Friday, December 17, 2010

The Most Amazing Christmas Sweater

Merry Christmas!

Wait, I don't want to offend anyone.

Merry Christmas to ALL!

There we go.

You know, when the Sears Roebuck Corporation invented Christmas in 1936 they didn't intend for it to just be a day of high volume purchasing, they also meant for it to be a day of love and togetherness. A day that would bring out the best in everyone: whether they shopped at Sears or not. That's why all of the characters they invented, like Frosty and Santa and that woman who could have a baby without having sex first, and White Jesus and Black Green Lantern...that's why they all exemplify that spirit of hope and joy and... And sacrifice. And that's what this story is about - The Story of The Most Amazing Christmas Sweater I've Ever Seen.

Now, The Christmas Sweater plays a very important part in the fabric of American culture. From Maine to Florida, from California to Delaware, from Target to Walmart, all across this great country, the Christmas Sweater represents the sacrifices we are all willing to make for family. In this case, the sacrifice of looking like a fool to make the person who bought you the sweater happy. Now, make no mistake. The person who bought you the sweater knows this. It's not that they have terrible taste in clothing. It's that they are consciously choosing to put you through an ordeal to prove your love. Wear the sweater and you have passed through these flames unscathed. Refuse to wear the sweater, and you have planted the seed of the story behind "why Uncle Ian isn't allowed to Grandma's place for Thanksgiving."

Usually the Christmas Sweater is simple in its ugliness:

A brown sweater with a big white snowflake on it. Simple. Ugly.

A white sweater with a big banana split sewn onto it. And on the banana, the words "Merry Splitsmas". Slightly more complex. No less insidious.

A red sweater with a big blue teddy bear on it. And the eyes of the bear. Are made. Of jingle bells. Why? And why is there a big palm tree behind the teddy bear? WHY.

I could go on describing various other Christmas sweaters, but you get the picture.

This is about the Most Amazing Christmas Sweater I've Ever Seen. The Christmas sweater that, if you are ever given, the wearing of which would make the person who gave it to you indebted to you for life. I know that last sentence was awkward but it is hard not to sound awkward when talking about this sweater.

I still remember the time I saw it. A few years back I was window shopping with my girlfriend one Saturday afternoon at Grapevine Mills in Dallas, TX. It's like Franklin Mills but Texas. So Steak and God and America and Ranch Dressing. We had just had one of those silly arguments only a truly loving couple can have, you know, like about whether or not one of us had said they wanted to eat lunch, and about whether or not that had been a basic statement of hunger or was meant to make the other person feel guilty for wanting to leave the dinner party early the night before, and whether or not that person had really wanted to leave the dinner party early or whether that was just an excuse the other person used because they wanted to catch the end of a certain sports entertainment event on tv. You know, one of those silly arguments truly loving couples can have. Anyway, I was having a hard time seeing out of my right eye now, because of where she had punched me, and I stumbled into a sweater store. It was one of those tiny boutiques that only a person with a trust fund could possibly keep in business. A place that says "I am not here to make money, I am here to have a place to sit that is not my apartment." You know the kind of place. One woman. One item. There was just one sweater on display. Just one. The rest of the store was completely empty and smelled of espresso though there was no coffee machine there. And I could not take my eye off of the sweater.

The sweater was navy blue, with bright red shoulders and green sleeves. At the neck and cuffs, padded suede. The sweater was thick and hearty like a potato stew, but warm and snuggly like a fabric softener commercial. Its many knotted cables twisted around one another like ivy made of wool, tendrils upon tendrils of slightly scratchy but oh so soft plushness. Flecks of color seemed to dart to and fro within the sweater's navy blue depths, like tiny playful woolen sea creatures drifting through the waves of quality knitting. But this was all secondary to the amazing design on the chest of the sweater, an intricate design that had been wrought from white, grey, and five shades of beige. It was a design of unparalleled complexity. Two reindeers, rearing back on their hind legs, their front hooves touching, and their antlers locked as if in a majestic mating ritual. A mating ritual their parents would surely have disapproved of, seeing as both reindeer were clearly male. The intricate criss-crossing of their many branch-like antlers formed the central image of a giant snowflake. But wait, it wasn't just a snowflake, it was also...a star. A very special star to be precise, for under that massive star, was a snowman nativity scene. Three wise snowmen bearing gifts for a tiny snow baby in a snow manger surrounded by snow animals. And above it all, above the reindeer and the antlersnowflakestar, flew Santa Claus himself, riding not in a sleigh, but in that cool flying car from the 'Back To The Future' movies. And those weren't nine reindeer tethered to Santa's Delorean, it was the starting lineup of the best baseball team of all time, the 1927 New York Yankees! On Combs! On Koenig! On Ruth and Gehrig! On Meusel and Lazzeri and Dugan and Collins! Wait, that's only eight. On back-up catcher Johnny Grabowski! There we go. And in the hands of each Yankee was a laser pistol, which they were firing at the many attacking Tie-fighters. And that's what the sweater looked like. At least that's what the sweater looked like if you only glanced at it briefly. If you took a close look at it, you soon realized that that reindeer-snow-manger-Santa-Yankee-space-battle was just scratching the surface of an even more complicated design. The details were mind-boggling. Santa's beard, for example. It wasn't just a beard, it was also a fluffy cloud, on which three angels with lifesaver candy halos and harps made of licorice made snow angels. Made of cloud. The door of the Delorean had been keyed, probably by a jealous Rudolph as he spitefully eyed Lou Gehrig's glowing nose from afar. The interlocking N and Y on the Yankees' caps were made of a ballerina and a toy soldier. The humps of the snow camel in the snow nativity scene were actually ski slopes down which the Muppets were skiing, and those Muppets were dressed like your favorite characters from The Love Boat. The snow baby Jesus was giggling. Dammit, even though the snow baby Jesus was made from chunky, fuzzy wool, and even though that wool was all clumped up to represent snow, the detail was there. Jesus was giggling. And why was he giggling? The answer was right over his head in a cartoon thought bubble, where key scenes from the 'Soup Nazi' episode of Seinfeld were playing out. And there, forming the background of the entire sweater, behind it all, impossible to see close-up but clear as day if you stared at the sweater from a distance, was Mount Rushmore. And George Washington was winking.

