apples to apples. The game of matching your crappy ass noun cards to the f@*#ed up adjective cards. Red = nouns, Green = Adjectives. There are multiple reasons I hate this game, I always get the shitty red cards that work exactly with the adjective their supposed to pair up with, yet no one plays by the rules. The adjective will be cuddly and ill put a teddy bear, while someones else puts down Michael Jackson. Who do you think the winner will be? But it cant stop there, Michael Jackson is just one of the many trump cards that never fall into my possession. The green card is now hopeless. I put down the red card high school reunions ... yet somehow I lose to the Helen Keller card. There will be the green card dirty. I throw down the card my mind, and I still lose to Adolf Hitler. This is where I give up on the game. Next game everyone loves to play, pictionary. Its a great way to show off your non existent artistic skills and create new hatred for the person you playing with. What the hell are you drawing?! How the F@#* is that a pirate ship!! The time is almost out its almost out, draw faster!! From my angle it just looked like you scribbled nonsense... that's because I did...
Thank you Kevin Cowie
Thank you Kevin Cowie
Costco Has Everything
Zack Oleinik
Costco is a society in its self. Held together by low prices, large quantities and a thin layer of sticky shit fermented on everything there. At Costco the supper supper market mecca, you can buy a camera, take pictures and develop and digalitalize your photos without leaving. You can by a handle of alcohol for the same price as a fifth anywhere else. Except at Costco you have to buy a six pack of handles, and I did the math and that is equivalent to two hundred and forty drinks. But its ok because if you walk half a mile down the hard concrete floor to the dark damp corner of the this dungeon, alcoholics anonymous is having their daily session. There is actually a certified Planned Parenthood in the other corner, and in the middle of the place on Sundays there is a church service. Costco has it all sex, drugs and rock n roll. Couples have actually been married at these services and the wedding was completely catered with dank pizza, berry smoothies, churros and chicken bakes. Their son was conceived in by the flat screen televisions, and the parents named him P.C. to give respect to the original Costco formerly known as Price Club. The shopping carts at Costco are so nice that if a bum pushes one he becomes a transient. And I swear if you ever make to the very back end of one of these places, people actually live back there. It can be done, live off of free sample platters and sleep on bubble rap, hell it wouldn't even be that bad of a life. Gosh I love Costco, if only I had a card.
Costco is a society in its self. Held together by low prices, large quantities and a thin layer of sticky shit fermented on everything there. At Costco the supper supper market mecca, you can buy a camera, take pictures and develop and digalitalize your photos without leaving. You can by a handle of alcohol for the same price as a fifth anywhere else. Except at Costco you have to buy a six pack of handles, and I did the math and that is equivalent to two hundred and forty drinks. But its ok because if you walk half a mile down the hard concrete floor to the dark damp corner of the this dungeon, alcoholics anonymous is having their daily session. There is actually a certified Planned Parenthood in the other corner, and in the middle of the place on Sundays there is a church service. Costco has it all sex, drugs and rock n roll. Couples have actually been married at these services and the wedding was completely catered with dank pizza, berry smoothies, churros and chicken bakes. Their son was conceived in by the flat screen televisions, and the parents named him P.C. to give respect to the original Costco formerly known as Price Club. The shopping carts at Costco are so nice that if a bum pushes one he becomes a transient. And I swear if you ever make to the very back end of one of these places, people actually live back there. It can be done, live off of free sample platters and sleep on bubble rap, hell it wouldn't even be that bad of a life. Gosh I love Costco, if only I had a card.
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