It's been awhile since I have attempted to go on and on about a bunch of whatever on this website. I remember the good ol days, when I would get drunk, make sex jokes, post songs or retarded pictures, and randomly spout musings on upper echelon artsy crap. Ah, the feeling of having hundreds and hundreds of visitors from all over the world every day yet having very few comments or followers. Thank you, ego. Thank you a great deal.
Hey, so now I'm an account manager for a marketing company. That's a super fancy way of saying that I sell stuff. One thing I've learned from being the sort of guy that can convince people of things without lying, is that essentially everything we ever do is selling something, someone, or ourselves, to or for something, someone, or ourselves. Blowing your mind yet? Just think about what you do in life. It's a simple realization. I will now declare it for you; your mind has been blown.
A quick topic change without foreshadowing or however you say it or whatever. When you do things with your life that require a lot of mental faculty, you find yourself "enjoying" a lot of alcohol. Just saying. Oh, here it goes again. You know. The little man with all the typical looking thrills. The big man who hates him so. The medium man who has a large will. The orgy of poetry that ensues. The fat rich white guy who eats the African children when the cameras are off. Blah blah blah philosophical blah blah. Welcome back. We havn't missed you.
Maybe I should hire a psychic. And ask them if they knew I was going to ask for one.
I think I've reached the edges of the internet. My sense of humor can no longer be perverted by this bizarre abomination if I am to remain a functioning human.
Pictured: How I look when I'm gonna write the fuck out of a blog post.
Dear BET,
I work at a gas station, a gas station where the locals are rude and stupid. A gas station where co-workers will chastise me for listening to my own painstakingly self-neutered, safe-for-work mix because it has too much guitars, is too aggressive or isn't in english. Without a sense of irony, they'll play KGOT full blast, a station that will play the same Eminem/Rhianna song twice in one hour. Of course, spaced out with the same old Rhianna/Nicky Minaj/T-pain/Justin Bieber/Chris Brown/Lady GaGa/Ke$ha/Eminem song over and over and over again. A radio station that, at the time of writing, features 3 stories on their website: one about some jersey shore slut singing on youtube, one about Coldplay, and one about half-priced car paint jobs.
Now, I'll listen to it, purely anthropologically of course, and I will notice a disturbing trend. I'm going to address Hip Hop and Rap here. I don't need to tell you why Lady GaGa, Ke$ha and Bieber suck, because, c'mon. Anyway.
The trend can be best surmised, ironically, by a skit on an Eminem record. Naturally, this is off an album of his that didn't suck.
"You know why Dre's record was so successful? He's rapping about big screen TVs, blunts, fourties and bitches. You're rapping about homosexuals and Vicodin. I can't sell this shit! Either change the record or it's not coming out. Now get the fuck out of my office."
Now, don't get me wrong. Every successful musician has to have some market appeal, or at least appeal to a certain market. Even musicians who have no marketing potential at all gain an audience because no one else likes listening to them, or to put it politely: they're "challenging".
The problem with modern Hip-Hop and Rap is it's all market appeal. No one listens to a hip hop radio station and learns anything, listens to a cleverly told story or hears anything of substance or feeling. All you will hear is over-paid, under-talented and way over-hyped rappers talk shit about how over-paid, under-talented or way over-hyped they are. Sure you can rhyme, you fuckwad, but can you tell me anything while you do it? It's all about partying, cars, and what they're wearing and drinking.
Think somewhere between exceedingly wealthy automotive enthusiasts and filthy rich homosexual alcoholics from france.
Just keep on rapping about those 100 dollar bottles of Patron, bitches: those old school rappers even have you beat for conspicuous consumption while drinking.
Seven hundred dollars? Sheeeee-it.
Now call my honkey ass cynical, but even when these rappers are trying to be all "deep" or "meaningful" they come off really bad, and in the case of this song, sleazy as phuck.
Now, I have to admire whoever made this terrible video (I don't admire them enough to look up their name, however) for cramming every woman-growing-up-ghetto cliche out there. Here's what I caught: Woman running out of abortion clinic, baby witnessing domestic abuse, girl getting molested by drunk passed-out mothers boyfriend, dressing like a ho at high school, becoming a stripper, fucking a sleazy looking Mexican dude for money, hallucinating Lil' Wayne then catching HIV. All while fuckhead poses next to a guitar. What's it supposed to say? I dunno. I guess the moral of the story is bitch shoulda had an abortion.
Or conversly, just listen to NWA
Dear Tom Cruise,
I hate your movies, and I fear and distrust your religion
Okay, never mind, I hate your religion too.
Here's why: I ironically sat through one of your soul selling pitches online high on marijuana. Instead of being even close to converted, I began to take apart your arguments point by point, because as I said before, I'm a cynic. And a honkey. Heres the video.
