I should have wrote this a long time ago, but it never occurred to me how much of a pandemic all these books and movies have become regarding vampire romances with people. It's a ridiculous molestation of an epic fictional being. Dracula never fell in love with Mina Harker, he bit the living shit out of her without her consent or a boring romance, and people loved it!
Somewhere along the line, vampires became sympathetic and emotional. Somehow they became pansies looking for a cure to their curse of drinking people's blood and being unable to fall in love when they should be sleeping in coffins, listening to heavy metal, going to night clubs, and eating people. That's what made them cool and interesting. Vampires can be diverse in their personality, but they shouldn't be falling in love with outcast high school girls and knocking them up. Anytime I feel that I could cock slap a vampire and piss on his broken body, means that some author or director fucked up.
Vampires use to be so fucking sweet, that people feared them. The last person they wanted to see at night was a vampire. Now I hear girls expressing how they wish they could have a romantic relationship with a vampire. Here's the trick girls, look for the guy wearing the black trench coat with all the chains hanging off of him, wearing the black eye shadow, and black lipstick. He's about as close to a vampire as you are going to get. Go ahead and follow your dreams and the real guys will stay grounded to reality here on Earth if you come back.
Werewolves have also started to shy away from their roots. Remember Teen Wolf in the 80's? That was without a doubt the dumbest piece of shit movie I've seen. Let's imagine for a moment a teenage werewolf that takes hold of his power and uses it to improve his basketball game. A ball crushing movie like that should be erased from history.
I'm happy that in the midst of all this, someone had the mind to do a remake of The Wolfman the right way. You won't find the Wolfman stalking young girls, bitching about his life, wishing he wasn't super badass, and running away from his problems like silly bitch. The Wolfman is perfectly fine with tearing people apart and eating them, just the way they were intended to do. Werewolves are almost mindless creatures who are just really good and eating things, and I mean people. Let them do their job and stop thinking about getting one as a boyfriend. If you don't want a convicted sadistic rapist as a lover, you shouldn't want to be boning a werewolf either.
If I were a werewolf or a vampire I would be pissed beyond comprehension that my image was being destroyed by writers of piss poor literature about supernatural romances. It would be enough for me to come out of my cave, dungeon, castle, basement, or whatever dark place I lived and seek out the daughter of an author of one of these books and impregnate her just so I could neglect to pay child support and bitch about a DNA test. That would be so romantic!
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Dear Shitbag...
(Actual note I have hung on my front and back door in response to a series of recent house burglaries.)
To whoever desires to steal from this house,
It is only fair that I warn you in advance that the house you are about to break into is occupied by two persons familiar with the propper and effective use of firearms of many different calibers. I want to warn you ahead of time so that if you enter you will be prepared and present me with a more challenging target. At any given time there is at least one person in this house who knows how to use a gun, in fact we all do. I would also like to let you know that I prefer the 1911 which is a .45 handgun that has proven to be an effective tool in sending a piece of shit like you to the afterlife. I also load jacketed hollow point rounds which means that instead of going through you, the bullet will expand when it hits you causing tremendous damage to vital organs you never knew you had. To waste one bullet on you would hardly be worth the time it takes me to clean my gun afterward, so I will most likely fire a few rounds at you just to make it worth my effort. Don't forget my roomate(s) will probably be shooting at the same time and we all practice the double tap method. In case you don't know, this means that we will shoot you once in the chest and once in the head. Times that by three and... well you can probably figure the rest. Since you probably do not scope out your houses ahead of time know this, the door you are about to enter opens to a long hallway. This is not so much a hallway as it is a funnel that delivers you to us. Be assured we will see you before you see us. So if you would be so kind as to enter I would greatly appreciate the target practice. Cardboard cutouts are getting tiresome, even at 300 yards.
Sincerely,
The residents of this house.
PS. Fuck you.
To whoever desires to steal from this house,
It is only fair that I warn you in advance that the house you are about to break into is occupied by two persons familiar with the propper and effective use of firearms of many different calibers. I want to warn you ahead of time so that if you enter you will be prepared and present me with a more challenging target. At any given time there is at least one person in this house who knows how to use a gun, in fact we all do. I would also like to let you know that I prefer the 1911 which is a .45 handgun that has proven to be an effective tool in sending a piece of shit like you to the afterlife. I also load jacketed hollow point rounds which means that instead of going through you, the bullet will expand when it hits you causing tremendous damage to vital organs you never knew you had. To waste one bullet on you would hardly be worth the time it takes me to clean my gun afterward, so I will most likely fire a few rounds at you just to make it worth my effort. Don't forget my roomate(s) will probably be shooting at the same time and we all practice the double tap method. In case you don't know, this means that we will shoot you once in the chest and once in the head. Times that by three and... well you can probably figure the rest. Since you probably do not scope out your houses ahead of time know this, the door you are about to enter opens to a long hallway. This is not so much a hallway as it is a funnel that delivers you to us. Be assured we will see you before you see us. So if you would be so kind as to enter I would greatly appreciate the target practice. Cardboard cutouts are getting tiresome, even at 300 yards.
