Wipe Your Own Ass

June 23rd, 2008

Newsflash, people!

If you don't use the entire packet of sugar (Holy shit! An entire packet of sugar? Hold it right there Diabetes Boy!), or the whole packet of non-dairy creamer, or you don't want to finish that belly-busting 1-oz sack of Cool Ranch Doritos, throw it away.

Yes. You read right. THROW IT the fuck AWAY.

Why would I ask that you spite Mother Earth so?

Because after you open the package and place the hymen-busted thing back in the basket, its fate lies along several paths:

  1. Some unfortunate grabs another package and, not expecting some fuckwit to have left an open bag in the basket, showers sugar/creamer/Doritos all over the counter and floor.
  2. Vermin have a little party with your leavings and either shit on the counter or swarm such that the building manager feels the need to hose down the entire kitchen with bug spray. If you're lucky, one of the melodramatic cunts you work with has a reaction to the fumes and paramedics are called. Nothing like psychosomatic anaphylaxis to spice up the day.
  3. A thoughtful, considerate coworker tosses your handiwork before any damage is done and then curses your fucking name to Hell. Cocksucker.

Do you really think your coworkers walk into the kitchen saying to themselves "I feel like corn chips. In fact, I feel like a half-bag of Fritos fondled by someone with questionable personal hygiene and aged for who knows how long to a chewy, oily goodness."

Oh, I'm sorry. I just made a huge, unwarranted assumption there. You can't actually think. You barely have two neurons to rub together in that vacuum-packed excuse for a skull on your shoulders.

Why do you do it? What are your motivations?

Is shaking that entire packet of creamer into your morning coffee somehow indulgent? Naughty? Like strapping a gallon jug of on-tap Astroglide to your headboard? You bad, bad girl.

Or is it that you just can't be bothered to turn and take a step to the trash can? In that case, how can you face breathing every single morning? Please don't. You're stealing valuable oxygen.

Or maybe you can't condone wasting that eighth teaspoon of sugar? Face it, asshole. Just by taking a shower this morning, scarfing that bowl of high-fiber Twiggs 'n' Shit with expeller-pressed soy milk and evaporated cane juice (fuck!), and commuting to work in your Acura MDX mid-size fucking SUV, you are butt-raping Mother Earth with a pitchfork and dumping her on the side of the road into an ice-rimed culvert to bleed to death of severe rectal trauma.

So please. Please. Either use the stuff or toss it... or jump into a pit of hungry crocodiles.

My sanity is in the balance here, people.

And You Thought Salmonella Was Bad

June 10th, 2008

The road was closed while the Hartford Police Department's bomb squad came and blew up the chicken.

Screw all this high-fallutin' fallacy thinking and world-class issues.

We're talkin' exploding chickens here!

Fashion Nonsense

June 5th, 2008

I flipped through a Lucky magazine this morning, the "Ultimate Shopping Guide" and "The Magazine About Shopping".

I saw a disturbing trend.

No, it's not those too-precious little vest combinations. Not the clunky wedges or giant, server-platter-sized sunglasses trying to escape from the 70s.

I saw a pathetic dimming of the Star Factor.

Too many ads featured celebrities with so little wattage that the ad featured the model's name.

Yes, I know that's Jennifer Garner. And that's Rihanna. And there's Hayden Panetierre. Oh, for fuck's sake, there's Fergie's grotty ass.

This is all part of the dissolution of values, a culture so empty that it folds back and feeds off itself. You can't keep up with the flavor of the minute, so you're gently reminded "Yes. You recognize her. This is Fergie. Despite all evidence to the contrary, she is hot. She is an object of desire and envy. You need to buy these shoes so that you will be as sexy and ephemeral as she is, because 'ephemeral' sounds cool and you don't know what it means. Just buy the shoes."

Even in my day, you didn't need retarded fashion Cliff's Notes. A picture was enough. Cindy Crawford. Christy Turlington. Naomi Campbell. Angela Lindvall. Linda Evangelista. Shalom Harlow. Amber Valetta. Their image on the page said what needed to be said. Note that I'm leaving out Claudia Schiffer and Kate Moss. This is because these poor ladies are nasty.

It just saddens me, this dumbing down of everything, even fashion. Any minute now we'll be pulling our clothes from Makers and parading our anonymous individuality like those nightmare street scenes out of Transmetropolitan.

This Should Be Easy

June 3rd, 2008

Yeah. Here's an easy one.

If you see a toddler wandering around by herself at 5 am, you damn well stop and help that little person.

You figure out what the hell is going on.

You ask her some simple questions.

You ring a few doorbells.

You hand over the little girl to her family in a non-judgmental way because you know that parents are not perfect and kids are damned devious.

Then you get on with your life.

You now have a cool story to tell your friends and family. If your asshole boss doesn't understand, screw 'em.

You do not let that little girl wander until she gets smacked and killed by someone hurrying off to work.

It's obvious that we've forgotten how to be neighbors, but sometimes it looks like we've also forgotten how to be human.

Belgians Aren't All Bad

May 21st, 2008

Well dang.

I've spent years developing a nice, healthy anti-Belgian bias. I met some really cool Belgians while traipsing around Europe, but I spent way too much time stuck in Brussels to really forgive.

The damn Belgians are so uptight about the Flemish vs. French issue and, really, no one else gives a crap. A young, very attractive Flemish lady related to me her experiences traveling through French-speaking areas, the sudden chilling of demeanor when she'd speak, the hard looks, and curt responses. Holy crap, you stupid Belgians. She's hot! Are you all microcephalic eunuchs?

Not to mention Belgium's dubious distinction as the Doormat of Europe. Are you a ruler of mainland Europe? Do you have a bone to pick with your neighbors or maybe you're just a megalomaniac who's nursing plans of world domination? First on your list of things to do: invade Belgium! The list reads like Night Ranger's World Tour of the Low Countries:

  • Julius Caesar: 57 BC
  • Charlemagne: 8th century AD
  • Spain and the Netherlands: 16th century
  • France: 1744
  • Austria: 1748
  • France: 1792
  • The Netherlands: 1815
  • Britain and Prussia: 1815
  • Germany: 1914
  • Germany: 1940

But my point is that the damned Belgians have done something very insightful.

In May of 2006, Hans Van Themsche shot three people in downtown Antwerp with a hunting rifle, killing a two-year-old and her nanny.

Thinking about that makes my stomach churn.

But the Belgians, instead of jerking their knees in a legislative orgy of banning firearms, swords (as they have in Scotland), glass containers (as they tried to do in Scotland), and sharpened pencils (as they are bound to do in Scotland), they've focused on the real problem: young people who feel that they have no other choice but to kill as many people as they can.

As part of an educational program, they take groups of kids on a tour, retracing the killer's steps, helping them to understand that there are better ways to deal with anger and frustration.

I don't expect anything as perceptive to happen on any useful scale here in the States. It's much more exciting to demonize an object like a handgun or a rock of crack cocaine or a dangerous book. Then you can pass some laws, pay people to dress up in body armor and kick down doors, or picket a library. It's all so much easier than addressing the true problems. Why does that young man think it's OK to kill people over a perceived slight? Is it worth the tens of billions of dollars and uncountable social cost to wage a war on a chemical? Shouldn't your belief system be strong enough to save your children even if they do read The Wizard of Oz?