The EgoDriven.Net Blogger

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff) — Sun, 03 Jan 2010 17:52:00 +0000

Today I want to start by touching upon a serious issue.

Traditionally, the EgoDriven Blogger has been an outlet to present comedy-tinged observations, anecdotes, and jokes. I can't speak for our proprietor, Mr.Johnson, but the persona that I present here (in all of its varying forms) is often not my own, but a means of squeezing the most absurdity out of a given scenario. Sometimes there's a wealth of truth and poignancy to my statements, other times there's virtually none. Confusing to the casual reader, I know... but this place is where I go to escape the doldrums of everyday life, and that's what it should be to you too. Entertainment. If you'd like to have a meaningful conversation, please feel free to e-mail me. I'm always interested in hearing other viewpoints.

Now, I know I've joked at length about this demographic, but I'm earnestly tired of the homeless epidemic in America. I'm not tired of the people, but I'm truly exhausted by how little we've done to help them. We'll hand out a treasury's worth of cash away to foreign countries, special interest groups, and people that have made poor life choices. Trillions into unjustified wars. Countless billions to poorly-managed and greedy corporations. Endless mountains of cash to those on welfare, many of whom purposefully work fewer hours just so they can afford Section 8 housing. In these circles, getting fired is often considered a positive thing given the availability of unemployment insurance! Many folks simply don't carry their weight, except by feeding the economy; purchasing bigger televisions, cars, smartphones, and narcotics using government funding.

Who takes care of the homeless? Churches, philanthropists, private charities... among others. Notice how I didn't include the United States Government in the list? I really wish I could. A concession: I don't have the answers. It's part of my belief system that one shouldn't complain about a problem unless they're willing to offer a solution. For example, I'm concerned about climate change... but my carbon footprint is a Size 21. It's not worth it to enter that debate.

However... here's one idea. The United States should give tax breaks to companies that hire homeless workers. Many homeless people are mentally incapacitated in some regard, a key reason for their economic status. I understand that. For those that are healthy and able, there should be jobs available so that they may work their way back into the community. A second chance. Tax breaks are an equitable compensation for corporations willing to take the risk of hiring these individuals.

Everyone's standard of living should improve in the 21st century. Now then...

Thoughts and Observations:

Thought: I've been studying the blues. You know, blues music. I've always had an affinity for the blues and New Orleans jazz, especially in recent years... so I was curious. Turns out, blues originated in the South back in the 1800s. Black plantation workers used music as a way of expressing their dissatisfaction with their lives and their living conditions. It was a protest of slavery, and the way that their "owners" treated them. A great, early example of using art to make a difference!

Ironically, the only time I sing the blues is when black people move into my neighborhood!

Observation: Today at work, per my usual routine, I visited the Men's Room first thing in the morning. Not that it usually smells like roses or anything, but the place was particularly rank. Inside the stall, behind the urine-spattered seat and tucked behind the toilet... I find today's Boston Globe newspaper. God knows I was tempted to read it, but my first thought was that the putrid odor in the air was emanating from that very paper. Y'ever notice that? Whenever you visit somebody's house, or enter any room and something doesn't smell quite right... you assume that it's coming from the person occupying that space. In any event, I'm pretty confident that the Globe was placed there deliberately to present a dilemma to whoever came across it.

Or perhaps I had too much coffee today.

Thought: Women, I have a revelation for you. The only reason a man will ever take you back after formally dumping you is to get his phallus properly drained. After all of the recent strides in female empowerment, do you really think it's the best idea to throw one of these cocksuckers a bone? My advice would be simple, honest, and direct: think of your body like a door. Now, I want you to slam that door on his penis. Slam it, open it, and then slam it again as hard as you possibly can. Turn that cute little knob into a throbbing stump of pain, and show that slob who's boss. Who says violence never solved anything, huh?

Pet Peeve: Tipping. Let's itemize my frustration.

A. Why do I need to tip a stylist that owns their own salon? Doesn't the base rate qualify as a full-fledged payment for services rendered? If not, what did I get for the initial $40? Half a haircut and a smattering of terrible conversation?

B. Explain this: delivery people often receive a paltry tip when compared to their waiter/waitress counterparts. Despite such factors as distance traveled, environmental conditions, mileage, and usually fewer customers per hour. Given the duties of each position, I'd understand a slight discrepancy. It's jarring, though.

C. Your tips are based on the cost of what you ordered. So, if you went to a restaurant where the average entree cost $50, you'd be expected to pay significantly more than if you were dining at Denny's. Even if the quality of services was identical. It doesn't seem right.

D. Do the math and you'll quickly discover that, unless business is dead, wait staff tend to pull in upwards of $30 per hour in tips. Oftentimes much more. So, why is it that I get accosted whenever I skimp in this regard? And by skimp, I mean drop below 20%. Have y'all forgotten the purpose of tips? Maybe the next item can help.

E. If you want to initiate a market correction in the world of gratuity, try this. Start your server off at 10%, and add a percentage point whenever they do something of worth. Refill your water, unprovoked? 1 point. Recite the specials? 1 point. Get your order right the first time? 2 points. Provide the check the same day that you request it? 5 points. If the waiter was worth their salt, they'll likely end up with the standard 15-20% tip. However, if the service was lousy, consider a .15% tip. There's no better way to drive your point home than to move it two spaces to the left.

Report: In the sexual marketplace, I'm what's known as a top-notch service provider. In a survey of 279 women in Q4 2009, my overall approval rating was just under 86%. Taking several factors into consideration, including varied tastes in what qualifies as premium sex, I'm pretty confident in my services and expect an increased dividend yield in the next fiscal year. According to a survey of 165 subscribers in Q1 2010, 78% feel like the word "whore" is terribly overrated. Of those 78%, only 43% have an STD. Of those STDs, only 35% are life-threatening. Analysts say my futures are looking bright.

Good Idea: Planning your child's birth for a leap year. February 29th! Ah, that'll fuck 'em up but good. "When's your birthday, little Jimmy?"

"I don't know."

Factoid: My brother has been pursuing a Master's in Clinical Psychology for several years now, after dabbling in a few other fields as a sophomore. In a very tender moment this past weekend, he divulged that he began this journey because of me. I didn't know that I could be such an inspiration! It really warms the heart.

Thought: My condolences to those we lost in Haiti this year. But! It prompted Radiohead and several other major artists to perform concerts to raise money for the relief effort. Truth be told, it almost makes me wish for another earthquake. Maybe Led Zeppelin will come out next! Hmm... perhaps I could plant a dirty bomb in the Mall of America and get Pink Floyd to reunite. Ah, sometimes you have to make your own fun.

Did You Know? Thomas Edison didn't really invent the light bulb, Alexander Graham Bell didn't really invent the telephone, and Al Gore didn't really invent the internet.

Thought: Y'ever find yourself in a situation where you're directly beside your significant other... perhaps even holding them... and then somebody comes over and begins speaking to one of you? But not both of you. In fact, they're giving off the impression that they don't see one of you at all. No acknowledgment whatsoever. What am I, some sort of unsightly parasite?

Observation: 78-year-old actor Rip Torn recently committed career suicide by getting blind drunk and trying to rob a bank in a bathrobe and slippers. On the bright side, his career was already dead after appearing in Men In Black 2.

Things You Never See: A homeless guy driving a car.

Uh oh! So I was hanging with a friend the other night, and we wanted to drink from my flask of Peppermint Schnapps. But it was stuck! So she came up with the idea of using a lighter to loosen the cap. Good thing I stopped her, hah. I'm not sure what would have happened, but it probably would have involved hot minty shrapnel and a ration of pure liquid suffering.

Thought: Some network sitcoms, from the pilot forward, have heavy laugh-tracks. I pose this question: how can a studio audience be so intimately familiar with a character's eccentricities that they laugh hysterically during the very first moments of a new series? I would imagine that a show's audience, in reality, should really begin to elevate their laughter a few episodes in. You know, when they've actually become familiar with the show's sense of humor! These are the things that pass through my idle mind when I'm not horny enough to masturbate.

Helpful Tip: When I first started my previous job, I would often find my food stolen right out of the refrigerator! Mostly things like sodas, which were already opened. I wondered to myself, why would somebody feel compelled to take somebody's half-consumed beverage? Isn't this just a wee bit irresponsible? So, I began putting a polite little Post-It note on my food that stated "Do not touch. I have been diagnosed with HIV." That curbed the thievery pretty fucking quick.

Observation: Going on haircut alone? Hitler was a pretty cool dude.

A Day In The Life: I was at a lounge recently when a tipsy, middle-aged woman came up to me. She smiled and whispered breathily in my ear that "I'm a beautiful man" and that I "look like Jesus Christ." My response? "Yeah, tobacco-breath... and Jesus was celibate."

Thought: Growing up, I recall my Uncle Steve telling me about his experience as a Boy Scout leader. "Girl Scouts is where I get my cookie, Boy Scouts is where I get my nookie." Hah, he was always such a card.

About Me: I've been thumb-wrestling with my penis lately. Guess who's been winning, homeslice? Me! I've been kicking his ass, in fact. Hey, you know what they say: the bigger they are, the harder they fall.

Good Idea: Wanna buy a bible? No? Ah, shit. I'm batting 0-for-203 now. Bad investment.

So hey, I've decided that I want to be a priest. A priest that fucks a lot of women. I'm aware that there are positions available that would facilitate this desire, such as a reverend or minister... but no! It has to be "priest." I feel that with such a well-defined goal in mind, I should be able to pull it off. Once I'm bored of the concept, perhaps I'll sell it to HBO. Hum... perhaps I could be a priest that only fucks dead women. Ah, I should pitch this one to the SHOWTIME network instead.

Necrophilia, such an intriguing concept. I'm interested, but where are the women dying for this cause? Maybe I should start selling bibles again, and court the fundamentalist Christians. Perhaps we can make their trip to Heaven mutually beneficial! But yeah, necrophilia is tough. Pedophilia is much easier. Cruise them middle schools and name-drop Edward Cullen a few times? You're bound to hit gold, and without getting any blood on your hands! Well, maybe a little.

Driving: I don't give a French-fried fuck if somebody died in a car accident. They were clearly driving too fast and not paying attention to changing road conditions, and thus they deserve exactly what they got. Shards of windshield permanently embedded in what's left of their face, a shattered ribcage, a dwindling array of teeth, a downsized family... it doesn't matter to me. I'm already 10 minutes late for work, so shuffle that debris to the side and let's get rolling.

