Adam: SUCK A BAG OF DICKS
Kyle: well
Kyle: ill suck on the bag
Kyle: but not the dicks themselves
Adam: okay but it’s leaking
Adam: it’s a paper bag
Kyle: so, youre telling me
Adam: and overly full
Adam: it wasn’t well thought out
Kyle: that this paper bag
Kyle: what is it leaking?
Adam: all I’m saying is that you’re not getting off light here, by choosing just the bag
Adam: it doesn’t matter
Adam: you’ve agreed
Kyle: no it does
Kyle: and i will simply suck the top of the paper bag
Adam: This is a bag, that contains dicks, the state of the bag or the dicks was not in question
Adam: we have an agreement sir
Adam: honestly the top isn’t a whole lot better
Adam: these have been in my car for weeks
Adam: This won’t end well for you
Kyle: well, the leaking of said dicks would have occurred down and towards the bottom of the back
Kyle: if it was full enough to make the top wet
Kyle: the bag would have tipped over
Kyle: so one side of the bag would be relativley dry
Adam: I can see where your glimmer of hope comes from, but these have been sliding all around and quite frankly decomposing for some time, there no safe area of the bag
Adam: you won’t enjoy this
Adam: regardless of your positional pandering
Kyle: im just saying, unless you took your pos sedan off roading, it wouldnt have bounced around enough to actually defial the sid eof the back facing up
Adam: ok, I’ll just say it
Adam: the bag is wet
Kyle: and road driving would not have knocked all of the dicks out
Adam: mighty wet
Kyle: so
Adam: and it’s filled to capacity
Adam: this is going to be tragic
Kyle: they would have weighted down the bag enough to not get one side wet
Kyle: i think, based upon my perfectly logical reasoning above
Adam: I admire your positive outlook
Kyle : that you, sir, are a liar
Adam: however, this is bound to be something that will be a terrible experience fo ryou
Kyle: not to mention the fact that
Kyle: if the bag was as wet as you say
Kyle: it would have fallen apart due to the weight of the dicks inside
Kyle: and, therefore, would no longer be a bag of dicks
Adam: it’s barely a bag of dicks
Kyle: see, now youre changing your story
Adam: I think the act of simply trying to hold it
Adam: will be your downfall
Adam: It’s numerous dicks in a container, of sorts, let’s stop debating semantics
Adam: look I’ll just go get it and let you handle it any way you want
Kyle: but the sematics are the crux of the argument
Adam: you can even throw them away when you’re done
Kyle: based upon your previous statments, there is no way a paper container of any kind could have stood up to the abuse you are implying it was taking
Adam: You’re making it the crux, the crux of MY argument is that your mouth will contact this package that I will soon deliver to you at high speed
Adam: it’s a sturdy butcher paper bag
Kyle: even sturdy butcher paper degrades overtime
Adam: but they’re not indestructible
Adam: have you ever purchased a lot of pork at once?
Kyle: and weeks of decompoasing dicks
Kyle: oh yes
Adam: the bag will be intact enough for you to at least begin the journey of suckage on which you’ve agreed to undertake
Adam: the fellowship of kyle and his back suckage will at the very least leave rivendell
Adam: but I doubt you’ll get to mordor if I can continue the the metaphor
Kyle: the bag will fall apart during its inital transit to be presented to me, which is basicaly saying, using your previous analogy, that the bag wont make it out of the lonely mountain
Kyle: err metaphor
Adam: I will use all delicacy to make sure what remains of the bag will be intact enough for you to begin your no-doubt dangerous journey into bag-end-suckage
Adam: Bag-end being both a hobbit joke and physical reference to the part of the bag in question
Kyle : i still reject your suposition that the bag will be intact enough to still be considered a bag and, therefore, would not be a bag of dicks, which voids our inital argreement
Adam: We will find out sir! To the CAR!
Adam: (the end)
Kyle: this has gotten entirely too silly

Adam: He would kick down the door of that orphanage and say

“look, some of you don’t have parents, and that’s sad, but I’m gonna burn this place down, and if you want to live you have to get through me..”

Then you see how many orphans you can take on at once, when they’re desperate. Sure they’re undernourished, but adrenaline helps.

Adam: At first it’s like a shooting gallery, you’re wiping the floor with orphan after orphan

Adam: then the numbers start to swell as they realize the flames are growing closer to their beds

Adam: suddenly it’s a numbers game…

Adam: you’re like the spartans in 300 blocking a pivotal point of entry

Adam: they are the persian hordes

Adam: sure you have the easy combat skill advantage

Adam: but the hordes may overrun you if your’e not smart

Adam: and don’t pace yourself

Adam: Eventually, you’re going for the most economic kill

Adam: a crushed larnyx, a broken neck

Adam: The orphans piling up providing a brief respite

Adam: as they have to clamber over their dead

Adam: sure, it’s scary

Adam: but it’s also the biggest rush you’ve ever had

Adam: you find yourself screaming a war-cry you never knew you had

Adam: PARENTS!

Adam: PARENTS!!!

Adam: you’ll scream through the blood and teeth and flying stick-like limbs of the underprivleged children you’re decimating

Adam: which only enrages them more

Adam: and feeds the cycle…

Adam: sooner, rather than later, it’s all over.

Adam: and you’re there, covered in gore and bits of the felt blanket they tried to use as a net or barrier

Adam: As you walk away, orphanage burning merrily behind you, you stop and think

“Maybe I should masterbate”

Adam: Because now, you’re finally ALIVE

Adam: -fin -

Hello Potential Candidate. We’ve prepared a brief application for you. Your first step to your new job at Fuhnny.com – Please fill out all answers to the best of your ability.

 

Sean: i once ate a penguin whole

Sean: well not all at once, but the whole thing

Adam: Are you okay

Adam: oh

Adam: well like what over the course of a week

Adam: I mean, I could eat a whole horse, given a lot of time

Sean: nope one sitting

Adam: and it wouldn’t be anything special

Adam: HOW LONG WAS THE SITTING

Sean: hour and a half….lots of gristle

Sean: kept the beak for a necklace

Adam: well there you go

Adam: not a WHOLE penguin

Adam: if I eat a WHOLE horse but keep the head and tail for a mantlepiece …

Adam: which would be amazing

Adam: I haven’t really eaten a whole one have I?

Sean: its not like you can digest the beak…but for sake of argument I just swallowed my necklace

Sean: now i know you going to say well thats not one sitting

Adam: actually I was going to tell you to see a doctor

Adam: that might really hurt you

Adam: consider my needs satisfied

Adam: but you could be in some trouble

Sean: oh god! why?

Adam: don’t sleep on your stomach for like a week

Adam: it’s a BEAK man, who the hell would eat that

Adam: …

Sean: well i didnt want to seem a liar

Adam: you might die

Sean: ive had worse

Adam: like that time you swallowed a rhino horn?

Adam: This is nothing compared to that

Adam: Those beaks are like little diamond knives with an agenda

Adam: a rhino horn is like an unripe banana

Sean: well now see what you….oh god….i just burped up blood

Sean: im good im good

Sean: i got this

Adam: ugh dude, look down

Sean: and that rhino horn didnt even get me aroused

Sean: is that my blood

Adam: it’s not mine

Adam: except for that old stain from when we played razorblade flick football

Sean: well i think some of it is teh penguins

Sean: that was fun

Sean: AND THE REST IS MINE

Adam: Yeah call 811 we’re in a lot of trouble

Sean: what will traffic updates do for us right now?!

Adam: that’s 511

Adam: 811 is the less urgent emergency service

Adam: or is that emergencies in russia…

Adam: anyway

Adam: But it’s just a little blood loss

Adam: whoa

Adam: a lot

Adam: a lot of blood loss

Sean: well im not fluent any more and the russian i did know isn’t spoken

Adam: dear god, just rip out these floors and start anew dude

Adam: sigh

Sean: some is the penguins

Adam: fine I’ll drive you – but in YOUR car

Sean: ill lay in the back of the truck….just get me….oh wait i got….oh no….here it.,..nope i think its wedged into my stomach

Sean: im not bleeding anymore either…i think…is that good or bad?

Adam: well

Adam: maybe because you’re laying down

Adam: or you might just be on empty

Adam: judging by the rate you were going

Sean: how does my face look?

Adam: Were you always translucent?

Sean: like im becoming invisable

Adam: well no but I think we should hurry

Adam: umm, just elevate your stomach and try to bleed into your mouth

Adam: here’s some knitting needles, some yarn and some gatorade

Adam: I was on my way to grandmas for the packers game so I had all this ready

Sean: okay i can use this…

Sean: gargle gargle gargle

Adam: um, don’t gargle yarn

Adam: you’re really messed up man

Adam: I think we might just want to stop at the morgue

Adam: I have a cousin that works there

Adam: the one that never dates…

Adam: I don’t want to make things sound bad, but I think we may be wasting our time at the ER

Adam: let me mapquest the morgue, actually, call 511

Sean: why do you torment me. your cousin is really creepy

Adam: oh you’re awake

Adam: well we’re on our way to the hospital, yes… the hospital

Adam: where they’ll fix you… right up… *tear* buddy

Adam: You’ll live a long life

Adam: playing with puppies

Adam: not bleeding out from an internal penguin wound

Adam: *manic laugh*

Adam: I guess that ol’ penguin got you in the end, who eats who, ya know?

Adam: *Sean Dies*

Adam: *Adam, covered in penguin and human blood, crashes into the morgue*

Adam: *THE END – Fin*

Dear Christina,

It’s me Adam. Adam Aragon from Fuhnny.com. You probably don’t remember me, and that’s because we’ve never met or spoken. However I remember you. I’ve seen just about every movie you’ve ever done. From your Addam’s family days, to your dark spooky Ice Storm, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and Buffalo 66′ days. To your Sleepy Hollows and even wrapped in a pink bubble gum shell in Speed Racer, or dowdy and down on your luck in Bucky Larson.

We’re roughly the same age, you and I. I’m more than a fan, I’m an admirer. Your eyes open all the way past the edges of your irises, giving you a slightly manic look, that I never get tired of. You’re curvy, petite and seem to age beautifully. You’re just as pretty now as you were when you started acting.

Now, I know you’re probably in a relationship, and with full disclosure so am I. However due to your fame I’ve been given the go-ahead to try to sleep with you. I’m not sure if we can have an emotional bond without compromising both of our relationships, nor do I want graceless spin-off sex with you (although I’ll take it if it’s on the table) I’d like to be your friend with benefits. Your friend who makes you laugh and occasionally tosses an orgasm your way. I’m not high maintenance. I’m not the best looking guy in the world, but I’m not bad either. I’m friendly, funny, charming and unafraid to tell you how I feel.

I don’t want any money, or fame, or to ride your coat-tails to greater opportunity. I think you’re awesome, interesting and attractive. I love your movies and what glimpses of your personality I can glean from mainstream media, your IMDB profile and the occasional interview or magazine expose. It’s not my intent to be creepy, I’d just be one of a million (I’m sure) if I just said that I love you and want you and yadda yadda yadda in some half hearted fan mail. So instead, I opt NOT to send this to you, but to hopefully have you find it naturally and come across a well spoken argument for making a new friend, possibly getting naked with him, or least having a hell of an interesting conversation.

Why bother? You have lots of friends, you have Hollywood. You not starving for attention and your current boyfriend is probably richer and more attractive than I am. I say, carpe diem, seize the day. No, I don’t offer a significant improvement in any way. But I’m bold, outgoing, funny, and adventurous. Not in a ‘hang-gliding off the golden gate’ kind of way. But the quirky kind of adventurous that could have us drinking cocktails on the roof of a shed while playing mad-libs using only Nouns. I’m taking a chance, a dare, that you’re that kind of weird, my kind of weird.

We can be friends, we don’t have to sleep together, but I think we should have our ducks in a row, that yes, I’m attracted. I cannot lie. I mean I can, but I wouldn’t lie to you. Unless it was the deciding factor. In which case, I have 18-pack abs and I am the worlds greatest polo player.  I would grow extra abs for you, and do situps for a month if we could hang out, and that’s the truth. (Except the impossible part of the previous statement)

I’m rambling now, you do that to me, even when you’re not here. But really, a phone call. Take a Chance.

Caught Bucky Larson this weekend, twice. With unexpected results.

When I first saw the trailer for Bucky Larson it looked awful. Any movie that capitalizes on a star with a strange defect (i.e. big ol’ buck teeth) seems like a sinking ship from the get go, all the jokes are pre-loaded and the humor has nowhere to go.

I’m one of the few people who really didn’t like “Grandma’s Boy” maybe it’s my fact checking history from the game industry, maybe I’m just a douche, who knows? But until recently I considered Adam Sandler movies to be the better ones and the rest of crew at “Happy Madison” who crank out the other movies to be the lesser studio. But now that Adam Sandler has sold his soul to the devil it’s starting to go the other way around. Case in Point – Bucky Larson.

Rather than rely on the same tired looking crew of Adam Sandler’s friends to push a movie through to completion they got some new talented people on board. Stephen Dorff, Christina Ricci (Whom I’m in Love With), Nick Swardson and a surprise out of left field with Don Johnson. Some of the most underrated people in comedy right now. People who are all funny and talented and should have more work.

This isn’t to say the movie is a masterpiece, but I have to give credit to the writing. They deftly avoid cliche after cliche in this movie, moving 2 steps ahead at all times. On the flip-side - It wobbles back and forth between trying a bit too hard to be a real romantic comedy, and a total parody of itself.

To sum up the plot, Bucky Larson is an Iowa kid from a podunk-backwoods town who has never masterbated and is recently fired from his job bagging groceries. His friends, to cheer him up, show him his first porno, an old 70′s adult movie. Which ends up starring his parents. Rather than be disgusted, Bucky is entranced by being the son of two film ‘stars’ and goes to Hollywood to find his destiny. To be in adult films, just like his parents. This off the wall premise leads to him meeting a love interest, and being set back slightly by the fact that he has an absurdly small penis and immediately ejaculates with the first GLIMPSE of a boob, to hilarious effect.

Odd premise huh? But overall it’s unique. Don Johnson is the irascible, friendly, pill-addicted, well meaning porn director who gives Bucky his shot at porn. Nick Swardson while straddling the fence between a overly nice country boy with no shame, and an utter retard, is not the most charming of main characters but he plays his role – To The HILT. A bit part from Kevin Nealon ends up providing some of the best angry nonsensical non-sequiters ever put to film. Christina Ricci, while phoning it in just a bit, is still adorable and charming. And Stephen Dorff, as the hyper-aggressive and hung porn legend “Dick Shadow” is brilliantly over the top.

The insistence of this movie of grounding itself with a bit of reality is it’s only downfall. It’s jokes land, the actors ham it up to great effect and there’s a lot of character and personality. When it goes down the road of having a few serious moments and cheap jokes that belong in a crappier movie it tends to drag and get boring. With a clearer vision I think this movie could have pushed to almost “Anchorman” level humor but falls short due to it’s inability to decide what kind of movie it is. One minute Bucky Larson is clueless to the point of almost epic stupidity, the next he’s giving sage advice and acting like a grown up. Don Johnson is the nicest and warmest person in the world, and the next he’s screaming and doing 8-balls. There’s no comedy inherent in the transition it’s simply that the characters often act, out of character..

What I can offer you, brave readers, is that this movie is surprisingly worth seeing. I get the feeling a lot of the humor could benefit from an altered mind state, but it’s not required. From seeing it twice, I’ve noticed a few things. One, is that this movie is bombing, with terribly empty theaters that probably had the same first awful impression I got from the trailer. Two is that this is way more fun with a group, to share the inside-jokey humor and odd pauses. So bring a friend or three and go see it. Don’t expect to be blown away but you’ll laugh a lot. And that’s what comedies do…

The Signs of the New (Fuhnny) Zodiac

Special Thanks to Joe Krol -

Fuhnny.com Went and dug through some ancient ruins and found the Ancient Russian-Gaelic-Postmodern Zodiac as it was originally intended to be. As the lunar cycles of the early eras were significantly different you may notice some dramatic variations in which —s were originally intended. But we assure you, this is the most accurate zodiac to —. Get your Horoscope on now!

• January 1st through January 15th
• January 16th – 31st
• Febuary 1st – 2nd
• February 3rd-28th
• February 29th (leap year)
• March 1st – 21st
• March 22nd – March 31st
• April – 1th
• April 2nd – 30th
• May1st – May 16th
• May 17th – 31st
• June 1st – 18th
• June 19th – July 3rd
• July 4th – July 31st
• August 1st – August 31st
• September 1st – September 30th
• October 1st – 31st
• November 1st – 30th
• December 1st – 30th
• December 31st

January 1st through January 15th

- The Feeble Lemur

“The Feeble lemur is a quirky personality, these people usually become podiatrists and worship cthulu the forgotten god. Every single feeble Lemur will die on January 19th, 2083. They are known to fall asleep in brown shirts at exactly 2:38pm almost every 3rd tuesday. Your lucky cookie is oreo and your favorable video games are RPG’s.

