I was giving one of The Doomed Stuffing's followers some shit this morning about the lottery. Because I'm an asshole and also because the follower, Skipper Dick (if, indeed, that is his real name), often beats my ass mercilessly at the evil, vile, treacherous game on facesuck called "Words with Friends." But mostly I was giving him shit about the lottery because he, like many of his fellow travelers -- gamblers -- seem to fundamentally misunderstand the probability (or, rather more accurately, the improbability) of winning that big jackpot of millions of dollars.
You think to yourself, "Oh, well, what the fuck -- I'll throw a dollar away. Someone has to win." No, no they don't. No one has to win. In fact, the Lotto is designed specifically so that no one has to win. When no one wins, the Lotto simply carries over to the next Lotto, and then each gambler's odds decrease significantly. It's ironic that the bigger the jackpot, the worse the odds, because the bigger the jackpot, the more people are enticed to take the worse odds.
I'm not against gambling -- illegal or otherwise. It's just that I am completely aware that the Lotto -- and all forms of gambling -- is a total scam. You have the chance of a snowball in Hell ... maybe ... no scientific evidence exists yet as to the physical destruction of snowballs in Hell, so I'm keeping an open mind about snowballs. But about the Lotto, not so much.
One hundred and seventy-six million to one odds might not sound like bad odds, but when one considers that one's chances of being struck by lightning are only ten thousand to one (which are still terrible odds ... except for the human lightning rods out there who like to dance in thunderstorms while holding large television antennas), one may come to some sort of understanding about the ridiculousness of putting money into the coffers of the state with virtually no possibility on the return in the investment. It is truly a regressive form of taxation, as many gambling critics say, because poorer people are the most likely ones to make this futile investment.
I say keep your money and buy crack. You might die of a heart attack, but at least you're not getting fucked over by your state's government. Plus, they say crack is incredibly pleasurable -- so you'll have that going for you as you suck hard on the glass dick.
And if it's only a dollar and you have virtually no chance of winning, just mail me that fucking dollar, Lotto suckers. You won't win anything, but at least I'm up front about it.
[Editor's note: (Okay, there's no editor; I'm the editor -- and fuck you, this is my blog, and I'll have an entire fucking editorial staff if I want to, judgmental pricks!) I originally wrote in this post that the Lotto Jackpot odds were at seventy-six million to one instead of the correct one hundred and seventy-six million to one. Also, I originally wrote that the odds of getting struck by lightning were five thousand to one, but NOAA, the National Weather Service, lists the odds at ten thousand to one for humans who live to the age of eighty -- in the interest of full editorial geek disclosure.]
Monday, March 26, 2012
I'm not really on vacation, but my niece and nephews are, so I am Uncle Butler until further notice. I have a lot to say about many things -- Rick Santorum's mental breakdown and inexplicable outbreak of Presidential Candidate's Tourette's Disorder, the Florida shooting of a teen for carrying Skittles, and the suspension of the Nawlens' Saints' personnel for letting the NFL-(wink)approved practice of placing bounties on the heads of players of opposing teams come to light. But it's spring break -- so, as usual, fuck off for now.
Friday, March 23, 2012
In honor of National I Am a Lazy Motherfucker on Fridays Day, I am not writing a Friday post ... although I am a lazy motherfucker seven days a week, and I feel really bad about acting like I'm only lazy on Fridays. Well, fuck you, you judgmental bastards! You try coming up with a new post five days a week! Assholes.
Thank you for your attention. And merry NIALMFD!
Thank you for your attention. And merry NIALMFD!
Thursday, March 22, 2012
|This isn't me in the picture. It's from Wikipedia Commons. I'm much fatter than this hairy-armed chef in a wife-beater.|
I like to eat. A lot. Sometimes I'll buy three or four super-sized combo meals, eat them in one sitting, then puke them up in a bulemic session of projectile vomiting. Because I'm an American, and I don't want all that shitty fat sitting in my system for too long.
A lot of people worry about their health. I do, too. The difference is that I'm not delusional enough to think I'm ever possibly going to live to be a centenarian. I'm not even going to live long enough to see on the TV news how the Arctic ice shelf completely disappears within the next fifty years. I wouldn't want to live to be old enough to say, "Yeah ... I'm ninety-two ... and if you had any sense, young person, you'd never get old." I have never heard one elderly person say, "Oh, yeah, getting old is great! I feel like my life is just now getting really started."