I cannot think of a good reason for having told you that tale, other than this: if someone you love, or who it is in your best interest to say you love in order to avoid the hassle of a family squabble, gives you a Christmas sweater, wear it. And thank the character that The Sears Robucks Corporation named God that it's not even close to as amazing as the sweater I've just described. May Black Jesus and White Green Lantern bless you all this Christmas!

Monday, December 06, 2010

XOXO!

It took me a while to figure out that when a woman signs an e-mail XOXO, she doesn't literally mean that she wants to hug and kiss you. I used to think that somehow, communicating over the internet had suddenly made all of the females I was corresponding with all hot and heavy. I'd catch myself thinking "Holy cow, all I did was ask her for the number of that headshot dude, and she wants to kiss, hug, then kiss, then hug, then kiss me again! And then hug! Amazing!"
I got into fairly frequent trouble by misconstruing their intentions. Here are some real* exchanges from the past few years that I refer to every time I need to remind myself not to take the XOXOXO stuff so literally. I've changed all of the names to ‘Jessica’ in order to protect the fictionally innocent:

ONE
Ian,
Thanks for putting me up in your show last night, it was fun! Seeya around.
XOXOXO,
Jessica
--
Jessica,
No problem, you were very funny! I’ll get you back up in a couple of months. Be well.
XO and I am cupping your left breast,
Ian

TWO
Ian,
Have you ever rented theater space from The Shubin? I’m trying to find a room for my one woman show, and I think someone mentioned that you’d done shows there once. Any info would be appreciated!
XOXO,
Jessica
--
Jessica,
Yes indeed, I did my first one a few years back. They’re good people. I have their contact info at my office and I’ll forward it to you tomorrow!
Gonna throw it in ya,
Ian

THREE
Ian,
Your father and I are looking forward to your visit this weekend! Give him a call at the office when you know what train you’re going to be on.
XOXO,
Jessica
--
Jessica,
Me too! Can we have lasagna? I think the train should get there at 7ish, but I’ll give Dad a call like you said.
Two in the pink and one in the stink,
Ian
*not real

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

FAMOUS THANKSGIVING QUOTES IN DAD HISTORY



Watch it, mister.

I don't care what you've heard about their saliva, letting Lucky lick them is not the same as putting them in the dishwasher.

No you're not. No you're not. Rock Hudson wasn't, and neither are you. Pass the yams. No you're not.

You will speak English at this table in this house on this day, Rajka, or so help me God I will call the exchange program and send you packing.

Forks are not catapults!

Because football is what God meant for men to do on grass.

Michael J. Fox is 44 you know. Sure he is. All I'm saying is you have a 44-year old on your wall.

I'm going to Wendy's. YES I AM.

Turn it off. Wipe it down. Put it back in Aunt Lorraine's purse and apologize to her. Now.

This isn't pony meat, it's turkey. Well, don't listen to your brother then.

Bless us our Lord for these thy whose phone is that? WHOSE IS IT?

As long as you're under my roof, you'll eat as many carbs as your mother puts on the table!

No you may not.

Some of the Indians had it coming.

Because Mommy is a lamprey. Look it up.

I do not pay twenty thousand dollars a year in tuition so that you can date a surfer!

Get out from under there.

Well this turkey lived free and died of old age. So wipe your eyes and eat.

I'm gonna football as much as I damn house. My house. Beer please'm.

Yes, I'm sure it was funny in 1977. Now stop playing with your mashed potatoes and eat them, Richard Dreyfuss.

Wipe the damn grin off your face and push Lucky off of your leg. Now.

Friday, November 05, 2010

I have invented an umbrella . . .

that will make your larger-than-large tent-like umbrella...

PREGNANT.

That's right, fuckers. So keep on using those massive umbrellas. When it gets really heavy in a few months and a crying baby drops on your head, don't come screaming to me with your placenta-dripping face, I WARNED YOU HERE!


And then you're gonna have to take care of the thing. Weird little Umbrellababy. What the heck is it? Spawned from two umbrellas! Yet it scrambles for your teet, mewling and gnawing. Yes, even YOUR teet, Mr. Douchebag Businessman. As you grimace and tear-up, the tiny teeth sawing away at your Mannipple, you will regret using such a large umbrella.

Friday, October 29, 2010

We Fabrege Egg each other's houses on Mischief Night.


