Thursday, June 28, 2012

Things I Hate That You Love: Shower Doors

Last night my roommate's sliding shower door seemed to shatter inexplicably. I was the only person in the apartment all night. After two people implied my culpability I decided to defend myself the only way I knew how:
(Copied from my post on my roommate's wall with minor edits.)

The wood paneled walls rumble as PROSECUTOR (clean cut, 40’s) orates to a mesmerized court. He points to the center of the floor where a large easel bears the photograph of a cracked glass shower door. 

The JUDGE (Older white man, fat) and the Jury (assortment of New York locals) nod, the verdict has been made in all but formality.

..we HAVE the evidence. No-one else could have done this.

He points to the defendant, DAVID (late 20’s, ripped abs, huge cock).

Prosecutor (cont.)
His own LAWYER didn’t even bother to show up. I rest my case.

The doors FLING open and MATTHEW MCCONAUGHEY blasts in, shirt collar covered in lipstick stains.

Objection your honor.

The prosecutor laughs at the ridiculous misuse of…


Look, I know my client is an asshole, a criminal, and a known racist.

David shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Where’s Mcconaughey going with this? David’s Armani shirt pulls tight over his taut abs.

But what does he gain from smashing his best friend’s shower door? And more importantly can anyone explain the glass shatter pattern?

The Prosecutor sweats an AK bullet from his temple as Mcconaughey moves towards the photo.

Mcconaughey (cont.)
This glass radiates outward but the force couldn’t have been applied from the other side since the other door was in the way. He didn’t smash it from inside then move it back because there is no collateral glass underneath the frame of the remaining door. The ONLY way this could’ve been done was if my client was able to shrink to the size of an ant and smash the glass while the doors were still aligned. And I don’t think my client is a Hank Pym. I move this case be dismissed.

The Judge, stunned by Mcconaughey’s nerdy Avenger’s reference, immediately pounds the gavel.

Case dismissed. Not Guilty.

The Jury, seeming to not care they were bypassed in the ruling, all get up and begin a slow clap for Matthew Mcconaughey. 

The Prosecutor is stunned at the shoddy level of professionalism and legal misuse. The papers on his desk magically fly up and drift down slowly around him, a metaphor for his life now.

The Bailiff lifts the Stenographer up and kisses her. Matthew’s shirt gets caught on a table leg and is ripped clean off. The audience woops.

In all of this, David breathes a sigh of relief and for the first time since he developed those cannonball shoulders, smiles. He stands with his briefcase and exits amidst the uproar of the party.

David descends the courthouse stairs onto the sidewalk and stops at a store window to look at his reflection.
Suddenly his coat sleeves suddenly start getting longer. The collar of his shirt is widening. No, wait.
His clothes aren’t growing, HE’S SHRINKING.
David smirks as he slowly shrinks out of view.


The store window begins to crack.

Friday, May 13, 2011

People I Love That You Love: The Girl On The Train Who Put Up With Me Today.

Thank you for putting up with me this morning Girl-On-The-Train-Who-Put-Up-With-Me-Today. Thank you for everything.

1. Thank you for sitting next to me.
You were so beautiful this morning. You looked like the uglier little sister of a famous supermodel. When you walked on the train, I thought it was an angel. An angel that couldn't afford a car.

It was still early and you could've sat next to anybody you wanted. The guy in the full three-piece suit? He looked well to do, yea? The girl dressed like a nurse? Same sex seating is safe and comfortable I'm sure. But you chose me, the unkempt guy who is clearly wearing the same fitted shirt he went out drinking in last night.

By doing so you saved me from sitting next to the aging, overweight asian lady or the homeless guy who thinks he's clean enough to escape general notice. (He's not.)

When you humbly motioned at the empty seat next to me I should've scootched in and given you the aisle. Alas, I am an asshole and I merely shifted my legs 90 degrees, forcing you to jacknife yourself into the space between my thigh and the adjacent chair to get to your spot. Your butt came dangerously close to my face. I won't apologize for that. You smelled like a combination of Romance by Ralph Lauren and Tide Colorfast detergent. That was thoughtful of you.

I still have an irrational fear of the homeless. They truly have nothing to lose and everything to gain!

2. Thanks for not making fun of my reading.
To make up for my inexcusable behaviour, I made it a mission to predict what stop was yours and preemptive get up to make your evac easier. Because of this, I was on pins and needles at every stop.

