Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Movin’ Pictures: Watchmen
Here’s my dilemma. Writing movie reviews should be funny. That’s priority number one. If I watch a bad movie, a real piece of shit, like, oh I don’t know, Valkyrie, then my job is easily accomplished. “This is a piece of shit. Here are examples of its shittiness. I would rather do shitty act #1 than watch Valkyrie, etc.” On the other end of the spectrum where immortal films like The Dark Knight reside, my job is just as easy. All the jokes are gay jokes about me wanting to blow everyone involved in the creation of the film. Simple.
Aside from Dr. Manhattan’s uncut, electric blue dong flashing across the screen multiple times, I don’t really know what to mention that’ll be funny. I feel that I am lucky to be part of a small group of people who were in just the right spot to see the film. See, I never read the Watchmen comic. I cheated. I read the entire Wiki article; I knew just enough not to be lost, but not enough to be pissed about continuity issues. It also didn’t hurt that I’m a huge geek and love superheroes.
The movie is never as good as the book. Ever. Come on, karate kid. Find one example where this isn’t the case and waste me. Jurassic Park, Dracula, Horton Hears a Who; even if the movie was fantastic, the book was better. So there’s no point in comparing the movie to the book unless the two are radically different. Watchmen drew from the best graphic novel of all time and was more or less faithful to it; the changes that I noticed seemed logical and fit well. In fact I would argue the movie ending fit a little better than the comic book ending.
I think I stumbled onto why the movie is getting the reviews it’s getting on RottenTomatoes
Acting: It was all very solid, but nothing mind blowing aside from Rorschach. By far the best acting and character in the film. Watchmen also had a Richard Nixon that was so bad it made the hairs on my neck stand up. It was so shitty that I wanted to immediately punch him.
Special Effects: Very cool and well done, but you can’t pound a script with a CGI hammer and expect it to turn into a diamond.
Script: (read the third paragraph again)
Directing: Look, I got a C in filmography, so I don’t really know what I’m talking about here. But I will say that for the most part, the directing was neither spectacular nor offensive. It had a good feel and look, but, I don’t know, it just wasn’t great. The best part, unfortunately, was the opening credits that are right after the first scene. That and Rorschach are the best parts of the movie. Done.
Maybe, the problem was the source material. Maybe Watchmen was just too ambitious of a project; something so vast and complex that a single movie could not do it justice, even if the running length is 2 hours, 43 minutes. Maybe I should just stick to reviewing shitty movies.
Aside from Dr. Manhattan’s uncut, electric blue dong flashing across the screen multiple times, I don’t really know what to mention that’ll be funny. I feel that I am lucky to be part of a small group of people who were in just the right spot to see the film. See, I never read the Watchmen comic. I cheated. I read the entire Wiki article; I knew just enough not to be lost, but not enough to be pissed about continuity issues. It also didn’t hurt that I’m a huge geek and love superheroes.
The movie is never as good as the book. Ever. Come on, karate kid. Find one example where this isn’t the case and waste me. Jurassic Park, Dracula, Horton Hears a Who; even if the movie was fantastic, the book was better. So there’s no point in comparing the movie to the book unless the two are radically different. Watchmen drew from the best graphic novel of all time and was more or less faithful to it; the changes that I noticed seemed logical and fit well. In fact I would argue the movie ending fit a little better than the comic book ending.
I think I stumbled onto why the movie is getting the reviews it’s getting on RottenTomatoes
Acting: It was all very solid, but nothing mind blowing aside from Rorschach. By far the best acting and character in the film. Watchmen also had a Richard Nixon that was so bad it made the hairs on my neck stand up. It was so shitty that I wanted to immediately punch him.
Special Effects: Very cool and well done, but you can’t pound a script with a CGI hammer and expect it to turn into a diamond.
Script: (read the third paragraph again)
Directing: Look, I got a C in filmography, so I don’t really know what I’m talking about here. But I will say that for the most part, the directing was neither spectacular nor offensive. It had a good feel and look, but, I don’t know, it just wasn’t great. The best part, unfortunately, was the opening credits that are right after the first scene. That and Rorschach are the best parts of the movie. Done.
Maybe, the problem was the source material. Maybe Watchmen was just too ambitious of a project; something so vast and complex that a single movie could not do it justice, even if the running length is 2 hours, 43 minutes. Maybe I should just stick to reviewing shitty movies.