People hate being old. It's miserable, because when we humans first started out, we didn't live much past our twenties (unless you believe in the Bible ... in which case, you shouldn't be reading The Doomed Stuffing ... you should be reading about Ezekial begatting Brezekial and Brezekial begatting Amos and Amos begatting Shazrab and Shazrab begatting Emos and Emos begatting Barney Fife's great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather Barrabas, who got a pass from Jesus because the Jews were sick of all the begatting in the Bible and they wanted to see how they'd fare in an incredibly anti-Semitic world -- at least, that's what I understand about the Bible ... I'm better at understanding overeating). Getting old in our present era means gradually being placed on an increasingly invasive program of terminal life-support. I would rather enjoy my shortened time on Earth by not worrying about remembering how many steel pins I have in my pelvic bones and how many times I've had surgery to remove intestinal tumors.
They say you can live a long, healthy life ... but that's total bullshit. A long, healthy life is relative. When you get very old, you're in a variable stage of miserable death, and denying this fact is ridiculous. Humans weren't meant to live to be in their eighties, much less their nineties or hundreds.
It's why God supposedly invented death. And McDonald's.
Fuck you, McDonald's!
And Death ... anytime you're ready, my bags are packed and my belly's probably going to be full. Unless I've just puked.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
"The United States has the highest documented incarceration rate in the world (743 per 100,000 population), Russia has the second highest rate (577 per 100,000), followed by Rwanda (561 per 100,000). As of year-end 2009 the USA rate was 743 adults incarcerated in prisons and jails per 100,000 population. At year-end 2007 the United States had less than 5% of the world's population and 23.4% of the world's prison and jail population (adult inmates)."
Source: Wikipedia, "Incarceration in the United States"
This is quite an unfortunate piece of information: the United States incarcerates approximately 740 people per 100,000 of our population. Sure, China might incarcerate more, but that's China -- a despotic government that destroys any dissenters before they have the chance to bitch one word about how China oppresses its citizens. So China doesn't count.
We even have private corporations that own and operate and staff prisons. That's pretty fucked up. When Wall Street starts publicly trading shares in CCA, a private corporation that runs prisons in many states, America will really be in big trouble.
Oh, wait ... I just read where they do trade on the New York Stock Exchange:
|CCA's common shares are traded on The New York Stock Exchange (NYSE) under the ticker symbol CXW.|
Now, that's fantastic! Entrepenal-urial rehabilitation! You, too, can now invest in the prison industry!
Corrections Corporation of America is the nation's largest owner and operator of privatized correctional and detention facilities and one of the largest prison operators in the United States, behind only the federal government and three states. CCA currently owns and operates more than 60 facilities including 44 company-owned facilities, with a design capacity of more than 85,000 beds in 19 states
Well, God bless the United States of Incarceration! Thank Christ our streets are safe! Because of CCA stockholders, an American desire for puritanical vengeance, and poor people who can't afford adequate defense counselors to defend themselves against harsh penalties when they get drunk or stoned and the states want to make money off them! And some Americans have the audacity to bitch about their own perfect nation! Shame on you, American critics of America! If you don't like our country, leave it! And then you might have a chance to not be incarcerated.
The odds will be in your favor!
Monday, March 19, 2012
Watch this guy scream at his cat. It's kind of cute ... and really crazy.
Ma'am, come through the metal detector, please. And then bend over in your wheelchair and spread your ass for the Transportation Security Administration. It's for your safety.
Some people never curse. They hate profanity, and they wouldn't even say "damn" if someone dropped a brick on the little piggies in their open-toed hippie Jesus-freak sandals. Other people don't curse because they think it makes them look less intelligent (and believe me, if you think intelligence is a "look," then you couldn't possibly be less intelligent than you are: you're at rock-fuckin'-bottom, baby, because Albert Einstein rarely -- indeed, if ever-- looked intelligent).