Thought: I had two sex dreams last night. Most of the time I'm lucky if I have one in a given month, but last night I had two. The first one is pretty cut and dry, I fucked Fiona Apple. A childhood friend embodied by Fiona Apple. Spectacular, yes, but cut and dry. The other dream was a little more mysterious. My imagination conjured up a gal, and we played. I can't really define who she is, though! I think she was randomly generated, like a dungeon in an old video game. Except I've never planted my warm seed in a video game's filthy little asshole.

A Day In The Life: I was sitting at work last month when I received a text message from a good friend. "Wanna sext later?" she asks.

Who asks that? Just like the carnal act itself, shouldn't you skip the bullshit and just do it? Anyway, we do end up sexting here and there throughout the day. I'll be honest, cybering has never done it for me. I have trouble taking it seriously. Anyway, in the evening I go out to dinner. Mexican. I'm waiting for my table, sipping a Margarita at the bar, and I pick up the sexting again. You know, to pass the time. A short while later, as I'm enjoying a delicious Salsa Con Queso... she asks me if I'm masturbating. Apparently she is! I say no, I'm out at a restaurant indulging in fine Mexican cuisine. A few minutes pass. Eventually she texts me back, saying that she just came. I told her that I too had just finished.

My Chicken Enchilada.

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff) — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 13:58:00 +0000

Thoughts, Observations, and Solutions:

Word of the Decade: ANTITRUST.

Pixar's UP is now available on DVD and Blu-Ray. When I saw it in the theater, I thought it was a triumph in filmmaking. Beautiful, funny, and heart-rending. It deserves serious consideration for Best Picture. However, I do have one interesting observation about it. For those who are familiar with the film, it is one of Disney's most unabashedly real family films. Absolute tragedy strikes in the film's [masterful] first 10 minutes, with death a looming theme. In fact, everything is going south for poor old Carl until the first instance of fantasy about 25 minutes in, in which he makes his house float like a blimp using hundreds of helium-inflated balloons. Using that plot device, UP does a complete 180.

From tragic to uplifting. No pun intended!

Without that departure from reality, he would probably have died... sad and alone. A burnt out shell of his once-youthful self. I think this is a great example of augmented reality helping out a storyline, but there are other interpretations as well. For example, did Carl really make his house float with balloons protruding from his fireplace? It should be noted that this tired old fart gets nimbler as the movie progresses, to the point of being a borderline action hero. There's so much feel-good wish fulfillment in this movie that upon leaving the theater, I was convinced that the dying Carl dreamed the whole thing up. Flying houses, Carl's now-centurian childhero hero alive and living in the mountains, a nearly crippled old man fulfilling his wife's last wishes by traveling across the world in an aeronautical Victorian... talking dogs! I'm amazed that I haven't heard this theory anywhere else on the internet.

Ultimately, it makes me wish that we could inject some fantasy into the lives of real nursing home occupants. A chance to give them one last adventure and a way to make things right, even if it's all in their heads. Perhaps virtual reality will one day provide such an escape. In any event, I intend to live my life right the first time.

Pranks You Shouldn't Pull: Replacing somebody's entire stash of personal lubricant with Frank's RedHot.

Solution: Y'ever have a fart that rubs you just the right way? I call that a fartgasm. It's a pleasurable experience, much like pushing a 32oz sirloin through your bowels and past your G-spot. As lumbersome as a 12-pack of ping pong balls or a pint of cement, but significantly less dangerous! Personally, I'd love to use a Snickers bar to massage my prostate... but that'd create a startling visual ambiguity that I'm not prepared for.

Another thing: As an earthy, tactile person, I like to liven up my masturbation. For years I've looked to the internet, as its Pornography Tree bears much fruit. Money doesn't grow on trees, true, but pr0n does... and that tree is on Interweb Hill. Here's what I like to do. To really set the scene for POV videos, I keep a bowl of fresh fish nearby. Preferably flounder. Just the smell of that underwater denizen puts me right in the moment. If I'm watching a slightly more rotund woman getting reamed, a quick and easy form of Smell-o-Vision can be achieved by simply giving myself a shit mustache. Nothing says realism like the rank odor of somebody's sphincter, up close and personal!

Observation: Jazz Apples™. Maybe I'm daft, but this company may be the first I've seen using infidelity as a marketing device.

"Fool around on your fries!" "Cheat on your chocolate!"

Admittedly, it's cute. I'm just a concerned about the future of monogamy if even mainstream advertising is beginning to accept alternatives. I love polyamory, I do... but what's next? Mickey Mouse eating out Daisy Duck while Minnie is at work? Prince Charming finding a good lay that'll stay over past midnight? Aladdin sneaking out on Jasmine at 3AM to pound some gypsy under the moonlight? We can only hope.

Thought: A fling is a little like a test drive. Or a trial subscription.

"Ah, you can try 1 or 2 body parts out tonight...

...Oh, you know what? Why don't I just give you a free trial?"

Observation: It's 15 degrees, windy, and the Salvation Army guy is standing 5 feet outside of Shaw's, ringing a fucking bell for pocket change. There is a lot of wrong happening here. First of all, it's the 21st century. Hell, the noughties are over. Why the bell? Second thing, why can't this poor bastard stand inside the building? As it stands, he's basically a glorified street beggar.

Thought: A few weeks ago, I informed y'all that I'm working for a financial company now. I'm a customer service representive for a mutual fund settlement administration. Basically, a shareholder gets a court settlement check in the mail, and I have to tell them what to do with it. Fun shit. Notably because most of the callers are either geriatric, or yuppies so far up their own ass that they can't breathe properly. It hasn't been all bad, though, as occasionally I get really entertaining callers. They fall into one of two categories:

A. Belligerent, misinformed whorebags. Typically I have nothing but "bad" news for them, and thus they're pissed to high heaven and there's not a thing that their dead god can do for them. Yet they continue to whine and moan, while I'm obligated to maintain a professional tone over the phone. You learn early on in training for the CSR position to "kill customers with kindness." Well... killing is fun.

B. Really cool, down-to-earth folks. It makes sense, doesn't it? But sometimes they go the extra mile, and keep you smiling for the duration of the call. Like the couple that wanted to have their payment check reissued, but unfortunately needed authorization from the woman's ex-husband. The same ex-husband that apparently never forwards his ex-wife's mail when he receives it, regardless of the importance. The very same man that pisses on his ex's flowers every time he is in the neighborhood, including the time he flung an entire gallon of urine at her front porch on Thanksgiving. I think his name was Roberto Gonzalez.

Roberto, where ever you are... thanks.

Solution: Christmas is over, but here's a helpful tip for next year that I've employed time and time again. Don't know what to get your loved ones? Before that big family gathering, hit up Whole Foods and grab a fistful of gift cards! Make sure to include multiple retailers in random denominations, whatever you can afford. When it's time to unwrap the presents, just shuffle and deal 'em like playing cards! If you're adept at doing tricks, even better. This way you won't be stressed over holiday shopping, and you'll be seen as charming and spontaneous.

Thus everybody's happy! I know my cousin Tom loved his $50 gift certificate at Forever 21.

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff) — Sun, 06 Dec 2009 05:38:00 +0000

Thoughts and Observations:

My Uncle Bill is a swell guy. You wouldn't know it if you looked at him, but Uncle Bill? He's lived enough to fill several lifetimes! In his 53 years... he's slept with over 3,000 women (despite being in a monogamous marriage for the past 25 years!) had 50 different girlfriends during his army tour in Korea, spoke candidly to Paul McCartney on the phone during the recording of Abbey Road, owned 30 cats (one at a time!) and broken countless promises to his nieces and nephews! It's OK, Uncle Bill, I didn't want that moped, go-kart, treehouse, and fully restored 1967 Chevrolet Camaro anyway! Helpful Tip: Don't let Uncle Bill know if you're gay! If you do he'll call you a cock-sucking faggot for 2 minutes, right before he tears your face off with a dinner fork!

Observation: Why are actors and musicians so alluring, notably on stage? I think it's because they're in their element. How often do you get to meet a potential new love interest having already seen them at the peak of their powers, effortlessly showcasing their craft? Ideally, a performer embodies confidence on a stick. Is that gonna be a turn-on? Absolutely.

Thought: Farting when you get out of the shower defeats the entire purpose. You need to get all of the dirty stuff out of the way before cleaning up. That way, you're able to savor complete cleanliness for a little while longer. Otherwise, you're just a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. Plus, there's nothing worse than a wet fart. Dry farts spatter less.

Words: "duress" and "distress." I know that they have slightly different meanings in the dictionary, but they're almost identical. They even have similar spelling! Why do we need two? Another minor quibble I have is when people use the word "grouping" as a noun. It's not a grouping, Mr.Wizard, it's a group. Stop needlessly expanding words.

Thought: I could play a vampire on TV. Going by pop culture's standard of what a human leech looks like... I've got the complexion, the facial structure, the haircut, the physique, and even the style! Absolutely. I am a vampire. Helpful Tip: Women love it when you go down on them during their period!

Observation: Y'ever say something to compliment somebody, but accidentally put the words just a little out of order and the meaning is somehow completely reversed? It happens more often than you think. Isn't the English language great?

Helpful Tip: Men everywhere, put down your razors! In the quest to shave your crotch, Nair is your most trusted companion. It's much easier, and the chances of you digging a blade into your johnson drop significantly. I just Naired my ballsack this morning! Now it's so smooth that I feel an uncanny urge to suck on it myself. If only that were possible.

People That Need to Get Laid:

1. Straight women that "marry" their girlfriends on Facebook.
2. Pretty much anybody that works at a pharmacy.
3. Everybody in the Rocky Horror Picture Show shadowcasting community.

Helpful Tip: This is for the guys. Y'ever notice how when you have to take a dump, things seem more fun and interesting? Or how you get a mild orgasm when you drop a few Lincoln logs in the ol' water closet? It's all about your prostate, gentlemen. Remember, it's not just for getting cancer! Now, you can use this information to your advantage if you'd like. One suggestion I have is to hold a big load in your ass whenever you're doing something terribly unfun... like clothes shopping with the Misses! The only problem you'd face is that if you had the runs and accidentally let loose while you were trying on some new trousers. Still, the whole experience would be a lot more invigorating, and you could always just put the soiled garment back on the shelf with the other pants. Inject a little spice into the day of the next person to try 'em on! Right? Right.

