It Was Probably Penned Ten Years Ago, Anyway...

If you've found yourself in ear shot of a radio that plays horrible Top 40 hits, I'm sure by now you've heard the 'Attention Whore Anthem' "I Kissed A Girl (And I Liked It)" by Katy Perry.

I don't have a beef with this song for it's "controversial" overtones. Honestly, the whole idea of two girls kissing is about as shocking as "Girls Gone Wild" on VHS. Actually, after you listen to the lyrics a few times, you kinda wonder if the song wasn't written back in maybe 2000 or 2001.

My beef is primarily with the fact that it's a terrible song, sung so badly that the engineers had to mix in synths over the vocals (ala Cher's last gay dance club hit "Believe" back in ... what was it, like 1996-7?). The only thing floating this ridiculous her-tongue-in-her-cheek ditty is the fact that it's about two girls kissing.

Two girls kissing. So? Honestly, two girls kissing is pretty much played out. Go to any bar on any weekend night and you'll see two girls kissing. Tune into "Gossip Girl" on the fucking WB and you see two girls kissing. You'll even see maybe three or four girls, drunk, faces in a circle, kissing each other. Why do they do this? It's because they crave the attention of men.

Guys, and I'm really only speaking to you impressionable fellows, like my roommate, who have some rose-colored vision of how the world works: Just because two girls kiss doesn't mean there's going to be a threesome, with you in the middle of them, calling yourself a lucky bastard with the world's biggest shit eating grin on your face. I know this for a fact. Two girls kissing is basically the 2000's version of a drunk girl flashing her tits around the bar. She's starved for attention, daddy never loved her, and she wants a man to look her way. That's all.

Honestly, a song about two girls kissing is about as sexy as Warrant's "Cherry Pie" video is now-a-days. Maybe I've just gotten older, or... something, but faux-dykes don't really get my wheel turning. It's like thongs. Thongs were all the rage about ten years ago. Hell, there was even a song about that too. But now, I don't even really like them anymore.

Maybe I'm on to something here: Write a horribly catchy pop song about something taboo, and it (the taboo-ish behavior) will officially die.

Technically that's not true. Back in like, 1996 or something, a little known one hit wonder named Jill Sobule sang a much more controversial-at-the-time song about kissing a girl, called "I kissed a girl." It was a sweet and innocent song, as I remember, sang by a petite blonde Jewish girl, that was going behind her husband or boyfriend's back with the brunette neighbor.

Hot.

The new... "I Kissed a Girl" has all the charm of a dead stripper.

My other issue with this, if I can get a little conversative right-wing on everyone... but this song is obviously aimed at young girls. No... self-respecting 20-something lady is going to be wearing cherry lipstick unless she has little girl fantasies. When I hear this song, I'm somehow reminded of the girls I went to middle school with, which.... creeps me out probably a little more than it creeps you out reading that last sentence.

Kids, between the ages of like, 10 and 14 experiment. It doesn't matter if you're a girl or a boy, if you're gay or straight or just a little curious. Everyone's curious, Ryan. Little dudes want to see what other little dudes cocks look like, girls want to kiss their best friends while they play tea party in the little fort made of couch cushions. It's nature. We're curious creatures. This is why we humans would never survive in the wild.

A tree branch snaps in the distance. A herd of wild gazelles book it out of there. If it were a herd of people, half of the motherfuckers would wander on over towards where they heard the branch snap, and subsequently be killed by hunters.

To compound my arguement, my beleaguered roommate wandered into the watch room and I asked him his thoughts on the topic at hand just now:

"Hey, what do you think of that Katy Perry song?" I asked.

"The," he starts to sing "I kissed a girl, and I liked it-t-t.. the taste of her cherry chapstiii-iick!"

"I think it's cherry lipstick,"

"No, it's cherry chapstick."

"Ok, but what do you think of the song, like, does it turn you on, does it disgust you - what, you're the target demographic for this type of common American media bullshit,"

"What does that even mean?"

"Nevermind, give me your thoughts on the song."

"Well," he starts, "I used to think the song was sexy, you know? But then, one day when I was walking across the K Mart parking lot, I saw these two eight year old lesbians singing it, arm in arm. That kinda grossed me out."

And there you have it.

Undoubtedly the song will live on in some mild jaded infamy as a song that soared high on lesbian-fantasy wings for a short period of time. It'll be the choral for strip club lapdances and karaoke duets amongst drunk college freshman girls. There is nothing we can do to stop this. We should just let it wash over us like... like... something else gay.

Though it begs, would Mtv play a video about two dudes kissing? I venture not.

Also, Katy Perry.... not that hot. Really. And nothing's worse than two not-so-hot girls kissing for guy's attention. It's sad. Not hot, but sad.

Your Children Are Not Precious

I often go back and forth with the idea of having my own children. Some days I'm thrilled with the idea of extending my lineage, another generation of proud people who happen to share my last name. Other days, I gag at the idea of bringing a defenseless child into this world. This is usually brought upon by seeing how other people interact with each other on our shared planet. Do I really want to subject another living person to having to deal with 6 billion dicks, pussies and assholes?

I find myself and the RM sitting down at the local KFC/Taco Bell here in town, and there's a mild circus going on. There's two women, having a conversation at table, completely oblivious to the five or 6 five-year-olds tearing the eatery apart, running amok in the restaurant, jumping on seats, throwing food, and other wise being undisciplined in public.

When I see situations like this, with the kids screaming at the tops of their lungs unchecked and treating the indoors like the outdoors I get tense. I stare and hatred builds inside of me. After many years of living on this earth, I've come to terms with the fact that the public spaces I inhabit do not necessarily belong to me and me alone for my own enjoyment, but to everyone else as well, but some things done in public are just too outrageous for even the most jaded observer.

You child unleashed is one of them.

I can't fully explain how deep my hatred goes for children when I see them just... going crazy for no reason. And yes, I understand the two mothers in this situation are probably on vacation, which means that for the rest of the god-fearing public, we're just going to have to endure the frustration of ridiculous kids ruining our lunches and giving us head aches, because god forbid a mother on vacation lift a finger to discipline a child of their own in public. But my rage is being pushed to a limit where it's likely I will pluck one of these little rug rats by his ears, and punt him through a glass window should he get within grabbing distance to me, is obviously not a concern to anyone but myself and maybe my roommate.

Attention: Your child is not a precious little being who in his heart and soul holds all that his sweet and innocent in this world. No, your child is an unrelenting asshole. Your child is the equivalent of a dickhead at a party who does nothing but blather on, story after boring story about his life, which no one cares about. Your child is an awkward example, and directly in relationship to, your poor parenting and inattentiveness. If you never really planned on having a child, or perhaps thought it was a trendy thing to do because your so-called friends from high school whom you've not been in contact with in over five years suddenly started to squirt them out last year, then the publics' resentment and loathing for you is your penance for bringing to life a sonic, ear splitting bomb in a stroller.

Thanks, you worthless cunt.