Sincerely,
The residents of this house.
PS. Fuck you.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Updating... it may take a while.
I'm going through all my old notebooks of stuff I've wrote and I'll have them posted soon. I have a few stored in Myspace that I need to transfer over, but I'll get to it eventually. I work and making money is always going to take precedence over me bitch slapping the world and pinpointing flaws that the overall population has overlooked.
Planning for the Future.
There is no avoiding the fact that we are all going to die. I've been to a few funerals, and the one thing that is common at all of them is people crying like bitches. It's outright annoying that I am trying to listen to the preacher talk about the deceased life and what is in store for them in the next, and this assholes keeps balling and drawing attention to themselves. Nobody should dare cry at my funeral and take the final attention I'll ever get off of me. There are some fail safes that I am going to have at my funeral to ensure that bullshit criers don't spoil it.
First thing that needs to go is the organ, piano, or whatever musical instrument they may have. Those instruments blow harder than whores on meth. I've never listened to those instruments so why the hell should I have them played at my funeral? I want a motherfucking DJ equipped with lights and smoke! If you are attending, you won't have to fear sitting through song after rustic song, you'll be jamming out to "Paradise City" by Guns'n'Roses as they walk my casket up. Anyone caught crying will be pummeled by security using my limbs as blunt striking tools.
Don't worry about the eulogy portion, because there's not going to be one. Eulogies are bullshit because they are almost the same cut and paste speech, and who really appreciates them? I just want this portion of my funeral omitted, and have everyone just pound back some beers. In fact, it would be awesome if everyone at my funeral got shit faced! That way people could say their final goodbyes and be truthful without the rehearsed dialogue they came up with in the car ride over.
Another flaw that I find in funerals is that the deceased is placed inside the casket in a suite... that's it. Where did our tradition of burying someone with money and earthly possessions come to an end. I know, it was when some greedy dick came up with inheritance. Fuck that. Give me an Armani suite, a crown and stuff all my valued possessions into that damn box with me. I'm not going to leave an inheritance. I earned all my stuff, and I sure as hell am going to take it with me. I'm a proponant of hard work and anyone who wants what I have can dip their ball sack in a vice clamp.
When everyone is drunk off their ass, the final entertainment for the evening could be trying to carry my casket out of the church without spilling me all over my loved ones.
Of course, I don't want to be put in the ground and left with all the other mundane bodies. I would rather have all my possessions burned and my body donated to science so that studies could be made on how to better improve the gene pool using me as the example.
First thing that needs to go is the organ, piano, or whatever musical instrument they may have. Those instruments blow harder than whores on meth. I've never listened to those instruments so why the hell should I have them played at my funeral? I want a motherfucking DJ equipped with lights and smoke! If you are attending, you won't have to fear sitting through song after rustic song, you'll be jamming out to "Paradise City" by Guns'n'Roses as they walk my casket up. Anyone caught crying will be pummeled by security using my limbs as blunt striking tools.
Don't worry about the eulogy portion, because there's not going to be one. Eulogies are bullshit because they are almost the same cut and paste speech, and who really appreciates them? I just want this portion of my funeral omitted, and have everyone just pound back some beers. In fact, it would be awesome if everyone at my funeral got shit faced! That way people could say their final goodbyes and be truthful without the rehearsed dialogue they came up with in the car ride over.
Another flaw that I find in funerals is that the deceased is placed inside the casket in a suite... that's it. Where did our tradition of burying someone with money and earthly possessions come to an end. I know, it was when some greedy dick came up with inheritance. Fuck that. Give me an Armani suite, a crown and stuff all my valued possessions into that damn box with me. I'm not going to leave an inheritance. I earned all my stuff, and I sure as hell am going to take it with me. I'm a proponant of hard work and anyone who wants what I have can dip their ball sack in a vice clamp.
When everyone is drunk off their ass, the final entertainment for the evening could be trying to carry my casket out of the church without spilling me all over my loved ones.
Of course, I don't want to be put in the ground and left with all the other mundane bodies. I would rather have all my possessions burned and my body donated to science so that studies could be made on how to better improve the gene pool using me as the example.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Thinking about home security, consider a chainsaw.
People spend millions of dollars each year on shitty home security equipment. If you were to go out and buy something to protect yourself at home, you would probably buy an alarm system or a gun. Wrong and wrong again. Here is why.
Alarm systems don't prevent thieves from breaking into your home, it just puts a time limit on how long they can take snatching your plasma screen TV and your daughter's virginity. Now that alarm system sign out front has become an eye sore instead of your boast to your neighbors. There's nothing like putting a sign up that says, "This house has an alarm system, so move fast while your steal my shit."