A DRUG FREE PERSON IS 33% MORE PRODUCTIVE
Americans are the most productive people in the developed world, and guess fucking what, we're miserable. "being productive"is just short hand for working 50 hours a week for low pay and no vacation time whatsoever. Did you know I've been working full time for the last year and I don't even get an employee discount, no paid vacation time until two years from now and I have no health insurance? You know what distracts me from that fact? Drugs. Drugs keep me productive. Fuck you, Scientology.
AN EDUCATED PERSON IS 57% MORE LIKELY TO VOLUNTEER IN THE COMMUNITY
What the fuck does this even mean? I don't care, I call bullshit. How is an educated person going to have time volunteering when they're too busy earning "three times" more then anyone else? If anything, I think a high school dropout will be more likely toservice the community. Especially if they're dealing drugs.
AN EMPOWERED PERSON IS 61% MORE EFFECTIVE DEFENDING AGAINST ABUSE
Okay, does the church of Scientology sell fucking 12 ounce bottles of empowerment? And furthermore, how the fuck did you get that number? Did you measure and observe abuse? Did you have an abuse control group?How big was your abuse sample?
A MORAL PERSON IS 70% MORE LIKELY TO HAVE A SUCCESSFUL MARRIAGE
Who is to say what is moral? how do you quantify morality? Is someone only 50% moralonly 35% likely to have a successful marriage? What about the morality of the spouse? If I'm moral but my wife is amoral, are we only half moral? or more or less amoral?
The strategy is really simple: put as many percentiles with no context as they can and hope you fall for it. When they dont have bullshit numbers, they just pretend they're Nancy Fuckin' Reagan.
Here's the Scientology front organization Drug Free World. Here's a video of an eleven year-old doing one line (One hit?) of cocaine and dying because he was a pussy.
Now okay, we all know cocaine is bad, and more importantly too damn expensive, but what about marijuana? I know my marijuana, I smoke it all the time. And because I grew up in England, for my mandated school drug education, I talked to Frank. Frank is a pretty cool guy, and he'll tell you everything you need to know about drugs, even how much you're gonna pay for the shit, because that's what a drug education is supposed to be: fucking educational, not fear mongering. Because I got a decent education, should I ever want to shoot me some smack, I know how to be clean about it.
Drug Free World, however, couldn't even get any facts straight about something as simple as weed, for christ (Xenu) sakes. Look at this shit.
Now I want you to pay special attention to pages 7, 12, 13, 14 and 21. On page seven we get the ridiculous comparison between marijuana and alcohol, with for some reason is egregiously pro-alcohol. Not mentioned: stoners never beat their spouses or drive high because they can't get off the couch.
LRH: Loved him some drunk minors
On page 12, we see all the bad shit about smoking weed, which could also be a list of side affects to taking too much caffeine and/or Viagra. On 13 we have an anecdotal story about some asshole who smoked so much he turned into Alex Jones. On 14 we have everyone's favorite; the gateway theory. You also know what ever smacked out coke whore did before the mainlined PCP? They drove cars, and went to Wendy's, and watch bugs bunny cartoons. On 21, well, we've got the most air-tight anti-drug tool known to man or beast: A picture of two people on the beach with a caption sagely opining "Not to take drugs in the first place"
Gee, thanks.
You know what: you realize anything is possible, no matter how stupid, when millions of people worship a hack pedophile sci-fi/western author as if he were Jesus and aren't afraid to go outside their house.
So yeah, been thinking about making a post on an unnervingly recurring thread in most of my favorite songs, or maybe its that I always seem to be messed up when I listen to music.
I'm now going to classify some of my favorite songs by the drugs they remind me of.
COCAINE (or sniff sniff sniff music)
HEROIN (or music to slap a vein to)
MARIJUANA (or Tetrahydrocannabinollapalooza )
ALCOHOL (or "fuck you, I'm a dragon" juice... music)
ANTIDEPRESSANTS (or oh my god, everything's dandy)
OFF ANTIDEPRESSANTS (or oh my god, everything's shitty)
Been listening to a lot more music lately, which is saying something, because that's pretty much what I do all the time. That and drink, but I don't dun do dat no mo. I sure want to though. I may cave and buy some hard cider in a couple of hours. Only time will tell. That is, if I can find my pants.
But alas, some music penises for your ear vagina (or butt, I don't judge)
I normally do not like hugging. However when I've been, well, you know. I tend to, well, you know. Then I feel gross. Not in the weird "eww, germs" sort of way, but a "hugging is for puppies and old ladies" sort of way. It's similar to the notion of crying being for little girls and drug addicts. You may know me, personally. You may think "I've seen you hug plenty of times!" Well, that would coincide with a rhetoric of me being drunk, plenty of times.