This is what I fear the most, in having children someday. I do not want to become the person who no longer gives a shit about whether or not their child is jumping up and down on public furniture or choking to death on a toy from a happy meal. I know my personality, and when I get completely frustrated with an individual, where I can no longer see a potential for change in attitude or behavior, I no longer give a shit about them. If you want to be a little asshole in public, go ahead son, that shit is on you. Fuck it.

My roommate is a prime example of this; I've done everything humanly possible to help him meet girls. I've both torn down and boosted his ego. I took him shopping for outfits, I've literally walked girls, gorgeous young women, to him and introduced them. I've given him pointers, pick up lines, and observational critiques... and yet he still refuses to change his attitude or traits. He assumes that something will just come along and take care of it for him.

Your child is exactly like my roommate - your child is needy and requires someone to follow behind him or her and close cupboard doors after them, wipe their asses, and tell them that their special and unique and no one is exactly like them. Bullshit. Your snot nosed little bastard or bitch, with their Bob the Builder over alls or pink Barbie tiara respectively is just another douchebag in the making. In fifteen years, it's likely that they will kill someone in a drunk driving accident, or fail out of college or go on welfare. They will neglect to pay their bills and hit their wives or husbands.

They'll be despondent and unappreciative to life's little things, and we'll all have you to thank, you cheap remorseless cocksucking uncaring piss-poor lay of a parent. Your genitalia should be revoked, you careless cad.

God help you, should I ever run into you and your brood ever again, because I will probably slit all your throats, systematically, in a way that I have yet to figure out, but give me some time and I will come up with the most psychologically damaging plan I can think of.

Trust me.

Television's New Low

Since about 1999 reality television, the type of tv shows that depict "average people" consorting in all sorts of nefarious behavior, has been a staple in most house holds. What started with "Survivor" a battle of the fittest to combat elimination at the hands of your fellow contestants, has morphed into an obvious incantation of greed, which at it's root, is reality tv.

Vh1's "I Love Money" is about as grass roots as one can get, in the realm of greed-fed reality television. The formula is unsurprisingly simple: Take the most notorious cast offs of every Vh1 inspired "I'll Fuck a Has-Been for Fame/Love" show in the last two years, and strip away all the bullshit. There's no decrepit former gangster rapper to suppress your gag reflex around, nor a balding middle aged one hit wonder with a love for bandanas and scarves. It's simply the money these contestants will (again) prostrate themselves in front of while Americans sit at home and watch and wonder how much more embarrassing can this all really get.

News flash America: It's can't. This is it. This is the last stop on the Freak Train, make sure you bring all your belongings with you and have a great day. Stand clear of the closing doors.

The show is literally a who's-who of scandalous characters, mixed in with some other also-rans who didn't make the cut the first time around. There's Toastee, the Flava of Love cast-off of obscure ethnicity who may or may not have posed nude on the internet. There's Pumkin, the venomous spitter, who will forever be remembered for her attack on I Love New York's New York, and then fled cartoonishly towards a camera, wide eyed as a 7 foot tall black bitch (who easily could've been confused for Wesley Snipes in drag) clawed her backside into ribbons.


















There's also some of the contestants from the various I Love New Yorks. Minuscule Chance, as well as all around weird white guy Mr. Boston have been resurrected to compete in ridiculous challenges that seem to be left over from last season's "Road Rules/Real World Challenge: The Gauntlet Inferno of Herpes IX".

But beneath all this lacquer is a commendable effort being made on Vh1's behalf: They're cutting through the bullshit. When I watch a marathon of episodes where a bunch of strippers vie for Brett Michael's attention, I know it's complete bullshit. No one can fall in love with someone after knowing them for three weeks, while also plotting to kill a houseful of other demented and poorly supervised strippers. The body's chemistry does not work that way, no matter how much free alcohol and coke you give these people on a daily basis. So with the veneer gone, all that's left is greedy sociopath's battling gladiator-style for our entertainment.

We've gone completely full circle from the days of the Romans- where slaves and Christians would be led out towards lions and panthers and a crowd of people would watch. The drama would be played down and the violence played up, that's really the only difference when I watch a grown man named '12 Pack' stuff floating 100 dollar bills into a tiny little pair of swim trunks on cable television.

I say bravo to Vh1 for having the balls to do what no other television network has been willing to do in ten years; call America on the bullshit of reality television, while at the same time, calling itself on it as well.

It Doesn't Say "Stop" Fucktard.

Jim's had a busy week at work, so his posts have been thin at best. We on his editorial staff forgive him. I mean, the less he writes, the less we have to run around fact checking, and the less legal has to do, period.

Anyway, enjoy his rant. -ed.

I hate driving in this ridiculous state.

If you've grown up in New England, outside of Massachusetts, you'd freely associate terrible driving with any car with Mass plates. You see those white and red tags anywhere, even in-state, and you know that there's likely an asshole behind the wheel.

First before I go any further, let me state for the record that I'm a horrible driver. It's because I think every time I get into traffic I'm manauvering around the track at Darlington International Speedway. I tailgate, I don't use my signals, I speed, I make lane changes at the last second. I freely admit to doing these things.

What makes me a hypocrit to a certain extent is that people in this goddamn state do not know how to YIELD. What compounds this fact is that every ten feet on this fucking Hook, there's a fucking rotary.

Let me play out the scene as it typically unfolds in front of me: I'll be driving home from work along this one particular stretch of highway, and I'll be approaching this big rotary. There will be about five cars ahead of me, and I'll look towards the left, where traffic on the rotary should be coming from.

But there's no traffic. Nothing. Maybe a lonely fucking tumbleweed will be blowing across the road, but that it. It looks like some post-apocalyptic waste land.

And yet, I see break lights. I see a shit ton of red lights, lighting up, and the guy out front of everyone, with his MA tags, has come to a complete hault.

IT'S A FUCKING YIELD! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?! IT SURE AS HELL DOESN'T MEAN STOP, BECAUSE IF YOU WERE TO STOP, THERE'D BE A FUCKING STOP SIGN, YOU INFECTED DICK!

So naturally, everyone slams on the breaks and it causes a back up in traffic. It's enough to make me want to go down to the zoo, kidnap a monkey, crack open it's skull, scoop out it's brains with a melonballer, and then proceed to poop into the skull cavity.

The way a rotary is supposed to work is that everyone just... goes. You just enter traffic seamlessly, and then leave traffic when you get to your little exit. You leave, someone else gets on. Granted, this isn't always the case, because large volumes of traffic can hinder the easy off and on of a rotary, but when there's zero traffic, you should just GO.

I see this as a problem too with highway on ramps in this state. Granted, they're ridiculously curved (like my cock) so seeing on-coming traffic is a little tricky, but coming to a complete stop at the yield sign at the end of the ramp is dangerous.