Somewhere around Vermont, I noticed you reaching for your bag; it was action time. I sprang from my seat like a drunk Jack-in-the-Box and, in the process, spilled the contents of my own bag: A sticky note sketch of Commander Shepard from Mass Effect, a copy of the epic magic and fantasy novel Name of the Wind, and a copy of Tina Fey's Bossypants.

Thanks for not making any snide remarks or rolling your eyes, as I would've done to you. I know it's not as cool as Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest but you have to admit, I drew Commander Shepard's abs pretty well.

I gathered all my things, with the Tina Fey book showing out because I considered that to be the 'cooler' one. Was that the right call? Would you have preferred the fantasy novel? I fucked that up didn't I? Man...sorry.

This is the M.E. drawing I wish she DID see.

3. Thanks for talking to me
Like all tragic romances, you and I came to an end.I'll never forget it, it was at the Wilson/Vermont stop (or the Sunset one? Whatever). You longingly looked out the window and then looked at me, your honey blond hair almost bouncing into me, and you said with a sad smile,

"I get off here."

Girl do you have any idea what that comment did to me? I bit back the goofiest shit-eating grin. I bit it back so hard I bled. But you know something? I regret not saying anything to you. So I'll reply here in the dark places of the internet, where dreams go to die:

"I bet you do luv."

"I bet you do."

This is the face I was making when she said that, by the way.

Monday, August 31, 2009

People I Hate That You Love: Your Significant Other

I’m currently in Florida and this place is hot as shit. The only thing I like about Florida are my parents and the bustling mini-golf scene. Big golf is gay but mini golf is genius. I feel like Godzilla lazing about on a Sunday. I don’t even feel like breaking anything I just wanna hang out, play a game, and be huge.

So here I am, gigantic, leaning against a windmill which surely grinds wheat for some miniature farmers who use it to bake even TINIER loaves of bread, when my golf partner, Craig, finally shows up except with a girl in tow. It’s his new girlfriend.

Fuck you Craig.

I want to add that I have nothing against serious relationships nor the people who choose to have them but know that when you let this person intrude in YOUR life you are also doing three things to the rest of us.

1) You +1.

First of all you are essentially adding one to our party no matter what we do. Have you ever tried getting four people to agree on where to eat? Jesus. Suddenly nobody has an opinion anymore. “I’m whatever. I’ll eat anything.” Now you’ve added to that problem.

Not to mention that when she DOES want to go eat it’s somewhere expensive and shitty but I can’t veto it cause everything she wants she gets. You’ve essentially brought along someone from Make-A-Wish.

I can’t ask you to come alone without sounding like I’m about to reveal that I’m gay. I’m not, I just want to hang out with my friend without also be forced to entertain where he rests his cock at night.

"In this photo, Nikki Sixx offers this smiling cancer kid to the devil."

2) Be yourself? Wrong.

Three words I would use to describe myself are Selfish, Crass, and Arrogant. I LOVE being those things. When I was a kid I dreamed of being a big, mean shit-head while other kids dreamed of being astronauts or joining the Dino-riders.

However when you bring your girlfriend/boyfriend around I suddenly have to be super-nice and understanding and shit. I don’t even KNOW what it means to be those things so I just pretend I am the dad from Full House.

I want to, so very badly, make fun of your girlfriend for asking questions in movies and for being bad at basketball but I can’t. Instead I have to just grin and bear the fact I handed her a SWEET fast break and she couldn't even make a lay-up. Fucking bring your A game girl!

Not to mention that you hover around her like some stoic guardian giving me your poo-poo face whenever I smash her at a round of Call of Duty. NIGGA I PLAY TO WIN!

"The kids who dreamed of being Dino-Riders were clearly the smart ones."

3) Don't keep stuff at her place.

Inevitably you two will break up and the only one surprised by it will be you. Now, I'm not heartless. I will sympathize with you but probably not with intensity you think your situation deserves. I see you and I think, "Oh, that's too bad." in the same tone of voice I use when I see a dog try to hump another dog and gets shaken off by its owner.

In closing, if you must have a girlfriend, please make sure to get a cool one. Your friends will appreciate it.

"This is, unfortunately, what all cool girlfriends look like so...there is a trade-off."

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Monsters You Hate That I Love: Hitler

Godwin's law posits that the longer a discussion continues, the probability of a Hitler mention or comparison increases. Today my friends, this post will make Godwin's boner stand up and salute a flag.