I give Watchmen 8/10 corgis. Go watch it.
Monday, March 9, 2009
The ABC's of Work, Part 3
Retirement
You did it! You’ve reached the [tasteful] end of your job! Now you can spend the rest of your life on a boat in Boca Raton with your neighbor, the insurance salesman from Cleveland who fronts the regional Minutemen project and charters fishing trips. Oh sure, the first time you land a Striped Marlin/a floating oil drum raft loaded with Cubans, you say, to yourself, “this is it, I did it. I’m ‘livin’ the dream’,” but something happens. Little things start to remind you what it was like being a productive member of society; a crying Cuban child reminds you of your weekly paycheck, a bucket of chum reminds you of your boss. Then you realize just how worthless you are. Now who’s going to re-spool bobbins in the textile factory? How will those Margaritaville t-shirts ever get made without you? You go back to beg for your job but some puissant kid named Bobby took over Mr. Giuseppe’s job and he thinks you’re a crazy, old derelict. Which you are.
Sick Leave
We get maybe a week off with pay a year in this country. Christ, what are we, horses? Do the doctors covered by my HMO carry a shotgun?
Taxes
Europeans don’t bitch about taxes even though the percentage of their paycheck goign to taxes is high enough to shit off the moon. Know why? Two reasons: 1, the biggest expense we as Americans pay on average, health care, is free to them. Two, they haven’t created a disproportionate wealth gap from the rich to the middle class through tax breaks. Argh, the rich! *shakes fist*. I may sound sarcastic here, but common. Poor people don’t write and pass tax reform laws. Rich assholes do. Do you really think they would pass something detrimental to themselves? Of course not. They have no morals. Hell, half of them like to travel to Africa and shoot elephants for fun, so the idea of them looking out for the little guy through trickle-down economics is the biggest scam since Ozymandias.(Sorry, I just saw Watchmen).
U R FUN-E LOL
People over 50 just discovered how fun the internet can be, so somehow, they have the exact same mentality as 9 year olds who also just discovered how fun the internet can be. Pff. N00bs. Casual e-mail jokes from co-workers are as cringe-worthy as hearing your parents say “crunk”.
Vacation
Saying how little you get in a year is becoming redundant, so I’ll just focus on where and when to spend your precious 2 weeks. You’ll want to go when everyone else goes. Try to convince them to take an extra week without telling your boss. I mean, he can’t fire you all, right?
Right?
As far as where is concerned, save up the money and go here. Ignore the fact that the site is totally web 1.0
Water Cooler
“Hey, did you see what happened last night on 24?”
Um, no I didn’t. I actually don’t watch too much tv. I’m always out after work with friends or-
“That’s strange. You’re strange. So how ‘bout that Obama, eh? Bailouts, man.”
Well-
“It’s pretty crazy.”
Yeah, it is. The-
“Only a…” [*looks around*] “nigger. Am I right?”
What?
“You know.”
No, I don’t know.
“Common, man. Niggers. They’re ruining this country.”
…
“Why, just the other day…”
Two hours later he walked into HR and I never saw him again.
aXidents
“If something goes wrong, blame the guy who can’t speak English. Ah, Tibor. How many times have you saved my butt?” – Homer Simpson
Your Company
Did you know that the company you work for is YOUR company? You own it! Just like how servants work for THEIR master, you work for YOUR company. This sense of ownership is liberating. That’s what’s so great about living in this day and age. People are now starting to own their foibles and faults. Take a lesson from the 600lb man. He owns his obesity. He goes on camera, well technically people push him in front of one, and goes, “That’s right, I’m a big fat asshole who’s gonna die in two years, but while I’m here I’m going to party my asses off. Suck my dick!” And so we should be with our companies. “That’s right, motherfuckers. I sold my soul to a corporation that makes child-sized land mines for a 6 figure salary. Suck my dick!” Always end with “Suck my dick”, or “Suck my clit!” if you’re a woman/hysterical.
Zesty Chicken
You can’t have regular chicken. No no. The last thing you want is something as bland as your work environment. You need to switch it up. Something fresh. Something exotic. But not too exotic. You want something with the moxy taste of Wishbone Italian dressing with the familiarity of chicken. Wait! Wait. What if…you put the dressing…on the chicken? Do I dare dream?! What an unholy union! Forbidden…yet alluring. Yes…yes! Ecstasy! I wonder what this would taste like on a bed of lettuce. My God! It’s a chicken salad, but zesty! ZESTY CHICKEN SALAD! In my heart rests a spark of the divine, burning forth the fires of creation! “Assistant, bring me a hamburger bun! I have an idea.” If this works then…I am! I AM A GENIUS! ZESTY CHICKEN SANDWICH! Every working man in this great land shall hail me as a GOD. No…just God. I…am…GOD!!!