I'm going to be coming in behind you at about 65 mph, my cell phone in my one hand, a Dunk's ice coffee in the other, screaming at my roommate who for the 18th time this month has forgotten to do his share of the dishes, all while getting blown by my girlfriend to a soundtrack consisting of nothing by 80's hair metal, turned up to 11. I'm not expecting you to be sitting there, meagerly waiting your turn to join the fucking circus that is driving in Massachusetts, I'm going to be a Tomahawk Missel and your back end is going to be some Insurgent's asshole.

Just get out there, that's what I do. I come screaming around the corner at a high rate of speed and just say "fuck it." They have breaks, and it's a yield. Granted, I'm supposed to be giving way, but there's nothing there saying I'm to come to a complete stop- as far as I understand traffic laws. And I was a cop.

You're An Idiot, Vol 1.

Sometimes people don't know they're completely retarded. Other times, people around said idiot don't realize that person is completely inept in all facets of life, either. The latter is the case of Carlos Mencia.

So I figured that I would start breaking down ways to tell if you yourself, or someone you love, is a collossal idiot. This month: How Your Choice in Movies Makes You an Asshole.

My roommate tends to go see a lot of movies because he's only 19 and there's not much else the poor boy can do legally in these parts. As a by-product of this, he sees a lot of shitty films, only, he doesn't realize what a shitty film is.

Tell tale signs you're watching a shitty film:

-Stars Mark Walhberg in a leading role (excemption: "Boogie Nights")

-Is from "two of the six writers of 'Scary Movie'"

-A Wayans touched it.

-Star mugs for the camera every chance they get, during the preview.

What's unfortunate is that the majority of the American movie-going population falls under the same umbrella as my hapless roommate. No one really knows what a shitty movie-going experience is. Sure, they can be annoyed as they sit in the theatre by other patrons/sticky floors, but they neglect to realize that what's on the screen plays a large part in dumbing themselves down.

I pay a lot of attention to film reviews, but mostly I can just tell if a movie is going to be utter shit. I can see the preview either at the theatre, or on tv, and just know. It's hard to explain, and yes, it's just short of judging a book by it's cover, but I know when there's a film not worth my ten dollars. It has a certain stink to it; an aroma that's not unlike dead fish under a hot sun.

I've also been wrong before too, but not often. I had both written off "Gladiator" and "Ironman" as forgettable summer "blockbusters" and pleasently surprised how much I enjoyed those two films. "Gladiator" is actually one of my all time favorites. And I've missed the call too, thinking "The Kingdom" last Fall's forgetable Jaime Foxx-middle eastern terrorist cash-in pic was going to be epic, but found it was largely disappointing.

This was an actual (albeit paraphrased for these purposes) conversation I had with my roommate a few weeks ago:

RM: Dude, let's go see 'Love Guru!'

(He constantly tries to bait me into going to movies. Honestly, I feel awful that I don't go with him, but given his taste in film, I'd rather inject rat poison directly into my eyeballs)

Me: Umm, no.

RM: Why not?!

Me: Because it looks terrible, Mike Meyers is a one trick pony who thinks that because he dresses in various fat suits and costumes, he can fool movie goers into thinking he's talented and has range as an actor. His latest film only reinforces that. Except for the first Austin Powers, each one of his films to date is basically a stretched, unfunny SNL skit.

The RM gives me a blank stare.

RM: Ok, let's go see 'Meet Dave.' I know you want to see that!

And I appriciate his enthusiasm. I really do. But again, to infer that I 'want to see' 'Meet Dave', the abysmal Eddie Murphy - 'Men in Black' - Bootleg - Vehicle, is somewhat insulting.

Me: No.

Rm: Sigh, why not?

Me: Have you seen the previews of that movie?! I'm not going to subject myself to another one of Eddie Murphy's ego-tripped-tipped yawnfests. You know why all of his movies in the last ten years have starred just Eddie Murphy playing different characters? It's because no other actor in Hollywood will work with him. He's an enormous asshole, and he continues to make films that make me want to eat a bagel laced with broken shards of glass and AIDS needles.

RM: Well, I'm gonna go, peace out.

And so he goes, and sure enough, two hours later, this is what I get:

RM: Yeah bro, "Meet Dave" sucked.

In other news, I tell my roommate that the stove top is hot, he touches it, gets burned. More at 11.

Seriously though, I browse through rottentomatoes all the time, and read through the (obviously) bad reviews for some of these films I know to be bad. I don't know why I do it, I just do it. Maybe I'm reinforcing my talent for picking stinkers a mile away, or maybe I like seeing a man being kicked while he's down. Regardless, what blows me away is some of the POSITIVE reviews that are kinda sprinkled over the critics review pages for movies that should otherwised be banned from viewing.

This gem from the 'Hancock' page:

"Smith proves again, he's the king of summer blockbusters in this truly genius alt-concept of Super Hero (his caps) genre movies!" -Kit Comner, Ain't It Cool News.

Now I understand studios sometimes pay off film critics to write "good reviews" on what the studio will know to be a film DOA at the theatre. But I mean, these people look like complete assholes next to the other 97% of the critics, who were not being paid, who actually wrote down what they thought.

Only if you were say, a President of the United States, had an approval rating hovering around 26% and still thought you couldhelp the presumptive GOP candidate would you be a bigger idiot.

I'll Take A Hot Cup Of Kharma, With Skim And Light Foam...

Honestly, when your business charges 4.00 USD for a cup of fucking coffee, no matter how fancy your despondent 19 year old employee behind the counter makes it, you're business is in line to get whacked.

Earlier last week, the (vastly inferrior, in my humblest of opinions) coffee chain Starbucks announced that for the first time in the company's history, it was going to close some of it's locations, six hundred to be exact. These closings mean that now Manhattanites will be forced to wait in line for a double mocha vanilla latte for approximately two minutes longer.

If you couldn't tell yet, I have zero fucking sympathy for the Seattle-based coffee chain. With the on-set of a recession, gas prices hovering around what some snobbish prick would pay for a cup of hi-test coffee, and the country continuing to spin around the bottom of the toilet bowl, any one could plainly see that Starbucks was fucking itself in it's Colombian-imported asshole.

According to NYT Business editor Brad Stone, alot of Starbucks' trouble stemmed from piss poor real estate decisions. Apparently, the folks at the helm of the good ship Starbucks thought it'd be a good idea to put locations within spitting distance of each other. You know, just in case the five minute waiting line was too long at one store, you could literally walk across the street to the other location, and wait five minutes over there.

I know this for a fact because I used to go to school in Manhattan's Clinton district, what used to be known as Hell's Kitchen. I would get off the subway at 57th and 7th (Q, R, N, W lines), and hoof it three blocks west and two blocks north. In that span of time, which was usually a fifteen minute walk, I would see no less than five fucking Starbucks. Two more if you counted the two inside the Time Warner building (one actual store on the ground level, another inside the Barnes and Nobles on the third floor.)

Coincidently, this is the trend that Starbucks' Board of Directors wanted to take across the country. According to Stone's article, Starbucks planned to have 1000 unit locations in the state of Florida alone. One thousand fucking Starbucks. Are you serious?!

I'm from a small town in Southern Maine, population hovering around 20K annually. I can think of three Starbucks within five minutes of each other back home. Christ.