Then there are guns. Guns can be very convincing in the right hands, but if you shoot with the accuracy of a seizure victim, forget it. You either won't hit them and they will pound your ass, or worse you will wound them and then they will sue your ass. If that is the case, they just robbed you legally.
If you think tasers or pepper spray are a good tool, you have not hit puberty.
Here is what I suggest for home security, a chainsaw. No one dicks around with someone wielding a chainsaw. I'm willing to say that they are probably the most insane and diverse item you could own, and they are perfect for home security. Nothing makes an intruder's balls retract like the snarl of a chainsaw in the dark.
Here is the scenario. The intruder, who we will call Dave, breaks your back window under the cover of darkness and enters your house. He listens for the alarm or the cocking of a gun. "I'm safe," he thinks, "this will be simple." This bitch just thought wrong. What intruder Dave doesn't know is that you heard him come in and you reached for the chainsaw that is always kept underneath the bed. Intruder Dave wanders the house, but when he hears the growl of the chainsaw coming to life, he shits all the colors of the rainbow. What's worse is he can't tell is if you are coming down the hall or through the fucking wall. If the crook has not fled yet, find him and make him drop his wallet. Be sure to drag your chainsaw, thus carving lines into the floor for dramatic effect. After you take his wallet, hold the chainsaw above your head and give it full throttle. This will send him running and unable to achieve a boner for the next five years.
Bam! Just like that you defended your turf, robbed the thief, and gave yourself an excuse to redo your floor. All thanks to this one beastly machine.
Chainsaws come in all sizes, but regardless, when and intruder sees you buzzing with one towards them, all they can think is "I'm fucked!"
Alarm systems don't prevent thieves from breaking into your home, it just puts a time limit on how long they can take snatching your plasma screen TV and your daughter's virginity. Now that alarm system sign out front has become an eye sore instead of your boast to your neighbors. There's nothing like putting a sign up that says, "This house has an alarm system, so move fast while your steal my shit."
Then there are guns. Guns can be very convincing in the right hands, but if you shoot with the accuracy of a seizure victim, forget it. You either won't hit them and they will pound your ass, or worse you will wound them and then they will sue your ass. If that is the case, they just robbed you legally.
If you think tasers or pepper spray are a good tool, you have not hit puberty.
Here is what I suggest for home security, a chainsaw. No one dicks around with someone wielding a chainsaw. I'm willing to say that they are probably the most insane and diverse item you could own, and they are perfect for home security. Nothing makes an intruder's balls retract like the snarl of a chainsaw in the dark.
Here is the scenario. The intruder, who we will call Dave, breaks your back window under the cover of darkness and enters your house. He listens for the alarm or the cocking of a gun. "I'm safe," he thinks, "this will be simple." This bitch just thought wrong. What intruder Dave doesn't know is that you heard him come in and you reached for the chainsaw that is always kept underneath the bed. Intruder Dave wanders the house, but when he hears the growl of the chainsaw coming to life, he shits all the colors of the rainbow. What's worse is he can't tell is if you are coming down the hall or through the fucking wall. If the crook has not fled yet, find him and make him drop his wallet. Be sure to drag your chainsaw, thus carving lines into the floor for dramatic effect. After you take his wallet, hold the chainsaw above your head and give it full throttle. This will send him running and unable to achieve a boner for the next five years.
Bam! Just like that you defended your turf, robbed the thief, and gave yourself an excuse to redo your floor. All thanks to this one beastly machine.
Chainsaws come in all sizes, but regardless, when and intruder sees you buzzing with one towards them, all they can think is "I'm fucked!"
It’s Friday, Go F&% Yourself
Fridays have the most potential to piss me off than any other day of the week. In fact, I dread going to work on Fridays because everyone has the same damn conversation they had for every Friday in the past. They can't shut up about how great it is that it is Friday. I'd rather have my face beaten with a lead pipe than listen to this shit all day.
Usually when I ask someone how they are doing, the reply is a relevant answer such as "good" or "I'm tired." On Friday, however, I'll ask someone how it is going and they reply, "It's Friday." No shit. I asked how you were doing, not what day of the week it is asshole. I don't need a human calendar when I have the Maxim version at home.
I am just as excited for the weekend as anyone else who works 40+ hours per week, but I don't turn into a cheerleader for it. If I wanted to express my Friday joy, I would go drop kick a small dog over a house, but I can contain it.
The thing I miss most on Fridays is the lack of intelligent conversations. I would much rather hear about your pet getting neutered than you telling me the obvious. To combat this, when I hear someone state how happy they are that it's Friday I immediately bring their high down by saying "Monday is only two days away." This shuts them up and their mood immediately turns sour. Science can back me on this because their nervous system is so ecstatic that the weekend is almost here that when they hear "Monday," the neurons in the brain come to a halt. This causes immediate depression for them and satisfaction for me. I have guaranteed that I will not hear anything more from that person the rest of the day. Game over, I win.