I exhalt Hitler not in agreement with his actions or beliefs, but in the sheer fucking BALLS it took to wade into super-villainy of that level. It's as if God tried his hand at writing a comic book, and it turns out God is a terrible fucking writer. No motivation, simple rule-the-world mentality and his moustache is even the wrong kind (Untwirlable). A struggling artist, who suffered abuse as a child, realizes that he has cool mutant powers and gathers soldiers, weapons and money and finally launches a coup against the government. Only the combined forces of Spider-Man and Batman can stop him. Sounds like pulp-bullshit right? Now replace the last sentence with "Enacts a massive genocide" and you've got the basics of Hitler's life. God should've read Watchmen first.

God's other work includes Transformers, Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift, and Halle Berry's frog joke from X-Men 1

Congratulations to Hitler for making the Toothbrush Mustache a look that is social suicide for ages to come. You join the ranks of bald-headed Britney Spears and shiny-gloved Michael Jackson. I love how a Hitler Mustache makes your face look like a sideways vagina. (Hey fellow males! Try giving yourself a REVERSE Hitler. I've always wondered what that would look like. So common, be a man!) Extra kudos to Hitler for single-handedly making two entire names completely unviable for practical use. Nobody in their right FUCKING mind today can name their kid Adolf and I'll bet there were alot of requests to change last names around the 50's. ("It's pronounced Hit-LEER.") Though the one positive is that SHOULD you embark on naming your kid Hitler, this child can NEVER become a facist dictator sheerly because of how fucking ridiculous anyone would feel following ANOTHER bat-shit loon named Hitler. This is all coming from a man who's last name is Dong. I know goofy last names and trust me, the only thing worse than being named David Hitler would be if my folks named me David Fucking AIDS.

Face Pussay! Gimme that sweet, that nast, that gushy stuff!

In closing, I would like to note that Hitler's original goal was to be a painter and only turned to bloody facism because he couldn't get accepted into the elitist German art community. It is also said that Fidel Castro originally wanted to play baseball but turned to terrible violence because he couldn't get accepted in the elistist world of Major League Baseball. Perhaps what we need is a system that gives everyone everything they want at all times, for fear of what they might end up becoming. I'm an artist too and I can sympathize with how tough being a mediocre artist can be. Perhaps I'll round some friends up and....hmmm...

Just kidding fuckers, I'm an amazing artist

Thursday, January 15, 2009

People I Love That You Hate: My Dad

Despite sounding like an elementary school paper, I am proud to say that there are few people in the world I respect or idolize more than my Dad. He is a fucking rock star in the pantheon of dads. Here is the short list of my dad's accomplishments:
He never calls me unless it's to remind me to buy winter boots cause he knows I'm a weakling.
He BUILT the house I grew up in, BY HIMSELF.
He is seriously always right.
He only ever smiles to pacify you white devils. It is seriously the most fake smile I've ever seen.
He refuses to call Charles Barkley by that name, instead re-naming him "Charles Broccoli."
He was in the army, but hates guns; you just KNOW some Punisher type shit went down with him!
However if you were to ever meet my dad you would undoubtedly hate him. If he has nothing to say to you he will not speak with you. He walks around in his underwear at night whether I have a girl over or not. He is a vegetarian like most of you pansies but don't get it twisted, he still cooks meat just so he can remember what killing feels like.

This is the FBI file photo of my dad. He is the gun.

Other reasons you would hate my dad:

1)He loves haggling prices.
Few things can give my dad a hard-on like mentally DOMINATING someone. Such is the art of haggling, an art many of us don't have the stomach for. Trying to sell this computer for $950? Please. My dad has the power to make others feel so worthless that you're willing to sell anything for any price just to be like, "See! I'm cool."
My dad wont even buy CORN for full price. CORN!? .32c-per-pound CORN! He will drive all the way to the flea market JUST TO HAGGLE DOWN THE PRICE OF SOME FUCKING CORN!
Clearly it's not about the money (my dad is fucking rich) it's about sending you home with your tail between your legs you capitalist bastards. It's about showing you how full of holes the system is. My dad is probably responsible for the economic collapse and he won't fix a DAMN thing until you show that you've learned your lesson, AMERICA. The free market is my dad's playground and you are the hooker he bangs behind the jungle gym!

This is a statue of my Dad they erected in reverence. He is the Patron Saint of Savings.

2) My Dad is a flawless judge of character.
You would hate my dad because on first viewing he can see the bitch in your eyes. He knows you're pussy. Upon meeting one of the new partners for my mother's company back in Taiwan he immediately told her to pull out of the project. That man eventually swindled all the other partners, as well as killed all panda bears in a 4 mile radius of the city.
When I was a kid I would occassionally get grades under A+ (I was such a fucking idiot...) and when report card time rolled around I would start sweatin bullets. I would try the most elaborate schemes to trick my dad into thinking that I got A's. Never worked. My dad could tell I was getting A-'s as soon as I walked into the door. So much so that he pre-emptively did not make dinner that night, as punishment for my failure.