Observation: I've noticed that when most people assume they're about to be hit by something, their first instinct is to close their eyes and brace for impact. Isn't that a little sad? I'm surprised that more people don't think to dodge. Ah, we're used to laying down and taking a beating in today's America. Maybe it's not such a surprise.

Tips For Dating:

1. Never lie about your cock size to a potential sex partner. "Wait, hold on... stop... stop. This isn't 9 inches... I don't want a liar cumming inside me!" "TOO LATE, BABY."

2. In online dating, usually your potential dates will be using what they believe is the best picture they have available to represent themselves. So if that picture looks like an aborted whale fetus, well... you should probably keep moving.

3. You got a woman's phone number. Score! But now it's time to schedule your first real date, and there's a world of errors to be made here. My suggestions for avoiding them: no movies, no extremely loud bars, no inviting/meeting friends, and no daytime dates! If you want your penis to shrivel up like a newborn pug, try going on a date at 2PM.

Observation: Pedestrians have no speed regulations. There are no sidewalk lanes, signs, or signal lights to hinder things... but everybody walking in front of you is always just a bit too slow anyway. Innit great?

Gift Registries. A great idea that's been implemented very well. I only have one giant suggestion: buy early while the selection is good! Otherwise, you're gonna be stuck bringing a gift-wrapped box of spoons to somebody's wedding shower. The only possible upside? You'll have cause to ask the bride-to-be, "Wanna spoon?" The sad part is that people will actually laugh at that.

Thought: Cities are great. I live near a major city and as such I tend to spend most of my nightlife there. Unfortunately, cities always have more homeless people. Good fucking grief. You can't walk 3 feet in historic Cambridge, MA without a filthy bum begging you for a couple of coins. But ah, good news! I've solved this little dilemma. How? By telling 'em God's honest truth! "I'm sorry sir, but we're in the debit card renaissance. If there's any other way I can help, I want you to know I'm here for you." Then I slam him over the head with an Obama '08 campaign sign and continue on my way. An eye for an eye.

Canadian Geese: I started a new job this past week with a major financial institution. On Tuesday, I was driving through their parking lot and happened to notice a car stopped in the right lane. I looked more closely and saw that the driver was waiting for a whole flock of Canadian geese to cross the street. Majestic, majestic creatures. It was around this moment that my car suddenly jerked and my wheel began thumping loudly. God damned speed bumps. It sounded like my rotor had been knocked loose. Fuck! So I'm driving to my parking spot, wheel still thumping, and for some reason everybody's staring at me. I'm very pretty, so it's not completely unexpected. I had a fun day of operations training, and a delicious cranberry walnut chicken salad for lunch. Mmm mmm good. When I returned to my vehicle later that afternoon, I found a damned near unrecognizable goose carcass wedged tightly in my wheelwell. Forty-five pounds of dried blood, flesh, bone fragments, and just the most delicate feathers I've ever seen... smattered all over the front-left side of the car. Thankfully, I was able to extract most of the goose's skeleton from my brakes with a simple tree branch, and the Bubble Circus Car Wash handled the rest.

I'm so glad my rotor is OK.

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff) — Sun, 06 Dec 2009 00:22:00 +0000

Pet Peeves:

Sarah Palin. What the fuck, OK? She destroyed an old man's dream of becoming president, and now her supporters want to reward her. First, the book deal; either they hired a talented ghostwriter or it's a piece of scat. Critics seem to be leaning toward the latter. There have been rumblings about a talk show for a while, too. Doesn't that involve public speaking? Isn't that how she got in trouble in the first place? I think she should stick to her element and go back to a non-verbal medium, like modeling. Look at the bright side, sweetie... men nationwide still want to ejaculate all over your face. That's more than we can say about Joe Biden, right?

While we're on the subject of ejaculation, I'm getting really tired of overproduced porn. Ask most men and they'll tell you that "pr0n" (as internet users love to call it) is their substitute for sex. Now, is sex the cleanest act you can think of? No! In fact, I'm going to wager 3 vibrating eggs and a double-pronged pink dildo that one big appeal of sex for most people is to escape the hyper-sterilized world we live in. With this in mind, why do so many pornos contain women that appear to be plastic? I've seen assholes so clean that you could eat a fruit salad out of there without getting pinkeye! Is this realistic? No! Personally, I prefer my fantasies to emulate reality as closely as possible... lest they become too far-fetched. However, it goes both ways. Y'ever watch a porno so unflinchingly gross that it turned you off of sex for a month? I've been a victim. On an entirely unrelated note: ladies, please... lay off the seafood before anal sex. A helpful tip from a helpful person.

Modern radio: Like an infected cunt. Yeah, we keep coming back. It's a pussy after all and any man, regardless of orientation... can't resist a good pussy. But! Immediately we realize that it is truly diseased, and leave once again. Me? I'm safe in the comfort of my iPod. My iPod that is 100% free of Kings of Leon, praise Jesus. Here's my beef: the continued celebration of pop stars who do nothing but produce dreck. I'm looking at you, Rob Thomas. Yes, there's a large paycheck involved. So? America's IQ is steadily dropping for a miriad of reasons, and I see no reason to exclude cookie-cutter pop and atrocious "butt rock" from this. True fact: Rock chart-blazer Chris Daughtry names Nickelback's Chad Kroeger as his hero. Enough said.

Another radio pet peeve of mine: rock stations that continue to play the same fucking "classic" songs over and over and over again. Does it matter if the artist is a one-hit wonder? Nah, they're probably better known than the other 90% of musicians that actually produce high-quality, innovative work. Familiarity is comforting, but come on folks! A good example would be Blind Melon, or Bush. Bush was a low-rent ripoff of Nirvana, and yet they still get played every day on rock radio. I can understand classic rock stations playing the same Rolling Stones or Boston or Zeppelin songs every day for 30 years, but that's because those bands accomplished something. Those bands are timeless. The only thing Bush accomplished was its frontman getting in some actress's pants before his candle burnt out. Keep an eye on the tabloids: his relationship with Gwen Stefani is gonna be on deathwatch soon if it isn't already. Like that dopey fuck from the Black Crowes! He ain't tappin' Kate Hudson anymore, surprise surprise.

Toaster Strudel commercials: "It's better than a Pop-Tart!" Same fucking thing, less frosting. Next.

Attention: People who use Facebook solely as a promotional device for their careers! I'm coming to Christmas, and I'm going to light your parents on fire. God, some of these self-promoting and/or boastful status updates make me want bad things to happen. Here's a status update for you: nobody gives a fuck about your status. Kay? The one reprieve I have is Facebook's ever-evolving Hide function. Don't want to hear from somebody? Hide from them! Just like in the real world.

People that use complicated synonyms to get across simple ideas. For one, additional syllables are inefficient. Secondly, it could simply confuse people. Like that time I invited my mother to see a play with me. "I'ma go to the playhouse and watch the thespians do their thing, Ma." She never saw another play with me again! And note that in the case of "thespian" versus "actor," the latter has fewer syllables and its meaning is self-explanatory. I don't need a pretentious cocksucker trying to prove to me that they're smart with seldom-used language that's not universally known. It's elitist and pointless.

Yuppies. Why don't we take these ingrates out of the voting class already?

ATM fees. Didn't the bailout earn these companies enough money? Bank of America doesn't need $3 every time I run into another fuckwad that can't take a debit card. The space between the upper 1% and the rest of us is widening. To stop this travesty, ATM fees need to be the first casualty.

People who talk in the movie theater. Mostly the people that say lines from the movie, either directly after the actor says it... or in some cases beforehand. I just want to vigorously abort their unborn children.

Lukewarm food. Most notably meat during the holidays. It seems that every single Christmas gathering, I have to deal with pork that apparently traveled 35 miles through the snow getting from the stove to my plate. Maybe it's just me, but I like things either hot or cold. Don't give me lukewarm sushi unless you want me to upchuck on your brand-new loafers. Pizza's another good example: fresh out of the oven, it's as if God himself came in my mouth. After a night in the refrigerator, it generates a similar effect. Anywhere in between... I'd rather eat out a homeless man's asshole.

Right To Life. From anti-abortion lobbyists to seatbelt laws, from opponents of suicide to proponents of life support... everybody wants to make law what should be a choice. I'm tired of getting in the car and hearing a ration of shit from some backseat driver about how I should be wearing my God damned seatbelt. Here's the rub, Scruba Dub... it's my life. I decide how I'm going to live it. Seatbelts are uncomfortable and aren't 100% reliable in every situation. It's not a necessary precaution unlike, say, a breathing apparatus during a deep sea dive. If I'm going to be in control of 2 tons of moving death, I should be able to control what's happening inside the vehicle. Especially if it relates to me and only to me. What business is it of the government's if I want to passively risk my health? They haven't outlawed smoking, have they?

Staying on the same topic, I'll make this point succinctly: suicide is a viable alternative. Do I want to commit suicide? No. Should somebody with family responsibilities commit suicide? No. But pulling the plug should always be a legal option for a consenting individual.

Dead ends on Google. Scenario: You have a question, and... yes! You find a link to where somebody already asked that question... but they didn't get an answer. And the timestamp is sometime in 2003. Fuck! Another web-related thing that bugs me: sites that refuse to load solely because their sponsors won't properly load. Bleh.

Being called exclusively by my last name in a regular social setting. This is childhood stuff, but back then it had a purpose. If you were on the school football team, your surname was your sole means of visual identification on the field. Look, folks... we're not in grade school anymore. If you want to be my friend, call me Jeff. "Tidwell" is extremely impersonal, and frankly I consider it a light form of antagonism.

Ambiguity and flat-out lying in the dating world... especially when trends start to emerge. Now, I won't lie: over the years I've had a healthy sex life. I enjoy a quality nightlife, a respectable portion of my dates ending in base hits; a solid percentage in which I've slid into home plate. I'm enjoying myself while being respectful towards whoever I'm with... which is more than many people can claim. That said, I am tired of making plans with somebody only to have them cancel last minute. Sometimes I literally have to make plans with several entries in my little black book for the same timeframe in the hopes that one of them will actually go out, and not leave me calling my friends.