But I enjoy profanity, vulgarity, obscenity, coarse language -- whatever you judgmental motherfuckers want to call it. Profanity and vulgar slang have a long and distinguished history, since the earliest forms of writing were developed. Cavemen hadn't invented the word fuck, so they painted a bull bison fucking a cow bison on the side of their cave and they laughed uncontrollably for several minutes before one of them had a heart attack ... and the mood got suddenly frigid. "Maybe we shouldn't curse," one caveman said over the corpse. "Glepgla laughed so hard from the bison-fucking picture that he bought the farm." Thus was formed the almost pre-natal version of the War on Words. I made this bullshit caveman story up to illustrate how ridiculous is our conception of what words are acceptable. I've probably totally fucked up my point, but I've always thought the idea of cavemen painting porno scenes on the walls of their caves in France is too hysterical to pass up using it as an awkward illustration of the ridiculousness of our fears about writing or speaking in coarse, vulgar, common, indecent or profane language.
I'm sure most will disagree with me on this. You'll think I have Tourette's or some other psychological disorder. Probably I do. But let's face it, you sanctimonious pricks, you're all just not cursing when you're in front of your mothers or your preachers. When you're bungholing your neighborhood prostitute or letting her suck your pud for twenty bucks, you're not quoting her love sonnets. You're telling her, "Back that big ass up, bitch," or "Madam, you are a totally exquisite fuck!" Depending on your cultural proclivities.
I say, embrace your obscenity. They're just words.
Friday, March 16, 2012
Religious freaks are funny. They are very earnest, warm people in general ... who simply will not tolerate allowing other people to burn in Hell for all eternity. Good intentions, you know. Their hearts are filled with so much love that they want everyone to feel that love. And I respect and admire them for that.
But I also can't stand them. They hold you captive if you're a non-believer. If you don't believe in their religion (or if, like me -- in the interests of full disclosure -- you are an atheist who believes in verifiable scientific fact), they will eventually morph into a raging, frothing-at-the-mouth proselyte who wants to verbally beat the Great Satan out of you and fill you full of the glorious spirit of God. At that point you want to punch them in the face, but you can't -- not just because it would be illegal, but because it would be like punching God in the face. (Sometimes God needs a good punch in the face, but I won't try to elaborate on that blasphemy ... not now, at least).
Like most atheists, I don't spend a great deal of time thinking about my atheism. I don't spend a great deal of time trying to persuade the unwilling that they need to be atheists -- nay, I spend almost no time trying to persuade people to be atheists. Because I don't care what people believe. They can tell me they're religious and I won't bite them, but I don't want them to give me even a twenty-minute lecture on why Jesus or God or Buddha or Mohammed or Ishtar is the right path to eternal enlightenment.
I'm a big fan of the religious film A River Runs Through It. It is earnest, devoutly so, and there isn't a hint of proselytizing in it. It just tells the story of two brothers, one more wayward than the other, and their stoic but firmly religious father and mother, whose love is unquestioning, both for God and their family. While watching the film, I never felt like I was supposed to be a believer; their faith was just a huge part of the film and it was an inextricable part of their characters. A great film, understated and believable, tersely scripted, and quite poignant in its respect for spirituality.
But I don't find that religious people are like that when they're around non-religious people. I find they become petty, sniping, belittling, obnoxious, over-talkative, intractable in their opinions and inattentive to anyone's opinion that doesn't jibe with theirs. Unfortunate, because I often get the feeling that I respect their spirituality more than they respect their spirituality; and they certainly don't respect my own non-spirituality at all.
I am sure there are exceptions out there. My brothers are religious, but because they sort of have to tolerate me, they don't fuss too much with me about their spirituality. Probably more out of fear that I will mock them if they get out of hand with it ... and I certainly would.
Other people have told me, quite unabashedly, that I am going to Hell. This I do not respect.
And those people can go fuck themselves. Respectfully.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Why do we care what people think? I mean, I don't really care -- but you humans sure seem to care an awful lot about what people think. When I browse the TV "news" on Sundays (the "news" talk shows, that is, that are sandwiched between greedy little hypocritical televangelists who scream and thump their pulpits as though they were transmitting the word of God instead of begging for handouts from senile old people and the terminally gullible), I have noticed that they are now showing scrolling tickers at the bottom of the screen that lets the "news" audience mull over the thoughts of k9beatrice600 @ twitter.com, who says, "Obama is a muslum and he eats Christian babies," or the philosophical musings of bBrandonLovethrust @twitter.com, who says, "God loves Rush Limbaugh, Obama should 2."