This panda cried out for my dad to save him, and he whispered, "No."

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

People I Hate That You Love: Other Nerds

As a colossal nerd, this pains me greatly to discuss. I'm generally only comfortable with my dork endeavors whilst in my room with my door shut, bathed in the glow of an LCD screen. My nerdly artifacts relegated to their rightful places among my entertainment center and my D:/ drive. Games and movie trivia safely repressed next to the urge to buy a swing set.
Coy nerds used to be the industry standard. Realizing that someone you're talking to is also a nerd USED to be a rare and special moment. I imagined it's exactly like what a gay dude must feel when he confirms that someone else also trades in dick.
There has, however, been a recent shift in society. A surge of nerds (a NERD-SURGE if you will) have started openly discussing their shitty basement activities as if it was OK. It is not. Where is the fucking disgrace? Where is the fucking sense of EMBARRASSMENT? Here is a quick list of shit I am embarrassed of; starting with most to least embarrassing:
I own a ton of videogames.
I own Blu-Ray.
I know the correct way to spell Blu-Ray.
This fucking blog.
I do improv.
I'm terrible at basketball (but excellent at Rugby).

That's just off the top of my head! I could go on forever!
When I buy a game I swiftly bag it myself and tuck it deep DEEP into my sweet messenger bag or nestle it securely inside my coat. It's like a goddamn Scarlet Letter AS IT SHOULD BE. However, with the success of games being introduced into mainstream society and "nerd culture" being the "in" thing, millions of videogame nerds are coming out of the closet (of their parent's house). It's like watching butterflies emerge from their cocoon. Socially inept, unfuckable butterflies. People who can't hold a normal conversation without letting it spill that they have an Xbox Live account.
Look fellow nerds, we need to keep this shit on the DL in RL, LOL.

I can't believe I own this fucking game.
1) Keep it to yourself!
I believe video games should be handled like religion or child porn. By yourself, shamefully. What I can't fucking stand is waiting in line at a Best Buy and having someone notice you're holding a game and try to talk to you about it.
"Hey cool, Zelda, badass."
"Heh. Yea. It's for my kid brother."
NO IT'S NOT BITCH, IT'S FOR ME AND I WANT TO FUCKING DIE RIGHT NOW. Incidents like this are, unfortunately, becoming more and more common. Embarrassing anecdote ahead:
A couple months ago I decided to purchase a game called Super Smash Bros. Brawl. In it, characters like Mario and Link and Bowser beat each other up and it's incredibly fun and it makes you feel like a kid again. So fuck you. Whoops. Sorry, I got defensive for a moment. Anywhoo I decided to head to a local game store with a friend late at night hoping nobody would see us. We were like thieves in the mist. Porno thieves. For his benefit, my friend shall remain unnamed.
(It was Nate)
Upon entering, it was one of the most horrific sights of my adult life. A pigsty of the most unsettling kind. A half-circle of teenagers arranged in front of a small TV playing something. A lone girl bathing in the attention of lonely virgins, feeding off of their neediness, building her confidence so she can talk to an ACTUAL boy tomorrow at school. Shallow breathing hung in the air like dandelion seeds. Suddenly, something happened back at the sweaty nerd circle and they cheered and clapped. Behind the clapping and laughter I swear I could hear the sighs of a thousand disappointed parents.
(Nate Sherman)
My unnamed partner and I retreated to a corner, vowing never to come back to a Gamestop during the goddamn witching hour. We hid and pretended to be parents or something. We talked about 401-K's and Grape Nuts Cereal, anything that would disconnect us. Finally the line cleared up, I made my purchase while staring at the floor and immediately went home and applied deodorant to the area under my nose to get rid of the smell.
(Nate Sherman: 380 W. Buena Chicago, IL)

As a black male in the U.S. Nate has more to lose than I ever will.

