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.
There are the common methods of going green; recycling, carpooling, and getting really high. Granola eaters and squares alike can all get behind any efforts to reduce your carbon footprint. But why, really? I’ve been thoroughly inundated with evidence from everywhere that we are, in fact, people of excess and that’s how it’s gonna stay, goddammit. The apathetic have taken a turn for the worse. They’ve all slinked into the party of hating the planet…just because it was easier than buying extra things and making extra effort to sort out some bottles and cans ah-just clap your hands.
So let’s get lazy.
Doritos Bag Tail Light Lazy Special
Going Green Through Laziness tip of the week: Don’t Go Anywhere.
Going places is overrated. If you can’t find it on Google Street View and there’s no videos of it on youtube, I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s not worth your time to experience it in the flesh. Don’t pick out a cruise or check out how much a euro rail pass is. Plan a staycation instead. Map out the areas of your house that you’ll get drunk in. Explore the wild frontier of your domicile. If you have a roommate, spy on him. If you have a neighbor, look at em from your window. Wear a cape.
HEY I’VE NEVER BEEN DRUNK IN A CLOSET BEFORE by myself on a Tuesday night. OK that was a lie.
Be creative. Call your Kitchen “Oklahoma” and when you arrive, do so in the fashion you would arrive in Oklahoma. You walk in, look around and say ‘where is everything?’ The kitchen (Oklahoma) will pulsate and respond in the same fashion Oklahoma would: by stealing your soul and making a pulpy mess of you after turning into a room-sized juicer/blender. Maybe all that won’t happen, but imaginations don’t do any damage to the atmosphere.
After you get done with exploring your house, go start a tire fire in your backyard and turn off your heat pump.
“Everyone goes through their own personal Vietnam.” – E
I WAS TOLD THERE WOULD BE NO MATH.
FAT ANIMAL TIME.
Red Fat Monkey Standing By
I love them. They’re the personification that I look for in a fellow earth-dweller. I mean, you can’t get more human than being a fat version of whatever animal you are. Funfact: Fat animals are easier to catch and cuddle.
Red Dog Pillow Standing By
I’m highly allergic to animals. It doesn’t keep me from wanting to be around them. I just have to suffer the consequences that may result in me having to carry around multiple epi-pens. It’s sort of like the people you know that are lactose intolerant but they still eat cheese and ice cream all the time. They just suffer in a different way. It’s called butt-suffering.
Red Cat Pillow Standing By
I’m pretty cynical when it comes to allergies. People with allergies to food, to pollen, and ragweed are also very accepted; while the people allergic to pets are commonly referred to as nerds and bubble-boys. My parents have a cat and he is just so cute. I want to love him into oblivion, but his hair also likes to sneak into my eyes and throat. HE IS TRYING TO KILL ME. So he stays outside of my parent’s house in hopes of keeping me coming by for visits. They bring the cat to the vet to get his shots and the vets ask why he’s an outdoor cat. Their son is allergic is apparently an insufficient response. The Vets tell my parents that I should wear a mask like they do in the ER and nerd guy across the street wears when he’s mowing the grass. This is what I get from that exchange of thoughts and ideas: People want me to wear an apparatus around my head anytime I’m indoors so that I can have a cohort of kitty meow meows and fatty dogs around me.
Red Leader Standing By
So I’m misunderstood and doomed to be a nerd bubble-boy. Fine, fuckers. That’s what you get
I often think about the amount of time that I spend in the car commuting to work and how it relates to those slices of pie that make up your delicious allotment of time on this planet. Mine has got to be shoefly pie.
This is what it probably looks like:
This is what it feels like:
Do you think that we make the most of our time? When I used to commute using public transportation, I would read books and listen to music the entire duration of my journey. That seemed like the maximum sustainable sensory overload for me but I’m always jealous of the people who telecommute. I guess what I’m thinking is that our goal to be able to work from home deprives us of, what some may say, necessary meditation and just all around, daily you time. FUCK YEAH. DEATHMETAL DRUM AND BASS FRIDAY.
Never have I been so turned on by food unless you count any of the “hey watch me eat this ridiculously decadent sandwich from a tiny diner in Dirtbag, Iowa,” Food Network programming. Really between Guy’s Triple D show and Travel Channel’s Adam on Man vs Food, I think that instead of eating a meal of sensible proportions, I SHOULD BE EATING A 7LB CHILI CHEESEBURGER!
What I’ve found out from my food watching over the years is that there isn’t much going for my area as far as amazing diners, drive-ins, and dives. I guess we got all the shithole diners, nasty drive-ins, and every time I eat there I get horrible diarrhea and think I’m going to die-ves. If there was a Food Network / Travel Channel map of all the most bodacious places to eat, it would have a barren wasteland of about an hour in every direction radiating from my house.
Woooo let's all go down to the Eat & Shit
I think there should be an anti-foodie show where a person goes to a bunch of restaurants that are just terrible. Let’s follow New York Times Food Editor Charles Coenstein on his journey across America. Besides being amazed at what cows look like, he will hit up every Bob Evans, Golden Corral, and Ponderosa that he comes across. I just like the idea of instead of eating something just mouthwateringly terrible for you, he'll just eat things that are terrible.
This is the chicken fried steak with jello gravy.
