I saw the girl dancing in front of Liberty Tax Services yesterday. I mean she was breaking it down. Apeshit would be the best way to describe her. It’s 23 degrees outside and there she is, cutting a rug while I sit at a red light. I think it’s a step up from the Domino's Pizza sign guy and the “who gives a shit is going out of business” sign guy who has to hold it all day while smoking a cigarillo.
I thought to myself, why more people don’t use this tactic. I would be more inclined to go by KFC if there was a girl dancing out in front of it, dressed up like a sexy Colonel Sanders. The Liberty Tax girl can get away with the green moo-moo and hat because it vaguely resembles a toga party. When I think toga party, I think naked and sheets. Logically, I then think about doing my taxes.
It’s pure science. Does this guerrilla dance advertising work on women or is this just an exclusive male attractant? I would think, with the popularity of Glee and So You Think You Can Dance, girls would be eating this shit up. I guess there’d have to be some gay dancer guys and some old person for the +40 women to empathize with.
DO IT ROCKAPELLA
So it’s Superbowl weekend. What are you doing for it? Well all four of my readers are probably not sports fans, but that never seems to apply during the Superbowl. The “I watch it for the commercials” jerkoffs and the assholes who normally watch threepeat NCIS episodes before bed every night come out of the woodwork. It’s like showing up at the end of Schindler’s List in the theatre just to watch Liam Neeson cry and bask in the love of his Jewish miscreant team without watching the horrors that brought us to this culmination. Just equate an incredible one handed interception brought back for a game winning touchdown in the 9th week of the season to watching the part of the movie where the dude wakes up in the morning, drinks some cognac, and shoots a couple of the Concentration Camp workers from long range. You didn’t see either of those events, but you’re going to watch the ending anyway because you want to see what godaddy.com is going to do next. Hint: there will be tits.
I know some people celebrate this game like a religious holiday. They’re at the grocery store right now getting ribs, chicken, guac, diet coke, and four gallons of Jack. I want to know where they’re going and how to get invited. So, with a 6:30pm kickoff time on the east coast, and coverage starting at 11am, it will be a perfect time to get twisted, pass out, and wake up before kickoff.
That is unless you’re hosting the event with a group of people. You have to pace yourself right behind your cohorts. If he drinks four double Jack and Cokes, you drink three. You see what I mean? You’re right behind, totally in the fray, but you’re not giving up the big play (VOMIT).
Weekend Follies:
You just pissed me off.
More than this woman using a neti pot.
So I didn’t update yesterday in my junk food world tour segment because what I made was just a terrible, inedible mess. I made a macaroni and cheese Cheeto pie. It was garbage. Don’t do it. It’ll make your teeth fall out and Jesus himself will appear in your kitchen just as you put it in the oven just to Ric Flair Chop you.
That being said, I thought I might delve into some television today. What would be better than to talk about my latest obsession, A&E mental disorder shows? Nothing. That’s what.
A&E has sopped up the niche sideshow market of cable television as of late. The premise of their lineup is, “do you have a disease that Maury Povich could do an entire show about?” If the answer is “Yes” then we got a new series. Right now they have Intervention, Obsessed, Hoarders, and Heavy for your sideshow viewing pleasure.
I, for one, can’t get enough of all of these shows. I, for two, can really understand why people would have a problem with the content. They’re exploited people. They’re people with some sort of disorder that normal people (what the fuck are those?) can’t look away from. All they can do is cuddle up on the couch and watch the hour long car accident.
The show’s premise is to find an addict, not just any addict, though. They have to make sure that they’re either a ridiculous addict (walking on sunshine girl: Allison the Huffer), or an addict that is photogenic (Jessica the heroin addict). Then they follow around said addict under the guise of being a ‘documentary about addiction’ rather than “OMGOMGOMG yous doin heroins! Wat a waste!”
There is a fine line between tasteful documentary and exploitation. This show makes no bones about what it wants to show the viewer. We want to see drunken people fall down, heroin addicts nod off, drug addicts begging for money, and we want their enablers to be persecuted for helping these people get to that sad state they’re in. That’s why the show is an hour long and 45 minutes of it is just watching the addict wander around town scoring dope. Truly, that’s all I want to see anyway. Then I won't have to see anymore of this guy crying.
This is just another show that hooks your interest in the way that reality TV can do the same. Reality TV relies on the viewer forming an opinion on the various characters that have been selected to interact with one another and periodically get voted off. This works the same way, but I only get to form an opinion on the enabler and the sideshow freak that drinks a gallon of Sky Vodka a day. The intervention comes towards the end of the show and most of the time the addict takes the offer of going off to a rehab resort for six months.