-Inner monologue of the guy who invented zesty chicken, circa 1987
You did it! You’ve reached the [tasteful] end of your job! Now you can spend the rest of your life on a boat in Boca Raton with your neighbor, the insurance salesman from Cleveland who fronts the regional Minutemen project and charters fishing trips. Oh sure, the first time you land a Striped Marlin/a floating oil drum raft loaded with Cubans, you say, to yourself, “this is it, I did it. I’m ‘livin’ the dream’,” but something happens. Little things start to remind you what it was like being a productive member of society; a crying Cuban child reminds you of your weekly paycheck, a bucket of chum reminds you of your boss. Then you realize just how worthless you are. Now who’s going to re-spool bobbins in the textile factory? How will those Margaritaville t-shirts ever get made without you? You go back to beg for your job but some puissant kid named Bobby took over Mr. Giuseppe’s job and he thinks you’re a crazy, old derelict. Which you are.
Sick Leave
We get maybe a week off with pay a year in this country. Christ, what are we, horses? Do the doctors covered by my HMO carry a shotgun?
Taxes
Europeans don’t bitch about taxes even though the percentage of their paycheck goign to taxes is high enough to shit off the moon. Know why? Two reasons: 1, the biggest expense we as Americans pay on average, health care, is free to them. Two, they haven’t created a disproportionate wealth gap from the rich to the middle class through tax breaks. Argh, the rich! *shakes fist*. I may sound sarcastic here, but common. Poor people don’t write and pass tax reform laws. Rich assholes do. Do you really think they would pass something detrimental to themselves? Of course not. They have no morals. Hell, half of them like to travel to Africa and shoot elephants for fun, so the idea of them looking out for the little guy through trickle-down economics is the biggest scam since Ozymandias.(Sorry, I just saw Watchmen).
U R FUN-E LOL
People over 50 just discovered how fun the internet can be, so somehow, they have the exact same mentality as 9 year olds who also just discovered how fun the internet can be. Pff. N00bs. Casual e-mail jokes from co-workers are as cringe-worthy as hearing your parents say “crunk”.
Vacation
Saying how little you get in a year is becoming redundant, so I’ll just focus on where and when to spend your precious 2 weeks. You’ll want to go when everyone else goes. Try to convince them to take an extra week without telling your boss. I mean, he can’t fire you all, right?
Right?
As far as where is concerned, save up the money and go here. Ignore the fact that the site is totally web 1.0
Water Cooler
“Hey, did you see what happened last night on 24?”
Um, no I didn’t. I actually don’t watch too much tv. I’m always out after work with friends or-
“That’s strange. You’re strange. So how ‘bout that Obama, eh? Bailouts, man.”
Well-
“It’s pretty crazy.”
Yeah, it is. The-
“Only a…” [*looks around*] “nigger. Am I right?”
What?
“You know.”
No, I don’t know.
“Common, man. Niggers. They’re ruining this country.”
…
“Why, just the other day…”
Two hours later he walked into HR and I never saw him again.
aXidents
“If something goes wrong, blame the guy who can’t speak English. Ah, Tibor. How many times have you saved my butt?” – Homer Simpson
Your Company
Did you know that the company you work for is YOUR company? You own it! Just like how servants work for THEIR master, you work for YOUR company. This sense of ownership is liberating. That’s what’s so great about living in this day and age. People are now starting to own their foibles and faults. Take a lesson from the 600lb man. He owns his obesity. He goes on camera, well technically people push him in front of one, and goes, “That’s right, I’m a big fat asshole who’s gonna die in two years, but while I’m here I’m going to party my asses off. Suck my dick!” And so we should be with our companies. “That’s right, motherfuckers. I sold my soul to a corporation that makes child-sized land mines for a 6 figure salary. Suck my dick!” Always end with “Suck my dick”, or “Suck my clit!” if you’re a woman/hysterical.