My neighborhood topped the list of best places to trick or treat in Philadelphia! Read about it here!

I'd like to keep it that way, so for those of you who live in the NOT NUMBER ONE PLACE TO TRICK OR TREAT IN PHILADELPHIA here are some suggestions for absolutely undesirable treats:

Pennies - the penny is the godfather of the shitty Halloween treat. Nothing says "I rummaged through my couch and maybe in my bathrobe pockets to find something hard and cold and tiny to give to some strange kids so I can catch a glimpse of their mischievous joy turn to disappointment" like the penny.

Apples - another classic. It's almost passive aggressive in its awfulness. Sure, apples are great, but to give someone a healthy snack on the one day of the year when you're SUPPOSED to eat tons of candy. . . That's a big fuck you. If someone gives you an apple on Halloween, they hate themselves, and they hate that you're out having fun. Trust me, they were raised by terrible people, and they will crush their own children's hope. SERIOUSLY. Someone tries to give you an apple, slap it out of their hand - I mean SLAP it hard out of their hand, look them dead in the eye and say "Don't pile your bitterness on me, fuckface. I like myself."

Empty Snicker's wrapper filled with pennies, resealed - this is bordering on something a serial killer would do, I guess. Kind of creepy. Heck, at least a snicker's bar wrapper full of pennies is probably enough to buy . . . half an actual snickers bar? If you consider toying with expectations an art form, this shitty treat might be for you.

A personalized mini-A-Capella song - What you do is you take the second word of whatever the kid is, then make it a verb of the first word, and add "Tonight!!!" after it. "POWER RANGER!!! RANGERING THE POWERS TONIGHT!!!!" "Ooooh little child in a Power Rangers outfit, you gonna dance the niiiight awaaay! Oooh baby!" Seriously, make stuff up for like, 15 minutes. Don't stop singing. "Oooh young Power Ranger child! Dance dance dance! Heee!" Ad nauseum.

Tiramisu.

One of those mangos on a stick.

Caricature - offer to sketch a quick caricature of each child. Sketch fast and furious, ask them what their favorite hobbies are, and who their favorite movie star or athlete is. Then, when you hand them the caricature, it's just a picture of them fellating a rifle being held by Snoopy. Man, that would be a terrible treat to give.

Omelette station - this one really speaks for itself.

Crudites - ditto

Oh and for the record, this year I'm handing out artisanal chandeliers.

Monday, September 27, 2010

I blame the Fall Guy.

I have the Kinks - "The Village Green Preservation Society" on a mix i made in my car's stereo for a couple of days now and 3 times now it has been playing at the exact same part of the song, the "God save Donald Duck" Davies solo, when I pull onto my street.

When it happened the second time I was like "interesting" but when it just happened again for the 3rd time I shit my pants and dove out of my car while it was still moving.

I sure hope the Saturn didn't hit anything too important on it's collision course towards the top of the block.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Found Fitness

In an effort to curtail spending in the latter quarter of 2010, I have cancelled my gym membership. However, staying in shape is still one of my top 28 priorities. Therefore, I have designed a rigorous new workout regimen in order to ensure my lack of membership does not cause (further) atrophy, weight gain, and stoopage of my approachingly zaftig-esque form. And I use the word "zaftig" fully aware of it's manboob connotations.

I have attempted to craft this regimen from found fitness opportunities. We generally don't recognize these opportunities in our everyday lives, but they are there, just waiting to be seized. Through the use of objects, people & situations I come into contact with during my normal daily routine, I will mold myself into a specimen worthy of ogling.

Sunday:

Morning- Sneak up behind neighbor's untethered dog. Poke dog's anus with novelty "Charizard" motorized lollipop holder. Elude.

Evening- 50 situps & 50 pushups!


Monday:

Morning- Walk to Art Museum and back. Kick everything along the way.

Evening - Dash from apartment into PSC without showing (expired) I.D. Hop onto nearest exercise machine and immediately start busting reps until forcibly removed from premises.

For HARD MODE workout: Forcibly resist being removed from premises.

For EXPERT MODE workout: Yell lots of homophobic and racist things while being removed from premises.

Tuesday:

Morning- Upon waking up, stand in middle of living room with one eye closed. Shadow box eye-floaties for 30 minutes. Get dressed. Chase eye floaters to art museum area.

Evening- 50 push-ups & 50 sit-ups!


Wednesday:

Morning- Make a businessman cry.

Evening: Watch Mad Men. Whenever someone says something condemning, lift dresser. Don't put it down until Don Draper says something omniscient, or until I see someone start smoking. Bonus-whenever Christina Hendricks appears onscreen, pleasure myself. EXPERT MODE - pleasure self whenever old lady secretary appears.

Thursday:

Morning- Place coffee table on curb. Watch from window. Whenever someone tries to take it run outside and tackle them. Once table is safely back in apartment walk to Art Museum and back kicking everything.

Evening- 50 Pushups & 50 situps & karaoke!

Friday:

Morning- Chase eye floaters.

Evening- Drink until violent. Wrestle nearest barstool. Drink until weeping. Undress. While nude & weeping, lift nearest jukebox/cigarette machine. Resist being forcibly removed. Kick everything along the way home.

Saturday:

REST DAY!