Then they do the follow up at the end showing the subject either returning to their roots as an addict or being a born again Christian. This is all just Schadenfreude. We want to see them turn into even worse junkies after their rehab so we can see them fall down some more in another episode.
The program revolves around people with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) and their inane idiosyncrasies.
HOLYSHIT HE’S COUNTING AGAIN.
This show’s not as fun to watch as an addict on Intervention because there are elements that really tug on the “man I’m watching a guy wear rubber gloves in the supermarket” heart strings that might resemble sympathy. What drives this kind of television is the idea that whatever mental disorder you’re eating oodles of noodles while watching is a correctable disorder. This show is the hardest because these disorders are truly of a frightening and debilitating nature. These people can hardly even participate in what we like to call life.
Better wipe that fuckin El Camino off, quick!
But then there’s fat people. Everyone hates fat people.
From their website: “A&E’s docudrama Heavy follows twenty-two individuals facing extreme life-threatening health consequences as a result of their obesity. The one-hour series follows two participants per episode documenting their incredible transformations during a six month treatment program.”
In other words, let’s watch fat people work out and cry. Everyone likes to see a morbidly obese man break down in tears about the cheesecake that he ate for breakfast. It’s like the biggest loser, but they’re all losers.
My mother’s always quick to point out that the people on Biggest Loser and Heavy only serve as unreal motivation to other morbidly obese people. They all don’t have to work during this ‘transformation,’ and they all get to go to the gym as often as they like, aka eight hours a day. Everyone on the planet that doesn’t have to work and is morbidly obese with a cash goal in front of them will lose a ton of weight. It’s unrealistic for someone to watch these shows and declare that they too will be the biggest losers. Then CPS comes to take their kids away when they fail to feed them for weeks while they’re spending eight hours in the gym everyday instead of working.
There also seems to be a recurring theme in all of these docudramas: Support Systems.
Having a support system to quit smoking is good. People tell you, “Hey, don’t smoke that cigarette.” And the quitter is like, “aight then.” Support system? Check.
The reality of these shows is the support system needs to be more than that. It needs to be more like, “Hey man, stop eating so much forever. Work out a bunch. I’ll pay your bills and mortgage while you do it.” Fuckin’ – A.
My favorite of these docudrama side shows is Hoarders. Where else can you be nosy and voyeuristic from the comfort of your couch without it being sex related? Unless there’s an episode of Hoarders where someone is caught having sex with a pile of dirty adult diapers. SIGN ME UP.
The plot of this show is basically the same as Obsessed and Intervention. There are subjects, two per episode, that have a horrible mental disease that inhibits their ability to throw things away. This can be escalated by an excessive shopping disorder which is very common to these people. Hoarding is an OCD symptom that involves the gathering (hoarding) of useless objects that have sentimental or incoherent value. In layman’s terms, these people keep trash and useless junk because they think it’s valuable.
Where're my Bakugans at?
Yep. There are many people in this country that hoard their own dirty adult diapers and think it has a value other than JESUS FUCKING CHRIST THERE’S POOP SACKS EVERYWHERE. GET RID OF IT.
I know my VHS of Starship Troopers is in here somewhere
The hoarders will try to mask their hoarding, naturally. Some will hoard objects that have a resemblance to value; i.e. beanie baby collections, hiding actual valuable items in the midst of trash, hobby supplies, beat up cars, and pets! Yes, I said pets. I think that’s the most unfortunate problem with hoarders. Let them acquire all the garbage they want, but letting them adopt 40 cats and let them take run of the house is just inexcusable.
Apparently Animal Planet got wind of it and deduced that it was very Inexcusable AND a ratings grabber. All episodes of Hoarders that revolve around someone hoarding 72 dogs had ratings off the charts as apposed to their counterparts; aka Bobby-Joe likes to keep every magazine and newspaper he’s ever received and Susan just can’t clean her house. Animal Planet then made their own show(s): Confessions: Animal Hoarding and Dangerously Devoted (now defunct). Confessions: Animal Hoarding is just an animal heavy episode of Hoarders and Dangerously Devoted is about another hotbutton topic that people will be up in arms about…then they’ll sit on the couch to watch it every week. Who doesn’t have an opinion for or against having dangerous pets? It’s almost the same kind of argument of having a gun in the house with small children. I have a snake who could eat my infant and I also have a loaded pistol that I lost in the house a year or so ago. DRAMA.
Back to Hoarders.