People, including me, have a lot of crazy thoughts and ideas that at least occasionally occur to them. Myself, I sometimes think the CIA has an agent whose job it is to harness my brainwaves with the cathode tube in my television (although -- and I am not sure I'm right about this -- the HD TV I have no longer has cathode ray tubes) and the agent lives inside my television. Sometimes, I think, he comes out to steal my last roll of toilet paper that I thought I still had, only to discover that the government has conspired once again to make me use pages torn out of old copies of Newsweek from the 1990s. But these are just random crazy things I'd never want to seriously share with the few people out there who are trying to find out the real news from real news sources.
The internet is a great and unprecedented resource. We will have to come to terms with all the ramifications of this resource. I don't think I've come to terms with it yet, because I couldn't give less of a monkey-fuck what either k9beatrice600 or bBrandonLovethrust think.
I have my own delusions with which I must deal on a daily basis. The news should be about facts, presented by professionals with verified sources that back up those facts. The news shouldn't come from crazy fucks who like to rant on twitter when they're not ready yet to mark up the chain-link fence outside their home with their own excrement.
I don't blame the crazy fucks for ranting on twitter. I blame the "news."
And, of course, the CIA.
(To view an anorexic chick almost shooting her face off with a Desert Eagle: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yG-5i0Z60x4 )
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
|PETA is an organization that fights for animal rights. I'm not in favor of treating animals humanely -- because humans don't treat anything with mercy or compassion. I'm in favor of not treating animals like foreign prisoners of war (you know, waterboarding them, making them roll around in their own excrement, forcing them to listen to Celine Dion, etc.).|
I don't hate animals. Readers of this blog (if, indeed, anyone exists who reads my blog at all) know that I use the word hate quite a bit. I don't have a lot of hate in my heart, however. I keep my hate in my spleen, where it belongs. And my spleen doesn't secrete any hate whatsoever for the lower members of the animal kingdom.
PETA is a different story. They only represent the rights of the lower members of the animal kingdom. What pisses me off so much about PETA is that they take things way too far. I don't believe animals should be tortured. I don't believe calves should be kept in a crate to force it to become anemic so we can all enjoy the splendid taste of veal. I don't believe the unhealthy practice of cramming a thousand cows into an area that wouldn't be considered habitable for two hundred cows is a good thing. Undoubtedly, there are many practices humans (specifically, the humans who work for food processing and farming corporations) engage in that I find repulsive, unethical, vile, disreputable, dangerous -- practices that are grotesque examples of profiteering at the expense of human and lower animal health. But PETA doesn't just want ethical treatment for animals; they want to make animals equal to humans in their worth.
Animals are not equal to humans. Sure, there are some animals I'd gladly exchange for some humans -- but only in theory. Some humans annoy me so much I don't think they should be given the same elevated status as cow dung, let alone the status of a cow. I'm being facetious about this, of course (sort of), but PETA doesn't seem to me to be too ironic in its incessantly disturbed valuation of animals over people.
I saw a sign once where I live that showed a fish being hooked by an evil human with a fishing rod, and the caption beneath read, "FISH HURT." You know, fish feel pain. Okay, fish feel pain. I'll accept that. But then what's to say that flowers or wheat or those roses you cut out of your neighbor's garden to give to your wife on your anniversary so she'll give you some poontang for once in your pathetic human life don't feel pain? Where does it end? Do your dirty gym shorts need equal protection under the law because the billions of stinking, putrefied germs in them are equal to human life?
PETA is ridiculous. They are over the top and under the bridge. I'm against animal cruelty -- totally. But if I were stuck on a desert island with a pet German shepherd that I'd raised from a pup and the can of Spam I'd scrounged from the rocky beach was getting low, "Shep" would get a few humane hugs and pats on the head ... and I'd twist that motherfucker's neck and eat him faster than I could a bag of beloved Doritos. Because Shep's just a dog. I'm a human. Sorry, Shep.
I loved you so much, Shep.
And you were such a tasty bastard!
(My thanks to Skipper Dick for the above photo link.)