(Note: granted, many of these found fitness opportunities are not so much discovered than created)

Thursday, September 09, 2010

thoughtdump

i want to run through a screen door or press my face against a chain link fence so hard that it comes out on the other side like facial Play Doh from a meat grinder.

it was so nice out today that I felt obliged to fuck a hole into a Thomas Kinkade landscape this morning. all those bright colors felt cool and soothing against my cheek as we cuddled in post-coital bliss.

i thought of a brilliant idea for the food network. "Iron Chef: 3rd World". they could go from ethiopia to haiti to pakistan and the robe wearing guy would be all, "the secret ingredient today is.... NEWSPAPER" and the chefs would scurry off to concoct bouillabaisses out of childrens tears while they swat the flies away from their eyes and hold a crust of bread just out Ndugu's reach.

food and sadness should continue to fit together as well as they do when you see someone binging and purging or a commercial for that device that will instantly de-shell a hardboiled egg.

the winning dish might feature a disemboweled infidel's ears as garnishments or perhaps as the meal itself. cannibalism has a bum rap and i've been considering marketing my scabs as an "Atkins Friendly" alternative to potato chips.

EAT MY SCABS, motherfuckers!

Sunday, August 29, 2010

Smells like a good deal

Sometimes a document comes across my desk that just smells fantastic. It is during those rare instances that I can hold an investment proposal up to my nose, give it a good whiff, smile knowingly, and say "Smells like a good deal." And the best part is, I am completely right. Run it by as many analysts as you want, I hit the bullseye with one snort. It smells freakin' fantastic. If sound investment strategy were merely a factor of smell, I would highly recommend any deal printed on a fruit roll-up.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Haunted Bonito Flakes.

So this happened at lunch today.

Monday, August 02, 2010

Shark Week

If I'm not mistaken, it's Shark Week on the The Discovery Channel. Long-winded set-up here, followed by fake show titles and half-assed explanations:

Shark Bytes! - a computer tutorial show, but with sharks.

Sharks vs. Jets - inspired by Westside Story, this one-sided fight takes place between some Great White Sharks and an F-15. Or, this one-sided fight takes place between some Great White Sharks and some members of the gang, the Jets. OR, this one-sided fight takes place between some members of the gang, the Sharks, and an F-15.

What If All Your Appliances Turned Into Sharks? - a terrifying exercise in hypothesizing. I mean could you imagine?

The Sharkprentice - Donald Trump. Um. And stuff. Eh, still sleepy.

Who Wants To Marry A Millionaaaaarrgggh!

Shark & Order: Shark

Pimp My Shark

So You Think You Can Oh No Shark

Sharkity Shark Shark

You know what, open up a fucking TV Guide and replace random words with the word Shark, and you'll pretty much have it.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

i wrote this from the perspective of some loud ass kid this morning at the bookstore

i lost my Chinese grandmother!

and now...
now...
now I can't shut the fuck up about it.

my eyes are crimson dewy.
my voice is stained and pleading.

she's not dead-
my Chinese grandmother-
i just wandered out of her view...
which, to most 7 year old boys, is nothing to cry about.

but i like to cry.
loud.
because i'm a stupid asshole.

i've found her just now-
my Chinese grandmother-
and if the world was a just place
(which it isn't)
she'd be hitting me with a big purse filled

to the brim

with Zen rock gardens and fine porcelain,
because even though now she's back and I can hold her hand again,
I STILL can't shut the fuck up.

I just can't seem to Chinese win.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

SWMF

Single Waxy Monkey Frog Seeks Same.
I'm new to this, so forgive me if I come off like a dork! It's been a while since I've dipped my toe into the proverbial "dating pool", but hey, that's what the webbing is for, right? I know, I know, lame joke. Let's see...I'm a pretty normal guy. I lead a pretty active lifestyle. I'm more of a climber than a hopper I guess. And naturally I love swimming. My unblinking stare has been called both sexy and unnerving, but I just like to think it means I'm listening to what you have to say. I don't really want to come off like too much of a goof, so I'll stop writing. I'd much rather chat in person. Give me a chance, let's meet, chat, maybe dance 'til we croak! I know, another lame joke. Trust me, I'm much cooler in person! And waxier.

PROFILE:
Ethnicity: Waxy Monkey Frog
Religion: Waxy Monkey Frog
Body Type: Waxy Monkey Frog
Height: 80mm
Smoking: No
Drinking: No
Children: Thousands - heck, maybe you're one of them!
Plans for Children: LOL!

PROFILE OF DESIRED MATCH:
Maximum distance: 3 branches
Ethnicity: Waxy Monkey Frog
Body Type: Waxy Monkey Frog
Height: 60mm - 72mm
Drinking: No

Wednesday, July 07, 2010

A bear is nothing but a tiger thrown in amongst conifers and made to appreciate a more spartan wardrobe.



But then i'm no zoologist . . . which should explain my lack of worthwhile college education, string of low paying jobs and the fact that I *still* don't have access to the most exotic (and, hence, delicious) animals that the metro Philadelphia area has to offer.

I went to the zoo. Once. Gorillas sat motionless just out of view (or so I was made to believe) and the goats of the petting zoo area had an unhealthy fixation on my crotch area when I ran out of the bountiful corn/other crap mixture that flowed forth from a modified gumball machine.

