I ran across some old fashioned finger-in-the-wet-cement artwork today, and I had to step back and admire it because it has been a while since I’ve seen that kind of thing. It used to be that if there was wet cement, there was a kid lurking nearby to quickly defile it. These days those same kids are posting nude celebrity pics, defacing corporate web sites, or hacking into Indian government servers and starting a regional thermonuclear conflict by making it appear as if the Indian Prime Minister just said that “Pakistan blows goats”. And so when I read the unknown artist’s words of wisdom, “Gosnell SUCKS” I immediately agreed. Yes! Fuck that guy! Or girl! Or whatever the fuck Gosnell is! The evidence is clearly in, Gosnell, and I am afraid that you suck. Case closed. Continue reading

I often comment on the fact that during the 1970’s, when network television had a veritable monopoly on home entertainment, quality was… Well, how should I put this? Lacking. Quality was lacking, by which I mean I could, and sometimes do, take actual shits that are more entertaining than anything you would see during any random 4 hour span of programming. To this day, I’m puzzled by this fact. With valuable air time such a scarce commodity, surely only the finest entertainment would make the cut. But TV was so awful that (and I just looked this up) Hee-Haw was ranked as the 18th most popular TV show of that decade. Fucking Hee-Haw, where shirts and teeth were optional, but sister-diddling wasn’t. Continue reading

Wow, I must’ve been high as fuck in the 80’s, because this isn’t how I remember things at all…

I read an interesting scientific paper the other day because that is that is the type of thing that I do with my free time; I read scientific papers. Or at least that’s what I tell people, because people are narrow-minded and judgmental and if I tell them that I actually spend all of my free time drinking shoe polish and lurking in the plus size lingerie department at Walmart, they act as if they’re better than me, which is clearly bullshit because… Well, to be honest, I can’t think of a good way to end that sentence. But my point is, fuck those high-horse motherfuckers. They don’t bother me! Not as long as I’ve got another Kiwi and Coke at the ready. Continue reading

I had a dream last night that I was in a Godzilla movie. I found myself in an industrial park, cowering in the corner of a large plant as I watched Godzilla’s massive form stomping about in the distance. I remember feeling good about my chances because I wasn’t that poor bastard who always gets stepped on in the middle of the street. Seriously, people, are we not all familiar with the Godzilla drill yet? When a 400 foot tall fire breathing monster is walking down Main Street, you stay the fuck indoors. That’s the rule. Well, that and stay out of trains. I don’t know if Godzilla had some random pervert touch his butthole in the train when he was little or what, but trains send him into a motherfucking rage. He’s always tossing trains around, and so even though a swipe of his mighty tail could bring the factory I was hiding in crashing down upon me, I still felt good about things. I wasn’t crossing a street, and I wasn’t in a train. Continue reading

I’ve been a reader all my life, and so it was only natural that I would spend a lot of time reading to my kids when they were little. They’d get all dressed up in their footie pajamas, we’d hunker down in bed with a big, fluffy blanket covering us all, and I would open a book and begin to read: “We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold.” Hahahaha, just kidding. I would never read Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas to my kids. Too many words. We mostly read things with lots of pictures, like Hustler, although if the comics were good, we’d read Playboy in a pinch. Continue reading

This weekend was an interesting one for me. I learned a few things, which isn’t necessarily odd, but the things I usually learn on the weekends are more along the lines of what the underside of the tables at McGinty’s Pub look like, or that cops don’t like it when you call them “shitheels” in public. But yesterday, for instance, I learned that I have the ability to alter the outcome of a Super Bowl and that I am going to become filthy rich as a result. Continue reading

I found myself nauseated in the grocery store today. Normally if I feel nauseated in the grocery store, it’s because I’m in the potted meat aisle. There is something inherently wrong with potted meat, and if the lack of refrigeration and sci-fi-like expiration dates (“Best before 2112!”) don’t put you off, the contents should. A friend of mine once lost his fucking mind and tried Vienna Sausage, an experience he likened to eating pig dicks soaked in vomit, which in my mind is an insult to both pig dicks and vomit, because Vienna Sausages are fucking rank. Continue reading

I’ve got a couple of young boys, 8 and 6, and so of course a large part of their life revolves around video games. They are crazy about videogames, and often I find myself giving them the old, “When I was your age” lecture, telling them how when I was a young boy, I played outside, and read books, and did all kinds of other things that didn’t involve dropping virtual tactical nukes on virtual villages, blowing tiny little virtual people into virtual Kingdom Come. But as I’m telling them this and rounding them up to head outside, I see what they’re playing and I think to myself, “Shit, if video games looked like that when I was a kid, I would never have left the couch.” Because they look AWESOME, and beautiful, and lifelike, and they’re everything I dreamed about when I played video games as a child because what I played looked like someone vomited on a computer and then smashed it with a pipe-wrench. Continue reading

I’ve got a lot of things to write about tonight, but try as I might, I cannot find a common thread to link them all together. And you know what? I don’t fucking care. Narratives are for fucking pussies or people that write books, and even then they aren’t worth shit half the time. What was the narrative behind Twilight, for instance? Vampires are cool? That’s bullshit. I almost wish that vampires were real just so all of the fucking retards who liked Twilight would get the chance to walk in on a real life vampire converting their grandma into a dry, withered husk, or more accurately, a drier, more withered husk. Continue reading