Zesty Chicken
You can’t have regular chicken. No no. The last thing you want is something as bland as your work environment. You need to switch it up. Something fresh. Something exotic. But not too exotic. You want something with the moxy taste of Wishbone Italian dressing with the familiarity of chicken. Wait! Wait. What if…you put the dressing…on the chicken? Do I dare dream?! What an unholy union! Forbidden…yet alluring. Yes…yes! Ecstasy! I wonder what this would taste like on a bed of lettuce. My God! It’s a chicken salad, but zesty! ZESTY CHICKEN SALAD! In my heart rests a spark of the divine, burning forth the fires of creation! “Assistant, bring me a hamburger bun! I have an idea.” If this works then…I am! I AM A GENIUS! ZESTY CHICKEN SANDWICH! Every working man in this great land shall hail me as a GOD. No…just God. I…am…GOD!!!
-Inner monologue of the guy who invented zesty chicken, circa 1987
Thursday, March 5, 2009
The ABC's of Work, Part 2
Internships
My heart goes out to everyone who has one of these shit jobs. It’s work that pays you in experience. No no no…fuck money. Who needs it? What I want is to bust my ass doing all the horrible tasks no one else wants to do here just so I can leave this place, go somewhere else, and do the exact same thing for minimum wage. You’re the lowest of the low. Even if you’re a paid intern that works 40 hour weeks, you still don’t qualify for health benefits. The janitor and the boys in the mail room laughed at me when they found out. [read this paragraph, then read all the other times he’s mentioned how little work he does for the company he is basically ripping off, and then feel sorry for Mark. I dare you – ed.]
Japanese Men
The life cycle of a Japanese man is as such: If a boy is born into a rich family, he is groomed until the age of 30 when he takes over his fathers company that makes carbon rods for Hello Kitty dolls. If a boy is born into a poor family, he goes to school where he learns to live under stress that could unnerve an air traffic controller. He then get’s a shitty office job. All men work 15 hour days, 6 days a week, and are in loveless relationships. There is also no privacy at the office; it is much more efficient to supply one big table for everyone instead of springing for desks. So when management gets a letter from the government saying Japan’s population is declining and everyone at the office gets an email telling them to go home and fuck their subservient, emotionless wives, the collective shame is palpable. This nation of Willy Lowmans stay at their job until 97 (retirement age) and then they go off and die under a bonsai tree or something. These are the third hardest working people on earth, only behind Mexican laborers and coal miners. And they know how to make a great Hello Kitty doll.
“Keep Your Hands Off My Food!!! Thank You!!!”
Easy, Cathy. No one wants to eat your left-over Healthy Choice tuna and Mexican wild rice casserole. It smells like something one of your many, many cats would eat. Get something decent like cold pizza or a piece of cake and then you can worry about me pulling a Jesse James in the kitchenette.
Lost and Found
I suppose this isn’t limited to just the work environment, but none the less it’s a great place to pick up some free meds or a butterfly knife.
Manager
The manager. Mr. Manager, to you. The Boss Man. The one responsible for dolling out work and paychecks. He is Pharaoh and you are his slave. I never realized it until now but every work environment is a little ad hoc society. That society happens to be feudal with a caste system in place. If you ever had a shitty job and contemplated stapling your manager’s ears to the wall because of his relentless stream of bullshit then you de facto know the entire history of the French Revolution. It’s time for a workers revolution.
Oh man. See man, like, the MAN, he’s tryin’ to keep us all down, right? And like, by keeping us in the dark, he can bamboozle us out of stuff, man. He’s pullin’ the blinds right over our eyes, man! It’s the natural order, man! The MAN’s keeping us down! I can’t access any socialist websites at work! You know why? It’s the MAN, man! Ever notice how you can’t spell MANAGER without first spelling The MAN? It’s a freakin’ conspiracy! I tell you, this is one cat who ain’t getting caught! I’m blowin’ this scene, man!
I just channeled my inner 60’s hippy radical and honestly, I’m not surprised he didn’t have anything interesting to say. I’m just glad my boss isn’t reading this.
Nobody Cares
Hey guess what? Nobody cares. Nobody cares that the new clients are from the same nowhere town in Michigan your boring, uninspired ass is from. Nobody cares that the weather is supposed to be partly sunny instead of partly cloudy. Oh, your daughter made the 4th grade honor roll? Well, that’s a completely different story. Nobody gives a shit. Worst of all, nobody cares what happens to you in your personal life, even if it’s affected by shared circumstances at work.