I attempted to cure the wry goats by filling my hands with dirt, pretending to get more 'goat feed' and then dumping the dirt in their mouths when they came to beg and bleat.

I taught them.

Friday, July 02, 2010

Attention, COPRHSJWSRC members:

It is my sad duty to inform you that as of today, July 2nd, 2010, The City of Philadelphia Rush Hour Screaming Joggers With Smoldering Rucksacks Club will cease operations. This is for our own safety, as I'm sure you can understand. It's unfortunate. For the past 25 years, members of the COPRHSJWSRC have enjoyed jogging through Philadelphia rush hour pedestrian traffic while screaming and lugging smoldering rucksacks, for both fitness and fun, and it is sad to think that the actions of a few bad apples would make this wonderful past-time seem suspicious in any way. The tragic results of yesterday's annual Scream 'n' Lug made the decision to disband the COPRHSJWSRC a foregone conclusion. Some of you have dissented, insisting that we can continue as a club if we merely stop screaming as we jog while lugging smoldering rucksacks. Still others have pointed out that it's the smoldering we need to eliminate - that non-smoldering rucksacks would serve us just as well. And a vocal few have argued that the mere presence of rucksacks at all is the issue. Let me be clear. With the COPRHSJWSRC, it's always been all or nothing. For us to honor our club's history, and for us to achieve the full satisfaction and joy that we have always striven for, it is pertinent that our jogging be:

a) during rush hour

b) while screaming

c) and carrying rucksacks which are:

d) smoldering.

That's it. Until we can safely resume the activity for which our club is named, in its totality, we shall cease any and all club activity. I am truly sorry, and I wish all COPRHSJWSRC a happy and healthy remainder of the summer.

Sincerely,
Dan Cleets III
President, City of Philadelphia Rush Hour Screaming Joggers With Smoldering Rucksacks Club

P.S. This Sunday, I will be having a few COPRHSJWSRC members over for an informal smolder seminar, exploring what materials produce a good, long lasting smolder in a rucksack and so forth.

P.P.S. From now on, let's call them backpacks.

(special thanks to Dom for brainstorming up that fake name for me) 

Monday, June 28, 2010

Last week on Twenty-One Dollar Burger. . .

Dale 
You're shitting me.

Seth
No man, seriously.

We now return to Twenty-One Dollar Burger

Dale
How was it?

Seth
Awesome.

Tune in next week for more Twenty-One Dollar Burger!





Thursday, June 24, 2010

Abusing the "Replace All" function has never been more fun.

Original post HERE

(CNN) -- After lining up for hours, or sometimes days, Apple fanatics on Thursday morning started to get their hands on the Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off, the latest gizmo in that company's line of trend-setting Leprechauns who won’t stop jerking off.

The Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off went on sale at 7 a.m. local time Thursday in U.S. stores, and at 8 a.m. local time in France, Germany, Japan and the UK.

At an Apple Store in Atlanta, Georgia, customers and Apple staff clapped and cheered when the store opened at 7 a.m. ET.
A 20-year-old college student named Seth Herren said he had been waiting in line at Lenox Square Mall since 10 p.m. on Tuesday. 

At a flagship Apple Store on Fifth Avenue in New York, more than 600 people had lined up to get a device that some were calling the "Jesus Leprechaun," according to CNNMoney. Vuvuzelas trumpeted. Fans cheered.

In London, Priscilla Lee and her brother, Alex, had come all the way from Dubai, United Arab Emirates, to get a spot at the head of the line for the new Leprechaun, which features video conferencing, a faster processor and a sharper cha-chi.

The Lee siblings said they had traveled so far because they had to have Apple's new gadget on the day it became available. "I've got a Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off and then my Librarian throwing guns. And then a bad case of the mondays. This rash -- the list goes on," Priscilla Lee said. "Apple. What else to say?"
http://i.cdn.turner.com/cnn/.element/img/3.0/mosaic/bttn_close.gif
http://www.cnn.com/video/tech/2010/06/07/bts.apple.jobs.iphone4.debut.cnn.576x324.jpg

Gizmodo, a technology blog, pointed its readers to a Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off app -- called Line Snob -- that helps Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off line junkies know how long they will be waiting. Of course, as one commenter pointed out, you would need an old version of the Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off to be able to use that app.

When Apple CEO Steve Jobs unveiled the new Leprechaun this month, he said the Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off is "the biggest leap we've taken since the original Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off," which debuted in 2007.
The Leprechaun will cost $199 for a 16-gigabyte version and $299 for a version with 32 gigabytes of storage space for photos, videos, movies and apps.

The Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off has a higher-resolution cha-chi, which Apple calls a "retina display" and says is better than anything in the industry.

It is about 25 percent thinner than the most recent generation of Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking offs and features cameras on the front and back, which will allow video conferencing.

The Leprechaun comes in two colors: black and white.

Early reviews of the Leprechaun have been predominantly positive.

Some have criticized Apple's continuing policy of not running Flash graphics, websites and games on its products, as well as the company's deal to sell the Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off only with an AT&T wireless network contract.

The size of the Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off's cha-chi -- at 3.5 inches, measured diagonally -- has also come under criticism. Several Android-based Leprechauns who won’t stop jerking off sport larger cha-chis, which some analysts say are better for watching video.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Up the stairs he jostled, like a young jostling jostler on the jostle. He felt every blade of Astroturf between his un-socked feet as he blazed across the faux fairway of his faux St. Andrews number 17 situated in the friendly confines of his attic.