Here's what I find the most troubling: specific excuses have become trendy!

1. "I'm getting sick." They often tell me this many days in advance.

2. "I have friends coming in from out of town." I virtually never have friends in from out of town, and if I did, it wouldn't be with alarming consistency. Women sometimes use this excuse 2-3 weekends in a row, clearly diluting its believability and showing just how much they care.

3. "I have a lot of cleaning to do." On a Saturday night.

Look, this goes for both genders: if you're not interested, say you're not interested. The sooner the better, because personally? I always have another 5-10 women lining up to sit on my cock and I don't need you eating up my schedule with bullshit. If you're not that into somebody, don't lead them on. I can't speak for you gals out there... but men get rejected a lot. We can handle it. As I've said in the past, we've formed this culture of nice and it's holding us back as a species. Don't be afraid to tell it like it is. Allow me to lead by example!

"Your teeth look like somebody bashed in a badger's skull, your dye job is the color of a failed Sno-Cone, and I can smell your putrid secretions from here."

...

"What? Look honey, I know I'm acting like a prick. I'm a professional actor. Don't try to compromise my artistic integrity! Oh, and one last thing sweetheart...

You're not 12 anymore. Lose the fucking glitter."

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff) — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 22:24:00 +0000

Driving:

Parking tickets are my favorite thing. Aren't meter maids just the most polite people you've ever met? Nah. But sometimes they're real litigious cocksuckers, like the time I got a $115 parking ticket in New York City in a zone where you normally pay $3 for three hours of parking. Why the $112 penalty? Isn't that a bit excessive? Another example would be the time I racked up a $25 ticket in Cambridge, MA in under 2 minutes. The meter maid had to have seen me park, and decided to nail me right there. I appealed the charge to no avail, of course. Another pet peeve in this area would be people that parallel-park with no concept of spacial relations. Anybody that eats parking spaces, especially in a crowded city area with limited parking, can eat me.

Pedestrians are fantastic too. Namely those that seem to think that Red means GO and Green means STOP. I'm about ready to put some of these degenerates in a wheelchair for life. No joke. But! I can't be too vindictive, as we're all pedestrians at some point during the day... and frankly they're not all bad. If you drive around Manhattan, despite the dense population, you'll find that commuters there are very astute. They follow crosswalks, obey traffic laws, and generally regard cars as the 2-ton killing machines that they are. Ah, yes... I travel around in a certifiable weapon. That makes me happy.

Backseat drivers. I'll admit, I enjoy driving. I do. That said, unless I'm explicitly driving for recreational purposes (such as off-road adventuring, racing, or good old-fashioned pedestrian hunting) I prefer to get where I'm going and forgo any further discussion on how I'm getting there. Basically, if you have nothing to say that will improve the quality of our shared driving experience and don't want to drive yourself? You can shut the fuck up. Your life is my hands! I'm already going 50 in a 30 with one hand on my iPod and the other on my cell phone. Do you really think it's wise to distract me right now?

Regarding speed zones: in driving class we learned about The Fundamental Speed Law. To refresh some of you, you must follow the posted speed limit unless conditions warrant a different speed. Now, their best example is that when it's snowing you should lower your speed. People tend to disregard the opposite end of the spectrum. If every car on the highway is going 90MPH, you have to go 90MPH! That's how I like to roll.

By the way... y'ever been stuck behind somebody in traffic for so long that you begin to think you recognize their license plate? For an idle moment, you're thinking that "This is familiar! This person must live on my street!" ... despite the fact that it's clearly been registered out-of-state. Total mindfuck. Usually for me it's a Connecticut plate, which may or may not tie into my theory that everybody is somehow originally from Connecticut!

One thing I truly hate is unattentive drivers. Especially the type that are anxious to get to their next destination without planning their trip accordingly. In today's increasingly busy commute, you need to be sharp! Strategic lane choices, alternate route plotting, speed modulating, hazard awareness! I'm including buses under "hazards" because I can't tell you how many cocksuckers seem to willingly get behind a bus only to dangerously pull out into passing traffic because they're "in a hurry." If you're in a hurry, you don't get behind a fucking bus. Hazard awareness is key.

To close this topic, I'd like to "get serious" and talk about something that happens to all of us at some point. Towing. Specifically an incident that occurred only a few months back in which my iPod was stolen by a towing "specialist." I could go into immaculate detail, but I'll spare you... saying only that D&D Towing of South Boston, MA is a [mostly] inconsiderate company that forced me into Small Claims Court because they decided to hire and re-hire a known criminal. The moral of the story: never leave valuables in the car when somebody has unrestricted access to it. No restrictions inevitably lead to corruption, and I've been reading reports from all over the internet about towing companies that damage, steal from, and generally misuse vehicles while taking zero responsibility.

In my case, the driver had an accomplice (which he later denied having) thus forcing me to take public transportation home, given no room in their passenger cab. This is what I call the legal black hole in which one party can be infinitely fucked. Hypothetically they could have emptied my car of every single item, and legally they'd be in the same place: my word against theirs. I enter court in January to dispute this claim. Here's hoping that justice prevails.

Now a joke to lighten the mood,

What do you call a cheap prostitute in Chinatown? Yu-Fuk Fre Li.

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff) — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 03:10:00 +0000

Thoughts and Observations:

Words: "Sizeable." When used regularly, it implies that something is large. But at face value, shouldn't it mean that something can be sized? And just because somebody can be sized doesn't mean that it's necessarily huge. "Bob's penis is sizeable, and we've determined that it is a Small!"

Sorry Bob, that's modern English for you. Here's another item of interest.

"Contemplating." Why is this the word people always use in association with suicide? Can't people deliberate over whether or not to commit suicide, or decide, or determine? Couldn't you mull over suicide, or ponder it? How about "I'm thinking about committing suicide!" Simple and direct. Or perhaps you could consider suicide. "I'm considering suicide." Stop giving "contemplating" the graveyard shift already.

Observation: Most women don't deserve me. Yeah, that makes me sound narcissistic... but they know it. I often hear the more religious ones whisper prayers in my presence!

"God, what did I do to deserve this?"

Thought: Men's deodorant and body spray smell like semen. AXE is the worst offender. Don't believe me? Fill your bathroom waste basket with cum-soaked toilet paper after a week of jerking off. The odor will be faintly reminiscent of the fragrance aisle at CVS. Seriously... Old Spice smells like somebody came in a flower. Gentlemen! Let's not get ahead of ourselves, huh?

Good Idea: A retirement home with a funeral parlor located in the North Wing. "Hey Carl, where'd Phil go?" ... "Ah, they transferred him to th' North Wing."

Observation: As far as I can tell, there is only one Baldwin brother. The others are imperfect clones. Daniel is even melting, slowly but surely. His career certainly is, anyway.

Thought: I am starting to get really creeped out by how much Tyler Perry likes to dress up like his grandma. I thought it was a passing phase, but it's not. He doesn't need to be that character anymore, he's proven himself in other areas! For example... his absolutely riotous, Seinfeld-killing sitcoms on TBS. Is it possible that he might have some weird fetish? I'm voting 1 for "yes."

"FUCK ME IN MAH GRAMMY ASS!"

Aesop's Fables. Aesop had a crackerjack concept, you have to admit. He simply took the God out of the Old Testament... and marketed the remaining parables. Just like seedless watermelons. Brilliant.

Good Idea: Rape contracts! I can't claim credit for this one. I actually encountered a girl with one of these a few years ago. All in all, it can be a pretty safe bet and fun for both partners! You can make them as detailed as you want, though it can get a little hairy with all of the stipulations. "YOU CAN FUCK MY ANUS RAW, BEAT MY FACE TO A THROBBING PULP, AND CUM IN MY EYES... BUT IF YOU CARESS MY NECK, I SWEAR TO GOD..." You don't even need verbal consent in this regard, just make sure everything is stated in the fine print and properly notarized by the lady!

Now, you're probably asking... why would one want to rape somebody? Legally absolved or not? Two reasons. A. A lot of women desire to be raped in a controlled environment. Don't ask. B. It's such a rush, you know? You're clutching a rape contract scribbled in Crayola on a dinner napkin, you're high as a kite on angel dust, and the safe word is "KEEP GOING."

Such a rush.

Oops! Some waiter in Florida came onto a dude's oysters. The poor guy couldn't tell the difference. Nobody knew until the waiter blogged about it.

Pancakes and syrup. Ironically two of the cheapest food components to purchase, and arguably the most delicious. Factoid: Did you know that Aunt Jemima was a slave? Yup! And circa the Emancipation Proclamation, she took her wonderful maple syrup recipe and sold it on her own, becoming a successful entrepreneur. Then her former owner got jealous and shot her in the face with a revolver. His family owns the company to this day.

Helpful Tip: If you're an inmate, lube yourself before you go to bed. In the event that you're assaulted and raped in your sleep, it won't hurt nearly as much. Like the Boy Scout motto says, "Be Prepared." In fact... now that I think of it, a former Boy Scout leader gave me this tip!

Tiger Woods. Why does the public need to be so involved in his personal life? Is it because he's a role model? That begs the question: why is he a role model? Is it because he's an amazing golfer? Is it because he's a black billionaire? I understand that those are in short supply, but look at it this way. Vijay Singh is an amazing golfer and he's black, and nobody gives a fuck.

Are people's personal lives so boring that they need to embellish the shortcomings of a rich person's and then report it ubiquitously to make themselves feel better? Aren't there more important things to talk about than who a billionaire athlete decides to sleep with? If we had focused on how many women Wilt Chamberlain had fucked in the 1960s, I'm positive that he wouldn't be remembered for his basketball legacy. Separate the art from the artist: Tiger is a great golfer. As a family man, he's a miscreant... but it's not my family so it's not my business. The only time I want to see his face in the newspaper is when I flip to the Sports section. Danke.

Sidebar: I'm counting the days until 2009 is over so we can finally close the book on JON AND KATE PLUS 8. A New Year's resolution for television executives: we don't want our TV stars more realistic. If I want to see a couple of miserable commoners and their ugly children, I'll go to the mall. As far as their massive media exposure during the summer was concerned, I have to admit I was a bit perplexed. Since when are a lifeless shitbag and an abrasive cunt news?