Note: all of this does not apply for the following professions: fire fighters, military figures, and astronauts.
Office Space
It’s scary how accurate this movie is at times.
Pay Check
The best part of any job is the reward. As Thomas Jefferson once so eloquently stated; “Get money, fuck bitches, smoke trees.” Wisdom. Once you start earning a regular paycheck you start develop strange feelings. It’s like puberty all over again except this time you start having funny thoughts about stuff like insurance premiums and tax codes. “What if…what if…I’m actually…a fiscal conservative?!” Discovering something like that would be a million times worse than finding out you’re gay. Far more traumatizing.
Quitting
My heart goes out to everyone who has one of these shit jobs. It’s work that pays you in experience. No no no…fuck money. Who needs it? What I want is to bust my ass doing all the horrible tasks no one else wants to do here just so I can leave this place, go somewhere else, and do the exact same thing for minimum wage. You’re the lowest of the low. Even if you’re a paid intern that works 40 hour weeks, you still don’t qualify for health benefits. The janitor and the boys in the mail room laughed at me when they found out. [read this paragraph, then read all the other times he’s mentioned how little work he does for the company he is basically ripping off, and then feel sorry for Mark. I dare you – ed.]
Japanese Men
The life cycle of a Japanese man is as such: If a boy is born into a rich family, he is groomed until the age of 30 when he takes over his fathers company that makes carbon rods for Hello Kitty dolls. If a boy is born into a poor family, he goes to school where he learns to live under stress that could unnerve an air traffic controller. He then get’s a shitty office job. All men work 15 hour days, 6 days a week, and are in loveless relationships. There is also no privacy at the office; it is much more efficient to supply one big table for everyone instead of springing for desks. So when management gets a letter from the government saying Japan’s population is declining and everyone at the office gets an email telling them to go home and fuck their subservient, emotionless wives, the collective shame is palpable. This nation of Willy Lowmans stay at their job until 97 (retirement age) and then they go off and die under a bonsai tree or something. These are the third hardest working people on earth, only behind Mexican laborers and coal miners. And they know how to make a great Hello Kitty doll.
“Keep Your Hands Off My Food!!! Thank You!!!”
Easy, Cathy. No one wants to eat your left-over Healthy Choice tuna and Mexican wild rice casserole. It smells like something one of your many, many cats would eat. Get something decent like cold pizza or a piece of cake and then you can worry about me pulling a Jesse James in the kitchenette.
Lost and Found
I suppose this isn’t limited to just the work environment, but none the less it’s a great place to pick up some free meds or a butterfly knife.
Manager
The manager. Mr. Manager, to you. The Boss Man. The one responsible for dolling out work and paychecks. He is Pharaoh and you are his slave. I never realized it until now but every work environment is a little ad hoc society. That society happens to be feudal with a caste system in place. If you ever had a shitty job and contemplated stapling your manager’s ears to the wall because of his relentless stream of bullshit then you de facto know the entire history of the French Revolution. It’s time for a workers revolution.
Oh man. See man, like, the MAN, he’s tryin’ to keep us all down, right? And like, by keeping us in the dark, he can bamboozle us out of stuff, man. He’s pullin’ the blinds right over our eyes, man! It’s the natural order, man! The MAN’s keeping us down! I can’t access any socialist websites at work! You know why? It’s the MAN, man! Ever notice how you can’t spell MANAGER without first spelling The MAN? It’s a freakin’ conspiracy! I tell you, this is one cat who ain’t getting caught! I’m blowin’ this scene, man!
I just channeled my inner 60’s hippy radical and honestly, I’m not surprised he didn’t have anything interesting to say. I’m just glad my boss isn’t reading this.
Nobody Cares
Hey guess what? Nobody cares. Nobody cares that the new clients are from the same nowhere town in Michigan your boring, uninspired ass is from. Nobody cares that the weather is supposed to be partly sunny instead of partly cloudy. Oh, your daughter made the 4th grade honor roll? Well, that’s a completely different story. Nobody gives a shit. Worst of all, nobody cares what happens to you in your personal life, even if it’s affected by shared circumstances at work.
Note: all of this does not apply for the following professions: fire fighters, military figures, and astronauts.
Office Space
It’s scary how accurate this movie is at times.