So The New York Times' Stone thinks it's the location that drove Starbucks to kill 600 of it's own stores. It's not, though it could be seen as circumstantial evidence that would lead one to believe so. No, it's the fact that people, even the ridiculous Upper East Siders, in their lavish 39th floor 9000.00 USD a month apartments in Manhattan can no longer reasonably spend the amount of money they once were on something as frivilous as coffee. Not when you can go to any deli or sandwich shop or little cart parked on the sidewalk next to a newsstand, and get a cup of regular-ass coffee for a dollar.

All you're paying for at Starbucks is the status symbol. The ability to walk around with a cup in your hand, in a little gay sleeve, that says "hey, I can afford to drop 5 dollars on this cup of bland, watery coffee with some fucking milk foam on it." That's all. In the heirarchy of fucking coffee chains, Starbucks is the fucking lowest. It really is, as far as taste, price, employees, everything; if I had a score card for every commercial chain coffee joint I'd ever frequented, Starbucks would be dead last in all catagories.

You know, Starbucks does serve just a regular cup of coffee for about a dollar, maybe a little more. It sucks. And when you order it, as in "can I just have a plain-ass cup of coffee please?" You get a funny look from the cunt behind the register, a completely filled cup of black shit, and a finger pointing to where the cream and sugar is.

How the fuck am I supposed to work with this shit, Gretchen? You do realize that if I try to add creamer to this ... giant cup of hot blackness, I'm going to spill it all over the place, right?

And it's a horrible, terrible, burnt-to-shit French Roast.

I was subject to Starbucks for the three years I lived in NYC. For some reason, they have about a million Starbucks (also, strangely - just about a third of the people I met while living in NYC worked, or had worked for a Starbucks... weird) in the city, but only four Dunkin Donuts. So when I was pressed for coffee (and I drank a lot more of it then than I do now for some reason) and I coudn't find a small diner or deli, I had to go to Starbucks.

And while waiting in line, I'd sooner be driving a rusty nail through my cheek, to pin my tongue to my opposite cheek.

And you have these people, with their ridiculously long orders to the robot-like kid behind the counter. Some trendy bitch in a fur coat and gloves sounding off what seems like a grocery list than a coffee order:

"I'll take a decaff, skim-only, double foamed, chocolate and vanilla latte with a twist of lemon and a little bit of cinnamon. Oh, a little whip creme too!"

I understand now, why NYC has such heavy restrictions on firearms.

Back to the point at hand though, Starbucks shot itself in the foot by trying too hard. Literally like Britany Spears, Starbucks pushed itself to the point of actual implosion, caving under the weight of it's own celebrity. One could see the backlash from a mile away. How long did you think stupid Americans were going to continue to try to impress each other with cardboard cups?

How long were we going to pretend the emperor wasn't really naked and the coffee really didn't suck?

Crossfire (with Apologies to SRV)

He's walking down a dirt road, a few pieces of strewn garbage lazily scrabbling across the turf before him. He's content, happy, the stress from the past couple of days at work finally easing off of his hard tensed shoulders. He looks forward to getting home, climbing into bed to listen to an episode of 'Mythbusters' or 'How It's Made' while he reads his book about the Westies.

Then, out of no where, there's a heavy thudding BR-RRA-A-A-AATT that cuts through the calm. The dirt kicks up in front of him, he freezes out of shock for a second, and then dives down behind a trash can.

Another burst of automatic gunfire cuts from the other side of the street. A few strays whip over his head, his too-short hair bristles. He clenches shut his eyes, clasps his laptop to his chest (Huff Post or Gmail's been left open on it) and bares down to what's going to be an ugly, long-lasting battle.

This isn't Iraq in case you were wondering (I don't think they have Gmail out there... probably Jihad-mail... rimshot!) this is my apartment. And I've been caught in a wicked crossfire between The Lady and the Roommate.

Something in the back of my head tells me that this was inevitable. The two of them don't get along very well at all, and at the risk of further alienating them from each other, and even me, I'll break down how the other sees their advisory.

The Lady sees the RM as an awkward annoyance, a child that she's been prematurely saddled with. A slob that seldom picks anything up and is a thieving anti-social dullard. He's pathetic and a nuisance. She often wonders how he even made it through bootcamp.

The RM views The Lady as a interloper, the succubus that's robbed him of his best friend and roommate. A point of conflict and contention. What he sees is a house thief who does nothing but plot against him when he's not here, laying traps (or pubic hair) in his room.

(Update: As I was writing this, the RM came back from the store, where I sent him to get me a Snickers with Almonds and an orange Gatorade. When he came back, he burst into my room and started to jabber on in a non-sequitor that involved Alec Baldwin, the film 'We Own The Night' and the letter 'X' , he then placed upon my head the Gatorade and said 'dude, listen to the wind outside, and feel the coolness on your head. Doesn't it feel like a tropical storm?!)

The fact is, I'm trying to have my cake and eat it too. I love having The Lady living here with me, because I don't get to see enough of her during the week to begin with. With her here, it takes away all that lost time where we're traveling to see each other. It's also beneficial to her as well, because we live in such close proximity to her job, that she can walk and leave the car parked. With gas at 4.00+ USD, that's a huge check in the plus column.

With the roommate, it's nice to have him around because he's genuine comic relief, and I feel like I have an obligation towards him as his 'older brother.' But he can be tedious to deal with as well, as he seldom does chores and often parades ugly t shirts he buys into my room for my approval/disapproval (there's really never an 'approval' since he refuses to buy clothes meant for an adult).

These two don't like each other and I don't like having to be the go-between. I hate having to spend a good chunk of my work week counseling my roommate on getting along with my girlfriend, and I don't want to deal with The Lady's attitude towards my roommate, which makes her pissy, which she'll take out on me.

All I want to do is come home and relax, and not feel like I have to be a referee. I did this for twenty-sum-odd years with my parents, and now that I've moved out (again) I see it as wholly unnecessary to do it with two more people I care about.

I think this will be easier to explain to the readers if I break down the latest point of contention: Being that my name is on the lease to the apartment, I take a more ... presidential stand on the happenings of my little two-bedroom country. When I invited The Lady to move in, we agreed that we'd split the rent (Update 2: The Roommate just walked into my room, head partially shaved, to show me the 'upside down vag' he shaved into the front of his forehead. It was a downward pointing triangle. He was also only in his underwear.) three ways, and her share of the utilities would be spent on buying groceries. We all agreed to this, and it was fine.

Then the RM started to have an issue when his share of the utilities came out to 90 dollars for the month. And then when he went to a fit when he was looking for something to make for dinner, and there was nothing he liked.

The Lady and I like organic products, so we shop at an organic grocery store. The RM likes to eat cardboard and other crap of that nature. So I can understand his befuddlement.

"Dude, weeks ago I told you to make a list of shit..."