I don't know if the mind shuts down Thursday night or if people are only capable of focusing on one overlaying subject. Either way, I have to listen to them act like weekend hungry zombies. That could make for a good movie, Friday of the Weekend Hungry Zombies. It could consist of two hours of Friday happy zombies getting busted in the head with a metal folding chair. That would finally do this epidemic some justice.
Usually when I ask someone how they are doing, the reply is a relevant answer such as "good" or "I'm tired." On Friday, however, I'll ask someone how it is going and they reply, "It's Friday." No shit. I asked how you were doing, not what day of the week it is asshole. I don't need a human calendar when I have the Maxim version at home.
I am just as excited for the weekend as anyone else who works 40+ hours per week, but I don't turn into a cheerleader for it. If I wanted to express my Friday joy, I would go drop kick a small dog over a house, but I can contain it.
The thing I miss most on Fridays is the lack of intelligent conversations. I would much rather hear about your pet getting neutered than you telling me the obvious. To combat this, when I hear someone state how happy they are that it's Friday I immediately bring their high down by saying "Monday is only two days away." This shuts them up and their mood immediately turns sour. Science can back me on this because their nervous system is so ecstatic that the weekend is almost here that when they hear "Monday," the neurons in the brain come to a halt. This causes immediate depression for them and satisfaction for me. I have guaranteed that I will not hear anything more from that person the rest of the day. Game over, I win.
I don't know if the mind shuts down Thursday night or if people are only capable of focusing on one overlaying subject. Either way, I have to listen to them act like weekend hungry zombies. That could make for a good movie, Friday of the Weekend Hungry Zombies. It could consist of two hours of Friday happy zombies getting busted in the head with a metal folding chair. That would finally do this epidemic some justice.
The Embodiment of Badass
Few things in this world have earned the designation of "Badass" from me. The only time I say that something is badass is when an animal gets run over at 100+ miles per hour, when someone cauterizes their own wound with a burning knife, or when I look in the mirror. The other day, however, I beheld a sight that made me more humble than someone begging not to get hit in the nuts.
I was driving down a popular road for spring time runners to see how many potential vehicle vs. jogger collisions I could have, then I noticed one runner that was opposed to all the others. I'd be willing to say that he was the product of a communion between Attila the Hun and Wonder Woman because he could easily change a tire without using a jack and just absolutely ripped. He wore a sleeveless shirt to display his tattoo, an American soldier waving a tattered American flag and flipping the bird in the other direction. As if to say, "I'm an American and I invented odorless shit." Even Clint Eastwood would have said, "Hot damn!"
Even an appearance like this does not warrant the title of badass, but what sent his score skyrocketing was that he was smoking a cigarette while he ran. That's right, he was killing his lungs as he was building them up. He did not give a flying elbow slam to a blind man's face about the dangers of smoking. He was going to enjoy that smoke regardless because his attitude could counteract any scientific fact.
After all of these came together I realized that he was not running because that implies fleeing, he was chasing the other runners ahead of him. Since he was smoking and running he needed an ashtray and runners are a good substitute for that, and he was moving faster than them.
I was in total awe. I could say without a doubt that he was the reigning silent king of ass kicking. As I drove past, an immediate feeling of being poorly endowed came over me. All I could do was tip my hat to the rearview mirror and dwell on the lessons I learned. I have an appointment to get a tattoo next week.
I was driving down a popular road for spring time runners to see how many potential vehicle vs. jogger collisions I could have, then I noticed one runner that was opposed to all the others. I'd be willing to say that he was the product of a communion between Attila the Hun and Wonder Woman because he could easily change a tire without using a jack and just absolutely ripped. He wore a sleeveless shirt to display his tattoo, an American soldier waving a tattered American flag and flipping the bird in the other direction. As if to say, "I'm an American and I invented odorless shit." Even Clint Eastwood would have said, "Hot damn!"
Even an appearance like this does not warrant the title of badass, but what sent his score skyrocketing was that he was smoking a cigarette while he ran. That's right, he was killing his lungs as he was building them up. He did not give a flying elbow slam to a blind man's face about the dangers of smoking. He was going to enjoy that smoke regardless because his attitude could counteract any scientific fact.
After all of these came together I realized that he was not running because that implies fleeing, he was chasing the other runners ahead of him. Since he was smoking and running he needed an ashtray and runners are a good substitute for that, and he was moving faster than them.
I was in total awe. I could say without a doubt that he was the reigning silent king of ass kicking. As I drove past, an immediate feeling of being poorly endowed came over me. All I could do was tip my hat to the rearview mirror and dwell on the lessons I learned. I have an appointment to get a tattoo next week.
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