Pay Check
The best part of any job is the reward. As Thomas Jefferson once so eloquently stated; “Get money, fuck bitches, smoke trees.” Wisdom. Once you start earning a regular paycheck you start develop strange feelings. It’s like puberty all over again except this time you start having funny thoughts about stuff like insurance premiums and tax codes. “What if…what if…I’m actually…a fiscal conservative?!” Discovering something like that would be a million times worse than finding out you’re gay. Far more traumatizing.
Quitting
We all have our ways of quitting. Some are respectful; they give their manager a 2 week notice, a good reason for leaving, and give thanks for all the opportunities they had. Some have the decency to keel over at their desk before retirement and deny their spouse pension checks. Others leave a burning paper trail in their wake as they strut down the halls butt-ass naked, flipping everyone off, screaming “take this job and shove it!” and grabbing female ex-coworkers titties. You only get to quit a job once so make it count.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
The ABC’s of Work, Part 1
Fuuuuuuuuck. I don’t want to do this. Not right now, not today. I’m still hung over and the last time I checked, Snapple’s Asian Pear Green Tea is no substitute for tomato juice and charcoal…pills or whatever. I don’t fucking know. I’m at work. God I hate work. Why can’t I be in bed? I can do my job just as well there. Work sucks.Does this sound like you? If not then you are one of the 0.00047% of people who love their job. That’s a statistical impossibility. Therefore, no one loves their job. In conclusion, you should be thinking of what I said in the first paragraph every day for the rest of your life.
There’re some things about work you should know.
Applying
What a hassle this part is. Just because 1 convicted sex offender thief who cheats on taxes got hired, now everyone under the sun gets a FBI personality profile made with a cavity search on the house. Shit, what happened to just firing someone? And the interview portion! Every question is secretly laden with enough high school pep rally belongingness to smother a cult. “Why do YOU want to be a member of the Orbital family?” Because I can’t find work as a ditch digger. Because your rival company Teletron is full of dickless, nutless faggots. Because I like monies. Gimme monies.
Bring Your Child to Work Day
Formerly the sexist “Bring your daughter to work day”. My mom always got stuck with me. She used to manage clothing stores that tailored to high-end fashion for women. Not the most appropriate place for a little boy whose hobbies included Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and fire. Every time, she would stick me in the back room with a TV, some videos, and a McDonald’s lunch. And all day I would sit there, occasionally walk back and forth, and daydream. Sometimes I would draw or doodle on whatever piece of nonsense lying around that was disposable. I was always alone. Completely alone.
I must admit that Bring Your Child to Work Day adequately prepared me for a job in the real world and I say this without a hint of sarcasm.
Customers
“This job wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the fucking customers” – Clerks
What, I gotta wake up at 7:30 and deal with people? Despite the gross insensitivity of what I’m about to suggest, this is a little trick I developed where you can fuck with customers, be totally incompetent and lazy, and everything will be completely fine. In fact the customer will be really appreciative and smile at you. Here it is: pretend to be physically handicapped. Not mentally. Physically. And be really cheerful, too.
See, no one gives a shit about Johnny Healthybody because he’s too stupid to get a real job. But if you’re little Timmy Sickwell, well then God bless your sweet, sweet, underdeveloped heart. When I worked at a bakery, I used to get shit from bitchy yuppies for pronouncing crescent “cre-sahnt” instead of the uber-french “cweh-saah!” This one time, just to fuck with people, I started walking on the side of my right foot, hunched my left shoulder up, and curled my left arm into a weak little T-Rex arm. Some dude asked for a loaf of rye sliced. Normally it would take me 45 seconds to do. This took 5 whole goddamn minutes. I couldn’t have been slower or intentionally fucked up his order worse. The bread was all rustled, the bag was sloppily tied closed, and it took far too long to prepare. The guy looked at me right in the eyes, gave the biggest smile I’ve ever seen, and said, “Thank you! You have a terrific day!” Hey you too, buddy.
Don’t Dip Your Pen in the Company Ink
I hate this phrase because it makes us sound like we are all writing memos with quill pens about the conference room schedule changing like we haven’t invented fucking electricity yet. Or it sounds like 19th century bankers would go around shtooping every co-worker, who were invariably dudes, since that was before women’s lib and the death of euphemisms. How about “don’t fuck co-workers”? Or better yet, “don’t fuck people you really shouldn’t fuck if you’re not willing to deal with the consequences of a psycho you created in an enclosed space that you can never leave”? Yeah, that’s much catchier. And it applies to high school, too.
