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.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Foods I Hate That You Love: Deep Dish Pizza

Having friends visit me in Chicago is normally a joyous occasion. We talk, we drink, we party. There are, however, two unavoidables that I dread with each visit: A trip to that fucking metal, bean-looking statue, and deep dish pizza. The bean itself doesn't warrant its own post, I mean, it looks like a giant robot took a shiny SHIT in the park and everybody just gathers to coo at it. Then we all take hilariously disproportionate pictures and post them on Facebook. The Chicago Bean Arch is the fat, younger brother of the St. Louis Gateway Arch and all it does is hang out at skateparks and get fuckin' BLAZED on sticky.

"Whoa brah, you guys wanna like...hahaha?"

Now, on to the main offender. Deep Dish Pizza is aptly named because it is a Deep Ol' Dish of Shit. Let's begin:

1) Fuck This Crust.
Deep Dish Pizza (D.D.P.) crust tastes like a Lincoln Log dusted in cornmeal. I have not had food this dry and tasteless since I was a SLAVE on a pre-Civil War plantation. It is also like 30% of the pizza. The last time I checked, people eat pizza because they want to taste cheese, sauce, and toppings not to fuck around with an entire MERIDIAN of thick, crumbly dogshit. When I eat this crust I feel like I'm in a post-apocalyptic future where I must eat dehydrated rations to survive. Cooking fires are not allowed because they would attract the cannibals. Even then I would still risk it were I not caring for my boy. The only child left in this bleak, culinary wasteland...
Shit, I mean, take a mental trip back to college. Look down on the floor and pick up the pizza box. I'm sure there's one lying around. Open it and what do you see? That's right, all the Gee-Damn crusts that your roommates didn't eat so they could save room for the GOOD FUCKING parts of the pizza. So why, oh why, would you fashion a pizza that has EVEN MORE FUCKING CRUST!?

"But Daddy, it's so DRY...."
"I know son....I know."

2)An Unwelcome Guest
Allow me to take you on a flavor tour of D.D.P. First, your Pizza comes (after an extra 45 minutes of waiting) and it smells sexy. Your waiter graciously plates it for you and you take a bite. All is well; peppers, sausage, cheese and breading. Everything is in order. You continue to chew. Slowly the cheese starts mushing and begins to sluice into your gullet. The toppings follow. At this point you start to notice something. The breading is still there. Why? Ugh this is terrible. It'll be another few moments before you realize that IT'S NEVER GOING AWAY.

Ordering a Deep Dish is like trying to set up an orgy. Sauce, Cheese, and Toppings are "chix" that you totally want to "bag" with your "penis." So you hit up their cell to come party but you TOTALLY notice that they brought their annoying roommate, Breading. You're like "Whatevs I'll just ignore it" and u start makin' out with Sauce and Cheese starts nibbling on your neck while Toppings is undoing your belt buckle. Shit is about to get BANGARANG up in here. As you start to think about how fuckin' jealous your high school girlfriend would be you get a sandy, crumbly feeling around your sensitives and you're like, "Hey Toppings, don't get too roug...Oh FucK!" cuz you see Breading has started goin' downtown you don't want to say anything cause this is a really delicate situation that has taken weeks of fucking planning bro! Slowly the other girls start makin out with each other and now the three of them are just like totally goin to town and touchin' up on each other on the sofa but you're stuck over here gettin' totally knobbled by Breading. I-mean-whatever-just-go-with-it-man-this-is-still-epic!

Fuck you Chicago, this is a fucking pizza.

Monday, December 15, 2008

People I Hate That You Love: Bradley in Accounting

I am in complete HATE with Bradley in Accounting. I don't even know his last name. All I know is this percolating HATE that sits in my gut. I hate him all the more because everyone else in the office seems to fucking LOVE him though for the life of me I do not understand why. Everywhere he goes he leaves a trail of giggles and candy wrappers because he is fat and looks like Dirk Diggler if Dirk Diggler were made of shit.

Here's what's wrong with this fucker:

1) His Shits Are Epic

Every time I enter the bathroom I know if Bradley is in there because everyone elses' eyebrows are steeply pointed up and they are making faces that say, "Are you serious?" The only correct response to the smell is to take the Lord's name in vain. I mean goddammit Bradley, must you OBLITERATE every toilet you use? Your farts have transcended mere gases and are approaching HUMAN EMOTIONS; your farts are PERSONAL VENDETTAS. Upon entering one of Bradley's former stalls you will think you just walked through a portal into a GODDAMN bayou. This is AFTER flushing, as if it were evidence of some evil crime, refusing to vanish. I don't care what diet you have to change to BRADLEY but fucking handle your business.

Add Bits Of Corn To This Photo And You're On The Right Track

2) He Is So Hard Up For Pussy

Bradley has two jobs. One is in accounting at a large Chicago-based corporation. The second is getting it on with anything female he comes across. He is utter SHITE at his second job. His dick would FIRE him if it could afford to hire anyone else. Sitting here I feel like I'm waiting in line at a Gamestop and the only cashier is female. Watching him game on girls is like watching yourself in 10th grade. I have never seen anyone be in the friendzone deeper than he is. Hey Bradley, here's a sign you should stop: you start conversations by asking how their BOYFRIENDS/HUSBANDS are doing. Game over clown, no girl has EVER fucked a dude after finishing a conversation about how she went to a great wine and cheese party with her boyfriend of three years. Jesus fucking SHIT.

"Why yes, I WOULD like to reserve anythingyouwantmeto."

3) You do theater, I GET IT.

Holy shit Bradley, why don't you regale us some more about rehearsals and shows that you're in. Remember how I said I can't imagine a reason why people here love him? I lied. This is why. He goes on and on about plays and productions and how hard his rehearsal schedule is thus creating some air of fame and glamor around himself. I can't even imagine what production he would be in, Richard The Third can only play so many times a year.

In summary, this is the kind of person who is still using social tricks that he picked up in college. Ladies, remember that one party where you got so wasted and passed out but woke up when someone was trying to kiss you? That was THIS FUCKING GUY. Oh Bradley I HATE you. I hate you so so much.

This guy is an ANIMAL on the John.