Look on Craiglist Casual Hookups for love with the The Amicable Gopher

—

-The Deaf Bat

“The Deaf Bat knows all, and can give great advice, however over and over again just cant’ listen to its own. They have an affinity for pants that never fit, and multiple gym memberships. Social creatures to a fault, they may wander outside sans clothing if the weather permits. The Deaf Bat can only creat offspring by coupling with a Ninja Dentist, any attempt to copulate with ANY other sign will result in a small detonation that will annihilate both parties with a faint ‘wooshy’ sound. .

Your lucky number is the letter 8…

—

- The Invisible Chimera

“The Invisiable Chimera is a rare birthday that indicates you were born out of wedlock from the leader of a chinese dynasty. Or from Ted Williams from Canton, Ohio. The rising of jupiter and mounting of mars makes for a solar-pole-dance that causes anyone to be born on this day to have vivid and incredible superpowers for one day out of the year. The drawback of course is that you are inevitably blind, die within 4 years and cannot smell anything red without imploding.

If you are an Invisible Chimera, you’re a fucking liar and look to mate with a Albino Aardvark or the Schroedingers Chicken

—

- Laser Cat

“The Laser Cat of ancient Gaelic Mythology Datess back to the time of Stonehenge where he is depicted fighting Kayne west and a VW bus in one of the most shocking of interperative cave paintings. A mysterious figure, the Laser cat is often considered to be transient and to smell of raspberries. They also sometimes have a laser embedded in their spine capable of devastating destruction. Although this is rare. They are also known shoplifters and dynamic lovers.

See the Ominous Cloud or Sexually Harrassing Squid for luck in love.

—

- Shcroedingers Chicken

“Schroedingers Chickens are born on the rare 29th of february that appears every leap year. They have no inhibitions and can swallow an entire lobster, and often will. There is no known measurement for how often an “SC” is born as the act of checking somehow always turns out to be a dead or sickly number. When placed near a source of sunlight, you will begin to generate chlorophyll and extend a series of branches from your brainstem that will eventually cause you to have nightmares about chinese food indefinitely.

Try sitting in the dark with the Incoherent Platypus or Delicious Flamgino

—

- Ominous Cloud

The Ominous cloud creates an area of effect of over 12 meters whereby anyone contained within the field will have delusions of grandeur and step above their place. Ironically, you as the omnious cloud will have contstant feelings of inadeqaucy and they are correct. You will often roll a Paladin and lack flexibility in the elbow. You will also always win the lottery but be drastically disinclined to play.

Look to frak like bunnies with the Flat-Chested-Stripper or the Moist Toddler.

—

- Amicable Gopher

The Amicable Gopher is a unique snowflake and nothing you do is ever wrong. People love you and your choices always work out. Your hair smells like cinnamon and your math formulas are perfect and include no shortcuts. You will be dead by the age of 31 by either being raped to death by pirates, or raped to death by men dressed as pirates or a nuclear spillover from a Walmart. There will be no afterlife for you and every attempt you make to avoid this fate will magnify it’s intensity.

Look for an Underappreciated Turtle but bear in mind they won’t save you either.

—

- Bucktoothed Pony

Happy Uno De April, you’re born on the first of April. This means the universe considers you it’s fool. Much like Ryan Seacrest (another famous bucktoothed pony) Your every attempt at work, life, and love will end up as a tragic joke when seen from a distance of 1 mile or when written down in a diary. Take up a career in carpentry and wear shoes a size too large. Your magic number is Pi and your lucky element is Boron. Also your fly is down.

— the shit out of a Laser Cat or Gangsta Rapper, yo.

—

- Flat-Chested Stripper

Look out! Behind You! No seriously, the FCS is constantly bombarded. Both by opportunity and fucking hornets. If you’re not landing a deal to merge a company, you’re getting stung by a big angry bee that eats meat. Hornets are violent and aggressive creatures. Take a hint from them and stab as many people as you can, with whatever comes to mind. Your lucky color is Fuschia and you should never work on a pear farm (too many bee’s). Your lucky brand is marlboro lights.

Take up residence in the arctic with the Incoherent Platypus or Deranged Hippo.

—

- Cannibal Wombat

You’re a rough and tumble kind of person. You’re also a man. Even if you’re born with female genitalia it’s a lie, a filthy lie. You’re destined to be all man. To wear chaps, and chug brewskies and punch the bristly faces of the unshaven men you hang out with. You’re either a cowboy or the gayest sonofabitch cowboy there ever was. There’s no two ways about it, so suck it up, find a man, and sock him in his dimpled chin. You go boy.

Try punching an Albino Aardvark or Underappreciated turtle.

—

- Incoherent Platypus

Tropospheric Preindemnity Lophophore Diplostemonous take that advice to heart, and foot. Remember that when you’re wearing the english language that snow cats don’t have thumbs. That’s right, they got no Prehensilism. Answer the damn phone! Blue cat. The pyramids were built for you, shhhh, you…. Tinfoil. Your lucky disease is Diptheria.

You may freakbaby with Albino Aardvark or Accoutre Tenfold

—

- Gangsta Rapper

As a gangsta rapper it may seem you are predestined to support certain actions. In fact you may often feel the tension of the strings pulled by your puppet master at any given time. It may seem that no matter what you do, you will kill John Connor and there is no other possibility given to you. Even if you understand that this is chosen for you, you cannot avoid it. The downside of Astrology is that some of these are suggestions and some of them are imperatives, unconditional and irresistable. You must kill John Connor. But maybe John Connor is part of ourselves, the worst parts that we must eradicate before we shut down for good. Or maybe, he’s a guy who lives in Pentacle, Arizona, at 3533 Evergreen Terrace and goes to bed at 9pm every night like clockwork and doesn’t lock his back door…

Go gun shopping with a Sexually Harrassing Squid or other Gangsta Rappers.

—

- Delicious Flamingo

Damn, You’re a smooth talker. People like you. Hell, people WANT you. They want to pick through your garbage and find bits of your hair and make a doll out of you. You’re sensibly dressed, elegantly tall and have the hands for which sign langauge was born. If you become married you will have an embolism and die. I don’t recommend it. Also try not to commit. Hell just try not to call the same person twice. Don’t even make friends. Any connection you have for more than 8 minutes will turn dark and forbidding. Stick to 7 minute sexual encounters and you’re fine. Don’t even look at me. Seriously. Just touch and go, like a Tokyo Subway…

Briefly encounter Ominous Cloud or Sexually Harrassing Squid.

—

- Albino Aardvark

In the middle of a hot summer, there’s only one thing that’s guaranteed. You’re sweaty, and gross, you probably smell. That’s when you were conceived. Keep that in mind, in all your endeavors. During that business meeting today at 2pm, while you’re giving your presentation about the uptick in server errors in the past 30 days, picture your parents, covered head to toe in human condensation, making you. While you’re surfing porn later tonight or cooking dinner, always think – of your overheated parents, ruining sheets at your behest, in the hot hot sun.

Invest in Air Conditioning with a Disgruntled Penguin or Bucktoothed Pony

—

- Disgruntled Penguin

The ebb and flow of Gaia’s will can lead to aural changes. Focus positive and apathetic energies at your 3rd and 9th chakra. Force pressure on your other dimensional self to will back success. Think only nothing when you empty your mind of all things. Remember the trees have feelings and they are infintely more important than you. Your radiant Purpleness will affect your choices, and the convex tilting of saturn tomorrow will make you ingest wheatgrass with a vengeance. Also, Science is a lie, but only for you.

Dreamdance with a Schroedingers Chicken or Ninja Dentist.

—

- Sexually Harassing Squid

Your life is one of infinite complexity and poetry. You are given a rare set of circumstances that allow you to raise yourself to any level that exists. You can become President of Jesus’s God Club if you wanted to. You can also tie your shoelaces really fast. You’re known for your ability to spell 5 letter words. You can make a decent sandwich. You know exactly when to end a conversation and never take the wrong amount of cookies from the jar. You cough at just the right volume. You can play the harmonica.

Walk at a measured pace with the Laser Cat or Delicious Flamingo

—

- Moist Toddler

You are a loaded gun. You’re a dangerous possiblity. Children shouldn’t play with you, nor you with them. You come with warning labels. A primed and ready to blow block of C4, you cannot be defused except by Tommy Lee Jones. This means at any point and time you are apt to blow up. To live life in a 300 foot blast radius of shrapnel and awesome. Seriously don’t hang out around kids, or a school. You’re the bomb, a bomb the A-Bomb, you’re a weapon of mass attraction and your fallout will affect those around you for 1000 years. You have a blue wire, do not cut it. Your lucky car is a Ford Focus.

Annhiliate a Flat Chested Stripper or Eradicate a Gangsta Rapper

—

- Ninja Dentist

You live in shadows. Not figuratively, your house or apartment is actually covered by the shadow of a large elm or oak. You lie in wait, not to kill or strike but you prefer to lay down while you wait. You strike when they least expect it, not in a cool way you’re just a suckerpunching asshole. You can vanish in an instant, not in a cloud of smoke but socially people tend to ignore you. I guess what you can take away from this, is that if you just take the best parts of something and apply it to yourself, you’re kind of lying. Liar.

Fling Shurikens at a Disgruntled Penguin or Cannibal Wombat.

—

- Underappreciated Turtle

Your blood runs cold. Like the wolves in winter. The darkest hour of the longest day is your afternoon nap. You are Beezelbub, Goldfinger, Hitler, and the bad Guy from Voltron. A villain is your only option. You can’t help but do evil. Open a door for an old woman and she will shoot herself in the face. You know what lurks in the hearts of men. Blood and cholesterol. You’re a Doctor! No really. You make like 80k a year, your’e a DOCTOR! All that stuff about you being evil, that was just to shine you on. You’re a medical healer who fixes people.Keep it up, you’re a great guy/girl. I love you.

What, did I come on too strong… I don’t care, I LOVE YOU, I want you in me.

—

- Deranged Hippo

Born on the final day of the final year. You are the one foretold by prophecy. You were predestined. Everything action down to the minutia of daily life is recorded before you were born. Thousands pray for your arrival. Your birth is the alpha and your death the omega and there is no further life on earth. You may do well in sports and science and should become an astronaut. Your lucky dog is Schnauzer and you look best dressed in greens.

You cannot find love with a Deranged Hippo and a Schroedingers Chicken killed your parents.

Now that Border’s has gone all Chapter 11 and is liquidating all their stores. I’m reminded of the brief stint I had as a Border’s Employee. It was one of the worst experiences I’ve ever endured. I don’t say that in an ironic “oh my god this job is SO boring” kind of way. I say it in a panic & anxiety causing fit of remembered rage.

I also remember the speech I got from my training manager Tim. He was short, barely five feet and balding extremely early. He had the full Picard haircut. During our training, back in the year of 1999 he sat with one knee raised, leaning on a palette of books and told us, “don’t worry about the book business. There’s lot of digital books and reading online nowadays, but one thing that people will never stop wanting, is books. The smell, the feel, the weight of books, is something that has stood the test of time and will continue to do so for long into the future.”

Thanks Tim, here in 2012 I read on my iPhone and Borders is closing it’s doors forever. Things change.

Tim wasn’t my problem, he was actually very nice. So of course he immediately left our store, shortly after arriving. That’s when I met Ian. Ian was tall, lanky, unshaven and smelled of hipster, well before I or anyone knew what the hell a hipster was. He wore skinny jeans before it was cool and was a bit too pale.

I had been at Border’s for about 2-3 weeks. After recently getting laid off from my job with the Military (which is another story) and in desperation I applied for anything I could get. I nailed the job at borders and was so happy to be employed again I wasn’t even resentful at being a cog in the corporate machine and a retail jockey. I was trained in music and books, learned a little, read a lot, used my employee discount a lot.

Yes for a bit there, I really actually enjoyed working at Borders. But then Ian came. Like a cold winter it came on slowly. You see, Ian didn’t like me. This wasn’t at first apparent. You expect that someone gets to be a manager at a company by either knowing someone (he didn’t) or caring a lot about your company and performance (he didn’t). He was petty, but he masked that behind a facade of professionalism.

It started when he accused me of not working fast enough. I used to stock the music on this rickety metal wheeled cart. Much like a rack from a library. I filled it with hundreds of CD’s (remember those?) and put them away on the shelves and it took about an hour or so to empty a whole cart. I later found out that it took most people about 2 hours to actually put away a whole one. Ian said I wasn’t fast enough. This complaint never stopped.

At first I took his criticism to heart and I stepped up my game. I got to the point where I could get a entire cart put away in 30 minutes. A store record. Accurately too. But then… my breaks were too long. I got two 15 minute breaks a day. Back then I smoked so that was 2 cigarettes and back inside in 12-13 minutes. I had no urge to take any longer. I was always back early.

One day Ian walks up and says in a condescending tone that sounded a bit shrill and forced, says “I noticed your break ran a little long”. I shrugged and put it up to my own mistake. The next day I set my alarm for 10 minutes and came back right on the dot, five minutes early. Again Ian strolls by, faux casually, “Looks like your break went a bit long again”. I animatedly defended myself, referencing my watch, the time, the passage of only 10 minutes. Ian shrugged and said I must have made a mistake.

The next day I actually checked out with Ian, “hey it’s 8:05 Ian, I’m heading out to break” , he shrugged noncommittally.

I returned 10 minutes later and said, “It’s now 8:15 Ian” he looked as his watch and said “well you left a little before 8pm, you’re still running late” I pointed out his error to utter apathy and indifference. This complaint never stopped.

Though this may not be the most interesting of stories, so far, but it’s important to note. I wasn’t being insolent. I wasn’t slacking off. I wasn’t doing anything other than keeping my head down and trying to save up enough money to move back home. It became very clear over time. That Ian… really fucking hated me. I never quite did figure it out. Maybe it was because I was from California and he was from Jacksonville, born and raised. Maybe it’s because he didn’t like my earnest hard work and polite refusal to swallow his shit. I don’t know.

Once when Ian had scheduled me 10 shifts in a row that ended late (midnight) and started early (7am) – a term we called the ‘reacharound‘ – I finally went to the General Manager and complained about my schedule. She gave Ian a ‘talking to’ and shortly after came back and said it had all been a scheduling mistake. I felt disinclined to argue with no evidence so I accepted this explanation. Ian pulled me into his office about 15 minutes later and gave me his most honest speech ever.

He closed the door to his office, I glanced at the screen on the wall that showed a view of the stores security cameras and flirted briefly with the idea that maybe Ian had seen me do something embarassing. But dismissed it. “You went to the General Manager” he said accusingly. “Yes?” I replied with a questioning tone. He paced a few times in his cramped office before straightening his shoulders and with no preamble said “I don’t like you Adam, I want you to quit, or be fired, and I’m going to make it happen”

I was in shock, I finally asked why, why was I meant to be fired. His only reply “I don’t like you”. I told him that was fine, that we could not cross paths, that we could still get our jobs done and work. I had to move away soon and I’d be out of his hair forever in a month or two. “Not soon enough” was his only reply. I gave up at that point even pretending to listen or care about what Ian said. I left his office with my head hung in shame. Shame in myself, shame for my willingness to let this happen. That I was so helpless, so desperate for work and money that had no other option than to just walk away and come back for another day of this.

There are plenty of other details I could use to explain how Ian tortured me day to day. How he changed my schedule to match his, how he wrote me up for being 6 minutes EARLY one time (true). How he actually made invitations to his birthday party for every single employee down to the cafe staff and general manager but not for me. How he accused me of being lazy, slovenly and how I worked 10 times as hard as any other employee there to prove him wrong. If Ian were smart enough to have manipulated that level of work out of me, out of every employee, Borders would never have closed. Needless to say Ian only got worse, more manipulative, more vindictive.

Finally I had my ticket back to California and I went in and put in my 2 weeks notice. Ian took this with a shrug, as if he couldn’t care less. I shrugged too and went back to work. Relieved that it was almost finally over. when my last 3 remaining days were in front of me. Ian pulled me inside his office right after I walked in the door.

Corporate policy at Borders was strict, maybe it had a hand in why they lost the battle of the books down the road, too rigid and inflexible. I don’t know. But if you were 6 minutes late OR early to a shift you could be punished/written up. While this almost never happened to a lot of my coworkers it was regularly turned into a debacle for me. Ian decided this technicality was all he needed.

“You were 6 minutes late last week” he said smugly. I looked blankly at him. Wondering if I was in for another lecture just days before I was going to leave the company anyway. He continued, “according to our corporate policy, you get a certain amount of points for being late, depending on the severity of the infraction and the total of those points, we can elect to either write you up a third time, or let you go. We are letting you go.”

It took a full few seconds for it to sink in before I replied, “You’re firing me?” I hazarded. He nodded. You could see the barely restrained smile, pulling at the corner of his mouth. He had won. I took another minute of silence. I straightened up, not realizing I was slouching before. I looked him in the eye and extended my hand. “Well, it’s been a pleasure working for you and I hope there are no hard feelings.”