"Well... will she shop at someplace other than Trader Joe's?" I didn't want to argue with him, because it was a stupid argument to have. And then he launched into a tirade about the utilities. "We're only here half the month, how is it so high?!" I, again, didn't see a point to arguing with him, nor did I feel like bringing up the fact that we've been running the central air a lot lately, as well as the dishwasher... plus he has a huge tendency to leave the living room tv on when he goes into his room, or vice versa, along with the lights.

The Lady has threatened to move out, trying to avoid a nasty confrontation. I've implored her not to, to just talk it over with the RM.

And that's how I get sucked into being the go-between. Why is it, the guy who's always caught in the crossfire is unarmed?

My Roommate Doesn't Listen

I'm sunburnt, so that makes me cranky, which is exactly the catalyst I need to write about my idiot roommate.

For the first few months we've been living together, I've been really trying to help him score. And by "score", I mean just talk to a member of the opposite sex. And by "talk to a member of the opposite sex", I mean, be able to approach a woman without one of the following happening:

-Him freezing up.

-Him coming across crazy/creepy.

-Him sexually assaulting someone.

I've been successful and not successful at the same time. Successfully he hasn't sexually assaulted anyone, but he hasn't even so much been able to approach anyone either. Numerous times he's made mention in the living room he's going to go down to the local dance club only to drive there, sit in his truck looking at the people going inside, and then turning around and coming home. When he comes home he says "you should've seen the girls going in!" which will prompt me to say "did you TALK to any of them?" and he'll say "No."

Today, as I was attempting to rearrange my room, he walks in with a cup of Cherry Garcia and starts in on this gem:

"So I went to Barnes and Nobles today and I started to flip through some of the like ... 'Relationships for Dummies' books and stuff. I think I figured out what my problem is," and I stop making my bed and turn and look at him.

"And what did you figure out?" Fooling myself into thinking that he's about to reveal something utterly Earth shattering about his psyche or inner mental workings.

"I just lack confidence..."

Now, I've only been telling him this for MONTHS. Ever since I met this kid, he's the least confident person I've encountered. I've told him repeatedly that he just needs more confidence, that all his problems root out at the fact he isn't comfortable in his own skin. I've done everything I can to help boost his confidence, from giving him frequent compliments about his strengths (he's genuinely funny -albeit a little crazy- good looking, tall, and when he calms down a little bit, he has a very engaging personality) and pushing him to expand the limits of his comfort zone by putting him into ever increasingly uncomfortable situations (such as bringing girls over to him or dragging him to different places/people/events and making him look like an ass, all in an effort for him to get over himself.).

His problem has always been this lack of confidence, which is upheld by some sort of standard that he's supposed to be this cool character. If I could break him of this line of thinking, he'd instantly become more comfortable with himself.

If I can let me ego talk for a second, I think he wants to be me, or at least model himself an avatar that's like me. He always sees me being a cool customer, etc. But the fact of the matter is, I'm not cool, I'm not comfortable in my own skin, I'm highly self conscience with a lot of insecurities. The difference between he and I is I've learned how to hide those negatives or turn them into positives. He wears his insecurities like a Cosby Sweater.

It took me YEARS to develop some sort of confidence. So I don't expect him to have a metamorphosis overnight, but I at least expect him to try.

And seriously, what's sadder than a guy going to the movies and dinner by himself all the time in order to "meet people." HELLO ASSHOLE! YOU CAN'T MEET PEOPLE WHEN YOU WON'T EVEN TALK TO THEM!

I liken him to a novice ice skater, who is out on the ice for the first time. They want to do everything they can to stay upright, for fear of falling. All they need to do is fall on their ass one time to see that falling on your ass doesn't hurt, it's just a little embarrassing. And even then, 9 times out of ten, someone will be there to help pick you up, because we've all experienced falling on our asses, and we all know what it's like. He is not special. None of us are.

What my toe-headed roommate needs to do is fall on his ass, hard. Then he can skate all day.

So when he told me that he read a book and self diagnosed himself as a self-conscience social misfit I nearly lost my shit. I spiked my pillow cases and turned on him.

"Hello! I've only been telling you that for months! What the fuck dude! Is this thing on! Is this thing on!" And I mimic a microphone, blowing into it and tapping it on the head. He just stares. "Did you buy the book?"

"No..."

"Well thank god for that," I say and pick my pillow cases back up, sighing. "Why are you so afraid of getting hurt?"

"Because I don't want to get hurt?" He says back. I can understand his fears, but they're baseless. He's never been hurt in his life. He's forever a flincher, the kind of guy who will always flinch back when he's scared or tense or nervous. He needs to unclench his fucking ass, and start hearing what I have to say to him.

Buyer Beware

For the longest time I've been a huge proponent of actually paying for the music I download. I understand how incredibly stupid that sounds, when at any given time, day, place even the most inept person behind the controls of a computer (hi dad!) can find and download their favorite hits for free.

I've always had the mind set that you get what you pay for. There's a reason why the shitty "on sale" power drill is on sale, and the Makita is 300.00 USD. The same principles can be applied to Wendys and White Castle, Sony and LG, Disneyworld and Busch Gardens.

These things are better, won't break down on you, won't give you horrible spraying shits that coat the bowl is fecal spatter, and won't make your kids wonder why you're such a dead beat. The extra you're paying for is convienence, the ability to be rest assured that things are going to be ok.

So when faced spending 99% of one dollar to download a song, I don't see it as a huge deal. I've always figured that for the price of a dollar I was not paying for a song, but guarenteeing that what I was getting was a quality download of the exact song I wanted, without some dickweed teenager's trojan virus-laced coding within my copy of Busta Rhymes "Pass The Couvousier (remix.)".

But the downside to paying a dollar for a song off of iTunes is that shit adds up quick. Like the proverbial Lays Potato Chip, you can't have just one. I started to look at my credit card receipt (which I use to download music from the iTunes Store) and noticed that the bulk of my purchases from iTunes was hovering around about 10 to 15 bucks a month. And when you're dropping triple that on gas every two weeks, plus groceries, etc, it's quickly realized it's an unneeded expense.

So I started to ask around about free downloading sites or "torrents." Which ones were good, which ones to stay clear of, etc. The Lady turned me on (...) to uTorrent where you get a host of five or six other torrent sites that feed off of each other through one search. She downloaded it to my beleagured Dell laptop (I also trusted her because she was running pretty much the same programme on her beloved iMac book) and started to rob the music industry at mousepoint.

This wasn't my first foray into the world of illegally downloaded music; as mentioned before I had dabbled in this practice well before the days of iTunes. If you're reading this and are under the age of 21, you probably have no clue that Napster at one time used to be 100% free, and spawned warped and horribly virus-ridden children in the form of Morpheus, BearShare, LimeWire, etc, not unsimilar to how Gaea spawned the Greek Gods by slicing open Chronus's ballsack.

These programmes fed off the "Peer2Peer" networking system which allowed you to download files from multiple people or "sources" at once.