I have this special thing in my brain, called Notlikeeveryoneelseitis. The prescription from the huggle doctor was lots of hugs growing up, to prevent my Notlikeeveryoneelseitis from turning into sociopathy. Well, it is my staunch belief that I had an allergic reaction to the hugs, and I was stricken sociopathy anyways. Well, minus the occasional violence or people disregard. Maybe that's a whole other thing, then. You know what? Tits, lulz.Moving on.
A couple ughs
UGH #1 You know when you're overweight, and somehow your subconscience keeps constructing a universe around you that disallows change, or lets you be OK with your unhealthy self because it want's to keep you safe, seeing how change is dangerous, and happiness is key in connection with that? Take for example, starting to run again, then not being able to because of an ankle injury, which could heal if you didn't work on it 8-12 hours a day? Yeah, me either.
UGH #2 Hipsters. That use to be just a way to describe someone, but now its an entire thing. You know? Like, being mainstream is so lame. You know what else is mainstream? Breathing. So stop it, so us conformists can have it all to ourselves. Speaking of which, some months ago, I was at this music festival, and whilst in line for entrance, I overheard
"Yeah, but to truly be a hipster, you can't BE a hipster." In this retarded, foux upper class sort of snide accent. This was one of the very rare cases of me coming close to using violence against someone for not doing anything to me. *Glare sans ensuing strangulation*
It's a fuck up world. Or, perhaps, the world isn't fucked up. Maybe we need to judge our levels of our social gauging. Calm down, everyone. All we want is peace and love, blah blah blah.
My Step Dad's girlfriend makes delicious biscuits. Not slang for vagina, I mean really. Delicious biscuits.
But yeah, the daily thing;
Do you see trees? I see them, too. Anyways, enjoy.
Firstly, when your diet consists of Thai food and alcohol, wavering from such causes problems. Or solutions. Not really sure anymore. It puts the lotion on the skin or else it gets masturbatory musing from the upper echelons of the nobodies again.
Secondly, Bike Mike as inspired/convinced/cattle prodded me into starting one of my horror stories that I've had swimming around in that depraved genius lump of goo of mine known as a brain. I may or may not put up snippets or entire chapters. We'll see how I feel.
Lastly, I've come to learn (already know) that orgasms aren't that great unless they're on someone else's face. Fact.
Behold, your playlist;
Best heard when loud, whilst naked, and with friends.
"You sure? Are you absolutely sure?" said my rival Steven, looking really really stupid in a full hazmat suit.
"Yes!" I declare.
"You're sure your fridge is demonically possessed... because of the light?" He says with that incredulous tone he knows I hate so much.
"Yes, goddamnit! Yes!" I exclaim. "The light stays on until I open it! If that's not demonic in nature I do not know what is!"
"You sure? Like positive?" having taken off the top half of his hazard suit revealing the reverend collar he was straightening on the shirt underneath it. "You know if this shit is alien, You're gonna just have to admit you don't have any real crazy devil shit go on here. We'll have to revoke your membership to the Guild of Darkness. Put you back with those trekkies down on fifth."
"Fuck you and go check my fucking fridge" I snapped, losing my composure only temporarily.
"Okay! Okay man!" I could tell he didn't trust me. He had his reverend shirt and collar, his holy water and his cross shaped axe, sure, but he had also had his hazardous materials jumpsuit on. Tied at the waist. "But lemme warn ya, I've danced with many a haunted fridge, and this shit just aint haunted." He sneered, "It's fuckin' aliens"
He swung open the fridge door after giving his a-rhythmic knock signature onto the fridge door. It's how all full fledged Darkness Guilders access the otherworld. I've been in training for the guild of darkness for 9 months. Anyone who has any potential to be in the guild have to take an entrance exam, those who dont are in the fifth floor "Paranormal Activities Research Dept", those who fail the test gets sent back there indefinitely.
Forever known as a "Repard" or just simply "Trekkies," as Steven likes to put it.
"Just check the fridge, alright?" I was losing patience.
Steven opened the door and much to my vindication a furry rancid smelling beast whos face occupied the entire length and breadth of the fridge opening. It had huge sharp teeth and what seemed to be thousands of eyes, none of them fishlike.
A demon for sure!
"Now to the untrained eye" explained Steven, obviously sweating "This MAY SEEM Demonic in nature..."
"Just fucking call it asshole, it's got demonic written all over it" I snapped letting my victory wash over me.
"It's a goddamn hologram, you little pissant. I'll prove it!" Snapping his arm into the fridge.
The creatures teeth all turned into the blades of serrated K-bar knives, most of them now all but severing Steven's forearm from his elbow.
"Okay, I believe you. Now get me out of here... please"
"Not until you sign me over your corner office and reserved parking to me"
"Bastard! You drive a hard bargain!" He laughed heartily from his gut as he signed my shrewdly printed out terms.
Not only had I commanded a situation in a way that would benefit myself and career, but I had also commanded the respect from a more experienced Co-Worker.
Please evaluate my service to this great Guild in your selecting for Co-Chair of Darkness.