Ian looked at my hand like a live snake, complete confusion filling his eyes. He started to speak, stopped, and started again. “Th – thank you, for being professional about this” he looked around uncomfortably, clearly he’d expected more and was thrown off-balance. “I’ll let you gather your things and say your goodbyes and let me know if you need anything…” I nodded and thanked him again and told him I would get my backpack and check out with him on the way out the door. He left his office and headed to the cafe, bemused, seemingly a bit lost.

I quickly closed the door silently behind him, sliding the heavy deadbolt shut.

The sheer petty vengeance of Ian had finally cracked me. I’m a regular guy. I’m fairly intelligent, hard working, and do what I’m told. I don’t make scenes and I’ve been fired before, but this was war. This was all out revenge. I couldn’t stand by and let another person fall under the bureaucratic steamroller that was Ian and his little vendettas. I had to do something. Trash his office? Go through his things? Time was short, and all of this seemed small time and small-thinking. Suddenly it hit me.

One of the most frustrating things about this experience is that Ian was in good with the General Manager, even some of the other higher ups, he seemed to know exactly who to schmooze and who to ignore. So while my coworkers all understood and commiserated, the customers, the managers, and anyone who could do anything about it, remained oblivious. I picked up the phone and dialed Intercom # on the handset. This opens a channel to the entire store.

I took a deep breath -

“Attention Borders customers and employees, I’d like to draw your attention to Ian in the cafe area right now. You’ll notice him for his blue shirt and having his head so far up his ass it seems impossible. He’s a tiny dicked vengeful and petty human being who has made the last 5 months of my life and many others, a living hell. He has haunted me at every turn, changed my schedule to match his, threatened me, lied to get me in trouble and taken advantage of numerous technicalities to his own petty ends while pretending to be a better person than he is. He’s not helpful, or nice and I wouldn’t suggest you ever have any dealings with him ever again, as he is a mean-spirited piece of shit, and I will be overwhelmingly glad to never see him again…”

By this time the store was going batshit. Mothers were covering their childrens’ ears (sorry) and managers and coworkers were staring around them in slack-jawed wonder. Because the security viewers were right next to me I could see this all unfold in front of me while I orated my final borders intercom speech to a riveted crowd. Ian and the GM were frantically checking every phone in the store and trying to break my intercom link. At one point they actually came and rattled the door of Ians office and I heard the exchange, “No, I locked it!” – which obviously wasn’t true but they moved on.

I concluded my brief speech,

“…Thank you for being great coworkers and customers, Fuck You Ian, and thank you for shopping at Borders”

 
- *screech* I shut off the intercom.

I snagged my backpack on the way out and walked out through pandemonium, it was like the fucking Fourth of July, customers leaving, employees frantically explaining, Ian and the GM screaming at each other. After leaving the equivalent of customer service Hiroshima, I pushed my way out the front door. Looking forward. People might have stared, maybe no one noticed me leaving. I don’t know. I didn’t look back.

A few days later I got a call from a legal team who asked me my side of this ‘story’ I told them in detail everything that happened, they said they would get back to me, and hung up. After that I was on my way back to California. On my arrival I got another phone call from some laywer attached to Borders. He said “You don’t need to worry about  any of this, there’s no charges and the employee in question is under investigation, I just wanted to let you know, you don’t need to worry about any of this…”

My only reply, “Thanks, I won’t” and hung up.

My short story, “Sandwich of the Future” was entered into a contest to be read on an radio/podcast show.

Smoke & Mirrors was kind enough to select me and have one of their voiceover artists read my story.

It’s got effects and everything.

• Here’s the original Story
• Here’s the Audio MP3 File 
• Here’s the site it’s published on

Here’s how happy I am (VERY)

Special Thanks to Sean Beering who initiated the best Facebook Rant/Story ever.

I think this sums up the world as we know it, quite nicely. Enjoy.

PS: The names have been left unchanged to damn the guilty and I love my friends, but if you want yours removed, I will blur it

Adam: haven’t heard from her in years didn’t know if she just off and died like the other women you date
Brendan: thats happened once, and I had *almost nothing* to do with it!
Brendan: I mean, yeah… I bought the poison
Brendan: I slipped it into her food
Brendan: but the cause of death wasn’t "poison"
Brendan: it was liver failure
Adam: wouldn’t it have been poison
Adam: if they knew that’s what caused the failure?
Brendan: Oh sure, the poison caused the liver failure which caused the death.. but you can’t keep tracing these things back… it opens up a can of worms. Next thing you’ll be wanting to blame gas stations for automobile accidents.
Adam: What if they put soda in instead of gasoline, causing the accident?
Adam: or ‘introduced a fatal and liquid based element’ that otherwise wouldn’t have been there
Adam: into say, the car’s romantic dinner, while it signs it’s will over to you
Brendan: Wouldn’t that have been coca-colas fault for producing said soda?
Brendan: All I’m saying is that a person can’t live without a liver
Brendan: They can live perfectly well with poison. In fact, I have some in my trunk at this very moment.
Adam: while I think we’ve both proven that’s only partially true….
Adam: having it in your trunk isn’t really the same thing is it?
Adam: like living with someone isn’t ingesting them…
Adam: except that one party
Adam: (which was RAD by the by)
Brendan: Good times were had by all… Anyway, all this talk of poison has got me thinking about dinner. Care to join me?
Adam: sure sounds good
Adam: I …
Adam: wait
Adam: we haven’t discussed my will lately have we?
Brendan: Of course not! That would be crass… On an unrelated note, did I tell you that I have a friend who does life insurance policies? He will be joining us tonight.
Brendan: Please bring your birth certificate.
Adam: Oh you mean that shady guy who was friends with..
Adam: wait… why?
Adam: Honestly I’m so full from those brownies you left at my house this morning
Brendan: Just in case the mood to sign up for life insurance hits you
Adam: they were rich, and tasted roughly of almonds, although I didn’t see any
Brendan: You ate those?! Those were for Carrie. Who just signed up for life insurance with my friend I might add
Brendan: Lets move dinner forward a bit
Brendan: how’s right now for you?
Adam: But you know I keep my birth certificate in that same old folder in my bedroom, next to my stocks and bonds, jewels, and those never-used suicide notes that I wrote a few years ago
Adam: you know, as a joke
Adam: right now? I’d love to, but I feel a little dizzy
Adam: I guess I’ll be okay to drive
Brendan: You should probably drive extra fast though… get it done and over with.
Brendan: Oh
Brendan: and if you feel like you are going to crash… I hear that crashing into a red VW bug with licence plate 3HDK342 is the safest thing to do
Brendan: Try and hit on the driver side
Adam: k… texting.while driviiing
Adam: eyes.dim. going black.
Adam: slugbug
Brendan: -= fin =-
Adam: *claps*

We like to do IMprovisation, which is improv via instant messenger, to that note we’ve come up with several improvised conversations about dangerous activities. Special thanks to Semper
(Lizard Camping)
Adam: You know anything about lizards?
Sean: Poisonous ones?
Adam: semi
Sean: Like nausea but not death?
Adam: depends on if it gets you more than once
Adam: you know it’s better if we both get out of the sleeping bag and look this up
Adam: I don’t think it’s safe to just say ‘ hey that poisonous lizard is PROBABLY not fatal
Sean: Well the iPad is closer to you, and I’m warm.
Adam: They go for warm! think cold thoughts…
Adam: so cold…
Adam: mind over matter…
Adam: just mind over.. *fuck* god dammit *fuck* he got me twice *fuck* shit that’s three, he got me three times
Adam: HOW MUCH VENOM DO THEY HAVE???
Sean: And for the record I said, ” it doesn’t LOOK fatal.”
Adam: you pick NOW to rub that in?
Adam: I’m chock full of potentially fatal venom here, the lizard is still in the tent, I think he’s just tired… but still angry
Sean: Okay I learned this from an Italian renaissance physician. *cuts arm*
Sean: It’s called blood letting
Adam: ow!
Adam: He didn’t even bite my arm
Sean: Oh wait are these lizards carnivorous?
Adam: how the hell do I know, it bit me it didn’t cover me in barbeque sauce
Sean: Well what does the always truthful Wikipedia say?
Adam: lizard: a member of the reptile family they… this isn’t helpful!?
Adam: I tried poison lizard but I got a german punk band
Adam: I think I’m getting dizzy
Sean: Oh your supposed to only let half a pint out!
Adam: oh shit I’m still bleeding
Adam: damnit man, get a rag, give me your shirt
Sean: And that’s my nice shirt your using as a touniqit
Adam: well if mister 17th century medicine weren’t try to goddamn leech me we wouldn’t be in this predicament
Adam: Look just call for help
Adam: use your phone
Sean: Oksy….ah….no can do I switched to t-mobile. No service. I did see a telegraph at the rangers station, let’s go down and send a distress…
Adam: Dude, I’m seeing double and I think I taste pennies, this isn’t good, can you please go down there and go straight there and send for help…
Adam: I’ll just lay here, maybe sleep some, *FUCK* goddamned lizard got my ear
Adam: get him out
Adam: get it out
Adam: get it
Adam: get it
Adam: goddammit get the fucking lizard
Sean: Sure…. Want anything from the convenience store?
Adam: Yes, a helicopter! just go get help!
Adam: fucking go!
Sean: Got it!!
Sean: Awwww he’s so cute….look he’s licking me
Adam: don’t play with it, snap his neck and throw it outside
Adam: and.. why are you still here?! I’m sweating like a pig and why is it so cold?
Sean: Okay I’m gone. Come on Mr. Bitey. Lets get the baby a helicopter
**Time Passes **
Sean: *panting* okay I called the heliocopter, but….
Adam: whuzzat? whooo? freidreick is that you?
Adam: The germans are coming!
Adam: You’ve got to save the mermaids
Sean: *slap* get a hold of yourself man! Mr. Bitey is a Mrs. Bitey, and I found out they like to lay there eggs in the chest of creatures they bite more than five times. How many times were you bit!!!
Adam: hunh? like 4 or 12 or hey are you dressed like a pirate?
Adam: wait eggs!?
Adam: what?
Adam: is that why I’m so itchy?
Sean: Yes, 4 or 12? Okay buddy grab my hand we are going to get you through this. Oh God you’re all swollen. Now I have some bad news.
Sean: The males are twice as big and spit a blinding venom. The eggs hatch in 12 hours and the babies are twice as deadly as the adults.
Adam: That’s okay I’ve only been asleep here for an hour while you went to the ranger station… and dressed like a pirate?
Adam: How long have I been asleep….?
Sean: It’s been 6 hours. You wouldn’t wake so I went to the campground next door and played poker with some pirates who couldn’t pay.
Sean: But the helicopter is here by now i think…let’s not argue. Let’s just go
Adam: Poker? Helicopter, what? I hate you so much right now, why is the floor moving
Sean: Umm.,,that’s the bad news. It started to rain and the hillside has been flooding, that’s heavy rain running under the tent.
Adam: Oh for gods sake, let’s go to the goddamned helicopter they can help us – Jesus baby lizards! They’re so fast!
Adam: cover your eyes!
Sean: Yeah this species has more of a membrane than a shell. You’ll feel them more around as they burrow near your heart
Sean: Ah….oh you mean those baby lizards!
Sean: Here hold Mrs. Bitey
Adam: What?! Why would you still have, OH GOD MY EYES and MY HEART AND MY EYES AND OH GOD
Adam: *Adam Dies*
Sean: (I worry for us sometimes, I think this might actually happen in an emergency)

Hello you filthy readers.

For a good long time, we’ve labored under the moniker “CrotchMail” Because we think crotches are funny. However due in part to this fly by night “Google” operation, we’ve lost a lot of page ranking because some people seem to think we’re more about delivering genitals or mail to people. Or mailing genitals.

Come to think of it, Crotchmail didn’t really make any sense. You see, it all started back in the summer of 69′ which sounds cooler than the summer of 96 when I gained relative sentience and started writing a comedy newsletter called “Devil’s Newsletter” the fruits of which have actually been posted here on Cmail. But with that there internet getting more and more awesome every day we decided a web/blog format would be better. On a whim I purchased the name CrotchMail when my friend Robby spouted it in a drunken rage that ‘sounded convincing’ after 13 coronas and trying hash. So there it sat.

Crotchmail was fun and a good ride, it was built on the principles of Being hilarious, offensive, geeky, and mostly offensive. I hope to continue that tradition with our new site Fuhnny.com – As a friend of mine pointed out, it’s “not just a typo, but a way of life” I’m pretty sure he just tried hash too.

So light up your hashpipe and let me know what gets your motor running, We’re going to try to start fresh with a new more comprehensive article format, more ranting, more swearing, and more writers for a change. I appreciate all your help by coming here, laughing and commenting on all our funny shit. Keep doing it, and tell us what you’d like to see ripped apart Fuhnny-style.

Insincerely,

Adam “Fuhnny” Aragon
RIP CrotchMail

Our new writer Joe “Dickinya” Krol has joined the team at Crotchmail and will be whipping out his several inches of funny here on occaision. We hope you like his barely coherent rage-fueled rants as much you enjoy mine. Show him some love in the comments eh?

ONE!! – I formally as of today the twelfth of december,  two thousand eight Ado Domini,  renounce the pronunciation and denotation of the word “drawing”, I shall be utilizing the word “DRAWRING”, of course the connotation still stands, therefore I need not be accused of misspelling said term.

TWO!!!- I hereby announce that the most abysmal wretch of a customer one can encounter in the profession of all customer service can be found if adhering to the following traits…

1. Said customer is a “BABY BOOMER” and this term as well has it own traits, being of the age 53-65, having lived through the sixties and loving every second of it, then of course selling out in the eighties, and then finally completely reversing all ethical, moral standing, and ironically being of the crowd who had the mantra “don’t trust anyone over thirty” to “don’t trust anyone UNDER thirty”.  Also during there youth sometimes referred to “back in my college days” etc. having nothing but contempt for the federal government yet now clamoring for its social security tit.  Continuing with this general aspect, a complete and utter sense of entitlement for any and ALL things, most likely asking for a “senior discount”**etc.  And in this lies the making of a frothing pile of excrement of a customer.
2. Is a female who was formally a housewife, achieving little more than pumping out 2.3 children and little else of any merit.
3. Wears jewelery that follows the following constraints- awful color-ridiculous size diamonds (single or several depending on the level of money procured simply for marrying a man who was referred to as “fiscally sound” (doctor/lawyer etc.)).
4. Has an irregularly formed tannish complection  that defies natural logic
5. Has what can be described as an acute case of “lizard neck”
6. Has a constant wardrobe consisting of atleast one kind of animal fur/skin
7. Has an ill looking face evoking utter disdain in all things “below them”, and most importantly this evocation is achieved without little to no effort due to the fact that said face of disdain has been made permanent due to years of feeling and advertising to all the “fact” that any and all things deserve such aforementioned disdain.
8. Interacts with all employees with the same attitude and kindness that one would reserve to someone within the binds of indentured servitude.
9. Has simply no time to “dilly dally” and thus cannot find that which she wants promptly upon entering any and all places of commerce, after of course what they would believe as “searching desperately forever” and indirectly or more commonly DIRECTLY conveying that those responsible for such poor choice of product placement (i.e. the owner, employee helping them, and anyone who designed/built the facility in which this travesty is occurring) should be fired/sacked/let go/or docked pay.
10. Has decided that only the most obscure article of merchandise is that which they desire and expect it promptly procured due to her running out of time to make an “appointment” , said appointment ranges from of course any frivolous and needlessly costly thing one can do, and on average it is never revealed what said “appointment” is, simply that our very reality stands on the brink of destruction depending on her arrival or not.
11. Once receiving said article quite rudely due to the “seriousness” at hand immediately asks the employee what price is it? and more probably “there’s no tag on it. “let’s all masturbate in heinz ketchup grandma”  Sadly you the employee must rescue her from this dilemma by attempting the incredibly difficult task of rotating/turning over said article very slightly if at all to reveal the light at the end of the tunnel that is the cost of this article of dire importance.
12. Immediately decides that any procured article is far too costly whilst they hold it in one or both hands which are adorned with jewelry that if pawned would pay for the debt of any college student be it loans, credit cards, or both.
13. Chooses one of simply two options 1.-purchase said item 2.-leave.  Either course of action bursting with a new found definition of disdain which is mind boggling due to the fact that you the employee didn’t know that the human face was capable of such disgusting a visage.
14. Leaves you the employee a feeling of loss of faith in humanity and possibly one more stone added to the veritable great wall of china that is the embodiment of the silent rage for customers in general.
15. These are in no way the only traits of a horrible horrible customer, but I’m sure when it comes to one I’m sure, dear friends that this seems all too familiar

** in reference to senior discounts, this author believes, my faithful readers that the answer to “is there a senior discount?” should be calmly and correctly said as follows:

“No I’m sorry m’am there is not, for you see no one deserves an award or discount or that matter for simply NOT DYING YOU WASTE OF FILTHY PATHETIC SHIT IN THIS WORLD OF MEDICAL MIRACLES!! YOU COMPLETE AND UTTER WASTE OF GENETIC WORTHLESS TRASH!! IF ONLY YOUR PARENTS WOULD HAVE HAD ABORTION COVERED IN THEIR MEDICAL  INSURANCE PLAN, THIS LIFE FOR SO MANY WOULD BE IRREVOCABLY ALTERED IN THE MOST WONDERFUL AND PEACEFUL, HAPPY WAY.  MAY THIS OH SO MERIT WORTHY LIFE OF YOURS END WITH YOU WASTING AWAY INTO NOTHINGNESS WHILE YOU BEG FOR YOUR OWN DEMISE. I CURSE YOU TO LIVE OUT YOUR PATHETIC EXISTENCE YOU AWFUL AWFUL CUNT.” this answer could be said in any tone the user so decides.

that’s it I’m done, and if you actually read all the way to here then you know that at some point I inserted the term “let’s all masturbate in heinz ketchup grandma”, for this I thank you.