Have you ever been to an orgy? I have (hi mom!), and it's not as cool as you'd think it would be (if that's your thing) because it's literally a clusterfuck. People stepping all over each other, not knowing names or even faces, just literally fucking each other over to get what you want. And as we all know, unprotected sex with multiple people - as in transmitting files indiscriminately - can lead to viruses. This has always been a major concern of mine, on both the literal and figurative fronts.

So I left the "free" world of downloading music (and I say "free" with quotes because really, nothing is free, what you skimp on with cost of a download, you pay for with some Asian nerd wiping your harddrive at the price of 65.00 USD an hour) and started to pay for it. Whatever, it's only a dollar.

And there were considerable advantages to paying for the download: It didn't take literally all day (or multiple days) to finishing downloading a song or album. And when the song or album finished, you weren't left with some piss-poor quality, purposely mislabled, recorded-in-a-basement garage band/wanna-be rapper.

Nothing is more irratating than searching for Ice Cube's 1994 album "The Predator" and coming back with some cock-smoker's own personal rendition of "It Was A Good Day."

All in all I've found that using a torrent isn't that bad. I haven't had a lot of issues with the downloads, only that the reception is spotty and it takes, at it's fastest, up to an hour to download some stuff. I do miss the point-click-download-play function that made iTunes so great, along with the album art, because I'm incredibly impatient and have an ever decreasing attention span.

I'm curious to see if with gas prices going up, will iTunes do something to prevent more consumers from jumping ship as I have? Will they recognize that people in their targeted demographic (which would be iPod owners, which is virtually everyone) pass on filling their iPod in leu of filling their tanks? Someone should call up Steve Jobs and present him with this problem so that we (and by "we" I mean, Me. Capitalized. That's right.) can get the best of both worlds. Either start having gas stations hand out free iTunes gift cards with every x amount of gallons pumped, or Apple can start handing out free gas cards with every dollar amount purchased on iTunes.

It'd be win-win for everyone involved.

God Is My Co-Pilot (He Rides On My License Plate!)

For the life of me I couldn't tell you why I was watching FOX News last night when a story about how Florida wanted to sell to it's drivers, a religious license plate that can be registered to your car.

The show featured some obnoxious ultra-conservative spawn of Anne Coulter-twat who was (of course) in favor of the license plate, and a Reverend of the Humanists Church, who was against. As hard as he tried, the reverend was constantly cut off by the show's host, who kept repeating "c'mon, is it that bad, really Rev.?"

I could easily launch into a tirade about how ridiculous FOX News is, but I won't. Instead, I'll talk about the need for seperation between Church and State.

And to answer the blonde Nazi's question, yeah, it's really that bad. I mean, look:

Real subtle Florida.

I mean, my problem is two-fold; on one hand you have this whole, exclusivity to the license plate itself. It's one thing to be religious, but there are hundreds of religions out there, practiced by millions of people. I'm sure there's plenty of dumb-fuck Christian Floridians who would love to add this to their rotting Dodge Daytonas and Chevy Cameros, to show off to all their neighbors that they peel rubber for Jesus, but what about Jews, Muslims, or whatever the hell Chinese people worship?

I mean, not everyone in the world is a fan of NASCAR, you know?

Part two of my rant is that this is in blantant disregard for Church/State seperation. The woman on the show, who I believe to be a robot fueled by Bill O'Rielly's sweat, was like "I think the framers of the Constitution wouldn't mind this at all, I think they'd be for it!"

Bitch, have you ever taken a Con-Law class? Highly doubtful. Why? Because it is against the Constitution of the United States for any state or government enitity to endorse one sole (soul?) religion. And by the looks of things, Florida is all but short of putting "He Died For You!" on the bottom of the plate.

And what about the Aetheist? Are we going to subject these heathens to being stuck in traffic behind some asshole with this plate, silently cursing under his breath as he loads rounds into the magazine of his 9mm?

What about the Witches?! You may become cursed by some sort of Earth Spell should you drive your beat up scratched to hell VW around town with a Jesus plate.

You know, there's a rich Hatian culture in Florida... where's the Voodoo plate?

And the Nihilists! They don't even believe the license plate exists!

Do you know why states put out these speciality plates? It's so the state can earn funds from the people who are buying that particular plate. As far as I know, the State of Maine has like, 8 different plates you can choose from, from Yellow Ribbon plates to University of Maine plates to Abnaki Tribe plates, and so on. Every one of those plates is a certain dollar extra amount every time you register your vehicle for the year. And that money goes to the state.

So basically, The State of Florida is cashing in on Religion. I don't know who I'm more disgusted in; The State of Florida for cashing in on people's beliefs, or the people themselves, who'd go out of their way to spend their money on religion outside of church collections, red cans manned by a bell ringing Santa or Oakie-Fare Tent Revivalists.

Goddamnit.

An Ode To Living Recklessly

I'm a shitbird.

A total dickhead, scumbag, perverted shit-stain on society.

I love to drive drunk with very little regard for other drivers. Fuck'em: the car load full of kids or the soccer team, or the prom dates.

I love to drink too much and pass out at people's houses whom I don't know.

I love to correct people's grammar in public, with only the most condescending tone.

I drive like an asshole (when I'm not drunk), I seldom wear my seat belt, never use my signals, and expect everyone else around me to abide by the same traffic laws I disregard. I speed and swerve and drive with my windows down in all types of weather.

I like to keep a loaded gun on my person at all times and often pick fights with people I know could kick my ass. I don't give a shit, I have a gun.

I like to fuck without a condom on. I almost never pull out, and if I do, it's to cum on the girl's face or tits. I never hang around after, I just get up and leave.

I bet on sports when I don't have the money. I do the same thing with my bills; I pay my bills with checks that I know will bounce. Same goes for my rent.

I vote Republican in the 21st century.

I sneer at children and wolf whistle at their moms. I grab my crotch in line at the grocery store.

I play with knives, especially when I've been drinking.

I may or may not have children someplace else in the country.

I tell fat women they're fat. To their boyfriend's faces.

I drink Tecate and eat microwave burritos at 3 am on Monday nights.

I wake up hung over for work at 0630 in the morning, when I have to be in the office at 0715. I don't call ahead and I don't give a shit.

I throw things.

I make my roommate do my dishes and scrub my shitty toilet.

I plug in my amp and play horrible guitar at all hours. When the neighbors show up to complain I tell them to go fuck themselves while blowing pot smoke into their faces. When they inevitably send the cops over, I pretend I'm a disabled war vet.

I rent movies and don't watch them. Weeks go by and when the store calls about their movies, I tell them that I just moved into the address and have no idea what they're talking about.

I sleep on park benches. I clean my gun on park benches.

I stroll by high schools and ask the girls walking on the side walk what grade they're in.

I play pool in bars and don't pay for the games. I let my friends buy my drinks for me and never pay for a round.

I demand a buy-back from the bartender. When he cuts me off, I go outside and slash all the tires in the parking lot, hoping I got his.