Not only was he fast, but he was rich enough that there was no one to race him. Not on this indoor golf hole. He'd found through his years of play at 'normal' golf courses that most patrons favored playing golf to racing from tee box to flag stick anyways, so it was near impossible to find a race.

Sometimes he paid young crack whores to race him for a razored rock or two but their technique was as lacking as their dental maintenance and to say they were fleet of foot was, indeed, a lie of the greatest measure.

A compatriot mega-rich acquaintance enlightened him to the quickness and relative ease in procuring preteen Arab boys for races and, for a time, he raced the brown youths until they cried for mercy and his feet bled from Astroturf burns . . . his hands from hoisting the flag stick skywards proclaiming his utter brilliance and insanity in a single shout of victory.

But those racing days were long past and in their place settled cold cans of corn niblets and bottle after bottle of cough syrup garnished with the same drink- worn tiny umbrella that once gave the gin rickeys and singapore slings of his youth a touch of whimsy.

Sadness permeated from every corner of the house. Profound sadness punctuated with exclamation points fashioned of kidney beans in the shape of famous kidney beans kept in a kidney bean shaped jar resting on a shrine to beans of a kidney variety made of an old desk with old issues of "Jet" magazine for legs.

Across the room: a toilet paper roll with a long spent glow stick taped inside serving as a shamefaced sham of a lamp.

Then, as if out of nowhere, I was hungry for a salad. goodbye.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

The man with the bulging left pocket and the corresponding buried hand that manipulated it just seconds before you stepped into the viewing room flicks his possum eyes from corner to corner, fiddles with his headphones and lumbers out of sight (likely toward another mildew cornered Renaissance canvas with pink puffs indicating the presence of long dead nipples). The thick memory of his flushed face hangs heavy in the room like an elevator filled with soccer mom smells and hairstylist noise. Dead eyed teenagers stop dutifully while a teacher gestures grandly towards a well known piece and takes a few extended moments to enjoy the echo and play of her resonant voice in the expansive hall. A boy, just away from the crowd, scuffs the floor with his gaudy sneakers and blinks heavy and hard at the noontime light that pours endless through the one window in the room. He spins slow from the light on a heel, casually flicking a two fingers in front of his gaze as a stop gap shield.

His backpack is a canvas of his own and the paint-penned fabric is filled with whirling letters and dizzy figures. He stands away from the rest.

Monday, June 14, 2010

Fuck this shit.

You heard me. Fuck this shit. No, not THAT shit. THIS shit. Right here. Fuck it! How this shit can be allowed to go unfucked is beyond me. Look at it! Ooh this shit is so asking to be fucked it's ridiculous. Someone's gotta fuck this shit. Fuck! This shit. You know what? Forget what I said about THAT shit. Someone should fuck that too. Yes, both this shit and that shit should be fucked repeatedly until they are completely fucked and no longer need to be fucked. FUCK! I hate this fucking shit.


(note- In actuality I am not angry about anything in particular.)

Sunday, May 30, 2010

Instruction.


GETTING STARTED
CONTENTS:
I. Installing On-line Shut-in on your hard drive.
II. Subscribing.
III. Creating your Shut-in.
IV. Navigating the On-line Shut-in "Introverse."

I. INSTALLATION:
Installing your new copy of On-line Shut-in is as easy as not dancing. Simply place the CD-ROM in the appropriate drive and follow the prompts that appear on the screen. On-line Shut-in will take up a tiny amount of space on the furthest corner of your hard drive. You'll hardly notice it.

II. SUBSCRIBING:
Stare at the On-line Shut-in icon that should now occupy the bottom right hand corner of your computer desktop (it looks like a tiny man hiding behind a sofa). If nothing happens, double-click on the icon. If nothing continues to happen, try again. Remember, a "double-click" means that the two clicks must be in fairly quick succession. Today's computer 'mice' are built to withstand repeated, firm clicks, so don't hold back. Once the subscription template appears on your screen, you simply need to fill out the appropriate billing information. Our unobtrusive automatic withdrawl option ensures that you won't have to walk to the mailbox or speak to anyone on the phone.

III. CREATING YOUR CHARACTER:
Three columns will appear under the banner "Creating Your Shut-in". Click on one icon in each column to choose your shut-in's gender, pastiness, and eyeglass prescription. Once you've set these parameters, click DONE to proceed to the bathrobe selection screen.

There are over 8,000 styles of bathrobe to choose from, with variable size, length, color, fabric, stain types and stain patterns. Make sure you pick the bathrobe that's right for your shut-in, because he or she will be wearing it for the duration of the game! Once you've picked a robe, it's time to determine how your shut-in makes a living.

The occupation screen has over 4 different types of occupations to choose from:

Freelance web designer
Novelist
Neighborhood curiosity
Famous physicist
Undiscovered corpse (this occupation will severely limit your playing choices)

Once you've created your on-line shut-in, it's time to start not exploring our vast, virtual world - the "Introverse."