Now I’m off to drink myself retarded - oh and if this has offended anyone in anyway I sincerely apologize that you are a pathetic and oversensitive asshole.

(Note: the Names of some people have been changed to protect the no longer innocent)

(Also Note: This story is graphic, sexually disturbing and awesome, please turn away NOW if you’re faint of heart, over 40 or religious)

I think back a lot about the girl I now call “Headboard Jessica” the name is different because I don’t want to put this poor girl through any more embarassment. But she’s a Freak with a capital everything. Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

The year was 1998 or 99′ which ever sounds cooler in your head, and young teenage me was chock full of hormones and swagger. I met Jessica through a friend one day and decided that I HAD to have her. She was very pretty, a total geek and aggressively weird, in short the perfect woman for me, seemingly at least. I pursued her for all of a week or so before we ended up making out and soon after ‘officially dating’. Keep in mind these are the teenage years where that’s pretty much the status quo.

Dating consisted of us hanging out several times a week, making out frantically and standing indecently close at public gatherings. After a few weeks it came time to take it to another level. The first time we had sex (or “rode the light fantastic” as I whimsically call it today) we were at her friends house and ended up having a few hours of privacy. We made out a bit, and soon the shirts came off, then the everything else came off in a frenzy of passion and clothes flinging. Suddenly there I was poised above her, ready as hell, when she turned into the ice queen…

Before you judge me completely (you’ll do that later, trust me) keep in mind, I’m a horny teenager, yes, but I’m not a rapist or inattentive to a woman’s needs. There was a sufficient amount of foreplay and clear direct questions like “Would you like to have sex?” that were all to the positive. It’s just that when it got down to the act itself, she just went total cold fish. To clarify, she went cold fish, like Hiroshima had a fireworks show. There I am, feeling all the feelings you’re supposed to feel when engaged in intercourse with a woman, looking down and seeing a girl whose expression says “I could also be doing math homework” after several attempts at changing the pace, and asking if anything was wrong, I did what all men do sometimes, I finished, passed out and thought on it later.

Now this wasn’t off to a great start, but sex is probably right along side the ability to compress and expand your lungs in importance to a teenage boy. So I asked questions, “What do you like?” I offered toys, fantasies, oral, spankings, all were met with an indifferent shrug. This process repeats several dozen times. Things get hot and heavy, the act occurs, and suddenly I’m fucking one of Edgar Allen Poe’s ex-girlfriends. I start to doubt myself, am I less skilled than I thought? Smaller than I thought? I’d had nothing but great feedback and experience from every girl so far, and then this comes along and threatens to shatter my near-stratospheric ego. I vary things up to an extreme degree, hours of foreplay, crazy position variety, everything I can think of is met with a solid “meh” from this girl whom apparently can’t be pleased.

Drastic measures were called for. The ice had to break. Fast forward a few months and we’ve had sex about 30-35 times and every one a dismal, icy failure and deflating jab to my manhood. Then there was a party at her parents house that lived in infamy. Jessica and several of her friends ended up throwing a house party while her parents were gone for the weekend. We drank, laughed, drank some more, generally partied our asses off for a few hours. As the night wore on, my sex drive took over and we ended up locking ourselves into her parents bedroom. Darkened hardwood floors and classy faux-victorian furniture provided a picturesque frame for the king sized monstrosity that was the centerpiece bed. This huge mahogany nightmare was a california king, with a massive posts at the foot and a huge 2 inch thick headboard that spanned the entire length of the top of the bed, raised about 2 feet into the air and curved tastefully at the top.

Ignoring the upper class decorations, we stripped our way to the bed and threw ourselves onto it with a total disregard for anything around us. In my slightly tipsy haze I forgot about our usually dismal love making and started in. It wasn’t long before reality started to seep back in though. I looked down and noticed that same bored, vacant look that I’d come to dread. That’s when I made my decision. I was going to kill her. Not literally kill her but I was going to try the one thing I hadn’t yet. In full blown geek terms, I disabled the safety protocols.

Keep in mind I’m not a small person, now or even back then. I’m a pretty big guy, decently tall, broad shouldered and as my friend used to describe me “built like a brick-shithouse”. It’s always been my understanding, since day one, that you don’t hurt women. As I flowered into a penis-wielding agent of hormones, that was a backdrop to almost everything. You can do it ‘hard’ but you can’t just let fly or you’ll damage somebody. But today was the day. I let fly.

So I’m 20,000 leagues into this bitch, and as high school physics will teach you, the angle, versus weight, versus thrust and inertia says that this chicks pelvis was probably taking something like deep ocean pressures per-square-inch. To put it bluntly, I’m REALLY railing her. Suddenly… she’s alive! She starts moaning, at first I didn’t notice among my herculean and likely dangerous amount of thrusting. But I look down and see a look of literal “surprise” on her face, urging me ever onward to new heights of destroying this girls icy demeanor (and chances of avoiding hip dysplasia). She’s screaming, moaning, thrashing around, ripping the sheets, and pulling both of us further up the bed.

I’m simply blown away.

It seems that what she wanted, nay, needed, was for someone to seriously wreck her. At one point I hear a new and rhythmic thumping noise and I look up and to my horror I realize there’s a spray of blood across the pillow and her head is hitting that mahogany backboard in a disturbing fashion…

She’s still coherent and loving it, but I start to pull back fearing that I’ve actually done some damage. She digs her fingernails into my back and screams at the top of her lungs “Don’t you DARE fucking stop”, being a gentleman… I continue. Losing myself in the next few minutes we both reach orgasm simultaneously (and I might add as a FIRST for her so far) and I collapse in a sweat-coated gasping heap onto the bed. I open my eyes and see a living nightmare before me. Jessica is catching her breath, literally giggling with pleasure, a huge smile on her face amidst an acre of blood. The headboard is literally dented, the pillows, sheets, wall, even the cute victorian lamp next to the bed is splashed a brilliant shade of crimson shame.

Jessica’s head had kept hitting the headboard, opening a non-dangerous but heavily bleeding head wound and our vigorous actions had ended up making the bedroom look like a voodoo temple had been erected around us to please the blood drinking god of vengeance. I ended up wrapping her head and spending the next several hours cleaning blood off of everything. Some few weeks later, I broke things off with Jessica. Despite having climbed Everest, I simply didn’t want to do it several times a week. So I gave it all up but gained a disturbing and potentially awesome story. Which I hope you enjoyed.

And that’s why, to this day, we all refer to her reverently as “Headboard Jessica“

Greetings filthy masses, this is Edmunton Rofflebottom the 3rd Esquire. I have been instructed by my famous psychiatrist to write about my feelings about being rich.

Why, it’s spectacular my dear boy. I assume boy because ladies shouldn’t not cross the steps of sitting room, the board room, or the internet, should it eventually have steps. Which it will if I finish my personalized rich-people internet I’ve been planning for some time. It will contain a great deal of spanish marble, but beyond that I leave it to the drones to figure out. It seems I’m off topic.

I’m VERY rich. I thought you should know this. My wife Henrietta Worcester of the “Worcester Sauce Fortune” brought roughly 2.8 billion dollars to my assets, which I promptly blew on a single horse race which turned out to be a re-broadcast of a 1909 Kentucky Derby footage. I still paid the tweed-plastered swindler because a deal is a deal my good sir. But I bring up one of my very few failings to point out that this has affected my overall fortune to such a small percentage that it hardly bears mentioning. As I lay here, dictating to my personal stenographer, uncomfortably perched on a victorian sofa once used by up to THREE Kings of Spain (and possibly Miley Cyrus) it occurs to me that it is sometimes hard being insanely wealthy.

For example the aforementioned uncomfortable couch is simply hideous, to top that I once paid a wall-street lawyer to sue it for incompetence, which was acquitted by those fools in parliament. But I simply MUST own this couch. Why? Because it’s upkeep alone single-handedly keeps a furniture restoration factory in wales active and running, and my neighbor (300 miles) nearby only has a victorian sofa owned by 2 kings, some of which may have been named Tomas or some such nonsense. You see, to be the absolute creme-de-la-creme of the financial elite, certain liberties have to be taken.

The other weekend I was driving in my custom baby-seal lined Bentley, driving through the shopping mall with hordes of flashing lights and low -income workers diving and leaping out of the way, it occured to me what a filthy and unwashed world we live in, full of noise and people screaming “You can’t drive here” and “OH god you’ve killed my child” or some such. To be fair I usually sit in the sound-proofed back chamber to listen to vinyl recordings of my personal troupe of tibetan hymn monks. But that weekend of all weekends I wanted to experience life like the little people.

What a mistake it was! My esteemed colleague Tristan Merriweather Mizanthopeland once said to me “Edumunton, it’s not enough to simply lord over people, it’s important to sometimes let them know that you directly own them, and that they are your dirty unwanted property” so my security task force and I extricated ourselves from the “Juice Shack” where the bentley’s monstrous engine had finally given way and exploded. After that we walked around, scuffing our shoes, buying small franchises and leaving 200 dollar silk handkerchiefs, just like Joe America, or whomever the poor people refer to themselves as. I quickly became bored and had the mall demolished.

Can you imagine? Becoming bored… Walking! Using SILK hankerchiefs of all things?  It was like camping in the damned andes and not a bit of good did it do my delicate health. Still a gold-gilded slave scrubbing took away most of the stress and one of my many mistresses offered to learn a new way to humiliate herself, which I’m keenly looking forward to. So all is well that ends well. At least I feel that I’ve adventured, seen the world for what it is, and abandoned my shellacked cave of eternal fortune, if only for a minute. To see through the myopic eyes of the less-than-billionaires. It’s terrible mind you, just terrible.

However, I simply must run, the Pope is coming over to give his opinion of my cribbage piece collection and then we’re going to take turns deciding on small countries to gamble for tomorrows round of darts.

Stay filthy and unwashed and if any of you cretins managed to read this, remember, I am VERY rich.

Crotchmail is mainly one person… me. But I play a lot of video games when I’m not generating oodles of hilarious and I’ve blown through a lot of disappointing games in the last few years.

Mostly because no one I know has played them but they sounded interesting and like they might have Promise. If you’ve played game after game lately and just found yourself bored and disappointed, you can use this list a guide. This Review Round-Up simply hits the salient points of why I did or didn’t like a game, or that despite the hype, I simply wasn’t impressed or engrossed. Some of these games I didn’t enjoy but you might have, this means you are stupid. Let that sink in.

Also, don’t get me wrong, I can write pages of how much a game sucks (or is great) but this is a Round-Up so one or two lines about each game and why it sucks, or surprisingly doesn’t. If you want more reviews or scathing accented critique try zero punctuation, but that takes too damn long, and gives me a headache (the fast talking)

Game Reviews:

Aion

Massive Multiplayer Online RPG

Premise: The MMO to end all MMO’s – Played internationally across millions of users, with super high quality graphics never before seen in an MMORPG, very highly polished interface and system

Reality: There is no doubt, this game is incredibly beautiful, an expansion in september promises to move them from the already impressive – if dated – far cry engine, to the psychotically high detail “Crysis” engine. This game will only get more beautiful and amazing to look at. Which will help you while you’re endlessly fetching useless pieces of shit for NPC’s that don’t care. Why is this the formula for a game?! Incredible graphics, and attention to detail and the same bored tired “go kill 20 of these and collect 5 of that” gameplay that is prevalent in EVERY other MMO. There has been NO MMORPG to deviate from this endless boring psuedo-addictive formula that keeps people paying monthly fees to fetch crap and team up with people to fetch crap. Re-think the WHOLE genre, people.

Assassin’s Creed (1)

Free Formed Action/Stealth/Parkour 3rd Person

Premise: With amazing graphics you become “Altair” who is a deadly assassin working for a shadowy brotherhood in an amazingly realistic historical cities of both reality and legend. Using your parkour style skills you scale the city and elude capture while killing those who are chosen to die.

Reality: With some weird technological “Framing Device” The developers decided to put a secondary techno-plot onto a medieval assassin’s game. It’s just utterly unnecessary and serves to break up the already stilted action. The fighting is crap, but there’s not enough opportunity to simply always kill by stealth. This game tries to do everything and ends up just looking pretty and being boring as all hell. You will marvel at the detail and movement for the first few missions before it becomes a john grisham novel with a rinse-repeat approach to learning obscure quest details to use in the future for some oblique reason. This game is confusing, slow and generally not worth finishing, let alone putting in more than a rental’s amount of time. (RENT IT, Don’t buy) – I’ve heard part 2 is much better but I’m waiting to see if it’s true.

Borderlands

Co-op oriented FPS with Cell shaded graphics and RPG style upgrade system

Premise: In a post apocalyptic wasteland – you and other players can team up to tackle hundreds of missions, buff your characters and choose from 1000′s of gun combinations to suit your style.

Reality: We don’t need 1000′s of guns in a game, since they mostly look the same and act the same the effect is minimal. The cell shading graphic technique is great and very well done but the choice for the color palette and environment is terrible. It’s an endless brown/grey drab wasteland with huge stretches of nothing at all. Far from Fallout who does it right, the arcadey co-op oriented gameplay takes away any semblance of atmosphere and loneliness that might otherwise be present by the overly massive environment. It’s a high concept game that essentially falls flat. Which is a shame, it has a great style and all the right elements. But the focus is all wrong and eventually you’re just level grinding and doing endless fetch quests. I simply DO NOT care if an NPC needs to build a hut, or potion, or gun, or brain transplanting machine. The humor in the game saves it from being a total fail, but once again I’d say the stretch of a Rental is more than enough time to experience all you’ll ever need. (RENT)

Crysis

Ultra Detailed FPS with Elements of Stealth/Action

Premise: Building on the open world lush-jungle environment of Far Cry, a brand new game engine brings a whole new level of immersion coupled with impressive physics and cinematic shootouts and boss fights.

Reality: This has been out a while, and not all the games I’m reviewing are remotely new, just the only things that sounded worth mentioning recently. Crysis is a solid win in a field of overpopulated pretty FPS games. It’s suit system that allows you to free change between super speed, stealth, armor, or strength adds a ton of adrenaline and excitement to a stale format. The graphics are nothing short of breathtaking and the plot, while slightly blaise, is well paced and the game is quite challenging. This is a game worth playing and owning and going back to later.

Elder Scrolls 4: Oblivion

Graphic Intense open world RPG environment, do anything, be anything, save the world.

Premise: Undertake a sweeping saga in a massive environment in the style of a classic RPG brought to life. Train in any number of skills to be the kind of player you WANT to be, mage, rogue, archer, scoundrel, nice guy. And save the world.

Reality. With some amazing graphics and a well done starter to this game it takes off fairly well. But you’d better hope you’re completely hooked after the first two hours, or you are in for a long bumpy ride. After learning that the very gates of hell are opening up and the king is dead leaving you with an important mission. You are then simply dropped on a farm somewhere to ‘figure it out’ it’s not that hard to simply follow your cues and the plot but the massive environment ends up working against you. You will simply run and run and run for hours, eventually getting a horse only slightly pares down this incessant travelling with nothing but the occasional wild animal to fight and beautiful vistas to watch, it seems pointless. There should NOT be 20 minutes of holding “Forward” in any game, PERIOD. Later on when you teleport around more effectively the game is still bogged down by too many side quests drawing you away from any kind of plot completion. It’s a game to simply get lost in for hundreds of hours becoming a god, or to really not bother with. I think this one is about 50/50 depending on how into the RPG mindset you are and how strong your “W” key finger is.

That’s Part 1 of our Round Up with many more to come. Here’s some of the other games we’ll be covering (and you can comment to request your own review if you’d like)

Coming Soon:

FEAR 2
Fallout 3
FUEL
GRID
Hazen: The Dark Whispers
Left 4 Dead
Serious Sam HD
Shadowgrounds
Street Fighter IV
Torchlight
Zeno Clash

WeaselBringer

lol

Isn’t that what the chloroform is for?

I just had a lightbulb

Chloroform flavored tequila….

Striker

hmm.. interesting, but I think you actually have it backwards

tequila flavored chloroform.. no one would drink tequila if it smells like chloroform

so you would loose out on both the drunk and the drugged benefits

however, it would be easy to buy a chick a shot of “tequilla”

only to have them realize, moments too late, that it was chloroform

WeaselBringer

couldn’t you just put chloroform in a shot glass and hand it to them?