In Hoarders, the hoarder is usually in some sort of dire need of assistance in cleaning up their place with the end result being either keeping their house, getting their kids back, or being able to live in their house again. This end of the rope atmosphere is ripe with drama and mental disorders serve as the frosting on top of the shitcake. There are arguments between the hoarders and the “professional organizers” often resulting in a “cool down” session. WTF does all this mean? What the hell is a professional organizer? Is that like being a life coach, having a degree in homeopathic medicine, or another made up profession? I’m going to assume it’s akin to being a country music artist. You gotta keep telling people what you are until they believe you. Then one day you’re Kenny Chesney. Freaking island country is the worst kind of country. Give me Hick-Hop back already.
The backbone of the Hoarding process is a downward spiral in ratio of the house/property degradation to the escalating embarrassment associated with it. The idea is simple. If you keep enough junk around, eventually, the junk will start getting in the way of your house working. If the electricity goes out in certain rooms, the hell if you’re going to let some electrician come see the inside of your house. So in fear of this embarrassment, you just learn to exist with the broken whatever. It gets worse and worse. Electricity in the whole house goes or something happens with the water, and you’re still finding a way to cope with the living conditions.
People end up living in a small area of one part of the house with a space heater, a hotplate and a room upstairs will be dedicated to keeping all of their shitbags and used adult diapers. Forget hygiene all together. You disapprove? Well, too bad! We're in this war for the species, boys and girls. It's simple numbers. They have more. And every day I have to make decisions that send hundreds of people like you to their deaths.
It's afraid...that you may throw away its Grandma's receipt from Walgreens.
Amazingly, none of these people come to their senses. You expect after the clean up that the world will be opened up full of new and exciting futures, but no. They all had their hands forced and will return to their old habits. It took them 25 years to accumulate that much junk in the first place. It’ll take another 25 to get back to there.
I forgot to mention that TLC has jumped on the bandwagon as well with Hoarding: Buried Alive, Infested, My Strange Addiction, and Toddlers & Tiaras. Let's compare and contrast these two networks next week, fuckers.
This month’s been absolutely hellish in respects to my job and bubbling social life. Yeah the latter part is a blatant lie, but you love the holy shit out of it!
Self deprecating speech makes everyone feel better. You feel good being induced into complimentary responses and the people making the speech feel good for receiving a smidgen of confidence from an unwitting proponent of the human condition.
That’s my two cents.
Now here’s a buck twenty five.
FUCK YOU!
So the world’s oldest person died today at age 115. Eunice Sanborn credits her long life to Jesus. This is another instance of people not disclosing their secrets. Every other story I hear about the oldest person in the world revolves around some weird thing they did everyday or throughout their lives. There was the woman who ate McDonalds French fries for lunch everyday. There are the goobers that emphasize a good vegetarian diet and smoking Winstons is the right path to longevity.
Then there’s Betty White who eats nothing but junk food everyday and apparently will never die. I love that the chocolate intake of these supercentenarians is very common in the descriptions of their lives. It’s usually measured in kilos per week. I empathize with their predicament. I mean, god wont let them die, and chocolate is so abundant. Why not munch out your last days on the planet and be happy? I’d personally take up risky hobbies like MMA, Ninja Warrior, or Frisbee Golf.
Grimace, get yourself together man and stop being a ginger woman.
A personal anecdote about names around the office:
Things that are giving me cancer: giving up, turning into something I'm not, febreze, and talking to acquaintances about the weather for prolonged periods of time--doubly so when it comes to interaction with people I’ve worked with for months/years and still don't know what their name is or what they do here.
When the social hump of introductions gets passed, there's a point of no return. This person will now remain nameless for the duration of our coupling. As close as the relationship may get, the only way that the undisclosed name can be once again disclosed is only on the arrival that you realize the person doesn't know your name. There's always stealing their wallet or glancing at their bar receipt. Just be careful before you start calling him/her "eyebrows" or "hat" or "lava cake" or whatever the waitress puts at the top of their tab to remember who they are.
I think this all stems from our inherent need to seem different than other people. We like to stand out in other people's mind as "dude who quotes David Barry" or "guy who said something to me that any normal person would've gone straight to HR about. He rolled the dice and came up with seven." The constant interview process we're in has been drilled into us from a young age. There's an overall theme to life and it seems to be selling one's self is the ticket to success. I don't really buy into that. I think that nepotism and egotism rally more to the cause of success than selling yourself. Personally, I can't stand being sold something, or somebody. My point is that when we interact with someone and it's not in a professional atmosphere, just lackadaisical chance meeting along mutual interests, we subconsciously remember their names as well as characteristics, and usually a short story that is so totally classic "Ted." Replace "Ted" with who you are friends with. It could be Partario or Hubert or any of your millions of friends.