I eat like shit. Wait, let me rephrase that... I eat shit. My arteries are so clogged with shit that my insides look like an LA Freeway. My doctors yell at me, my girlfriend yells at me, and I don't care. If it tastes good, I'm eating it, whether it's deep fried, bathed in butter or beer battered, I'm going to ingest it until my heart gives out under me. Fuck it.

I smoke cigarettes but I never buy my own pack. I'm that asshole who's hanging outside of the bar bumming smokes off everyone. I never apologize for it either.

I'm inside the bar smoking.

I'm your co-worker who talks too loudly on the phone and ignores your emails.

I'm the dickhead on Facebook who won't return your Friend Request.

I listen to shitty music loudly and at the same time tell you you have no taste in music.

I'm at a rock concert feeling your girlfriend's ass.

I'm doing hits of extacy around black guys and telling them "thanks for not kicking my white ass"

I'm an asshole, a dick, and a douche bag. I'm your neighbor, your brother, your father and your son. I'm your boss and your employee.

I'm You.

Best Of: August 2007

Jim originally posted this back in August of 07, regarding Comedy Central's usage of "comedian" Carlos Mencia to be the flagship for their network since Dave Chappelle went all ...Mariah Carey-crazy and bolted for fucking.... Africa.

"Africa-Africa?"

"...Africa-Africa."

Anyway, enjoy. -ed.

"An Open Letter to Comedy Central: re: Carlos Mencia"

Dear Comedy Central/Viacom,

"The Mind of Mencia" has been airing on your network for almost two full years, and since has spawned something like four or five seasons since its inception. I'm writing you today to ask you to please cease and desist with this tripe.

I understand how it happened: Chappelle went Mariah Carey-Crazy, jumped the first jet to Africa and left you suits holding the bag in regards to a culturally relevant, hilarious 22 minute television programme starring an influential minority. You saw that you needed to plug the leak in the dyke as fast as possible, so you removed your thumb from your ass and jammed it as hard as you could into the widening gap.

No one blames you.

So you thought to yourselves that you'd find another "controversial" minority comedian who probably had some sketch comedy ideas kicking around, and Carlos Mencia seemed to fit the bill at that time. And again, no one blames your decision on this; Mr. Mencia at that time was relatively still underground but a fast rising star. He was "The Punisher of Comedy" and you guys wanted to bet it all, thinking you should snag him up before ABC gives him a sitcom ala George Lopez.

So you brought in Mr. Mencia and said "look Carlos, we love what you do, and we want to bring you to a wider audience. We want 'Carlos Mencia' to be a household name." And I'm sure he was on board for this. You gave him some creative licensing control, let him do his own writing, developing, etc. But what you didn't count on was that Carlos Mencia is a one-trick pony at best.

I've watched a number of episodes of "Mind of Mencia" and I find the title of the programme to be both ironic and telling. "Mind of Mencia" is twenty-two minutes of mindless jabbering and soap-boxing. The diminutive host dresses as if he shops at Baby Gap, with his "youthfully hip" t shirts and hoodies. It seems that he takes great pains to get his jokes across to the masses, and I'm sure he's under some oversight from Standards and Practices to keep things somewhat tasteful, even though the show is rated TVMA. But we know the big black block of a rating that pops up at the beginning of the show is a bait and switch tactic. There's nothing very adult about his humour at all.

Let me break down how I view the show in its entirety: There might be a half-hearted sketch at the show's opening depicting something overtly racist. Maybe Mr. Mencia has donned "white-face" make up and is acting like some pompous politician, or maybe he's donned "black-face" make up and is acting like some overzealous rapper. Either way he hops around his sketch like a wounded Ashlee Simpson at a live recording of Saturday Night Live.

Next there will be the typical splash graphic opening that I suppose is "edgy" and "urban" for the RedBull swilling kids who are just getting home from their jobs at Domino's Pizza or who are too stoned to change the channel after watching the same South Park you've been airing since May. Then Mr. Mencia will make his first appearance.

So he comes out holding a microphone, even though he's wearing a lapel mic. Mr. Mencia will then go on roughly a four minute mini-monologue about something about living in LA, or being a "beaner" or whatever happens to be the topic of the day. He tries very hard during this part of his show to really reach out to the television audience to get his socially charged point across. But again, he's falling short. He laces what could easily be a thoughtful speech with "duh-duh-duuhs" and mindless yelling. And then Mr. Mencia will shepard a D List level comedian who might really need the exposure on a nationally televised basic cable tv show, out on to his stage and let them rant, while he forces himself to laugh at weak attempts at humor. The whole thing is staged and very fake. For a viewer to convince themselves otherwise of the fact would be doing a disservice.

Then there's a commercial break, and when the show comes back, we the viewer are typically treated to a "man on the street" type waste of seven minutes, where Mr. Mencia and what I presume to be a small film crew, scour the streets of LA talking to tourists. The subject matter is usually something race driven, because the bulk of Mr. Mencia's schtick is racially motivated.

For instance, Mr. Mencia will ask a white person to immitate a black person, or have a black person immitate a jewish person, or have a hispanic act like their really mad at their boyfriend and hit him over the head with a chanchla... or sandle in English. He may or may not incorporate the use of a dwarf or his mentally handicapped brother Joseph in this portion of the show.

We go to break, and come back.

The last vignette is usually an in-studio sketch with a remarkably elaborate setting. I do have to give the set designers they're due in that regards. I wish I had more nice things to say about the show other than that, but I will give credit where credit is due.

On the subject of in-studio, how do you sell tickets or ... fill the seats of this set? I find it very hard to imagine people lining up to get into this show, but then again, the collective intelligence of Americans is somewhere between Forest Gump and Peter Griffen.

Anyway, so this last sketch will exhibit a number of horrible actors parading on to the set playing the role of despondant teenagers who are in need, apparently, of an attitude adjustment from Mr. Mencia. Mr. Mencia will usually take the role of some sort of authoritarian and the template is always the same: You'll have a depressed white "emo kid" who Mr. Mencia will tell "you're white, you have nothing to be depressed about!" a gay asian "you're gay, but it's ok, you like to do nails!" a butch lesbian "you should go try out for the Olympics... the Male Olympics!" a dumb blond "thank god you've got titties!" And finally a stereotypical black "gangsta" who Mr. Mencia will tell "you're homeboys won't always get your back when you go to jail, but he will!" and cue an obviously homosexual character who will come out and chase the character around the set and that's a wrap.

It's all very analgesic, and yawn inducing.

Again, suits, I appriciate the bind you were all in when you lost the greatest star to Comedy Central since Jon Stewart. But I urge you, on behalf of lovers of intellectual and thought-provoking comedy, please cancel "Mind of Mencia." I'm sure you could fill the empty time slot with another episode of South Park or Scrubs, or MadTv, or Drawn Together. All these shows are genius examples of greatly inspired writing and production.

Or, ... or you could stay the course and keep contributing to the "dumbing down" of America. ...But do you really want to be responsible for another Republican president? ...Think about it.

Thanks for your time,
J.

PS: And while we're at it. Let's hit the brakes on anything "Blue Collar" or with Larry The Cable Guy involved in it.