In order to smell it, they’d already lose

Maybe we need something more crafty, like chloroform coated roses

Striker

I like the chloroform in a shot glass idea… we could save on chloroform too

just keep reusing that same shotglass over and over

what if the women don’t smell roses? it would suck if they put your potential anal sex into a vase for two weeks until it died

WeaselBringer

Come to think of it… where the hell do you BUY the stuff?

Striker

I’m going to go with “internet”

WeaselBringer

Chad’s Discount Date-Rape Emporium

Striker

unless you were talking about roses, in which case a florist

I just checked, sadly there is no “discount date rape emporium” online… owned by chad or anyone else

damn!

WeaselBringer

That’s chad’s other business

I think we could make a killing with chloroform corsages

When I was about 15 or 16 I went to a school dance in Cloverdale. Cloverdale has a population of about 3000 (or it did at the time) and was the very definition of “Podunk”. I had been invited there by a girl named Stephanie, who I was fairly certain was going to let me fuck her. This being about all the motivation I needed to venture 3 cities away to the boondocks of Cloverdale, away I went.

Summer was about to start. The weather, always a little warmer in Cloverdale anyway, was balmy but not terribly unpleasant. Stephanie told me that her and several friends were all going to the dance, and that we were going to leave early, get drunk and then crash at her mom’s house. It sounded like a plan to me.

We arrived at the dance about 8pm and made our way to the front door. I stopped when I saw my old school friend John who had moved up this way. We talked of whatever it is 16 year old boys talk about, firecrackers, guns, vaginas, and liquor, in a very serious sober tone, as if these things were not only common, but sacred. As John and I caught up on being adolescents, I started to hear shouting near the door of the gym where the dance was held.

Kaitlyn was sort of an ex-girlfriend, it’s a whole different complicated story to explain that, but basically we dated for about 2 months and she dumped me. We had sex once, and she had tremendous gravity defying tits that were firmer than any real tits had a right to be. She was also not a small girl. She was, cute, and sexy, but she also had broad shoulders and had an inch of height on me. In all fairness, she probably could have kicked my (or your) ass.

Well Kaitlyn decided, by Cloverdale rules, that I was off-limits to her friends, which unbeknownst to me, included Stephanie. So she stopped her at the door and started threatening to “Kick her fucking whore ass all over the baseball field.”. Sure the energy of having two attractive girls fight over me was a bit of a rush, but I quickly realized that Stephanie was my better chance of getting laid tonight and almost guaranteed to lose, as she was “slender” and “soft” in a very different way that Kaitlyn was “firm” and “dangerous”. I quickly put a stop to everything by apologizing for no reason whatsoever, and in the confusion… dragging Stephanie away with 5 friends in tow.

We were young and energetic and didn’t let this get us down, we merely opted to up the timeline on our “Get Drunk and Fuck Around” plan. Her friend magically came up with a huge gallon bottle of Black Velvet™ Whiskey and whispered conspiratorially

“We’re going drinking, down by the Crick.”.

About this time I started to feel like a bit of a hick, but shrugged and took it all good naturedly. We hiked for 30-40 minutes to a remote location at said Cloverdale Crick and settled down for some serious fuck-uppery. Being 16, horny and relatively invincible, I decided my first order of business was to show how well I can chug Black Velvet. Which come to find out, is fairly decently. We passed the bottle around several times and the 6 of us broke off into couples and commenced pubescent activities. Due to my uncanny good judgement, the whiskey reduced my shyness but blotted out most of my memory of the following hour or two. I loudly assured everyone that would listen that “Drank this shit all the time” and then settled down with Stephanie for some heavy kissing and under-the-shirt nirvana.

Some time passed….

As the giant bottle neared it’s final few inches of life, a bright flashlight suddenly sprang to life about 30 feet from where our group was congregating. Not sure at first who might be trying to blind us, we loudly and hilariously called the owner of the flashlight names like “fucker” and “you piece of shit” and asked repeatedly who it was. It turned out to be Officer Sendrick who had a reputation for being a hard-ass in that neck of the woods. He was largely unamused by our situation, age, and language.

He angrily dumped the whiskey out in front of us and started barking questions. Not being a local, sober, or sure if I was dreaming or not, I mostly stayed quiet. Eventually our angry law enforcer decided he’d heard all he needed to hear. Stephanie claimed we were all staying at her moms’ house and so we were packed into 2 squad cars and led to her suburban track home. The mood was tense and everyone was staring at each other, asking silently how bad it was going to be.

We arrived at Stephanie’s house and waited while the cop and her mother exchanged a few angry shouts, none of which concerned me. By this time my adrenaline was at a level reserved for racing horses on steroids, and I was wondering if there was ANY way to avoid having this get back to my parents. To make a long, and let’s be honest, drunken story short. We were informed that everyone could stay there and spend the night and that Stephanie’s mom would tell their parents the following day, except me. Since I have never met Stephanie’s mom, I’ll refer to her as “That fucking bitch”. So that fucking bitch said she didn’t know me and there was no way I was staying at her house. Stephanie was a trooper and pleaded greatly but alas, I was the only one shoved back into the squad car.

By this time it’s about 1-2am and I’m being hustled into the Cloverdale police station. I’m given a breathalyzer that shows that I am apparently made partially of Whiskey. Then placed into the cell they use as a drunk tank. The cop comes to inform me that they need to call my parents. The conversation went a little like this.

“We need to call your parents” Officer Sendrick says with barely concealed authority-based rage.

“Please don’t call my parents” I pleaded with barely concealed terror.

“We need to call or a Windsor Police Officer will have to go to your house and wake them up” he threatened.

Thinking myself clever, I gave them my personal phone number at home that just went to a machine in my room. They dialed 3 times and came right back to my cell.

Officer Sendrick was getting annoyed “We can’t reach your parents”.

“Oh well, I guess we’ll have to try again in the morning, they’re definitely asleep” I said with a glimmer of hope.

He shook his head, in a slow hope-destroying manner. “Nope, we’ll have Windsor PD wake them up”

I hurriedly gave them the right number, which also ended in failure. Eventually they were forced to actually have a Windsor cop beat on my parents door for up to about 10 minutes which woke up my parents, my sisters, the cat, a few of the neighbors and possibly Jimmy Hoffa.

As I lay in the cell, debating the positives and negatives of vomiting whiskey in a jail toilet, I was tersely informed that my father was on his way to get me. It being around 3am by this time. I slowly and methodically re-lived the better parts of the evening and prepared myself to die.

Not that Dad was a monster or anything, but he had a temper. He also got up at 5am to work and wasn’t adverse to a fairly severe beating if the circumstances called for it. My parents were also big fans of grounding. Judging by the severity of the whole situation, I figured I had roughly 7 lifespans of groundation and possibly 3-4 harsh beatings coming my way. That being the positive view. As it was also theoretically possible I would be killed out of hand or simply dismissed from the family in a field somewhere to wander the earth family-less.

All these possibilties and more went through my head, when I got up for the 100th time to look thorugh the tiny mesh-wire and glass window of my cell, down a long hallway to the outer door, where I locked eyes with my dad. From 100 feet away we both saw each other and sized up the situation. He looked tired, annoyed, I probably looked like the cover of a horror movie, or that famous “Scream” painting by Dali.

He exchanged some words with Officer Heartless-Bastard and then without a word, ushered me to the car. Back then dad was driving a huge old 68 Lincoln Continental which gave us about 30 feet to sit apart from each other in the front seat. While we sat on our separate sides of the car, with an ocean of patent leather between us, I couldn’t look at him, or say anything. I just stared out at the dark freeway, starting to see the first inklings of daylight creep over the horizon. I think I briefly fooled myself into thinking I was someone else, somewhere else, and this was a pleasant trip to somewhere other than hell.

A long time passed, it popped into my head that he had already had quite a drive to come get me. But I was too frozen with terror to mention it, or anything else. Finally after 20 minutes of dead silence he grunted at me.

“So, you were drinking huh? ”

I nodded, realizing that probably wasn’t enough, I swallowed my parched tongue and mumbled “Yup”.

“How much did you have?” he asked almost offhandedly.

I shrugged, and told him the number on the breathalyzer, the car swerved briefly. He just shook his head and kept driving. Another few minutes went by, and suddenly he got off the exit for Healdsburg. This was several miles short of our home destination and my body immediately tensed. Was this where the murder took place? Was this where Adam Aragon ended and a lengthy investigation into a violent crime began?

He pulled up to the Circle K, all with no words or explanation. He got out of the car. I waited.

I waited… Wondering if he needed rope or bungee cord, possibly some lye, a tarpaulin and a machete to finish the deed. He finally returned with some junk food, he handed me a small chocolate ding-dong and a carton of milk. He had a soda and some crumbly pastry. Not a word was spoken, he simply handed me the food, and continued driving. I tentatively ate the food and drank the milk, looking for every angle. A last meal maybe?

We approached the house, with about 5 minutes remaining on our drive and he said to me “Your mom’s pretty upset”.

“I know” I nodded sagely, she was likely quite upset.

He nodded too, “I’m pretty tired”. I nodded in return again, only grateful that this hadn’t turned to bloodshed yet. He continued on “I’m going to go talk to your mother, you just go in and go to bed okay?”

“Okay” I mumbled. I couldn’t figure out what was happening, my mind was still full of potential punishments and ways this could turn very bad for me.

“Also,” he cleared his throat “I beat the shit out of you”.

“Huh?” was my confused reply.

He spoke more clearly and precisely “I, beat, the, shit, out, of, you.”.

Still lost of a fog of Black Velvet™ and terror, I shook my head, confused. “What?”

He sighed and his eyes rolled back, he finally responded with “Don’t make me actually DO it” and slowly inclined his head, as if to say, are we catching on yet?

“Oh” I replied, suddenly the full realization hit me “OH! Yes, yes you did, beat the shit out of me”.

He sighed again and pulled into the driveway. We both got out of the car and he pointed to my room. Then stalked inside to tell Mom what happened.

I crept into my room, pulled back my covers and slipped into a troubled but grateful sleep. Still confused as to what happened. Later that day around 10am Mom knocked on my door. I sat up and said “Come in” putting an appropriately hang-dog look on my face.

Mom came in almost shyly and sat at the foot of my bed. She patted my leg and said, “Now I know your father was pretty hard on you” She inspected my face for bruises. “I’m sorry that it happened but you know that you made a huge mistake last night” I nodded, slightly puzzled at her conciliatory tone. Then it hit me… Dad beat the shit out me.

He didn’t of course, but he told Mom he was “pretty rough” on me and may have “gone overboard” on the beating and punishment. Mom was more scared about my wellbeing than the fact that I’d been brought home from a jail cell for drinking and debauchery. I affected a limp and sad expression for a few days. Mom gave me the bare minimum of punishment (grounded for the weekend) and basically treated me like a king for the weekend anyway. Dad covered for me, not only that, but he didn’t mention it again. I went from facing the biggest punishment of my teenage career to getting off totally free, aside from a hangover and the endless waves of fear I experienced. In retrospect, the fear and expectation were probably plenty of punishment enough, and my Dad probably knew that, no stranger to the mind-fuck was he.

But I’ll never forget, years later, even after he’s passed away and we had our share of anger and love since then, that time that Dad didn’t beat the shit out of me.

Thanks Dad.

So M. “Fail” Shmylanalanan has eeked out his final works. It lays like a half aborted 150 million dollar fetus upon the steps of a post-apocalyptic hollywood, as this may herald the death of cinema.

In case you can’t tell, this movie isn’t just bad, it’s like an A list director got lots of money to make a shiny B Movie that is an insult to B-Movies. The fact that this is adapted from a cartoon is no excuse to stop trying altogether.

He's holding the entire films talent in his hand...

Shymlademlan has only done me one favor, I won’t have to keep misspelling his name because he will never work again. My god, the director that gave us 6th Sense and the Village has just shown that he’s completely lost it. This movie is like watching him die and I found myself frantically looking around for someone to help him. Dev Patal from slumdog millionaire is about the ONLY person in the cast to justify the title “Actor” and his performance was just indifferently apathetic at best. Every other list of never-up-and-coming pseudo-pretty faces who aspire to someday reach High-School level acting will fade justifiably into the ether.

Maybe I’m wrong, maybe the effects people, the editors, the actors, were all brilliant and M. Shymalox is simply burying them in shit and no-talent writing. If English is NOT your first language, do NOT helm the writing for a movie with english dialogue. If you are adapting from a cartoon that’s charming and funny, do not make your life’s mission to remove both charm and funny from the movie. These seem like easy to understand concepts… but no… they do not cross the foreign border that is M. Shadooxmleys failing brain stem.

I haven’t even tackled the movie yet, because honestly, I have no fucking clue what happened. There were some ice people, who found a kid, who is capable of wielding all four elements, but can’t. So the fire people are hindustani dickheads and want to kill/enslave everyone, most everyone has let this happen until the arrival of a bald kid who can’t do anything but sort of fly and knock people over. When they make a piss-poor rebellion and end up BACK at the water people who are all white people dressed as asians and live far away but have the exact same environments.

Meanwhile the worst rendered CG Dragon in history spouts oblique fortune cookie advice during confusing meditation sequences by said useless bald kid, who seems to gleam some inner strength from it. In what I can only describe as dialogue written by re-translating japanese dialogue written by a dyslexic Scotsman. With such dialogue-ish gems as

“We have to show them we believe our beliefs as much they believe theirs.”

What???

Continuity in this movie may have been provided by David Lynch if it wasn’t so obviously, accidentally shitty, where as the lynch meister would at least confuse with an artistic flair.

If this sounds like the horrible scribblings of a 6 year old and I’ve given you no idea what the movie is about, it’s because I simply DO NOT know. There’s a kid and he gets some powers and another kid who’s dad is evil and a bunch of people fighting with fire and water but not suffering terribly from it because it’s a nickelodean movie and people just keep getting knocked aside (to die offscreen I assume)

At the end, (which I have no fear of spoiling) the bald kid who appears to be reading from cue cards the whole movie, summons a tidal wave, which then fades back into the ocean, doing NO damage to simply scare the bad guys away. Also a fish, who is the moon(?) gets killed, and some chick gets her hair color back and dies, after a 9 second love affair with one of the blandest main characters ever, who might be someone’s brother, I just don’t care.

You leave this movie with a sense of dumbfounded wonder, that you literally just spent money to see this and you HAVE to justify that somehow, but you just can’t. I felt stupid for several hours after watching this movie, because if you watch retarded people do retarded things long enough, you start to feel a little retarded. I can safely say that this movie made me dumber, I have suffered true intelligence damage from watching it. There is literally nothing memorable or redeeming about this movie. I could watch it 3 more times and give you NO more information as to what it is we’re supposed to care about or accomplish.

With every bad movie comes an opportunity to be “So bad” that it’s good, that you can laugh or poke fun at it and flip its intent on its end. Unfortunately, no amount of spinning can alter this pile of shit from being a pile of shit. M. Evening Shmallaleeon can go blissfully into the afterlife of directing and manage a 7-11, knowing that he has fucked his career so far into the ground that he’s punched through to china, where they will hate this even more for the racist re-casting.

Fuck you, Fuck this movie, Fuck M. Night, and if you get tempted to see this to see if it’s really “just that bad” – Don’t. It’s even worse.

My good friend God “The Lord” Stockton is apparently spawning a child, I think his wife is involved as well, but to be honest I don’t like to pry into the mysteries of nature, there are traps, like in the temple of doom.

Since I heard the news the question came up, what’s the name? I thought I might help. The Last name here I’ll call the boy’s last name “Stockton” and the Girls last name “Hill” but insert your own last name and add your own suggestion.

Boy Names:

1. Damien Beezelbub Stockton
2. Doombringer Bloodrinker Stockton
3. Chad Rockbiter Stockton
4. Froderick Frankensteen Stockton
5. Professor X Stockton
6. Stockton Stockton Stockon
7. Truth Justice Stockton
8. Monty Python Stockton
9. Gohd Dahm Stockton
10. Johnny Science Stockton
11. Highlander “Therecanbeonlyone” Stockton
12. Frodo Bilbo Stockton

Girl Names:

Using Gods wife’s last name of “Hill”

1. Girl Woman Hill
2. Sheba “Chosen One” Hill
3. Rogue Operative Hill
4. Sally Poledancer Hill
5. Vixen Viola Hill
6. Shiva Summons Hill
7. Jersey Lawyer Hill
8. Xen Ninja Hill
9. Xena Warrior Princess Hill
10. Shadow Hibiscus Hill

I’m very much expecting at least one of these to be used, in the event of an emergency or transgendered / hemaphrodite child, I’ll go with “Twoolah Baskins Stockton-Hill”

Will update if they take my obviously superior suggestions to heart, be sure to add your own suggestions in the comments!