I thought that was what being American was all about!

noreply@blogger.com (Josh) — Fri, 24 Jul 2009 18:28:00 +0000

A surprisingly large number of men enter emergency rooms every week with items lodged in their arses. Like, if we're looking national, the number is double-digits. As if that isn't odd enough, almost all of them make up an excuse to tell the doctors when they get there, because otherwise it would be way too embarrassing.

"Well you see, I was taking a shower after a long day and, wouldn't you know it, earlier that day I'd had taco bell for lunch and I had a bad case of swamp ass. So I figure, hey, I'll just empty a whole bottle of shampoo onto my hand and start really lathering up my asshole. You know, because it had been itching me so badly.

"So there I am, my taint coated in a thin film of soap, and all of the sudden I feel a little dizzy. I fall out of the shower, stumble into the livingroom, I fall onto my coffee table, and somehow this commemorative statue of the twin towers got stuck in my rectum. So what do you say, Doc. Can you help me out?"

Long story short, I think it should be a requirement for all ER doctors to keep their hands warm at all times.

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff) — Fri, 17 Jul 2009 09:20:00 +0000

What is wrong with the modern American workplace? Let's discuss.

I work a terrible day job. I'm aware of this. I make $12/hour, with no chance of advancement. People that have worked there 20 years haven't advanced. Many due to what appeared to be mild mental warts, but that's beside the point. I do put a fair deal of effort into my work. And, I have a lot of brain-trust. So out of the peons, I am in the upper tier. Magnificent, right?

Thus the "big boss" compliments me, saying that the place would be missing a key ingredient without me around. Then his sub-ordinate, my direct supervisor, quips: "Ah, don't fill his head with compliments. He'll start to think he's got some power. He's just a grunt like the rest of 'em."

Dunnit sound like dialogue out of a bad syndicated television program? Yes. He actually said that. And all I can think is, "Um. So, wanna drag employee morale through the mud alone or should I help you along?"

"Maybe you'll give me one of those 25-cent raises everybody's always gossiping about."

Innit he a real piece of work? No wonder his employees are the most apathetic workers I've ever encountered. But! I won't drag my boss through the mud. He's a nice, normal guy. I have good enough intuition to notice why he's got this attitude. He has to deal primarily with people that either barely speak English, or won't be working there for that long. This makes the tone of our interactions interesting to say the least. He talks to me in a strange, almost ambivalent way. It's as if... yes. Yes! He can talk to me. I speak his language. You know, English.

Plus! I know the company, I know the job, I know everything I need to. I care. But I'm also very unorthodox and generally avoid getting fucked by insipid policies and procedures. Which makes him want to fire me! Hah. So much for small perks going to high-quality workers.

See, I think outside the box. I subscribe to the universal doctrines that I need to, but I have the mindset that we all view the world differently and thus respond to the stimuli of our environment in different ways. I'm a big proponent of "do as I say, not as I do" when the person stating it has an intimate knowledge of what they're doing. There's more than one way to skin a cat.

What I'm describing is individuality. Having your own identity. This is a troublesome thought for corporate America and their many workplaces. Individuals don't receive a lot of accolades anymore. They used to. These days getting a permanent gig at a job of this kind is rare. They don't hire. In fact, they want to squeeze as much out of you as a temp before they're legally forced to set you free. Without having to pay any additional benefits, of course!

One big thing is that they sincerely don't want a word of advice from the peanut gallery. In fact, I get the distinct sense that the combination of my working this shit job and caring enough to know how badly they're fucking me and having the intellectual means to change things... makes me weird. To them. "Holy shit! He's smart enough to run a company like this! But... he chooses to work on the ground floor for barely over minimum wage. Gotta have a screw loose."

Whenever I rant to my contemporaries, they don't have solutions. They're smart, they just don't care enough. They'll move on to the next low-level temporary job before they care about this one. So sometimes I take my thoughts to my temp agency, or Human Resources. Trust me, they're not that resourceful. They don't want to "handle" anything. They give false, bullshit answers to questions and concerns that they could answer truthfully to stop my ranting faster.

They could deliver satisfactory ends to their employees' problems. Conflict resolution. But instead they weave their way around the issues I have with their inane corporate dogma so that they can preserve my feelings. An attempt to keep me blissfully ignorant of the fact that we're all part of "the machine." Regardless of whose side my temp agency contact is supposed to be on (hint: it's me) they arbitrarily side with the company. On everything. And! If you catch them with their hand in the cookie jar i.e. they make several loosely-connected contradictions to policy in a row... they will talk you in circles to the point of massive awkwardness.

As if I'm impulsively teaching kids about the birds and the bees at an airport terminal when their parents are within earshot. Except instead of a beating from the father, I might get fired. If I'm really as much of a pawn as my superiors indicate... I must be expendable, right?

But wait! They can't fire me. They avoid conflict like the plague. There's a "culture of nice" in this country. People are afraid to deliver bad news, usually because they don't want to damage anybody's feeeeeelings. I see it in the creative world all the time. Some guy makes an awful comic strip and everybody starts sucking his dick to make him feel good. Unbeknown to him, he's the one who really sucks. Shit like this hinders people's development! I can understand holding back when dealing with children, but we're all adults here.

However, I'll admit, I get the sense that Human Resources departments opt to fire people over the phone for a different reason entirely: they don't want to die! That has to be it. This is America, after all, and we love our violence. I betcha that in the back of an employer's mind, every free thinker on-board could potentially have a shotgun hidden in their cubicle. Ready to go in case the boss wants to play a game of...

Who's Gonna Get Terminated First!

But hey, perhaps I'm being too morbid. We can change the subject. So, uh... when I'm brushing my teeth, I usually make it a point to brush my tongue. But sometimes, I brush too far back on the tongue and I activate my gag reflex. When this happens, I may even upchuck a little in my mouth! But you know what? I don't spit it out. Well, not usually. If I'm suddenly tasting something that conjures up the image of a week-old moose placenta dipped in fish oil that's been baking in the car for a few days, I might eject that post-haste! But what if it's chocolate? Sometimes you can squeeze a little more enjoyment out of your dessert by puking it out! And hey, they don't make chocolate toothpaste... do they? A minor setback, but this way you can you make your own!

Gives you a chance to be creative, y'know?

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff) — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 04:08:00 +0000

I was shopping the other day when REM's Shiny Happy People started pouring out of the grocery store speakers. This prompted me to send a friend the following text message: "shiny happy people is playing here. i dont care if he has aids, i want one night with michael stipe." This brief comment led us to a significantly longer discussion on "things that Jeff shouldn't say," largely on the merit of my friend's roommate, who had a relative die of the disease barely a year ago. Now, two things:

A. AIDS was not the punchline of my electronic musing, but merely a statement to elevate the situation. Something to give my sudden change of orientation a little punch. It, in itself, was not being used as a comedic device. AIDS is a tender issue.

B. I understand fully that I shouldn't be making jokes about tender issues.

Honestly, I really don't think anybody should... if you want to get technical about it. But in the real world? It seems to me that it's more of a matter of context; knowing your audience. And being a major celebrity. Allow me to explain. I've noticed that big-name comedians and celebrities seem to be able to "get away" with more shocking and offensive material solely on the basis of their being famous. There are a few signs of this.

For one thing, the public seems to think that celebrities are like space aliens, or perhaps highly intelligent domesticated animals. When they do something as mundane as riding their bicycles down Sunset Boulevard, it's somehow considered news. "HOLY SHIT! ZAC EFRON WAS SEEN BUYING GROCERIES? I THOUGHT HE DWELLED ON THE MOON AND LIVED OFF OF SOLAR ENERGY, RETURNING TO EARTH ONLY WHEN SUMMONED BY THE MIGHTY ORLANDO!"

Obviously they're able to do things that "normal" people cannot.

Secondly, somebody like Will Ferrell is so well-known as a comic icon that pretty much everything he says is immediately deemed by the sub-conscious minds of mainstream America to be either funny, or attempting to be funny. As opposed to being ignorant, bigoted, sexist, and downright offensive. You know, like most American men. Look, these comedic writers and performers are just like you and me. They come from the same background, they write the same kind of material. Most of 'em lived out of their fucking cars, okay? The difference is, somebody with a lot of money believed in them and gave them a chance. That's why they get to be pigs.

Don't worry folks, Will Ferrell isn't gonna catch swine flu. [/topical]

So here's the big question: Who gets to decide how far the envelope should be pushed? Who gets to say when you should probably just forget the whole "envelope" thing and just RETURN TO SENDER? There is no God, so who makes the call? Will an archangel descend from the heavens to bestow upon us a most perfectly divine censorship, bias-free and spring-fresh? Maybe I should get my head out of the clouds.

It's all about knowing your audience. Knowing your spots. I've talked about this before. Frankly, there's a spot for every joke. Okay? Every joke has an audience. Sometimes you can really cross the border! But other times, even the mere mention of a sensitive word can bring you down. Case in point, the exchange between my friend and I. AIDS is an interesting gray area for comics today. Back in about 1983, dropping an AIDS joke at a comedy club could end your set pretty fucking quick. Then again, wasn't it the same way for Abe Lincoln jokes 'round about 1866? There's a statute of limitations for everything, folks. A specific window.

Sometimes that window of comedy swings closed fast and never reopens. For example, does anybody remember how Dan Quayle was the butt of every other joke during the first Bush administration? Despite his decades as a public servant and notably his 4 years as Vice President of the United States, Mr.Quayle is best known as the poor fuck that couldn't spell "potato." Today's college kids would never know it. You know, the internet generation. "Children of the 80s" that can't get enough nostalgia from that superficial era... well, they don't seem to know shit about Quayle. Maybe he's best forgotten.

On a side note, Dan Quayle started a trend that has continued to this day: American vice presidents that, from a public standpoint, are severely unlikeable. Quayle of course, with his sub-Palin public speaking abilities; Al Gore, who was considered an inanimate object until he demanded a recount in 2000; Dick Cheney. Yeah. And Joe Biden, who isn't so much unlikeable as he is invisible. But hey, we are all living in the shadow of Obama.

Back to context. It's always crucial. I could go on forever about context; it's probably my favorite word in the English language! But sometimes it can turn the tables on you without skipping a beat! For example, the word "prego." It's both my favorite brand of pasta sauce, and my least favorite genre of pornography! What about the difference between troops and troupes? We send troops off to fight the war, but many troupes back home have been known to protest it. Admittedly that's more of a phonetic similarity, a simple homonym, but I still find the contrast to be interesting.