The office romantic affair of watercooler jibberjab with your coworkers can be done without names. It's like some crazy unisex bathroom in a strip club. The lights are low and we're exchanging very few details. But we're connected some way. In the office we're connected through the company we both work for and the BBQ's that we don't want our office friends to come to. In the unisex bathroom there's usually some sort of physical connection. Bumpin Uglies.
So there you go. Office banter around the watercooler = anonymous sex in a unisex bathroom while a creepy guy watches from the corner.
Grow a beard and quit killing the planet. For God's sake, Ride the Ride already.
This is a win-win if I’ve ever seen one. All you have to do is let the hair on your face grow. Three things will happen to you: you will get older exponentially, you’ll discover what beard itch is, and you will be beating women off with a stick. I know as well as you do that all women are beard chasers.
I mean, look at this fuckin Beard.
The typical male shaves 275 days of the year. That is 275 times that you could be using your eight minutes to lie around. Simple math tells us that’s just under 37 hours that you could be putting in your pocket, spank bank.
There are many advantages to owning a beard. It’s a sign of maturity and being able bodied enough to get down in sex town. There’s the added benefit of always having a supply of leftovers from previous meals caught in the flavor-saver section of the beard. This eliminates the need for hunting/moving to feed yourself as often as a non-bearded man.
There’s also the psychological beard that one must account for. If and when you decide to grow a beard, there is a part of the beard growing process that takes effort to pull through. It’s roughly equivalent to quitting smoking. It’s fine for the first few days, but then you get an itch. The itch doesn’t stop for days and days. Depending on your beard genes, this period of time can last weeks. We all know the leading cause of depression is the wearing of sweatpants, but most people don’t know that growing a beard can be the therapeutic opposite. If I were a psychiatrist, I’d prescribe beards more often than Zoloft. The long and the short of it is the beard becomes something you’re proud of rather naturally. You’re depressed and hate everything? I got a beard for you.
Oh My God this fuckin itches. Get me a comb and a Fresca Bomb
Once you get through the itch your god damn face off phase, the beard starts to become a part of you. Just like planting a garden, you want to show it off. HEY CHECK OUT MY HERB GARDEN.
PRETTY SWEET HUH?!
The beard is masculinity incarnate. You see a guy with a beard and you automatically think he’s fashionable and slightly scary. It’s a scared you can get behind. You can hide in that beard. No one will hurt me as long as the beard is there to protect me.
OK fine, it makes you look older and crazier than you are. You look like a hillbilly mountain goat. Jebus if it’s white, you’re automatically Santa Claus. If it’s brown then you’re a desperate actor trying to look older. If it’s brown with a white streak through it, then you’re Mel Gibson/Osama Bin Laden. You really can’t win.
And none of this shit anymore. Shave it or don’t.
If you’re going for the stubbly look, why not just not shave and let it happen? That’s what a real man does. I take offense to the shavers that will manage your stubble look. Doesn't a shitty shaver do the same thing? It’s like using a sledge hammer to hang a picture. Not really, but you don’t know me.
So I was thinking about renaming this segment to “Eat a Dick Junction” after my first catastrophe involving Funyuns, the miracle fruit, but I’ve decided to keep the nomenclature for now. A few more culinary punches to the stomach later and I may be singing a different tune.
Have you ever watched a kid play a video game and he’s terrible at it? It’s infuriating. I know you want to let him/her learn on their own but fuck. Physical violence isn’t in my nature, but for some reason when it’s an adult, I don’t get so angry. It’s a kid. They’re supposed to be good at video games. I was really good at them when I was younger. Watching a kid struggle to play video games is like peeing on my ancestors. I will not appease them any longer. They’ll end up like the Indians on reservations, making millions on tobacco, dream catchers, trails of tears, and casinos. I can’t let that happen. Gotta get these kids on some Megaman stat.
The grocery store is a strange place when it’s going out of business. Take everything that’s perishable off the shelves, empty out the refrigerated section, and you have something that resembles a skating rink with shelves of cereal and canned goods in the middle. This all good if that’s what I was after, but I had Dorito chicken on my mind. Submitted for the approval of the midnight society, I call this tale, "The Second Installment of The Chronicles of Junk Food Real Food Dinner Food (TCoJFRFDF) or Dorito Canyon for short."
Dorito Canyon.
I heard that you could make some decent casseroles out of Doritos so I said, “fuck it. Let’s give it a whirl.” I thought it funny that I went from the grocery store that’s going out of business to the grocery store that’s putting them out of business. Being a heartless consumer is great sometimes.