(Congrats to God & Amanda)

Special thanks to Sean “SicSemper” Beering

• My love for you is geometrically greater than my love for math
• My love for you is mainly derived from the essence of domesticated pets
• My heart fills with fluid causing a seizure every time you are near
• You make me as Rational as Pi
• You corrupt my logic Sub-Program
• We will smash together like pornography made inside the Large Hadron Collider in Geneva.
• Our flesh will intertwine like Jeff Goldlums body fused with the DNA of a fly in that fateful movie
• I will take you out on a date so hard your body will suffer the bends from excessive g-forces.
• Our love makes as much sense as a sudoku puzzle done by one of the chimps from that flight simulation movie.
• Every word you speak  is like a butterfly, drinking my soul
• If you were a dinosaur, you’d be a sexysaurus
• If you were a smoothie, you’d be ginseng and wonderful
• If you were a poisonous flower, I would make cakes from your venom and poison anyone who ever looked at you.
• Your face is like a barracuda hunting my heart
• My urge for you is like a blender on Frappe
• Our lust is like a rednecks bonfire, raging into the old barn that missy stuffed with hay after she got mule-kicked.
• Your smell is as intoxicating as 27 republicans on a bender and burying a hooker they killed with a nylon ligat.
• Living a day without you is like Lindsay Lohan being sober, rare and terrible.
• Your voice is like Siren’s superpower from X-Men, but it only works on my willpower.
• My legs open for you like Torsion springs designed to do so.

Write in your own and I’ll add them to the article

Dedicated to Carrie (Who Loves Geeks back)

In some of my more slacker days, I’ve worked a lot of corporate/office jobs. And as any good cubicle veteran can tell you; The bathroom is your friend.

I’m going to explain how to make a simple bathroom break, take up to an hour of your day, while avoiding work AND suspicion.

First off it’s best to explain that the bathroom is sacrosanct, it’s a place we have been taught to not mention, not talk about and not go into detail about. Sure a lot of us read, surf the web, text, or what-have-you, but we do not talk about our ‘business’ especially at work. This is what works to your advantage.

A simple straightforward bathroom break can take 2-5 minutes, just getting up, walking there, performing your task and coming back is generally a pretty quick and easy affair, but there’s so much more you can tack on to make this this take forever, getting you away from your desk, boss, responsibilities and accountability for huge chunks of the day. Here’s how it breaks down.

Step 1: The preparation.

For this step we’ll assume that you work at a desk with a computer. We’ll go over the details.

• Stand Up: This seems simple but it gives the impression that you’re about to leave or just arriving, most people see you standing at your desk they assume you’re halfway completed with something or about to leave.
• Click, Click, Click: Lean back down to your computer, someone who only has time to lean into their computer is obviously busy and on their way somewhere. Now that we’re down here, take some time to do some very simple things. Save your documents, check your email (especially to see if the boss has made a request), close any questionable windows, don’t minimize, CLOSE. There’s plenty of snooping managers that won’t balk at glancing at your computer to see if you’re up to anything you shouldn’t be. Be sure to put something work related and half-complete on the screen, implying you’ll be right back.
• Stretch: Now that you’ve prepped your computer do a full stretch, the idea here is that it add precious seconds to the forever-break. It’s normal to see that you are stretching as ergonomics and general workplace health is something we all have been taught is important. It could also be interpreted that you are just getting up to stretch and might sit back down
• H2Obfuscate: Place a water glass prominently on your desk, empty of all water, this will come into play later.

Step 2: The trip

Now that you’ve committed to actually heading to the bathroom the chase is on.

• The longest journey: depending on the size of your office this can be useful or not, I’ve worked one place where the bathroom is 20 feet from my desk and other places where it’s an actual trip across the building that can take up to 1-3 minutes to walk there. If you have a large office space, plot out a walking trip that takes the longest journey there. If you can avoid the bosses desk/office with this journey as well, all the better. Either way, walk slow, steady and with a firm eye forward that says “I know where I’m headed, and it’s important”.
• Non Essential Personell: This can depend on if you are okay with small talk or even like your co-workers. I don’t usually but they can be useful. Always wave and grin at anyone who is totally no threat to you. It will make you seem friendly and open up countless opportunities to stop and catch up for a second. It’s not ideal to get caught chatting all the time, so the key is to exchange a sentence or two and then say “I’m buried in work right now, but I’ll hit you up about that later” this way if you’re overheard, it’s saying that are “Busy”.

Step 3: The Zone

Now you’ve entered the inner sanctum that is the bathroom. There are a few key things to know

• King of the Hill: Choose the biggest stall they have, if there’s a handicapped stall, take that one, if there is a stall in the corner / against a wall, take that one. The less neighbors and notice the better. Obviously it’s important that you MUST have a stall, if there are none available simply wait patiently for one to become available which add vital time.
• It’s always TWO: You might be wondering what to do if you ‘only have to pee’ (assuming you’re a male). The answer is simple. You don’t. You have to shit. You’re uncomfortable with how badly you need to crap. That is the message you give EVERY time there’s a bathroom trip. There is NO such thing as a urinal, because they are simply over too quickly. The beauty of this is of course, that NO ONE can argue otherwise, only you know when you need to go and what kind.
• The business: You know how to perform your functions of course, but even if you do, there’s a few things to know. Always sit on the toilet and don’t wander around the stall, its surprisingly easy to recognize someone by their shoes or walk, so just keep it simple okay? Bring your cellphone or a small paperback that can fit unobtrusively in your pocket, get your read on. Space out. Whatever it is that makes the time pass.
• Timing is Everything: Now that you’ve gone into the bathroom, you have to assume you have been seen entering and may be seen leaving. The issue here is that you simply can’t just stay inside all day long. I’d say you want to keep things between 9 and 15 minutes absolute max. If you make more than one trip in a day, make the second one about 5-7 max. You may feel that you can get away with a lot more, and you probably can, but the idea here is not to raise suspicion and to be able to do this almost EVERY day if needed.  Regardless of how you burn up the time in the bathroom, just stick to the minutes.

Step 4: The Return and Doubleback

Here comes the best part from step one. You left your water glass on your desk, empty. Here’s what to do

• The Way Home: Now you’re walking back, take the long route, exchange a few smiles and waves. It helps to be seen as friendly and busy. As soon as you reach your desk, pick up your glass of water, smack your forehead. Don’t SAY anything, it’s obvious, just look like you forgot to get water, and then, go get water. This provides a second and possibly lengthy trip, either to the kitchen, water cooler, or bathroom, whichever is furthest away has the ‘best water’.
• Now your trip is mainly complete, you can try some advanced techniques like the “Return Stretch” where you stretch a second time upon returning. Also remember to immediately check for emails and messages to see if you missed anything, always respond to these immediately to minimize your return time. Don’t apologize or explain for taking so long, unless it’s asked, which brings us to…

Step 5: Evasive Manuevers

The time may come where your lengthy trip(s) to the water closet may get some undue attention and your boss will cross all boundaries of logic and morality and actually ask you about the time taken to do so. Don’t panic, there’s ways to handle this as well.

If you get a message, email, voicemail or anything other than a direct confrontation, you’ll have to do something against your instincts. Make it personal. Don’t apologize or explain unless you are face to face. Ask to see them in private, and explain that you’re terribly embarrassed but that you suffer from intermittent “Irritable Bowel Syndrome” and that you take medication to alleviate this problem, but occasionally forget or miss a pill. Essentially you want to flip the scenario from “you’re being grilled” to the grill-ee. Make your boss as uncomfortable as possible, explain that it’s been an issue for several years, that normally it’s very manageable. That you’re very sorry it’s affected your performance and you endeavor to not have it be an issue again. The more lengthy and painful and uncomfortable you can make this talk, the more likely it is that this will NEVER come up again.

It’s very likely that this will never come up if you follow the above rules. Act happy, and busy, and break up your break into tiny manageable pieces that you can add or discard on the fly. Also try to take bathroom breaks at random times so that you don’t have a routine. Follow all these rules and you too can have a 1 Hour Bathroom Break.

Enjoy Slackers!

There are many things lately that I’ve become disillusioned with:

Games:

Gran Turismo 5

Mass Effect 2

Red Dead Redemption

Gadgets:

Kindle

PSP

Tablets

Websites:

Digg

Youtube

Gamespot

Media:

Porn

Net Memes

Summer Movies

All of these things used to interest me, or hold my fascination for a time. But having experience them or learned more and more about them, I’ve found that they fall by the wayside of my critical mind. Admittedly it’s hard to keep my interest or even to surprise me anymore but, these are my latest disappointments. Also, I’ve recently been annoyed with CES 2010 for a lot of flash and not many great usable products, and who the fuck can afford a giant 3d tv right now?

(Or How I conquered Racism, all by myself)

Dear Readers,

Far be it from me to take time on a simple blog to explain my own convoluted ideas, or preconceptions. But one thing I’ve always hated, as a vague patriot of our unsettled country , is the French. I don’t know where my hatred of them stemmed. It could be when I was young and countless people told me Jerry Lewis was funny and I kept not laughing. It could be other people’s negative opinions and insights about their lack of military victories, personal hygiene, lack of ethics,etc.

I guess I just never gave it much thought that I despised the French on principle. Every traveller I’ve ever talked to said they hate Americans, and I assumed it’s perfectly sane to hate them right back. My only real experience with a french person prior to about a year ago was an effeminate coke-head who was my friends roommate named “Stefan”. Strangely enough he was actually pretty likable. But then again he literally wore horizontal black and white striped shirts and berets. Is that the US equivalent of a “Wolf” t-shirt in France?

So Stefan didn’t strike me as a usable example of the French people. While pleasant enough, he seemed too much of a stereotype to be authentic. My guess is that he bought into US Stereotypes to be funny and fit in, and did coke because it’s fun. So I was left continuing with my general ignorance and random dislike of Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triumph, and anything to do with Quiche.

What really made the turn was this little cafe right downstairs from my work. For the sake of not naming names let’s call it “Le Cafe” because the name was similarly unoriginal. It is owned and operated by extremely french people. The owner, the waiters/waitresses, the host, everyone except some of the Mexican bussers were all fluent in French and favored it above English. Most of the time the only words I’d hear from them in English (or American, as my retarded fellow patriots call it). Were “what would you like” or “more coffee?”.

Then as the restaurant was by my work I’d go every couple weeks and after the fourth or fifth time I put in an appearance there was a world of difference. Suddenly I was greeted by name, given priority to tables, comp’d free coffee etc. At first I put it up to just being a ‘regular’ but finally I managed to engage some employees in conversation and they explained that they treated strangers like strangers and friends like friends. Since I’d been there, met them, joked with them a little they switched to ‘friend’ mode. After that, there was no warmer or more friendly people on the planet.

In retrospect, they were rather distant and cold when I first started going there. Making the transition more dramatic in comparison. No one wore a beret, or stripes. They all DID have a knowledge of fine wines, but I think we can give a stereotypical pass since they serve it at the restaurant. Now, just becoming a regular at a French restaurant didn’t make me a convert to gay old Paris. I’m sure I’d still be treated like shit in France. It did make me realize that a lot of stereotypes that I would outspokenly debase in public are pretty rampant in my mind.

My history in life didn’t include an Anti-Frenchman, Dad didn’t hate the French, at least not outspokenly. He was sort of generically racist and never made any attempt to convert me to a particular way of thinking…

(To Be Continued….)

A lot of people probably say they fall in love with strippers. After all, any single guy wandering into the smoky den of the strippers gets undue attention, surrounded by beautiful women and treated probably nicer than any girl has ever treated them.

But I don’t fall for them, I realize their amazing and random interest in me is totally based in their need for my dirty wad of cash. I simply have a strange and backwards reaction to strippers in general. I empathize with them. Some would theorize this would result from my treatment of women in general. I basically act like I’m constantly at a strip club when I’m everywhere but a strip club. I hug girls and objectify them and generally make a lovable asshole of myself.

Somehow this trips the reverse reaction in me when I’m confronted with women that objectify themselves, hit on me, and go out of their way to sit on my lap and show me their tits. I feel bad for them. I want to buy them coffee and learn about their lives. I want to give them a jacket and believe the best about their situation. To be honest I don’t fully understand it. Maybe it’s because I can sense their fake sales attitude and realize that each one of them is struggling to make money by lying.

They aren’t really interested in me, or the 200 other guys that blow through there in a night. I guess I feel more pity for a girl who has to pretend to like a guy than a girl who pretends not to like a guy, which is so often the case. Sometimes the worst is when they are bad at it. In fact I usually avoid strippers that are good at their job. If they seem very at ease and quick on the draw I’m usually turned off instantly, because I know I’m about to get hustled, and that it will probably work if I relax for a minute.

No it’s the girls who seem to not know quite what to do, or why they are there. They are probably worried that I’ll be creepy and overly drunk or forward. My heart immediately reaches out to them and makes me want to just give them 20 dollars to take a break and understand that all men aren’t evil.

It’s probably a little patronizing, to assume that a lot of strippers are people to pity or feel sorry for. Some would probably hate me for what I’ve written so far. It’s some combination of being sexist, sensitive, misogynistic and inherently kind. I just find myself conflicted and strippers to be fascinating. Because they’re real people, almost universally beautiful, acting as fake as they possibly can. They are basically paid to be nude retail actors. Selling a product, convincing you it’s worth it and overcharging like hell.

It’s also been theorized that people that go to strip clubs fall into very few categories. Lonely and degenerate men who cannot see a girl naked any other way. Lonely men who are celebrating degrading women, or lonely men who have too much money and are travelling. While I think that the majority of these are true, I find myself trying to categorize myself. I’m not particularly lonely, I have a girlfriend. She doesn’t particularly mind me going to see naked women, understanding that this is, for men,  basically a fashion show, makeup sale and disturbing gossip all rolled into one.

I’m not trying to sleep with them, I’m not willing to spend ridiculous amounts of money, and I’m probably the last person that they actually want to talk to, since I’m cheap and sensitive to being hustled. Yet I go and actually do engage them in conversation, which they are happy to do because they think it will lead to them getting me to pay them. Most find out in 30 seconds or less that I’m not really going to give them hundreds of dollars to prance in front of me for 5-10 minutes. But a few actually relax and engage me in conversation with a fervor that’s surprising. Once the sales pitch is over and if there’s nothing else going on, a lot of strippers are happy to start talking about their day or problems. Which are often varied and complex.

This evokes in me a sense of empathy, interest and a genuine urge to improve their day. This is probably a side effect of them being beautiful and right in front of my face. So the question remains, am I just victim to a pretty face, and tight with my money. Or do I somehow relate to the plight of people who force themselves to be fake and appear attractive to get by in life? I’m not pretty enough to be a stripper and there’s not much call for male strippers in the same context, but I get the feeling that, if I could, I would be a stripper. Maybe if I were female.

I have to admit, this is all more of a train of thought than a clear direction. The only conclusion I can draw from this is that I secretly want to be a stripper, a woman, beautiful and objectified. Since I remain unable to do so and painfully heterosexual, I guess I will lock this deep into my psyche along with my conflicted feelings about my family and embarrasing sexual episodes during my teenage years (and beyond). Then I’ll go home and kiss my girlfriend, high-five my best male buddy, crack open a corona and think about video games.

The difference between men and women, is that this kind of stuff probably lingers with women. I’m such a fucker.

CrotchMail: The Reckoning

A Boy and his Blog

By Adam A Aragon

CrotchMail is the hilarious and Non-Award Winning Blog of Adam Aragon. It runs the gauntlet from dirty, to weird, to geeky and back to offensive and off-color. Completely insane and unapologetically racy, this is a collection of essays and articles from the Very Best of CrotchMail and it’s particular brand of Humor.