IV. NAVIGATING THE INTROVERSE:
The Introverse is a gigantic virtual world, filled with thousands of virtual characters, each with unique personalities and objectives, and all of them interacting with each other to create a constantly-changing virtual "eventscape." However, your virtual shut-in will only be able to experience this world vicariously, as he or she will never leave their home. Your character can:

Cook.*
Clean.*
Peer through the curtains.*
Go on-line.*
Watch tv.*
Pace.*+
Play on-line games.*
Shout at passersby through the mail slot.&
Engage in on-line discussion forums relating to on-line games.*
Solve age-old mathematical and scientific conundrums and receive international praise.^
Send and receive both snail and e-mail.*
Decompose.**

*Option not available to undiscovered corpses.
**Option only available to undiscovered corpses.
+Option not available to famous physicists.
^Option only available to famous physicists.
&Option only available to neighborhood curiosities.

Monday, May 24, 2010

BFFs

So I bought "Plastic Beach" yesterday which means I can stop listening my torrented version - which always made me feel guilty for enjoying it so goshdern much and not having paid good official American currency for it.




I recently discovered Janelle Monae. It's like Sun-Ra Orchestra meets Outkast. I'm not mad at it.


I am the Record Industry's good, good friend. Such a good friend that sometimes we borrow from each other and I've slept over a time or two.



Saturday, May 15, 2010

Ludittes

I officially own a "Smart Phone."
I don't like it.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Just say no.


Guys this "Faces of Meth" site is really scary and sobering.

Monday, April 19, 2010

Bless this mess.

I've been thinking a lot lately about making a bunch of classy looking framed, calligraphy placards that say "Here I sit so brokenhearted/came to shit but only farted" and secreting them into fancy restaurants in my Fair City, nailing them to bathroom walls in appropriate sitting and teeth grinding places and then chuckling to myself whilst I savour smoked trout mousse and swilling a fine sauvignon blanc watching poor befuddled Mr. Spalding/Winthop/Grumplesticks toddle out of the bathroom complaining loudly about said placard.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Well said.

". . . [T]ea baggers believe stupid shit because they want to. It’s willful ignorance. They spin outrageous theories because they know that the naked truth about what they believe would make them look like giant bigots and big meanies. So, instead of saying, “I don’t want health care reform because I like a system where poor people are shut out because that means I don’t have to see them in my doctor’s office,” they start yelling about the slide into socialism. Instead of saying, “I’m an incredibly selfish person who wants to keep my government-funded Medicare, but I don’t want to see that single mom down the street get health insurance because she’s a slut and I want to see her suffer,” they say that Obama’s trying to take their Medicare and that’s socialism. They’re not confused because they were badly educated and don’t have a grasp on critical thinking. In fact, I think a lot of us would be surprised to find that the person hollering ignorant shit about Obama’s birth certificate often turns around and is highly competent at a job that requires the cognitive skills they don’t bring to their politics. They’re willfully ignorant, and this distinction should never be forgotten when trying to understand them."

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

"It makes me feel sexy."

I think the kids are gonna love the glamour shots Mom got made.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

On Comedy.

The following is an IM conversation I had with a friend on some rules or "patterns" of comedy.

like who's on 1st?

well
thats more of a paradox
the who's on 1st bit
basically
a series of events is occuring
and it's being interpreted with two entirely different meanings at the same time

got it

basically you laugh at Whos on 1st
because our brains fail to sort out the confusion inherent in the change of context
inversion is another component of comedy
its the reversal of expected roles
like in Bros in the year 3000
the humorous premise is that total tool bags are the brain trust of a futuristic society
that can be humorous in itself

idk man

like to make something funny?
take an idea or a norm or more
and flip it backwards
that's the first part
once you find the funny
repeat it again and again until its no longer funny
"No, you're the homo."
is an example of the first two
now
creating a paradox with that info
you mash up the funny with the noot so funny and the truth it reveals creates a third funny
like
"no, you're a ghey fag"
"No, you are."
"No, i'll prove it by docking my bing bong with your donger."
"See how much my bing bong is docked up in there? That proves you're a nancy."
i realize i just explained some basic tenants of comedy with a protracted gay joke

Tuesday, April 06, 2010

You're welcome.

Complicated Universal Cum - I can hardly wait from fakediamond on Vimeo.

Dear Shop Rite

I recently purchased some Evil Milk, as advertised in your circular. Please help me. My cereal is now evil. My coffee is now evil. My cookies, by association, are becoming evil. Plus, I have an evil milk mustache.

Sincerely,

Doris Fauser

New London, Connecticut


P.S. Oh my God no the pancakes.

By Crom!

A close friend of mine was laid off from her job, the same job I was laid off from almost exactly a year ago. I thought back to many of the friends I made over my five years there, which led to all of the idiosyncrasies that nagged and annoyed me.
Many of my co-workers were religious (read: SUPER CHRISTIAN) types. There's nothing wrong with faith, but there's everything wrong when your cubicle is over-laden with so many religious tsotchkes that it overflows into the surrounding cubicles.

And I wouldn't mind the little God-related affirmations posted all over the multitude of cubicles and desks if just one extra phrase was inserted into each of them:

AN ANGRY


So, instead of "Each Day is a Gift from God", the tiny little heart-shaped frame on her desk would contain the phrase:


EACH DAY IS A GIFT FROM AN ANGRY GOD!



Specifically Crom, the God of Steel and Battle.
























The implication being that we should cherish each day that we are allowed to continue existing, for at any moment Crom may fix his baleful eye on us according to his cold, capricious whimsy.
And blast us into oblivion as he laughs from his eternal mountaintop.