I got my ingredients:
1 ½ lbs of shredded cheddar
1 can of Cream of Mushroom Soup
1 can of Cream of Chicken soup
1 can of Ro-Tel Tomatoes
1 package of chicken tenderloins
1 Onion
½ a jar of sliced Jalapenos
1 16 oz bag of Nacho Doritos
Boil the chicken so that it’s easier to shred. At the same time, combine 1 lb of cheese, cream of mushroom soup, cream of chicken soup, ro-tel tomatoes, 1 diced onion and ½ a jar of jalapenos in a sauce pan. And try not fuckin stab yourself like I did when I was cutting up the onion.
I am gonna fuck up this onion
The onion had other plans for me
Line the bottom of the casserole dish with Doritos. Take the boiled chicken and shred it into two equal piles.
Sprinkle ½ of the shredded chicken across the Doritos.
Spread ½ of the cheese soup mixture across the top of the chicken.
Cover that in a layer of Doritos and repeat the layer using the rest of the ingredients. Then take remaining cheese and sprinkle that over the top of the casserole. Crush up the remaining Doritos and crumble them over the top.
Kids will fucking hate it
Bake at 350 for 30-40 minutes or until the crumbled Doritos are browned.
Verdict:
This was surprisingly not bad. I truly walked in thinking that this couldn’t possibly be good. Seems like a frito pie gone horribly wrong and Mexican at that. The looks of it were putrid. Soggy Doritos in a cheesy mushroomy, chicken lasagna. It’s like poor man’s nachos: Doritos on a plate covered in shredded cheese, microwave and nomnomnom you’re fat.
The Doritos take on a different consistency, sucking up all the moisture around them to form something resembling a noodle. That coupled with the crunchiness of the topping was enough for me to eat more than a couple bites. I also put jalapenos in it, so I’m guaranteed to eat it. If you were to cover a brick in jalapenos, I’d eat it. My girlfriend seemed to really enjoy it. She ate two huge plates of it. She also has something wrong with her that allows her to eat gallons of chili and cheese combined food. If you were to do blood work on her, I’m sure that there would be no results, just a picture of a chili-cheese dog in the shape of a middle finger.
"This happened after a patient woke up to see bandaged stuffed animals, notes about castration around his room and placed cotton balls on a private area of his body."
I love going into Target early in the morning and catching the staff having a meeting at the registers. It’s a bunch of teenagers and old people all sitting informally around on the registers and conveyer belts. You can see that they’re really into what they’re doing. People are making points and counter points. This is serious business. Sorry assholes, I got deodorant, skittles and a light bulb for one of you to ring up.
I was thinking about what groups of people exist in an office environment. I came up with some interesting results. Mainly, they were interesting, because I came up with them and the nuns at the homeless shelter don’t want to talk to me about this nonsense anymore.
Attitude and Culture Success Story
Worker #1: I love my job.
I’ve been working here for five years, and I’ll be damned if you’re going to undercut this company buddy. This is my bread and butter and flesh light, son. I grew up in this office. I was practically conceived in the copy room by two people who loved the company more than me. I adhere to the company’s dress code even when I’m at home with my action figures.
FUUUUUUUU
Worker #2: I hate my job.
This is the lowest point of my life. I couldn’t make it on Broadway with my masters in interpretive dance and now I’m here. This dingy cubicle is my life now and I just want to rip it to shreds with a pitchfork. I could do an interpretive dance that would knock the boss’s socks off, but alas, teleconferences are a hard medium for a dancer like me. Fuck everything about this place. I’m spending 86% of my time at work looking for another job that I will hate as much.
mfmmmmsmfmm
Worker #3: What am I doing here?
I am overlooked and undermined at every junction in this building. My skillset rivals most of my superiors. I have no idea why I am here and not in some far off office encrusted with diamonds with a view of the beach. I am underutilized. I should have a staff of minions. I have been here for six months. I know what I’m talking about.
Worker #4: Run out the clock dude.
So really there’s no reason to rush, dude. I am the omnipresent time management expert. I have my tasks lined up for the day. They may be few in number, but they’re massive in their time expenditure. I could’ve been working here for 10 years and you’ve hardly even noticed me. I could be about to retire. Who knows or cares really? I don’t have the answers to any of your questions, but I do know how to deflect them all to their vaguely appropriate parties. Let’s take a nap on the clock.
At my job we are all evaluated personality wise with the BEST system: Bold, Expressive, Sympathetic and Technical. Of course I am expressive and bold, two qualities that really no one wants in an employee. Seems like they only want sympathetic technical people who enjoy crop dusting their cube sections with gusto.