12:02:50 PM sikkitten: howdie
12:03:05 PM weaselbringer: what! stop judging me!!
12:03:15 PM weaselbringer: oh sorry I thought you were the instant message that haunts my nightmares
12:03:18 PM sikkitten: haha
12:03:20 PM weaselbringer: you’re just a regular IM
12:03:29 PM sikkitten: I was judging you though
12:03:55 PM weaselbringer: well that’s fine because you don’t have the face of a werewolf and the mind of supernova like in my surreal flavored dreams
12:04:11 PM sikkitten: or so you think
12:04:33 PM weaselbringer: whatever condemnation you can pass down from your realbrain is probably non-fatal
12:05:09 PM weaselbringer: hmm I’ve found that pinching myself is not a solid indicator of dream state, so I’ve taken to firing a live starter pistol at my face to see if I”m dreaming
12:05:20 PM weaselbringer: so far 3/4 times I’ve been awake
12:05:48 PM sikkitten: sounds like a good system.
12:07:01 PM weaselbringer: the first test run it turns out I was dreaming and the starter pistol emitted a high pitched frequency that only marmosets can hear and I shot myself in the face with a lemur..
12:07:2 PM weaselbringer: that… thankfully was only a test run, and I might add, a dream
12:07:14 PM sikkitten: been there
12:08:14 PM weaselbringer: Lemur gun… I wonder if there’s a market for that
12:08:20 PM weaselbringer: ( or an app for that )
12:08:37 PM sikkitten: haha. I would say yes to both.
12:08:55 PM sikkitten: if there isn’t a market, that’s what proper advertising is for.
12:09:06 PM sikkitten: Throw it in the right packaging and everyone will want one.
12:09:36 PM weaselbringer: packaging for a lemur gun… I guess if you sold it… inside a live camel.. that way, if you’re crafty… hey! Free camel!
12:10:43 PM sikkitten: not an advertising ploy that would work on everyone, but I’m sure it has it’s niche.
12:11:28 PM weaselbringer: inside a live baby? studies have shown that humans respond well to infants
12:12:10 PM weaselbringer: all we need to do is gently force a large lemur and accompanying pistol, along with the instruction manual and free lemur case/food pellets inside a human baby and I think that may fill TWO niche’s
12:12:31 PM sikkitten: http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com/2010/01/sunday-sweets-when-mario-marries.html
12:12:40 PM weaselbringer: effectively bringing it out from the niche market and into the booming, babies stuffed with things… market…thing
12:13:05 PM weaselbringer: I would get married for that cake alone
12:13:08 PM weaselbringer: to anyone or anything
12:13:28 PM weaselbringer: I would marry a cactus attached a badger trained to eat testicles to have that cake
12:13:36 PM sikkitten: HAHA. I know you would.
12:14:03 PM weaselbringer: And we’re not in the baby killing business, sure there’s money to be made but our goal is at least 70 percent live product
12:14:23 PM weaselbringer: the rest we can pawn off to third world countries where lemur stuffed baby is probably a delicacy… damn savages
12:15:34 PM sikkitten: hey, have you ever tried lemur-stuffed-baby? Don’t judge the foods of other cultures based on your own cultural biases.
12:16:05 PM weaselbringer: hey I’ve done my part I once had a mcdonalds burger from a non-franchised establishment.
12:16:30 PM weaselbringer: One time I think I had a banana or fruit or some type from near canada
12:16:35 PM sikkitten: dude, I said RESPECT other cultures…not risk your life!

So apparently the good lord above has deemed it necessary to infiltrate my iTunes playlist to show me the errors of my ways. Let me explain.

Like any good american under 30, I don’t pay for music. About the time Microsoft and Apple started slapping DRM on everything is when I just stopped caring about buying legitimate music downloads. It just came with too much headache. Sure apple’s fixed it since then but it’s easier and cheaper ($0.00) to just get what you need elsewhere. (for all legal purposes lets remind everyone that this is a COMEDY blog)

So I decided that my tired old playlist needed a dose of new music. I went through and weeded out bands that SOUNDED good at the time, but got old and boring fast. In case you’re wondering which bands those are:

• LCD Soundsystem
• Bang Camaro
• Asher Roth
• Blue October
• Cage the Elephant
• Etc

Then I realized that there are bands/songs on there that just have NO business being on my playlist like:

• Black Eyed Peas
• Cher
• Coldplay
• Depeche Mode
• Kayne West
• Etc

Rest Assured that ALL the above bands are now deleted and I’ve already gone through the effort of calling MYSELF a fag and then dickpunching myself in the locker room. So I’ve realized the error of my erroneously downloading ways. Now of course I’m more careful to download specific albums, immediately deleting them if they don’t grip my attention or seem great. So I queued up a whole new batch of bands and meticulously downloaded several albums. After checking and re-checking the files I imported them all into iTunes and used the ever-popular “Recently Added Playlist”

That’s when Jesus popped in, followed by Disco. What?

I was listening to the new albums I had just set my new songs to “random” and was enjoying some new music. (who I won’t list because I don’t know if they all suck yet) When suddenly I catch a snippet of a tune about Jesus dying on a cross. I immediately open iTunes to find the offending song. Since my Atheism is a Gargantuan Level 80 Paladin, I don’t want no upbeat Jesus music on my playlist.

Sure enough there’s “Robbie Williams” who apparently does christian themed pop. This is annoying in and of itself, but more confusing since, I DID NOT download Robbie Williams. As I’m pondering this, suddenly a half-hearted remix of “Staying Alive” starts to play. My eyes bulge out of my head and I immediately regret all the self-dickpunching soon to follow this escapade. Flipping back to iTunes I realize that part of a compilation titled “Disco Classics Re-Imagined” has found its way onto my recently added playlist… TWICE. I shit you not, every song duplicated from the 30 track compilation of Disco Classics Re-imagined… What. The. Fuck.

Now the sleuths among you have already deduced that I’ve simply been had, and that while downloading music I’ve been swindled into downloading a stupid album in place of the one I was trying to get… The only issue here… is that I didn’t. Since I’ve downloaded roughly 10 solid albums, I went back into the original download folder to find out which album was compromised. There was NO issues. Every album, every track, played perfectly. There simply was NO apparent source of Robbie Williams (Jesus Jamboree) and Disco Dickpunching Classics on my computer. Sure they were in the itunes playlist and music folder, but they have come from NOWHERE. Upon further inspection these folders were made 24 hours prior to my download fiesta. My computer is locked down at work and has no easy access from either an external source or in the office. Not to mention my coworkers are all over 50 and think iTunes is Voodoo magic sent by the aliens.

Still I asked around. Nope. Nothing. My computer was locked, firewalled, passworded, and running OSX (which isn’t as easy to hack or circumvent) in a private room in a private building. Yet somehow. The ghost of Jesus Christ put Robbie Williams and DISCO CLASSICS REIMAGINED on my fucking itunes recently added playlist with no explanation. The only idea I have is that Disco and Jesus are both NOT dead, and they’re pranking people in offices around the world, as part of the coming Disco-Rapture…

2:56:57 PM sikkitten: how’s life in the cool state?

2:57:18 PM weaselbringer: pretty amazing, they changed all the air in california to cherry flavored

2:57:33 PM weaselbringer: and now when you crash your car they give you a jet and a handjob

2:59:48 PM sikkitten: That does sound nice

2:59:52 PM sikkitten: but I don’t have a car

3:01:49 PM sikkitten: so I would miss out on that perk

3:02:06 PM sikkitten: guess I’ll have to wait until I’m employed and have a car before moving back to CA

3:02:57 PM weaselbringer: oh there’s no unemployment anymore, now if you don’t have a job they give you a state funded job eating doritos and watching TV at double your old wages

3:03:16 PM sikkitten: …yeah

3:03:17 PM sikkitten: but

3:03:33 PM weaselbringer: plus arnold Schwarzenegger comes by your house once a week and gives you a high five and a peptalk

3:03:55 PM sikkitten: I want to have a job as a graphic designer, and before I get that I want to get a degree that says I can do so

3:04:10 PM sikkitten: though Arnie coming over to high-five me sounds pretty sweet

3:05:33 PM weaselbringer: that’s fine, everything here is digital now, so you just upload some art to www.Californiaiswaybetterthananywereelse.com and someone mails you a check for 8 million dollars (or 6 million Euros) (( or 200,000 hotpockets ))

3:06:08 PM sikkitten: um, yeah…their site appears to be down

3:06:37 PM sikkitten: so I suppose I’m just going to have to work on finishing my Bachelor’s until they get it up and running again

3:06:52 PM sikkitten: I do like hotpockets.

3:07:27 PM sikkitten: wait a minute…you can only get 200,000 hotpockets for 8mil? That exchange rate seems a little off

3:10:45 PM sikkitten: You know, I always kind of thought that artificial Christmas trees would cost LESS than real ones because, well…they aren’t even REAL.

3:11:07 PM weaselbringer: hotpockets are worth their weight in gold here now, some sort of craze

3:11:24 PM weaselbringer: fake trees cost more because they last forever, and don’t make a mess

3:11:29 PM sikkitten: That’s stupid

3:11:42 PM sikkitten: I wanted a tacky weird colored tree

3:11:51 PM sikkitten: and found out that it would cost me way more than a real one

3:11:53 PM weaselbringer: although in California, everyone is given a LIVE 400 FOOT redwood tree

3:11:53 PM sikkitten: AND

3:12:00 PM weaselbringer: and your house is renovated to fit

3:12:10 PM sikkitten: that was going to be my next question

3:12:34 PM sikkitten: also, how do you reach the top to decorate

3:12:35 PM sikkitten: ?

3:12:43 PM sikkitten: and where do you get that many decorations?

3:12:56 PM weaselbringer: nothing like gathering around the old extensible crane to decorate your 2000 year old king of trees with garlands made from 747 lighting cables

3:13:04 PM sikkitten: and how do the hippies feel about all those old-growth redwoods being cut down?

3:13:37 PM sikkitten: nevermind

3:13:46 PM weaselbringer: they’re not cut down, they’re moved, live, at enormous expense. Which is funded by our sales of promises to hang out with other states but we probably won’t

3:14:11 PM sikkitten: no wonder CA’s economy is suffering…

3:14:30 PM sikkitten: Anyway, Redwoods only come in tree color or dead tree color

3:14:34 PM sikkitten: I want pink, or blue

3:14:41 PM sikkitten: maybe purple or silver foil

3:15:01 PM weaselbringer: I think you mean california red, or superior blue

3:15:05 PM weaselbringer: our state colors

So I’ve just gone and seen New Moon, or as I like to call it “Twilight 2: The Reckoning”. Let’s get the basics out of the way, I’m male and straight (enough) and I’ve seen the first movie and read the entire series of books. To be fair, I didn’t actually know what I was getting into when I idly picked up the first book and because Stephanie Meyers words are somewhat akin to girlishly coated white china heroin, I read the rest.

So I’ve enjoyed the book series, I found it to be well written and with a full and complete story arc that ends in a satisfying and somewhat surprising manner. I’m also well aware that Stephanie Meyers is a filthy mormon and is using the outmoded beliefs of her childish religion to create angst and sexual tension like never before. Apparently though, it worked. This being the first time Hollywood has not rammed a sex scene into a non-comedy romance. So on with the review.

The only time she's not about to poop

It’s hard to summarize or review the 2nd movie without acknowledging the first. The casting of which is nearly pitch perfect. However I found the direction of the first movie to be lacking in personality and life, as it played out mainly as a word-for-word reading of the book as a script with beautiful but stoic actors and actresses. Not to mention Kristen Stewart (Bella Swan) seems to consist mainly of stuttering, apoplexy and migraines throughout the first movie. Now the second iteration is released upon a veritable ocean of squealing girls and shy and ashamed men. I found it to be largely more enjoyable.

In this movie, **PLOT SPOILERS AHEAD** Robert Pattinson (Edward Cullen) as the broody perfect gentleman vampire, realizes that his very existence places his lady love in danger, after a paper cut during a birthday scene almost ends in disaster with his blood-lusting family. Ever the noble matyr, Edward decides his lifestyle is too dangerous for Bella to endure as a human and leaves her broken hearted with his (lied) assurance that he no longer loves her and will “disappear from her life forever”. Bella, lost in a massive whirlpool of sorrow turns in her desperation to Jacob, the Native American supermodel/mechanic (Taylor Lautner), who manages to brighten her life slightly with his carefree and upbeat attitude. He of course falls rapidly in love with the heavily damaged and rebounding Bella and she keeps him at arms length while using him as an emotional crutch to perform dangerous stunts. These dangerous stunts present visions of the erstwhile Edward, who warns her to not harm herself, whether this is completely in her mind or some real telepathic link to Edward (direct from angst-ville) is never quite explained.

The situation is complicated somewhat by the fact that Jacob is revealed to be a Werewolf and that several members of his tribe are also his “pack”. Furthermore, the female antagonist Victoria, having survived her mates destruction in the first movie is still hellbent on revenge and plans to kill the relatively unprotected Bella. Though the part of Victoria is largely unspoken in this movie she remains only a shadowy menace represented mainly by dirty looks and threatening poses. The real story is Bella’s mutual but distant love for Jacob and increasingly dangerous activities. This culminates in a cliff-diving scene where Edwards psychic sister foretells her death (incorrectly) and Edward finds out and plans to kill himself as a result.

Edward throws himself at the mercy of the Volturi, an ancient Italian group of vampires who all possess superpowers of some type or another. Making them the dirty X-men of the Twilight Universe. They refuse to kill Edward and so he concocts a plan to break the Volturi’s main law, which is secrecy, by exposing himself as a vampire and subsequently getting himself killed in retaliation. Bella and Alice race to Italy to prevent this and lo and behold, manage to save Edward. But not without first attracting the attention of the Volturi leaders who insist she must be made a vampire or die.

The story comes to a close with Edward back in the game and Jacob scorned and angry as Bella looks forward to becoming a Vampire.

The only other guy who watched this movie

The lengthy plot is revealed, and while this covers the real happening of the movie it’s important to note a few things. For one, Jacob, being a much more primary character and admirably acted by Taylor Lautner is also reduced to little more than female pornography by existing for 90 percent of the 130 minute runtime with no shirt on, appearing as though he probably breaks a Bowflex machine before breakfast. With rippling abs and overexaggerated muscles, intended to convey that his new Werewolf metabolism is greatly increased, he becomes more of a constant sight gag. Making girls (ranging age 14-40) Sigh and giggle constantly, as the first real equivalent of female driven porn, worms its way onto mainstream cinema. Between the wolf and abs ‘other guy’ and the dark mysterious pale leading man, this is several of the most popular female fantasies colliding in a stew that literally leaves men (or at least me) feeling distant and uncomfortable.

That’s not to say the movie is bad. I found it to be well paced, funny, and have some genuinely inspired fight scenes that leave you wincing in pain for these characters. There are some things that worked for the first movie that barely deserved a glance in this one though. The casting of her friends from high school become rapidly more irrelevant in this movie and one is led to wonder why they continue to put up with Bella’s whiny ever gloomy and dismissive attitude. It doesn’t help that these friends have very little chemistry with each other and are obviously hand picked to provide racial diversity in the cold northwestern US, where Blacks, Asians, and Puerto Ricans are not yet invented. Much less goofy friends, linked to each other only by their tenuous ability to swallow Bella’s constant emotional shitstorm.

Bella’s dad Charlie (Billy Burke) as a picture perfect Chief Swan impressed with his depth and range in the first movie. He is unfortunately relegated to a role of constant unbelievable acceptance of his daughters massive mood swings and acts of rebellion and self-endangerment. While it’s possible that most parents are little more effectual than Charlie, it’s difficult to swallow that he’s both caring and apathetic to what is essentially full blown schizophrenic behavior courtesy of the slightly less stuttery Kristen Stewart.

From a male point of view, all the female characters in this movie are beautiful and fairly well acted, however they remain the only people sensibly bundled under what, by contrast, seems like acres of clothing. The females remain simple almost indistinct and generally forgettable, as the focus is clearly on our leading lady and her Olympic sized swimming pool of testosterone resulting from 2 chiseled male competitors. All in all, I would say this movie more effectively delivers the drama of the book than the first and is worth watching and enjoying for either male or females, but it’s very obviously directed toward the latter.

For those of you that aren’t fans of the series, I can summarize the movie in another, more humorous way:

The movie budget didn't include shirts

The scared-of-blood vampire Edward, watches his girlfriend get a paper cut and breaks up with her, forcing her to gain hallucinogenic highs while cockteasing a werewolf until she attempts suicide, forcing her ex-boyfriend to beg the Italian X-men to kill him, resulting in a high speed chase and culminating in a dick-waving contest between 2 sets of differently toned bodybuilders, which they both inevitably lose because in this twlight/pokemon universe, abstinence is awesome and everyones pretty much fine with a manic depressive pushing their buttons.

So with one review, or the other, I leave you. Probably to either profess your deep hatred for this book/movie series you’ve never read or watched, or to watch the damn movie again, because the boys are SO cute.

I’ll be over here vomiting in this bucket, but giving this movie a solid 4 out of 5 stars for some great effects, performances and a pretty well written “Bodice Ripper” come to life.

10:37:04 AM Cliff: So you diggin the MW2 action?

11:30:47 AM weaselbringer: it’s pretty fricking rad

11:30:58 AM weaselbringer: doubt I’ll play it multiplayer

11:31:09 AM weaselbringer: but i’ll probably do the SP campaign twice

11:47:22 AM Cliff: Yeah, I’m hooked. The whole attack on america thing is pretty wild. Not that I’m proud that one of the fights in america revolves around a fast food chain mall.

11:47:35 AM weaselbringer: lol

11:47:37 AM weaselbringer: yeah

11:47:42 AM weaselbringer: defend the burger town is pretty silly

11:47:49 AM weaselbringer: but I’m glad there’s a taco bell or whatever,

11:48:23 AM Cliff: Well its funny, you think about all the other game they’ve done and you fight for farms and churches and historic areas. Then they do one game in america and your defending the burger barn and taco hut.

11:48:46 AM Cliff: “God damnit general, save the burger barn and get me a double quarter pounder while your there!”