The Economy Sucks Shit Right Now
CNN reported today that almost 700,000 jobs were lost in the month of February, the single most jobs lost in a month so far. What the hell?! How can there be so many? It’s the shortest month of the year! The market is toxic. If no one can find a conventional job soon then something tells me there will be a slight rise in demand for movies about bank robberies.
Fantasizing
I wonder what it would be like to hook up with the hot girl, or the girl who looks like a hot chick swallowed a bathtub. Or even Dianne. She’s got that whole, bossy, bitchy, librarian thing going on. What if she marched up to me one day, grabbed me by the collar and was like, “Now.” So she leads me to the supplies closet…and we are just going at it. Like we’re 15. Not like fucking or anything, but just making out really, really hard. We’re just 2nd-basing the shit out of each other. And then it all abruptly stops. She shoves me aside, marches out of the closet and doesn’t even look at me until about a month later when this whole episode repeats itself.
This is how I get through my day. I think of this stuff constantly.
Go-Getters
I hate these guys and their shitty attitude. They’d fit right in on the screen of some soviet-era communist propaganda film about meeting grain-harvesting quotas. “Work! Work ‘till you tire! And then work some more!” Hey assholes, unless you work on commission you’re not getting paid extra. You’re making the rest of us look bad and hate you. The fact is the system is so broken that my job actually encourages me to be lazy. My 3 bosses don’t need me to bother them every time I finish whatever meaningless, repetitive task they just gave me. I got fired, aka never asked to come back, from one job because I finished, literally, a week’s worth of busy work in 2 hours. Nothing points out the weakness of the job you hold by showing just how easy any idiot can do it. Are you trying to lose your job? Then stop working. Duh.
Human Relations
The guidance councilors of the work world. Every job has one. At a construction site it’s some guy named Joey who yells whenever a fight breaks out “shut the fuck up and quit bein’ dicks, ya fairies!” At my office, it’s an entire department devoted to making sure no one touches each other or declares that they will touch each other or hints at declaring that they will touch each other. So, in conclusion, human relations exists to ensure that there aren’t any.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
How I Got This Scar on My Face
There’s no better look for a guy than a big, hideous scar scrawled across the face.
I’m not kidding! Unless your nose is completely removed or you’re a burn victim or something, scars are like permanent manhood badges of honor that seriously don’t look bad at all. Here’s an example. Let’s take contemporary actor Philip Seymour Hoffman:
Alright, alright. Let’s give him a facial scar.
Whoa! Now that’s a man who lives hard! That’ll do, Seymour. Tear up those Oscars. Stomp the yard.
But what’s his story?
All scars have a story behind them, but beware. There’s a fine line between having your face mauled by a bear and that time a ceiling tile at the sewing store came loose and hit you in the face while you were looking at floral patterns. Here’s a quick list of no-no word combinations you should refrain from saying when people start asking how you became such a badass.
“Well, I was strolling through the meadow when all of a sudden…”
“My mother…”
“I reached down to find my missing Cher mixed CD when I looked up and saw a truck…”
“My porcelain teapot was boiling so much that it was rattling back and forth…”
“Those office cubicles have really sharp corners…”
“I was super scared…”
“That was the world’s meanest little snapping turtle…”
“My seaweed rap dried out and burst into flames from the hair dryer…”
“I’m sorry…”
“I should have been home instead…”
“He was right…”
“I cried…”
I’m not kidding! Unless your nose is completely removed or you’re a burn victim or something, scars are like permanent manhood badges of honor that seriously don’t look bad at all. Here’s an example. Let’s take contemporary actor Philip Seymour Hoffman:
Alright, alright. Let’s give him a facial scar.
Whoa! Now that’s a man who lives hard! That’ll do, Seymour. Tear up those Oscars. Stomp the yard.
But what’s his story?
All scars have a story behind them, but beware. There’s a fine line between having your face mauled by a bear and that time a ceiling tile at the sewing store came loose and hit you in the face while you were looking at floral patterns. Here’s a quick list of no-no word combinations you should refrain from saying when people start asking how you became such a badass.