The other day a man on the street told me that "JESUS IS COMING!" and to this I replied, "Isn't that kind of personal? Um, whatever you do, don't tell his dad!" ... So, Jesus is coming. Depending on the context, this could be either Christianity's most compelling tenet... or Christ's biggest secret. Polar opposites. Jesus is coming? Wait wait wait... is he coming back to life? Or is he coming on Mary Magdalene's supple breasts? Or more fittingly, how about inside her sacred little asshole?

Jesus was never a fan of sodomy laws.

Here's my conclusion: everything that we say has a chance of offending somebody. It's inevitable. But edgy comedians can't be living in fear of hurting people's feelings; it's their job to cross the line and make us examine ourselves. If you happen to fall into their satirical crosshairs, you're just collateral damage. Lighten up. The moment that we censor ourselves to protect people, we're excluding them. The best thing you can do to the elephant in the room is not to pretend it's not there, but to feed it peanuts. To embrace it. To laugh together about our little differences... how it's deathly afraid of mice, or how we humans kill each other over little slips of green paper.

Now... y'know what's a good place for AIDS jokes? An AIDS benefit luncheon! Why? Lots of people with AIDS in your audience. Think about it. What if you were doing a set there and said something along the lines of, "People always talk about Magic Johnson surviving HIV, but what about Patrick Ewing? Look at the guy! He's clearly had AIDS his entire life!" ... Your audience would sit there and think, "Hey, I have that!" and you know what?

They'd feel a whole lot more at home.

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff) — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 02:48:00 +0000

Thoughts and Observations:

A fart is like a vacation to somebody's asshole. Think about it! It's a glimpse into what the insides of that person's bowels are like, just as a trip to... say... the Bahamas is a sample of what to expect when living there. Nobody ever tells me, "Hey! We're moving to the Bahamas!" They just take a pleasant little vacation. The same way that while sometimes it's pleasant to walk through a fart cloud or two, you wouldn't want to live in there!

Here's a method of dealing with serial rapists: cut them a new vagina, then rape that. Repeatedly. I'm tired of these sociopaths that go around ruining the sex lives of everybody else. These cretins deserve some life-altering punishments.

So I was having some guy talk with my sweetheart's brother last night. It was all going pretty well until the conversation entered the bedroom. I don't know what I said, but we were comparing girlfriends and at one point he looked like he wanted to sock me in the mouth! I couldn't tell you why. Maybe he's jealous. Tsk tsk, my dear friend... not everybody can have a girl with no gag reflex.

Y'ever meet somebody androgynous? There is somebody at my job that, for the longest time, I thought was a man. Now, don't see this as an insult. I thought that she was a really cool dude! I have a ton of respect for the woman. I'm not nearly as strong a person as she is. If I looked like that, I would have killed myself by now!

Sayings: "Asking Too Much." This is one that I used to hear a lot growin' up back South. Like that time I asked my sister if I could put my penis in her asshole, she said "Yer askin' too much!" Hey, we'd been hookin' up for over a year at that point! How soon is too soon?

A baby only knows its mother, initially. Everybody else is just "some person," including the father. "Who the fuck is this guy?" This would explain why many people have distant and strained relationships with dear ol' Dad! And with infant boys specifically, Mom can sow the seeds for future lifestyle choices better than Dad ever could. Here's a tip for you young mothers out there: breast feed your boys. They'll thank you for it later. I can't tell you how many decisions I've made going on breasts alone. Especially with relationships! Parsing women by breast size can save you a lot of hassle in the long run, boy! Just pick out the gal with the largest breasts and all you have to worry about is keeping her.

I don't think that women should be responsible for having condoms on hand. Men have to take responsibility for something in the bedroom. Women have the toys on hand, the lube, the candles... hell, they'll even milk your prostate if you ask nicely. The least you can do is cover your own dick, right?

Pet Peeves: When auditioning, if I don't get the part, people sometimes tell me "I'm sorry but we've decided to go in a different direction." What do you mean? You hadn't seen my photo nor my resume until I arrived at the audition. The only direction you could've decided to go is "away from me!" Just give me the bad news. I can handle it. Try being simple, honest, and direct. Another place you'll find this problem is in the Human Resources department at work. Sometimes your rep just can't tell you the truth out of fear of hurting your feelings. We have a culture of nice in this country. Tell it like it is, for fuck's sake. We'll all grow up faster that way.

Why don't people use litter boxes? Did they ever use litter boxes? Considering how a cat's litter box makes the average home smell, I'd assume that 3-5 fully grown human beings plopping Cleveland steamers in a plastic tray... well... let's just say that it wouldn't take long before they're basically living in a Dutch oven. Sorry, question answered.

Forbidden Chocolate ice cream. Why is it forbidden? And if it truly is, would it be considered a sin in the eyes of God for me to choose it over normal Chocolate? I never understood the whole "forbidden" thing in regards to food. According to a popular storybook, the so-called forbidden fruit is the reason we're all here! Perhaps it's derived from "for bidding," implying a sense of value. That'd make more sense.

Speaking of God, I have this feeling that Heaven is just a big rave. God may be the host, but even he doesn't know who the fuck showed up. He has billions of guests! Omnipotent or not, that's a lot of fucking heads to count. Plus, he's probably busy getting high on ecstasy and hammering some woman with the herp. The guy that you really need to be concerned about is Saint Peter. Consider him to be Heaven's bouncer; he's either gonna bounce you in or he's gonna bounce you out. And like any typical, ethically-challenged doorman, he'll probably let you in for $50 and a blowjob in back of a cloud somewhere. Also, if Heaven is anything like the busier nightclubs I frequent, boobs are another easy way in.

The problem with anti-abortion activists, and religious zealots in general, is that they always envision the worst case scenario in their arguments. For example, in the case of stem cell research, they assume that developing genetic perfection means the pre-emptive genocide of the mentally disabled. This perturbs me for obvious reasons, of course. (I like retarded people!) But don't you think that this mindset is a little extreme? Just because we make a medical breakthrough doesn't mean that everybody is going to apply it to their situation. Like knowing the gender of a incoming baby; not everybody takes advantage of that ability. On a side note, just because you legalize Mary Jane doesn't mean that everybody is suddenly going to be high all the time!

It's gotta be a pain in the ass for dentists to fix anal cavities.

Things You Never See: A psychic telling you that you're flat-out, drop-dead fucked! There's always a ray of hope when you're getting your fortune told, may it be via your palm, tarot cards, the Zodiac, or through the spirit realm. This isn't realistic. Sometimes things are just going to suck and there's not a God damned thing you can conceivably do about it. Get it? Got it? Good.

Bad Names: Scatman. Like the late actor Scatman Crothers. This one doesn't show up in the census that much anymore, and I can understand why. In this depraved day and age, why would you do your child such a disservice as naming him Scatman? Can you imagine the taunts this kid would receive at school? Put your kid on the right path and leave Scatman in his coffin where he belongs.

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff) — Tue, 14 Jul 2009 23:59:00 +0000

Thoughts and Observations:

Is Bruce Vilanch just an ironic statement on gay culture by America's greatest documentarian, Michael Moore? Is he Michael Moore's homosexual cousin? Could it be that his persona is just a career-long joke, ala Larry The Cable Guy? I can't find a good explanation for this man's existence! It bugs me.

Sometimes I consider ignoring the honor system. I do not honor your system!

Why isn't white lingerie popular anymore? Is it the stigma that visible racing stripes aren't all that sexy? Perhaps dark undergarments have been proven by marketing experts to create 50-75% more erections than their light counterparts. Where do I go to join that focus group?

How can ticket scalping be illegal when Ticketmaster does it routinely?

You know how sometimes in old movies, you hear that term? "Ah, the cotton-pickin' TV is on the fritz!" That is a huge racial slur that nobody seems to give a shit about. If you deconstruct the phrase, you immediately detect that cotton-picking is negative slang. And who picked more cotton back in the day than African-American slaves? It doesn't take a mathematician to solve this one.

Fact: When I was a kid, I had a dog named Mauly. But she never mauled anybody! I'd sit there on the edge of the porch, watching... waiting for her to give some elementary school schmuck a lifetime scar. Never happened. Ah, life is full of little disappointments. It's good to learn that at a young age. Gets you off on the right foot.

A lot of my favorite comedians are dead. George Carlin, Phil Hartman, Richard Pryor, Lenny Bruce, Bill Hicks, Chris Farley, John Belushi, Steve Martin. It's sad, you know?

There is a merry Irishman at work that always has a skip in his step. Sometimes, I think I'm the only person that can actually see him. And there's another guy that, I'd swear to God, was a talking rat. He's just under 5 feet tall and looks like he crawled out from under an abandoned bridge. Plus, he only knows 4 phrases and has an odd fascination with Christmas. Maybe he's an elf. Then there's the fat dude that used to work there who constantly smelled like he shit his pants. Bad. To the point where I think that they fired him over his body odor. What a way to go, huh?

I don't mind letting another couple fuck in my bed. I'm a generous host! I won't even change the sheets. But I may sniff them!

Pet Peeves: Women that have more visible body hair than I do. Look, I don't care if you're an androgynous 52-year-old lesbian trucker with a receding hairline and a penchant for flannel, buy a fucking razor and get to work on that shit. I just ate, for crying out loud!

noreply@blogger.com (Josh) — Fri, 27 Mar 2009 19:22:00 +0000

http://blogs.discovermagazine.com/badastronomy/2009/03/26/texas-from-saved-to-doomed-in-just-6-hours/

The above link is just further proof that separation between church and state is a joke, at least where Texas public schools are concerned.

One thing I've been wondering about; If the public school's text books in these areas of majority ignorance teach "intelligent design" and that the earth could well be 6000 years old, are questions on God's role in creation on the tests? Is there a multiple choice question somewhere that reads:

How old is the earth?
A: 20 years old.
B: 6000 years old.
C: I'm a Godless heathen.
D: All of the above.

When I was 5 years old my grandparents took me to the Smithsonian institute to see the space shuttle my grandpa helped build. When I was young I was real big on any book about dinosaurs, so I really wanted to go see the bones. After about 15 minutes of begging, I finally convinced my grandma to escort me down the hall of fossils. That's when I first saw the T-Rex...