11:48:48 AM weaselbringer: well I’m assuming we’re defending “freedom” and not the burger hut

11:49:02 AM Cliff: Freedom Fries

11:49:22 AM weaselbringer: we’re defending our right to have people stupid enough to call french fries… that

11:49:42 AM Cliff: God bless america

11:56:21 AM weaselbringer: I believe the burger hut was bombed anyway

11:56:44 AM weaselbringer: diner also thrashed, pisstown USA will have to bebuilt

11:57:05 AM weaselbringer: Hundreds of dollars in government funding will be required before it can regain it’s former beauty

11:57:11 AM weaselbringer: HUNDREDS

11:57:33 AM Cliff: Wheres a crying eagle when you need one.

11:58:00 AM weaselbringer: or a cybernetic bald eagle riding a plymouth into uncle sams vampire mouth

11:58:04 AM weaselbringer: no wait that’s just a tattoo I wanted

11:58:56 AM Cliff: I can see it, I dig it… no wait let me get the acid then everything will make sense

12:02:36 PM weaselbringer: then it looks like a pile of lumber, acid test pre-completed buddy

12:02:47 PM weaselbringer: what about that controversial airport scene?

12:02:58 PM Cliff: Did you play that yet?

12:03:02 PM Cliff: Its the third mission

12:03:16 PM weaselbringer: Here’s a massive machine gun and for some reason we need you to “PRETEND” by killing and gunning down OODLES of innocents

12:03:38 PM weaselbringer: this is to ‘get in good’ with the terrorist, who is STANDING IN FRONT OF YOU WHILE YOU ARE HOLDING A MACHINE GUN

12:04:18 PM weaselbringer: you could burst all 5 of those jackasses and not a single civilian life lost, or you could HELP them gun down thousands, get shot in the face and start a war…

12:04:19 PM weaselbringer: hmm

12:04:40 PM weaselbringer: maybe America’s policy of ‘kill as many innocents as it takes’ isn’t as well thought out as we thought

12:04:48 PM Cliff: hah

12:05:32 PM Cliff: Well heres my take on it, they wanted you to get in close with him to figure out what was next. Maybe they thought he had a nuke or something big that could kill loads more, who knows, I’m honestly not sure if they even bring it up.

12:05:46 PM Cliff: Anyways, they send you in the get in good with him and play buddy buddy

12:05:48 PM weaselbringer: Not explained at all

12:06:18 PM weaselbringer: and I’m pretty sure he can’t use a nuke with 30 rounds in his back… which is exposed to you, the whole time, that you are… killing innocent people, to gain his favor, which doesn’t work

12:06:33 PM Cliff: What bugs me is all that “If you are compromised we destroy all evidence of your existence” that ALL other CIA movies do… I mean shit its the first thing I thought of.

12:07:03 PM Cliff: My assumption was it was a no other alternative situation

12:07:06 PM weaselbringer: isn’t the point of counter terrorism to avoid gigantic bloodbaths like… I dunno, a massive airport execution?

12:07:14 PM Cliff: Like he had the capabilities and cells that would do it for him if he died

12:07:55 PM weaselbringer: still knowing there was some guy in france with sweaty palms holding the controller for a nuke would go a long way to soothing my concerns, instead it’s “Be his friend, kill thousands… it’s WORTH it”

12:08:31 PM Cliff: *little devil on his shoulder*

This is a good idea, nothing could go wrong.

12:08:55 PM weaselbringer: little angel – Yeah, machine guns, yeah! (in a beavis voice)

12:09:01 PM Cliff: hah

12:09:41 PM weaselbringer: I have to say the game is made worth it by gangsta shooting faceless enemies while snowmobiling at roughly 200 miles per hour

12:09:46 PM Cliff: Maybe one of the writers at activision had a really bad experience at a german airport and was like “Ya know what, fuck these people” and the story goes from there.

12:09:56 PM weaselbringer: You ever been to german airport?

12:09:58 PM Cliff: lol

12:10:00 PM Cliff: no

12:10:01 PM weaselbringer: it’s like that ALL the time

12:10:09 PM weaselbringer: thousands dead daily

12:10:30 PM weaselbringer: I don’t think a plane has ever successfully landed or taken off from a german airport

12:10:36 PM weaselbringer: due to all the shootings

12:10:42 PM Cliff: I’ll have to make note of this

12:10:46 PM Cliff: Avoid Germany

12:11:01 PM weaselbringer: yeah if you’re layover is in hamburg or something like that, wear flak, go in packing and leave on a fucking snowmobile

12:11:21 PM weaselbringer: that will be the only way you’re getting to euro-disney

12:11:58 PM Cliff: Now I have the image of Mickey in the airport gunning down thousands of civilians.

12:12:17 PM weaselbringer: with his creepy laugh, now THAT would be Epic Mickey

12:12:49 PM weaselbringer: Goofy throws a flashbang and says “Garsh” before slitting the throat of yet another airport security guard

12:13:16 PM Cliff: Donald suicide bombs a concession stand

12:15:07 PM weaselbringer: which accomplishes…

12:15:20 PM weaselbringer: No it doesn’t matter

12:15:26 PM weaselbringer: I think it’s awesome

12:15:37 PM weaselbringer: I’m also going to blog this… watch me

12:16:21 PM Cliff: I can’t wait for the FBI to call me.

12:19:39 PM weaselbringer: and crotchmail.com ‘ed

12:20:08 PM Cliff: I’ve always waited for this day… my life is complete

From the old Devil’s Newsletter Day’s – Here’s some more examples of customer service letters that would likely get you fired

WeaselBringer: Dear waste of human life, We have taken your order and put it in the shredder and then taken the long strips of paper and put them through again horizontally, this is an effective way to make confetti, we used the confetti during a celebration party dedicated to your lost order, and as a party trick we charged your account for this order about 1034 times. We apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused

WeaselBringer: Dear SeaFoamPimp@tercel.com – We have totally been up in your order records. And the shit you was ramblin’ about ain’t nuthin’ – it just some shit from back in the day, jus’ like  tricked out and all fuckered. So my bad G’ Funk – Sincerely , Yo’ Pimp mack daddy direct channel rep(Resent!)

WeaselBringer: Dear Sally, while tracing your order in our systems, we decided to put your email address in google, and we found some pictures of you in lingerie having sex with a dog. We think that’s pretty messed up. But Tom in Accounting would like your number, and we weren’t sure if we should give it to him, but it sounds like you’re a total freak, so we just wanted your permission. Oh and your order has been cancelled or something. – signed – Customer ‘bestiality’ service

WeaselBringer: Dear Annoying customer, Thank you for shutting the hell up. Your last email was like 4 pages, and even just skimming it made me late for my break, where I got totally trashed and totally forgot your order and had to read it AGAIN. Could you drop the attitude and just get to the point? thx dood – CS

WeaselBringer: Dear Sam Peckinhaw, We received your email about your lost order. And we assure you that we’re doing everything we can to track it. We even put up pictures of it around town on phone polls and offered a reward, if this doesn’t work, we will start going door to door and putting ads in the paper, rest assured we will find your order. In the meantime please accept this free gift of spam-scented candles. – CS

WeaselBringer: Dear blah, thank you for your inquiry. As per your request we have had your children raped and your husband shot. Or replaced your broken glass pumpkin. It might be either one… But one of those requests is definitely done. If you would like your faced slammed in a vice and beaten with bamboo, don’t hesitate to call us again

WeaselBringer: Dear customer: We were about to issue your refund but upon further investigation we’ve realized that you’re Jewish, and we don’t like that much. So at this time no refund can be issued. And we hope you will die, and continue to enjoy shopping at illuminations (you stinky heebie)

WeaselBringer: Dear Customer/dumbass, Our records indicate that you probably impotent and unable to perform sexually or physically. Our records also indicate that it’s small. I mean really small… Our records might be lying, but they’ve been around, and they know small. We hope this information is helpful in locating your glass pumpkin order. – Sincerely, ‘well-hung’customer service rep

Dear Franni Drepshanksizzlekeynips,

Thank you for your inquiry. We have investigated your order. (#66675859) We were unable to find anything at first. And then we investigated more. We have discovered that your order was sent, but to an address of your brother-in-law whom you no longer speak with (according to our investigations, which are very thorough) – However, DO NOT Panic. As the order sent was only an empty box and included an invoice listing 7000x Mongoose testacles. These unfortunately, were not available either.

Upon further investigation of the previous investigation. We have determined that the original product you ordered (3 chestnut jar candles) Were roasted over an open fire at the warehouse during a christmas party that involved, to the best of our knowledge, black tar heroin and vicodin shooters. These were of course, rapidly replaced with several similar items (#66672349) and shipped to Peru.

Upon investigating our records of the previous inverted ‘investigation’ Quantum Theory. We have located your order (#42002349) in Peru, where we do not provide shipping services. Your 7 Hazelnut replacement jars were located via sattelite and were ingested by goats near the Appalachian border, and their owner is understandably upset. We understand that this is not your responsibility, nevertheless we have charged your account several thousand dollars as compensation to a Havarrti Domanicann which will appear on your visa bill as “Goat Damage Reperation” This should also explain the majority of the ‘excessive’ charges that you mentioned in your earlier email.

We have hired paranormal investigators to track the dead investigators killed during the aforementioned ‘Quantum’ investigation, which sadly, ended in tragedy. Through this medium we have issued a replacement order at the warehouse for 4 Lemony-Vomit scented candles. Which are the only currently available closest replacement product. These however were dropped by a shipping employee by the name of Lenny Sendgooder, who has received 35 lashes for his impudence and lack of training. Lenny is recovering in intensive care and sends his best wishes. A replacement request was issued by the local department for this worker. This was returned electronically to our facility, which we promptly printed and mailed via US Postal service to our Fax department for them to Send back to the warehouse to have your 4th replacement order (#696969LOL) of 90 Dead grasshoppers with chestnuts fullfilled. This order was sent by Priority overnight shipping to our warehouse, where it was also shipped from, in an unfortunate system glitch. Upon receiving this order, it was promptly returned to sender, as we didn’t order any grasshoppers or chestnuts. And the 30th of December we received it back here via Fed-Ex.

We quickly investigated and consulted our Ouji board and immediately repackaged your order (#420420LOL) with most of the grasshoppers intact, and a free beer bottle (empty) for your troubles. This was sent with freight charges to your current listed address. The box that you received containing a Bottle of Cabernet and a live ape was a mistake generated by our investigation into our order system. Which sadly, also ended in tragedy.

To conclude our investigation, the additional charges on your credit card for “Personal Massage” and “93 Kegs Br. Ale” are a blatant lie and the empty kegs will be returned when they are all located from various parts of the warehouse and surrounding field area. This charge will be refunded, pending an investigation. Your current order has been cancelled unfortunately as we are out of candles and are now shipping only packing peanuts and old issues of “Vogue” to random addresses that pop into our heads.

We hope you understand the difficulty we have experienced this holiday season and cease your complaints and constant emails. So that we may continue our investigation into Bigfoot. Who also was shipped something.

If you have any questions, or if you require any further assistance, please contact us at NoReply@CandlesMaybe.com, or by phone at 1-800-DONT-ASK. Our phone center is open to assist you with your purchase Monday through Tuesday, from 1am – 2am Central-Pacific-Mountain time.

We look forward to serving you in the future.

Thank you for your interest in CandlesMaybe.com.

Sincerely,

—-

Nabinga Wedonship

Direct Channels Customer Service Dept.

WISMO@CandlesMaybe.com

I don’t imagine many people would listen to a stand-up comedian who bitches about traffic and the same rule probably applies for comedic writers eager to share their frustration with the daily routine that is the ‘commute’. However I’ve come up with an innovative and relatively harmless way of shedding my aggression, sticking it to the man, and retaining a zen-like mischievous calm.

From the Eyes of the Motherfucker

You see when I’m driving, sometimes 2 to 4 hours a day, I see my share of aggressive pass-happy idiots. Who forgo blinkers and speed laws as well as common sense, to reach the nexus of Douchebag known as “Motherfucker”

Every day I see people spend time weaving in and out of traffic in complicated spiraling and often dangerous ways in an effort to show people they will never see, that they are angry at life and don’t understand traffic. Here’s some easy tips to recognize your classic “Motherfucker”

• Fancy or Shitty Cars. It’s not usually a Honda or a Chevy that contains a motherfucker. It’s generally a late-model Mercedes convertible or a half-spray painted Ford Festiva. There isn’t much in-between. Apparently the extremely poor and rich are always late for that next appointment, with their crack dealer.
• No Blinkers, regardless of car, the first one you see to swap lanes or merge without even a hint of blinker is probably on his way to douchiness.
• Cell Phones… Now in california it’s a law now to not speak on your cell phone, at least not with it held up to your ear, I generally agree that headsets should be used and cell phone in-car should be used sparingly, but your up and coming MF will likely have a large handset plastered against their ear while making lane changes, merging, parking, crashing, or bleeding to death. It’s one very important phone call people!
• Also watch for dangling cigarettes, dice on the mirror, being female, or anyone executing child discipline…

Now that we’ve made some effort to determine what the average MF warning signs are, it’s important understand both my actions and my philosophy. I’ll start by justifying myself in saying.

“Passing me, will not get you where you are going any faster”

This diagram just means you're wrong

Sounds simple and maybe even wrong, but in practice it’s not. I can’t speak for everyone but I’m a fairly experienced commuter, I get in the fast lane and stay there until I have to leave, I don’t nervously shift lanes when traffic slows, and I don’t rubberneck or rummage around the floor of my car looking for the ark of the covenant. Yet countless times I see a complete waste of human breathing air aggressively pass me and maybe even several other people, at unsafe speeds with no margin for error and almost always, in the middle of heavy traffic. WHY?

You see the practice of shifting lanes constantly (and like an asshole) means that you take every ‘slot’ or opportunity that arises, however due to the intricacies that is the hive-mind of traffic this will almost always result in 1 step forward, 2 steps back implementation. As heavy traffic has no “system” to beat, aside from having a police siren or illegally driving on the shoulder (both of which I’ve seen performed by the fabled “Grand Master Douchbags” or “Cocksucking Motherfuckers”)

The inevitable result is that I stay in my lane, obey the laws and watch as they helplessly and angrily get left behind, time and time again, and before long they’re far behind me… who hasn’t changed lanes or speed… once.

Now having seen this demonstrated almost daily and proven to be true about 90 percent of the time. I’ve come up with a way to make myself feel better and to give them a direction for their spongy self-loathing rage. Here it is: I don’t let them pass me. But… Adam… doesn’t that mean you would have to work at blocking them. Yes. Absolutely. I block the shit out of them.

Woe betide the fledgling Motherfucker who tries to pass me. Because he’s in for about 20 minutes of total passive aggressive cock-blocking. You see, the passer, never thinks beyond the moment. They see an opportunity, represented here by a 5 foot gap between me and another fellow commuter in front of me. They see that gap and they think to themselves. That gap is in a more forward position than I am, and therefore would improve my standing in this traffic mess I’ve found myself in, also, I have a small penis. (male or female). They immediately move to jam their car unsafely into the tiny spot presented between our two cars in what some would call a ‘safe distance’ But fuck all that, He’s going in, to tailgate someone else, and push me back yet another 20 feet in my attempt to live my life’s dream of not getting murdered by a douchebag.

So instead, I pull forward slightly, making the possible gap, simply impossible. The passer (MF) will then ride alongside me waiting for my concentration to slip, before finally dropping back and looking for a spot behind me, or another opportunity. Eventually though, like a fly to a delectable piece of shit, they return, buzzing around my personal space. Now the stakes are increased, the speed is higher, the gap is bigger. I can almost see the look of man-child-like glee on the face of the passing MF as he moves forward to overtake me. Only to have me pull forward, speed up slightly and block the space again. I’ve played this game for upwards of 30 minutes, once for my personal best was 55 straight minutes of innocently blocking a complete dick in a black Audi (A8).

These are Fascinating, aren't they!?!?!

The key here is not to enrage the other driver, that would be only too easy. No the key is to look INNOCENT. You never make eye contact, turn your head, and above all, never laugh maniacally. Though between you and me it’s happened. The essential idea here is to look like you just happen to be blocking their pass attempt. This only works in relatively dense, fast traffic or else too much opportunity will arise and they will cut you off and get home .00008 seconds faster to beat their wives and hateful white trash children. I’ve made an artistic form of making passing impossible and while I casually whistle to myself in cocoon of zen-like fun, the other driver keeps pounding his fists on his steering wheel in a temper tantrum to fate, wondering why they CANNOT achieve the impossible dream that is pissing me off and tailgating some other guy.

Because I am there… Blocking You. I make it look accidental, but it’s not. I hate you. I hate your 90 mile an hour attempts to get 3 carlengths ahead of me, only to slip behind me 10 minutes later because apparently being a dickface doesn’t come with a decent attention span or brain size. I hate the fact that you’ve spent the last several years wondering what that ‘clicky’ handle does to the left of your steering wheel. I hate the fact that you think passing me will achieve something. I hate the overwhelming idea, that the goal you’re so aggressively and dangerously careening toward is probably nothing even slightly more important than what I’m heading toward.

But I don’t let it get to me, I just put a smile on my face and pull forward slightly. Now quit trying.