Ok, Ok. He’ll just eat at places that have “food bars” and “fixin’s bars.” Something about Roy Rogers just made me uncomfortable when after you bought your hamburger the cashier would direct you to the “Fixin’s Bar.” It’s one thing to watch someone else put shitty stuff on your shit sandwich but to make me do it myself? That’s just too much for me to handle. I would find myself looking at the fixin’s bar and wondering who becomes exulted at the sight of this all you can eat condiment buffet?
One reader has reminded me that Roy Rogers still exists. How could you go through any of the fine New Jersey Turnpike rest areas without noticing?
I am recalling this statement and offering it to the Gods in place of a virgin soul because it’s offensive to me; it’s not funny, it never was funny and it will never be funny. Your arbitrary war against the world of smart phones is over. It’s the same as telling people how awesome your bank is because it doesn’t have an ATM.
Let’s all get recumbent bikes and move to San Francisco.
I went to pick up some muddy buddies and toothpaste from Target after work yesterday because that’s how I roll. It was an idle Wednesday, so what should I do to combat “using your time wisely” tonight? The thought of video games crossed my mind; fucking Katamari Forever has no right to be damn difficult. Movies are always a good choice and TV is usually just an afterbirth.
So I watched Let Me In for the first time. I know, I know. You read the book and saw the Swedish version of this movie way back when and now it’s been destroyed by an American remake. How bout this, shut up and let me enjoy Jurassic Park without your running commentary about how the T-Rex picked the car up with its mouth in the book! Really?! Fascinating! What’s a compy?! Gah, I think that people who have read the book that a movie is based on have no business expressing their love/hate for said movie. They also should be in another theatre far the hell away from me. What’s the point really? I know we all like to ruin things for people in the same way we like to see friends and acquaintances fail miserably but do we really have to be the unwavering stick in the mud deflection device at all times?
I guess that we do. How else am I going to feel superior in this low-key, social scenario? I mean we all just watched a movie together. It’s time for me to make my mark and tell y’all how much better The Queen of the Damned book was compared to the movie.
Of course it was. It’s a god damn 500 page book filled with words. You think that you could squeeze all of that into an hour and a half of pure bliss? No. There’s a dude with Jonathan Davis’ voice as the VOICE OF THE DEVIL. Let’s not forget that Aaliyah was nominated for MTV and BET movie awards for her performance in that movie. Never mind the movie was terrible and everything about it gave me SIDS, she had the foresight to die in a plane crash shortly before the movie came out.
I smell posthumous white guilt. If my memory serves me correctly, she also had that song with a baby gasp in the middle of her Timbaland beat at the top of the charts. Jesus, that was just an awful time to be alive. 2002, eat a bag of hammers.
I'll give you five dollars and butterfly kisses if you can make it through that.
Vampires are cool right? No. They used to be before True Blood and Twilight ruined them forever with their personifications. It's all easier to relate to a vampire if he's not killing everyone and drinking their blood. Give em blood substitutes and make em drink animal blood. Don't kill anything. Everything Glitters. Fuck that.
That was one thing I truly enjoyed about this movie. There was a mild personification of the vampire child, but all seemed in vain because she could never function as a normal human being. She was kinda busy, killing everyone and sustaining herself with their blood.
The plot of the story was entertaining enough to keep your interest, but if you were hell bent on seeing some gore, you'll have to move along. This movie was more about the suspense and the thriller aspect than the sheer joy everyone has when they see someone eviscerated on TV. A boy who gets picked on a lot at school, let's just call him Angelina Jolie from Hackers, finally finds the courage to be his own man through meeting a vampire.
He meets up with a shoeless Hanson in the courtyard and they have wild adventures together. It always seems like it's extremely late by the way they make the courtyard dark and deserted with a light blanet of snow that never goes away. There was even an instance where they literally went out on the town for what seemed like the entire night only to come back to the courtyard to his mother yelling for him to come to supper.
Taylor?
The only problem with this relationship is that like all dreams, they sound great on paper, but theyre really short sighted. Case in point: The terrible things I would do to Ariel.
But what about the tail and the whole living under water thing? Yeah, she turns into a daywalker at the end of the movie but let's say that mermaids exist for the sake of argument. Wouldn't she smell real bad? Years of being in the salt water would probably do something to those red locks. I have a sushi addiction as it is. I could accidentally kill her with a side of wasabi and a tall sake. Delicious.
The film revolves around the symbiotic relationship between the boy and the vampire girl. He needs her strength and violence. She needs his rubik's cube. More importantly, Abby the vampire, needs a person to kill for her and her cash cow, aka old dude that she got with when he was 12, is well...getting old and sloppy. She, herself is very sloppy at killing. I kinda liked that about her. If left to fend for herself, she rips people apart and gets blood errrrrywhere. Her new cash cow is Angelina Jolie from Hackers.
So this movie gives light to a very touchy subject. Is it ok for a thousand year old in a 12 year old girl's body to fall in love with a 12 year old boy? Isn't this breaking some sort of cougar rule? Your age divided in half, plus or minus 400 years. Nailed it? You bet. This movie was pretty damn good. Vampires have been on the lame lately. This gives us hope that there might be another swedish vampire movie that we can Americanize in the future without throwing glitter all over it.