The T-Rex was a big deal for me! I saw pictures in books, I couldn't help my excitement, I sprinted over to the exhibit. "Grandma! Grandma! Look! It's the T-Rex! It's really here!"

"No...", said Grandma with a look of serious disgust in her eyes, "Those 'bones' were planted by Pagan scientists at the Devil's behest in an attempt to lure us true believers from the truth of Creationism, and condemn us all to hell. The T-Rex never existed."

Stunned, I stood there for a full minute contemplating what had just been told to me. My adolescent brain chewing with all it's might, trying to make what grandma said stick in with everything else I knew about reality. After plenty of complete silence, finally I point at the fossilized remains before us and said "But Grandma... It's right there!"

Creationism: So intensely retarded, a 5 year old can disprove it by pointing.

Way to go, Texas!

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff) — Sun, 08 Feb 2009 22:30:00 +0000

Sometimes orgasms are like Pringles. You can't have just one.

I'm OK. How are you? Thanks for asking. Here are some pranks that you probably shouldn't pull!

Prank #1: Puking in and around somebody's mouth while they're sleeping. This one is kind of self-explanatory... but as an avid viewer of How Things Work, I feel it my obligation to flesh this one out. How could I be so bold as to tell you not to do something this fun without a damned good reason, right? Right. Let's start with the fact that you'd have to make yourself barf! Puke doesn't taste good, and it's not a prank if you're laughing with your target. Tasting your own puke is too much work for too little reward. Also, the person targeted would never, ever trust you again.

Prank #2: Lighting dog shit candles in a dark corner of somebody's basement. More involved than prank #1, but less orally-invasive and with a significantly longer impact. Again, you probably shouldn't do this, but for the sake of education I will tell you how! Simply begin making a scented candle, and mix a heaping pile of fresh doggy poo into your wax. Gross? Yes. A good reason why you need to take this message as a clear warning! But finish the process as usual, plant one or more of your customized "designer" candles in somebody's basement, and light. Within 24 hours, the inner walls of the entire complex (up to 4 floors) will be permeated with the faint but pungent smell of a Wendy's restroom for up to 5 years.

I've seen real estate sharks use this method. It's been at the center of several major cases involving arson and so-called insurance fraud. This is, perhaps, the ultimate form of intellectual revenge (oxymoron?) that also happens to fall under the category of "scatological." You can't scrub the smell out. Many houses have been condemned after this prank. It is dangerous and not recommended!

Prank #3: Disguising 2 week's worth of your own urine as a keg of Budweiser beer and delivering it to a college keg party.

...

True, nobody would notice the difference. Just, no.

Prank #4: Mixing tomato chunks with menstruation, and serving with nachos on football night. Did you know that salsa is America's favorite condiment? As a devout ketchup fan, I feel it my obligation to tip the scales. But if you're on the fence about pulling this prank, I will pose a question: do you hate your friends? If not, I suggest you stop digging in the garbage for your girlfriend's used 'pons and go visit Old El Paso!

If so, I think you should know that it goes great with red wings.

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff) — Sun, 01 Feb 2009 16:33:00 +0000

Just because February is Black People Month doesn't mean that there aren't black people in other months.

So I was at the supermarket the other day, perusing various goods... when something occurred to me: Cranberry is a slut!

Why does Cranberry have its dick in every other fruit's business? Especially in the juice department! Do you ever see Raspberry Juice? Fuck no. But you do see Cran-Raspberry. Cran-Strawberry. Cran-Grape. Cran-Mango. Even Cran-Apple, bridging the void between two very market-savvy fruits! What do I mean by that? Think about Thanksgiving! What is the sole fruit item associated with this, the biggest meal of the year? Cranberry sauce! What is this monopolizing shit? Does the cranberry have a big case of small dick syndrome? (see what I did there?)

Another thing that gets my goat is this New England weather. I've lived here for almost 25 years, and you know what I say? Bring on global warming. I don't care if the apocalypse comes, the polar ice caps melt, and my children's children drown in a city-crushing tidal wave. It is fucking cold, and I'm tired of it. I fell down the stairs a few weeks ago because they were undergoing a glacial transformation, much like the streets! I have to drive like an old lady and walk like an old man. Despite this, I've gotten so good at hydroplaning that I'm ready to start a clinic! Get a little side income going, y'know? It's madness.

And who is this Sarah Palin? The name rings a bell but I'm drawing a blank.

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff) — Sun, 18 Jan 2009 23:14:00 +0000

Despite all of my efforts to the contrary, I am slowly becoming Jesus Christ.

Much like Tim Allen in the Santa Clause films, I am predestined. Not to be Santa Claus, but to go an entire notch higher. Ladies and gentlemen, I am your Lord and Saviour incarnate. I recently discovered that I have what has, as of yet, gone undocumented as "Messiamorphosis"... or "Jesus Christ disease" as it is culturally accepted.

In time, my ability to travel across the surface of water without sinking will increase tenfold. Likewise, I will soon be able to transform wheat byproducts into fish at the flick of a wrist. I will even be able to compromise and create tuna sandwiches, something that the original Jesus was too much of a purist to consider. It is my blessing, it is my curse.

Don't believe me? Just look at this beard growth!

In only three weeks, Mother Nature has begun a deliberate movement to make me more visibly analogous to the Christ that we all know and love. My golden lace bathrobe's already on order, with Super Saver Shipping! Any day now, my powers will kick in and we'll be able to start some shit!

Indeed, friends. I am ready to lead mankind.

noreply@blogger.com (Josh) — Sun, 18 Jan 2009 17:57:00 +0000

So I cut my right hand, right in the palm, whilst handling a large sharp chefs knife. There's basically a large gash right in the web between my index finger and thumb... So basically, I seriously damaged my masturbating hand.

Now it is true that any right-handed man who masturbates with the aid of a computer does learn how to spank his monkey with some degree of efficiency with his left hand so his right hand can work the mouse, but really, lefty is just a fall-back. For all the real serious wanking, you need your dominant hand!

I'm curious, though. Taking stem cells from unborn babies and applying them to grown humans can result in some amazing regrowth of damaged tissue... If I got sperm in a cut, would it heal faster?

...

Well, at the very least we know it doesn't sting.

noreply@blogger.com (Josh) — Sun, 28 Dec 2008 18:46:00 +0000

Just when you thought that there was no new argument for why you shouldn't play video games too long, an innovation in console gaming is born...

Josh's Girlfriend: Maybe you should give the Wii Fit a rest for the night.
Josh: Why's that? I've only been playing a half an hour.
Josh's Girlfriend: I know, I can smell your balls from over here!

Thank you, Nintendo, for creating a gaming experience that makes you sweat balls. You've ushered in a whole new level of intimacy for any two people who share a living room, and have created a whole new genre of entertainment in the form of watching the people closest to you wiggle around incessantly for no apparent reason.

On a related note, if you've never had naughty thoughts after watching a girl play Wii Fit, then you need to buy your favorite female one immediately so you can get on board with this. Seriously, you don't know what you're missing. Consider it highly recommended viewing.

noreply@blogger.com (Josh) — Sun, 07 Dec 2008 00:06:00 +0000

Meet Knifey McKniferson.

Remember kids; I'm a professional idiot, and you probably shouldn't try this at home.

noreply@blogger.com (Josh) — Mon, 01 Dec 2008 22:35:00 +0000

Bad news; Due to shitty weather conditions, we had to push back our shooting of me doing insanely dangerous things with a knife. It is happening though, you'll be the first to know when it's done.

Good news; The weather was great for shooting this;

noreply@blogger.com (Josh) — Fri, 28 Nov 2008 02:06:00 +0000

No more food. Please. Just no more food until tomorrow. Maybe the day after tomorrow. Fuck, too much food.

How was your thanksgiving? Mine was long, but good. Took most of the day off work, went to eat with family, and acquired about 10 pounds of rotting fruits and vegetables to be dramatically destroyed in the very first EgoDriven.Net web video release. And before you ask; No, it won't even remotely resemble a Gallagher routine. I promise.

This video will be the first time you all get to meet one of my best friends, Knifey McKniferson. Knifey doesn't talk much. In fact, he kind of only talks to me. Knifey, you see, is a 10 inch serrated offset kitchen knife. He's a real free-spirit, though. He thinks that knives have a real bad rap.

There are some serious social misconceptions about knives. Some would even call it a bigotry. Knives are good enough to prepare our meals, but they're never really invited out of the kitchen. They're not just a one-trick pony, they can do so much more! Knifey, for instance, can fly.

Well, in a sense at least. I throw him up in the air and he flies, twisting and flipping in all directions for a moment, then he comes barreling down at high speed as my dumb ass dives underneath to catch him. Yeah, it's about as safe as it sounds.

Have you ever been cut by a razor sharp knife as it twirls haphazardly around your face, chest and neck? Well I have. Want to know if I get cut again while filming Egodriven's first web video? Me too! We're filming it sometime in the next 4 days though, so we'll all find out soon enough.

Too much turkey. Way too much turkey. Talk to you soon.

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff) — Tue, 25 Nov 2008 18:52:00 +0000

Thanksgiving is here again. The family gathering in memory of our earliest Pilgrim settlers, brought together by a glorious array of pies, hearty roasted birds, and delectable high-carb side dishes. But this year, I'm looking forward to "giving back" in a way that I never contemplated before. Donating my sperm to the New England Cryogenic Center.

I'm gonna make my testicles work for me!

It's good money, and I like the idea of silently populating the homosexual homes of America. Making dreams come true for couples of all shapes, sizes, and smells that simply can't conceive. It's probably the least selfish way of cultivating my god complex, and I wouldn't want it any other way.

What I found interesting, though, is this requirement sheet on the NECC website.

NECC is currently seeking men of all ethnic backgrounds to become sperm donors.

To become a donor, you must be:

Between the ages of 18 and 38.
5’8 to 6’4 in height.
A college student or graduate.

I can understand the age requirement. Nobody wants to waste their time searching for miracles in old sperm; this is a young man's game! However, doesn't 5'8" to 6'4" seems a little elitist to you? What they're perpetrating is that society doesn't need any more "little people" or even the Big and Tall! They're trying to level the playing field, to homogenize the households of test-tube families across the Greater Boston area! But it doesn't stop there... you have to be a college student or graduate.

No stupid sperm!

No lower-class sperm either, they already have enough of those running around. Wink wink!