“Well, I was strolling through the meadow when all of a sudden…”
“My mother…”
“I reached down to find my missing Cher mixed CD when I looked up and saw a truck…”
“My porcelain teapot was boiling so much that it was rattling back and forth…”
“Those office cubicles have really sharp corners…”
“I was super scared…”
“That was the world’s meanest little snapping turtle…”
“My seaweed rap dried out and burst into flames from the hair dryer…”
“I’m sorry…”
“I should have been home instead…”
“He was right…”
“I cried…”
Monday, March 2, 2009
Woah. I Missed Black History Month?
That is absurd. How can this be? I understand missing other esoteric race-based holidays like Irish Appreciation Week or Hug A Chinamen Day, but common. Hasn’t the press noticed the man living at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave? I’m pretty sure brutha is MAKING black history, for-realz.
Oh yeah, that’s right. The press was too worried on whether or not Barack Obama was bipartisan enough when passing his stimulus package. That was waaay more important to focus on that rather than the fact our economy is sinking into the ocean.
You can see how we all lost sight of black history month. To make it up to…someone, I’m going to regale you with my own pieces of personal black history.
Tigra “Blue” Coleman
I went to middle and high school with this guy. Tigra is the fucking mayor. Everyone knows him and likes him. He’s in a million bands, produced some sort of escort service for Redskins players at one point, and can “school anyone at Halo.” He taught me another word for “fuck” was “pole”. “That bitch would pole all of us,” he once said. Get it? ‘Cause your dick is like a pole rod. One time in middle school he fell asleep in english class while everyone was reading Huckleberry Fin out loud. When someone inevitably said nigger out loud, Tigra shot up and was like “Who the fuck said that?! Who said that?!” The teacher said, “Tigra, it’s in the book.” Tigra was like “oh” and then fell back asleep. I think Tigra has a brother named Damoses or Dajesus. I forget which one. Like I said, Tigra is the fucking mayor. Oh yeah, he calls me “Gold” which I think is cool.
Seaton Smith
Probably one of my favorite local comics in the DC scene. Fuck, I won’t even try to make a joke here. I’ll just let him be funny for this blurb. Oh yeah, and he’s a totally normal and reserved off stage
Michael Jackson
A few summers ago, 3 friends and I went camping on the Appalachian Trail. The ride home is only an hour or so long, so we decided to put in a Michael Jackson Greatest Hits CD (THANKS, Josh, you shmuck) and listen to the whole thing. Sure, Thriller and Beat it are great, but have you heard his turds like Where Is My Childhood and Scared of the Moon? I guess those were made when he was white, so its all good.
Um…I think that’s it. Oh yeah, Fredrick Douglas, MLK, Jesse Owens yadda yadda yadda.
Oh yeah, that’s right. The press was too worried on whether or not Barack Obama was bipartisan enough when passing his stimulus package. That was waaay more important to focus on that rather than the fact our economy is sinking into the ocean.
You can see how we all lost sight of black history month. To make it up to…someone, I’m going to regale you with my own pieces of personal black history.
Tigra “Blue” Coleman
I went to middle and high school with this guy. Tigra is the fucking mayor. Everyone knows him and likes him. He’s in a million bands, produced some sort of escort service for Redskins players at one point, and can “school anyone at Halo.” He taught me another word for “fuck” was “pole”. “That bitch would pole all of us,” he once said. Get it? ‘Cause your dick is like a pole rod. One time in middle school he fell asleep in english class while everyone was reading Huckleberry Fin out loud. When someone inevitably said nigger out loud, Tigra shot up and was like “Who the fuck said that?! Who said that?!” The teacher said, “Tigra, it’s in the book.” Tigra was like “oh” and then fell back asleep. I think Tigra has a brother named Damoses or Dajesus. I forget which one. Like I said, Tigra is the fucking mayor. Oh yeah, he calls me “Gold” which I think is cool.
Seaton Smith
Probably one of my favorite local comics in the DC scene. Fuck, I won’t even try to make a joke here. I’ll just let him be funny for this blurb. Oh yeah, and he’s a totally normal and reserved off stage
Michael Jackson
A few summers ago, 3 friends and I went camping on the Appalachian Trail. The ride home is only an hour or so long, so we decided to put in a Michael Jackson Greatest Hits CD (THANKS, Josh, you shmuck) and listen to the whole thing. Sure, Thriller and Beat it are great, but have you heard his turds like Where Is My Childhood and Scared of the Moon? I guess those were made when he was white, so its all good.
Um…I think that’s it. Oh yeah, Fredrick Douglas, MLK, Jesse Owens yadda yadda yadda.
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