2) Shame Makes Us Reach For The Top!
Shame is important because it forces all of us to consistently strive towards an unreachable goal and hide (not discard) shitty, undesirable aspects of ourselves; our own "Dark Passengers." For men, that goal is rock solid masculinity and leadership. Like a bouncer or a M.M.A. fighter. I feel like this current nerd backlash (NERDLASH if you will) can only harm us in the long run. No longer will we have anything unreachable."Hey, owning a Wii is cool." Game Over America. Shit is done. Nice clothes? Fuck it. Scintillating conversation? Naw, muhfucka got a Wii! This is the gentrification of OUR SOULS I'm talking about! Our own sons will be beating us up for lunch money Goddammit!
I'll leave you with a very vivid, very specific memory from my childhood. It involves the old Nintendo game Castlevania. In it, you are a 9-pixel tall man with a whip and you climb Dracula's Castle to kill him, naturally. There was no language or age barrier. (It is my firm belief you can give any man a whip and drop him into a vampire castle and he will know what the fuck is up.) It was a dreary day and I had stayed home from school because I was sick. Sunlight pushed against my heavy drapes (HEAVDRAPES if you will) and the musty smell of rain pushed at the edges of my physical senses but mentally I was in Translyvania. Whipping Dracula. Whipping the SHIT out of him. Holy Water? Axes? Fuck it. Whip. Whip. WAP! (Castlevania is not merely one of the hardest games ever, it is one of the fucking hardest THINGS in life, period. If you ever need to test someones love for you, tell them to beat Castlevania. Then sit back and enjoy being alone for eternity.)

Then, finally, success. Dracula's 8-bit death moan fills my ears and I throw my arms up in a way that only an 8 year old child ever would. I immediately raced to my dad's room to tell him. "Dad I did it! I beat it!" He looked at me square in the eyes for a moment, expecting me to say more; when he realized that was all I had he lowered his eyes back to his newspaper and secretly prayed that I would grow up already. The burning shame of that moment has stayed with me AND THAT IS HOW IT SHOULD FUCKING BE NERDS!
If you thought Nate's was bad. I'm the guy in the lower right.

(note: I realize the entire conceit of this post is hypocritical.)
(x2 note: I posit Nate will never read this shit)

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Movies I Hate That You Love: Pixar's Cars

I have long considered Pixar movies the new classics of Disney. One day, faaar into the future, we will have grandkids and they will ask us to "beam" them the Disney classic "Cars" before we usher them into cryo-sleep. I will smile and fondly remember the first time I watched "Toy Story" and how jealous I was that even a fucking cowboy doll could have friends and I couldn't. Then, as I lay in my space-tomb, I will wonder how my whole life passed me by and I will wish I had the balls to actually tell someone I loved them. Then I will die. Then, upon my first re-animation, I will rip out "Cars" because this movie sucks tronic-dick.

One Day The Phrase 'Sexual Predator' Will Be A Compliment.

Pixar's Cars sucks on the bulging, pointed teet of boring, hack garbage. Normally I would put a spoiler warning but I actually HOPE I ruin this cum of a movie so nobody has to see it.

1) How did you manage to be so FUCKING BORING?
This is the crux of my anger. I basically PAID Pixar to waste 2 hours of my life. As the credits rolled I could barely remember that I had even WATCHED a movie. It was kind of like a rape. During the incident, your mind explodes with fear and dread but immediately after it's all you can do to call the cops. You don't remember any of it. You're just in shock. This is bad because you could possibly trick me into watching this movie again. Like Lewis Black with candy corn, I can imagine myself year after year going, "Hey! Cars! I've never seen THIS before." Who knows, maybe this is like the 5th time I've already watched this trash.

"I Present, Pixar's 'Cars'."

2)Fuck your stereotypes.
There is a character in this movie named Ramone. He is a gaudy purple Impala low-rider with flames on the sides and hydraulics. His grill is in the shape of a pointy-moustache and he is voiced by Cheech Marin. He is the definition of a "vato." The first time I laid eyes on Ramone, I thought, "Wow. Bold move Pixar. Let's see where you go with this." I'll tell you where they went, stereotype hell. Also in this movie are a pair of apologetic Italians that look like Fredo from the Godfather, and "Tow-Mater" a rusty, hillbilly tow truck that likes fart jokes who is voiced by Larry the Cable Guy. Seriously Pixar? It's difficult for me to enjoy a movie when one of the stars is a bigot who doesn't even believe any of the crap he spews but just does it as an act. You know who this movie was missing? Pat Robertson.

This is Chang the V-Tec Ricer, voiced by Chang and the V-Tecs. They did not make the final cut

I could go on forever. This movie is preachy and tells everyone that living in big cities means you are an asshole and only salt-of-the-earth good ol' boys had it right. This movie has an insatiable blue-veined boner for a nostalgic 1950's that never existed. You know who else wishes they could turn back time? Native Americans. Make a movie about that, fuckers. This move was so shit that I had to watch the 1974 classic "Death Wish" to salvage my night.

The 1974 classic starring Jeff Goldblum as a rapist. Charles Bronson is also in it.