So yes, be thankful for each day. But do not pray to Crom.

He does not listen.

Thursday, April 01, 2010

Up the Zigguraut.

That's right. It being a quarter through 2010 and all, I figure it's about time to release "It" from the confines of this particular level, and allow "It" to take the leap to a place I like to call "The Next Level", or as some folks refer to it - "The Level After This One".

To sum up, it's time to take "It" to the "Next Level". It's also time to stop using big, flashy quotes and capitalization in this post.

Now, to be sure, since I've never exposed it to the next level, I'm not exactly sure what will happen. Great things could happen. It might really thrive there. The next level might be a place that it really likes. On the other hand, it might not be able to handle the next level, and might clamor to return to the relative safety and obscurity of this particular level. I hope not. It's explored this level pretty thoroughly, and I personally feel that it can benefit from a new level. The next level.

So, let's see what happens. It? Get in the catapult.

I can't stop looking at this promo image.



Ha ha! April Fools!
Got you!
I can't stop jerking off to it.

Sunday, March 28, 2010

Sub-conscious was screaming at me in my dreams I have to focus on school more.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

California Soul

I just realized this track (which I own from the "Slurped!" compilation) was sampled by Adam Freeland and is the basis of Area 5 "Infiltration" from Sega's REZ, the crescendo of which is my absolute favorite set piece in any game ever.

For comparison:



Sunday, February 28, 2010

Friday, January 29, 2010

The Giant Bowery '09

Here's a product review I wrote about my commuter
Giant Bowery: A fine entry level track/fixed gear

Picked up the vanilla '09 Bowery as an alternative to using my training/racing bike for errands and commuting.
The Bowery has a BMX-ish vibe to it with a compact frame geometry similar to the TCR series. The sloping, tapered top tube coupled with an integrated headset, straight fork and proprietary ALUXX aluminum frame might earn a few sneers from hipster fixie snobs but screw 'em: it hits a sweet spot where it's neither tank-like nor way too stiff, and climbs fairly well. The Cro-moly steel fork does an adequate job sucking up road buzz.

My only gripe with the regular Bowery, and this can be said with any entry level bike, even with it's price (approx $500) is that the majority of its stock parts aren't that great. Do yourself a favor and chuck the saddle immediately. It was replaced with a Brooks Swift saddle. The stock pedals are so-so Wellgo quills which I quickly switched out with MKS Sylvan track pedals. I also swapped the stock Kalloy seat post and stem with a Thomson Elite and X2, respectively. I need a 110 stem and the stock stem is 90mm. The oddly-curved 3lb custom drops do not have flats along the top so I replaced them with a Nitto B127 (I prefer anatomic drops) at half the weight and finished it off with Brooks leather bar tape over a layer of cork. While the stock FSA cranks aren't bad and 44/17 set up can get you to a nice speed I swapped them out for a Sugino Messenger 46t chainring to accommodate a 16T lockring. The stock brakes are ok. I think they're Tektros but I'm not 100% sure. Finally I removed the two sets of bottle cage bolts (personal preference) and replaced the 700 x 25cc Kendas with 700 x 23 Continental Gatorskins to give my fenders a little more breathing room.

After all of this upgrading one may wonder why I simply didn't go for Giant's higher end Bowery '74 or FMX-friendly Mashup (or even some a be vintage such and such steel lugged frame) but I enjoy the understated look of the simple black frame with orange highlights on the straight fork, seat, and chain stays. The chunky welds add to its charm, as well.

One final note: there's no eyelets on the chain stay for a rear rack, but there are on the fork. An odd design feature. If you're looking for a fender/mudguard SKS Race Blades are the only thing I've found to work due to the low clearance.

Pros : Responsive, Handles Well, Unique Geometry
Cons : Poor Components, Uncomfortable Seat, no eyelets for rear rack
Best Uses : Exercising, Casual Riding, Commuting
Describe Yourself : Avid Cyclist

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Friday, January 22, 2010

The Som.

This, then is the infomercial for the Som pleasure product. Maid outfit? Check. Gaijin stooge? Check. Ron Popeil-esque B-roll clip of MASTURBATION DISAPPOINT? Got it. Testimonial by japanese suit (replete with voice over dub)? Indeed. No real need for smarmy commentary on my part, it's hilarious enough on it's own.



official site

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Time.

MoSharp just used this track in her new mix found here.
I'm feelin' it.

Friday, January 08, 2010

Thursday, January 07, 2010

Community.

Class registration is always like pulling teeth, yet I consistently seem to find a way to get my classes at the last possible second and then I end up with the teacher that smells not so faintly of meatball subs and requires 2 papers a week and a vague 'journaling' assignment that seems to have no real purpose beyond his desire to read about what college aged kids (and me) are thinking about on a daily basis. Thankfully I have more than a decade worth of interwebs blogging I can recycle when that happens.

(off-topic: Archeologists uncover what appear to be hipster droppings at Williamsburg dig site)

Sunday, January 03, 2010

Smoke me a Kipper . . .

This is the year I go from Arnold to Ace.

Saturday, January 02, 2010

Sweet Tooth Was Right.


My Twisted Metal/Bioshock crossover fanfic is coming along well.

Friday, January 01, 2010