Of course, none of this applies to me.

noreply@blogger.com (Josh) — Sun, 23 Nov 2008 19:09:00 +0000

So I pulled out my old cloning machine so that my friend Kenny could have some help fixing up his truck, and do you know what happened? They helped him fix his truck! They didn't beat him up, they didn't steal his pants, and they didn't throw him off a roof... Why did he get the nice clones?!

(Click the image to see it full sized)

It's like there's a team of Kenny's fixing that car! I wonder if there are commercial uses for this? Hmm... I wonder if my clones are going to show up again?

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff) — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 15:35:00 +0000

Monkeys don't really like bananas.

That is an all too common and frankly prejudice stereotype. They actually prefer citrus. Fruits that require a sensitive touch to fully reap the benefits of, unlike bananas. A nuanced approach that humans would like to think that they've monopolized, but let's get real. Saying that monkeys love bananas is like saying that Chinese people rike liceballs. Fucking racism.

Consuming an excessive amount of potassium can trigger a stroke. It makes you wonder why there haven't been reports of monkeys seizing up in cardiac attack across Africa, right? It's because they never eat bananas off-camera. They maintain a balanced diet of fruits, vegetables, and assorted meats... much like we humans do. Why isn't this fact publicized?

I believe wholeheartedly that it is a PR move by humans to make primates seem like silly objects used solely for our amusement. A concerted effort to pull the wool over our eyes so that we can continue to perpetuate this falsehood against nature. A movement, if you will, to keep monkeys from being assimilated into proper society.

We are talking about a race of prospective people that is being universally oppressed. What you see of monkeys in the media? That's what they want you to see! We are being kept in the dark because... oh, it's much easier to bear chimps and orangutans when they're doing tricks and throwing barrels at video game plumbers and eating their favorite fucking food, bananas. King Kong? Blatantly defamatory propaganda designed to instill a fear of the ape into public consciousness.

Did you know that apes have their own extensive language and vocabulary? Of course you didn't, because the government has blocked all research on the subject. Endeavors have been made to bridge the sociological gap between humans and gorillas for years, but always become mysteriously brickwalled for some indeterminate reason! Mighty Joe Young? A true patriot. But I betcha didn't know that he graduated the University of South Africa with a Masters in Language Arts, did you?

And have you heard about the monkey that speaks fluent English? Why would you have? The United Nations (under orders of the President of the United States of America) confiscated her and placed her in confinement at a classified location. If it were to leak to the masses that this evolutionary event had occurred, it would change the world. Monkeys would be able to collect union wage for their efforts in advertising colorized sugar mix. They'd be free to roam the earth, build homes, and start families... without the dark cloud of heavy-duty adhesives hanging over their head. They would be able to take dramatic roles in films.

Need I say more? It's time to make a difference. End slavery now!

[Paid for by People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals]

noreply@blogger.com (Josh) — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 21:03:00 +0000

Here's a game from PETA - Only play it if you're ready for some insanely stupid shit:
http://www.peta.org/cooking-mama/

Now as a life-long meat-eater, I have to tell you that this new parody of cooking games brought to you by those wacky PETA boys and girls was actually really hard for me to play. I don't mean because it hit me morally or anything like that, I mean the game is practically un-playable. "Cooking Mama, Mama Kills Animals" is basically a collection of mini-games. The mini-games are each based on one of the steps you need to take in preparing a thanksgiving feast, and PETA, I have to give it to you, you did include most all of the information you need to actually take a turkey from the field, to the kitchen table.

Thank you so much! You know, I've always loved eating poultry, but I've been afraid of actually killing one myself. Didn't think I'd know how! But now that I've played your game, I feel very confident that I have all the knowledge I need to turn a small bird from a mother into a dinner for 4. I really couldn't be more grateful. You took out all the guess work!

But yeah, the game was a bit... lame. The way they score you is that you're scolded by the evil cooking mama, skillfully portrayed by Lindsey Lohan, when you fail to complete a task on time. I failed in one activity to cut a turkey's neck into four parts to make stock, having only removed one of them before the timer, and I was punished by being told I was being "too nice"...

Now I know that this is propaganda and all, but is there anything you can do to a turkey that's nice after you've already killed it? Is it showing mercy to a carcass to half-ass it's deconstruction before you eat it? I'm a touch confused... But that's OK. With their taking medication tested on animals, or their actually euthanizing animals themselves, or even their basking in a tolerant society that they're incapable of tolerating, I've gotten used to thinking of PETA as some kooky fuckers.

One more thing about this game; How does anyone think playing video games will change people's morals? This is 2008, and Grand Theft Auto 4 is one of the top games on the market. If America can shoot up New York City while sleeping with prostitutes and selling drugs without blinking, why do you think graphic turkey violence is going to phase us as a nation?

Anyway, my shower was broken up until a few hours ago. I hadn't felt real good water pressure in over a month, and I forgot how fantastic it truly feels. The plumber who fixed it is the same one I'll be telling you all about in Egodriven's first web video production, due in a few weeks. I'll be telling you all about how upset I was when he interrupted my masturbation a while back, and I'll share this story while I throw a razor-sharp knife around in the air and catch it. How's that for something to look forward to?

Have a good one.

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff) — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 18:26:00 +0000

People of the internet! Just moments ago, I had my balls squeezed.

This wasn't performed by a woman... nor by a man. At this point, a particularly twisted soul might deduce that I enjoyed the company of my first transgendered sex partner tonight... but no. Get your mind out of the gutter.

It was a corporation that seized my testicles this evening, and their name is Blockbuster Video.

A brief history of Blockbuster Video: They rose to prominence in the late 1980s when the VHS format exploded in home theaters across the United States. Video rental stores raked in a fortune as they were licensed to rent out the same film hundreds of times while only paying a flat fee. Once DVDs came around (and were less wallet-friendly) it became ever more lucrative. And while "mom n'pop" video rental stores would carry only one copy of a popular new release, BBV would stock anywhere from 5 to 50 copies so that everybody could rent it. Blockbuster quickly climbed to the top of the rack, decimating most of its corporate competitors and driving 99% of small-time entrepreneurs out of business.

However, recently the Mighty Ticket has been facing some hard times. Alternative forms of video rental such as the ominous and rewarding Netflix service, affordable on-demand cable subscriptions, as well as the significant price-drop of DVDs in the past decade... have pushed Blockbuster slowly but surely towards bankruptcy! While they've embraced online rentals, they're still dropped from consumer consciousness. And with big-timers such as Sony moving away from optical media formats and pushing for digital distribution in the future, the ol' "video rental chain" is going the way of the Dodo. This is common knowledge of course... I just felt like delivering some exposition!

So what's my beef with Blockbuster?

First the technicalities, then we'll move into my specific qualms. Let's start with video game rentals: it now costs $9.44 to rent an Xbox 360, Wii, or PS3 title for 5 days. For a shorter game and a dedicated player, this is still a relative value. I concede. But hear hear! Their game rentals were only half that price 5 years ago. Probably even less 10-15 years ago. Do you remember how much a brand-new video game cost to purchase in 1993? Anywhere from $60-80! How much do they cost now? $50-60. Blockbuster is fighting its way up-river against inflation, and the buyer's market.

What the flippity fuck?

Then you have the New Release section. "The Wall" as they put it. However, this section is not just New Releases! Most independent films, regardless of release date, seem to stay on the more expensive Wall for a much longer time than their major-studio brethren. Sometimes a film will be placed on the Wall solely because it has a sequel debuting in theaters. I've often found films 2-3 years old sitting up there, requiring a dollar more to rent and offering a fraction of the rental time. It's inconsistent, which brings me to the particular issues that I have with Blockbuster Video.

Inconsistency in store policy. One manager offers me this, another manager offers me that. Some days I can stack offers, other days I can't. Although, let's be fair. There is one consistent rule to Blockbuster's behavior, and that is to serve itself whenever possible. Even when it's being "charitable." I'm referring to their Rewards program. Here we have a benefits package specifically designed to give the antiquated Blockbuster Video an edge in regards to their cheaper contemporaries, namely Netflix. "Giving back" to the customer by offering them rent-1-get-1-catalog-free discounts on low-traffic days of the week, 1 free monthly catalog rental, and my favorite: rent five movies/games, earn a free movie/game of any kind. This is their technique for combatting On-Demand movies and subscription mailers.

Does it work? It did when they weren't juicing my family jewels for every last drop. Somehow I don't think this is what Jack Lalanne was talking about when he said "Juice For Life!" It's a tender area down there, you can't just yank it. Especially not when it belongs to your customer! So at long last, we've come to my problem.

A Blockbuster manager argued with me regarding my benefits. I had rented maybe 15-18 movies in the past 2 months, and I knew that I had several freebies saved up that were good until (and I quote) midnight on November 30th. I also had my one free rental coupon that they send out via e-mail that I wanted to use (as it's only valid in the month it was issued) ... and of course, you can't stack offers. Well, some. It's incredibly idiosyncratic, and not the behavior I'd hope for from a corporate behemoth...

Weeeeeeell... maybe one's that going extinct. Anyway, the manager said that there's no proof that I had earned anything. Bull-shit. Nevermind that the customer is always right, but the proof is in the pudding: just look at my rental history you mongoloid! This is why they should stop cutting special needs funding. So he gave me my properly earned free movies, my rewards. But one of them was cracked! No big deal, I just returned it and asked for another copy of the same film. They didn't have it. So I figured, considering that the film was purchased via my "rent anything free" offer, I could once again choose whatever I wanted. Here's "Lesson 1" in why it's good to be pragmatic: they wouldn't let me rent a game or a New Release unless I paid the difference. They renegged on their own offer, because their DVD was unreadable. Their DVD, that after a solid 7-8 years of availability, has undoubtably earned them a grand profit.

By now you're inevitably thinking, "That's a whole lot of leading up for such a small slight." Right?

They've done this before and they'll do it again. Thousands of times a day across the globe. Millions. And by "them" I don't mean a washed up video rental chain, I mean corporations. Tightening the belt just after they've eaten a 7-course meal. Looking out for their own interests, and taking a fuck-all approach to customer relations; to employee benefits. What I've experienced at BBV is just a microcosm of everything that's wrong with commerce today.

We the people need to... ah, oop. Anal Crazed site-rip downloaded. Talk later.