A Fortune Awaits Who Ever Can Tell Me Who's More Racist:

Old griseled white man Clint Eastwood, or Perpetually cranky, Knicks floor seat season ticket holder, Spike Lee.

The two acclaimed directors started mouthing off to each other over Lee's comments that Eastwood failed to place a single black actor into either one of his recent World War Two epics "Flag of Our Fathers" and "Letters From Iwo Jima."

To this, Eastwood plainly called Lee "nuts" and told him to "Shut his face."

And to that... Lee explained to the media that Eastwood was not his father and they were currently not standing on a plantation.

See, why do some people have to take it to that level? I'm not just talking about blacks, I'm talking about everyone. Because everyone does it, even we white folks are just as guilty of pulling the (reverse) race card as a black guy, Asian lady, Mexican chulo, whatever.

Anytime there's a disagreement between two people of opposite skin color, one (usually whoever's on the losing side of things) will immdiately pull the race card and throw it down like an NFL ref with a yellow flag.

An example I had the pleasure to overhear a few years ago on a Manhattan-bound Q train:

"I don't know what you're talking about dude, she's not that hot," said a white guy to his black friend.

"Why don't you think she's hot? It's because she's black, right?" Said the black friend.

"Or.. it could be because she's fifty pounds overweight and has bad skin?"

"You're saying black skin is bad skin?"

"No, I'm saying that pock marks and flakes make bad skin..."

And yet, this poor white guy couldn't win! Everything he said was being bent back around to make him look like a racist. In public.

And that's a heavy weapon to be able to weild, because no one, black or white or yellow or brown or green, likes to be a racist. ...no wait, let me rephrase that: People don't like to be thought of as racist.

It's because individually, we all are racist and revel in it. I am, you are, your sister is, and most likely the girl behind the cash register at the GAP is too. We all pass judgement on people based on appearances alone.

Take that girl at the GAP register there. I bet she swipes at least 100 credit cards in her four hour shift. For however many she swipes that come back over their limit and rejected, I almost guarentee she thinks the card owner is a deadbeat scum bag.

I'll tell you this much: I've had credit cards turned down more than once, and it's a shitty feeling to have someone come back to you like "oh hey, do you have another card, this one's rejected." And when they say it, it feels like all the people in the place you're at all collectively took a breath at the same time, so everyone heard what was said to you. It doesn't make you a bad person, just slightly irresponsible.

But back to the subject of racism: Who's the bigger racist, Clint or Spike? Clint left out black people from two of his films (though I'm sure they were filled with plenty of fucking yellow-fisted nips), and told a celebrated black director to shut the fuck up. But Lee couldn't take being told by a man, like a man, to shut the fuck up and had to make the ordeal racial in nature. No one was even thinking about racism until Lee had to bring into the conversation a plantation. Then everyone saw it as a black/white thing. A struggle of oppressed power. Here's another black man being held down by an old white man, someone will think.

The real racist is the media. And I understand that's very cliche for me to say and blame, but it's true. They blew this whole thing so far out of proporting that it's almost dispicable. So what if a white guy who's won a crap ton of Oscars tells a revolutionary black director to shut up? Spike's comments were way out from left field in the first place. I'm sure there were many brave black soldiers on the island of Iwo Jima but the story wasn't about them. It was about... Marines raising a flag and fighting for America.

Being in the military, I know, that there's no such thing as color when your life is on the line. The only thing you're thinking about when shit hits the fan is if the guy next to you is qualified or not.

Hardly A Non-Conformist

So I went to bed last night for a few hours, and in typical fashion I set the timer on my tv for about half an hour, and rolled over the other way to start drifting off to sleep.

Suddenly I was jerked out of my semi-conscience state when I overheard something that I knew couldn't be true.

It was an ad for McDonalds, where the dickhole on tv was like "I'm a non-conformist, I eat at McDonalds!"

....I find this direction in advertising very discomforting.

Ok, first off, where the hell does Mickey D's get off on playing the "non-conformity" card when they proudly advertise that they've served literally BILLIONS of people since their inseption into Main Stream Americana back in like, 1955?

Bitch, your great-grandfather has probably eaten a McDonald's fish sandwich, is what I'm saying.

Has "non-conformity" totally lost it's meaning in today's society? People are so demanding of a non-conformist state, to fight back and bite the hand that feeds them, that it's now spread into the most conformist medium of all, advertising?

The very idea behind advertising is to get as many people as possible to "conform" to one idea or product. This is how companies generate dollars so that the people who work for these companies can drive home in their expensive cars to their expensive houses and get 'luded up on expensive prescription drugs.

In other words, advertisers think we're all sheep. And for the most part, they're right.

Another great example of the non-conformity trend in advertisement is that AARP or ... fucking... whatever Dennis Hopper's shilling for lately. Here's this iconic symbol of perpetual non-conformity in the form of an actor who got his start being the ultimate non-conformist in the film "Easy Rider," telling wisened baby-boomers to conform to a special interest group so they can save on medicine and afternoon movie tickets. All the while there's some catchy 60's pop hit playing in the background, and footage of some graying old guy carrying a surf board across the beach. I can only imagine the numbers of achy-jointed retirees being like "hey, I still got what it takes, I can get out there and show the world I'm not done yet! I won't conform to these standards set upon me by society in general, half expectant of me to slowly and quietly die in my own feces stained boxer shorts with baked beans running down my chin in my favorite Laz-E-Boy! No! I'll give them what-for!"

You and everyone else, grampa.

I'm just tired of this game that advertisers want to play with Americans because they (by and large) think we're collectively dumb bovines being lead to the slaughter floor. McDonald's is probably the most culturally significant icon in America and for them to say their customers (myself included) are non-conformists (all like, 80 billion or whatever) is ludacris. This makes as much sense as them selling customer's fucking salads.

Just stop feedings us lines of shit (both literally and figuratively) and come out and say "hey, if it was good enough for four prior generations of obese Americans, it's good enough for you too," and I'll be happy. It's not like when I was living in NYC that I never saw some skinny hipster kid eating a Quarter Pounder with Cheese...

There is no such thing as a non-conformer anymore. Everyone conforms to the same ideas because there's no new ideas to be had. No one thinks for themselves anymore. We're spoon-fed opinions by different media sources and we align ourselves with which makes us feel more empowered.

The other night The Lady and I were out on my porch drinking scotch and talking politics, which was uncommon, but probably due to our mutual inebriation. She brought up the fact that people no longer have their own opinions and that we collectively do what we're told by whoever. Sadly she's right. People don't take the time to digest information anymore. We're literally traveling down the road to a place where we're told what to think.

I'm serious.

The solution to all of this is that we need to stop not conforming. If the powers that be are happy to let us think we're all special and unique individuals, they'll keep pandering to us as such. If we can prove to them that we're one cohesive body with our own opinions (conforming behind one original idea or belief) we're a harder stone to push, and maybe America can un-stick itself from the toilet it's been trapped on as it tries to finish digesting sixty years of Chicken McNuggets.