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
|Nazis demanding conformity during World War II|
I don't mean to be rude (yes, I do, but for the deceptive purpose of appearing polite, I thought I'd say that I don't mean to be rude), but this isn't a frivolous lawsuit. Parents across the nation have long advocated "zero tolerance," which is the intractably stupid policy of treating every transgression among our nation's youth, citizens, and criminals as though it were the sin of Onan. Onan, if you remember from the Bible classes you sat through without paying attention, was the dude who masturbated and spilled his seed on the ground. Bad stuff. Especially if you do it in public. And especially if you do it in public with some jerk watching who would later put your masturbatory frenzy into the "historical" framework of God's good tales of woe and treachery that we lovingly refer to as "The Good Book."
"Zero Tolerance" means "Zero Thinking." It has led to the most abysmal withering of our citizens' sense of privacy, of minding their own business, of not reacting to every little seed-spilling, every little piece of spray-painted graffiti as though it were a blood-stain on God. We are a nation of human beings (as all nations are, despite the efforts of propagandists who exist in every nation to tell their nation that their nation is the best nation on Earth and anyone who doesn't have enough sense to live in the best nation on Earth should probably rot in Hell, along with that foreign fuck of a masturbator Onan), yet we seem to believe that we as a nation are one. E Pluribis Unum, which either means "Out of many, one" or "Onan spunks on sand" -- I can't recall right now. The point is, we are not a nation of one. We are a nation of many. Many individuals.
My nephew, who's eleven, is in danger of getting detention because he can't seem to keep his shirt tucked in at school, and this is a violation of the school's uniform policy. It's a public school, supported by a government that is supposed to operate under the U.S. Constitution's respect for individual rights and liberties. Public schools, and America in general, do not teach respect for individual rights and liberties. They teach conformity. I know it's a grotesque stretch, but the Nazis in the above photograph also taught conformity. The difference is that they did it through the relentless act of shedding innocent human blood. In America, we force twelve-year olds to give their school officials their facebook passwords, and we force eleven-year olds to keep their shirts tucked in. The lessons of conformity, I admit, vary greatly by degree: the Nazis shot their foreigners (and their own citizens) because they did not conform to their ideas of racial purity. In America, we threaten or punish our non-conformists. We would never shoot them, though.
Not yet, anyway.
Monday, March 12, 2012
The reasons that "spring forward" and "fall backward" should be changed to "quit fucking with my sleep" are so obvious that they would only need to be elaborated here to my readers (if I actually had readers) if any of my readers had a mental deficiency. According to my studies, if I had readers, 71% of you would, in fact, have severe mental deficiencies. But I can't cater to the special needs of the 71 per-centers, because it just wouldn't be fair to the 29 per-centers, who know how to use forks and wipe their own asses.
I came up with the 71% figure by watching that annoying buzz-cut anchor on NBC's morning "news" show. He interviewed a physician couple who were kicked off their Jet Blue airline flight because their two-year-old girl had a hissy fit and didn't immediately comply with the typical, rigidly intractable airline rules that all passengers must immediately -- and with total respect aforethought -- comply, or be cast to the tarmac like drunken hobos. Allegedly, Mr. Matt Lauer, resident anchor buzz-cut, told the couple, whom he interviewed for no apparent reason this morning, 71% of respondents to some meaningless poll NBC took agree with the airline. This doesn't really surprise me, because I am well aware that Americans love conformity (which they mistakenly believe is the same thing as patriotism, team spirit, or brotherhood).
And let's face it -- two-year-olds are assholes. They do what they want, whenever they want, and they know they can get away with it because they're so damn cute. That two-year-old brat who wouldn't strap herself into the airplane harness to placate some cunt of a captain should be ashamed of herself for being two years old. How dare she! You're right, 71 per-centers!
So I won't get into a deeply thoughtful argument for why we no longer need (if we ever actually needed) daylight savings time and standard time changes in spring and fall. There is no need to argue with 71 per-centers when the 29 per-centers already know what's right ... and the 29 per-centers have kept you fucking 71 per-centers from sinking the entire fucking continent into the oceans for over two hundred years now. Hopefully, we'll keep your moronic asses afloat for a hundred more.
Not that you deserve it.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Wow. I've been examining the new Timeline feature from facesuck, and I have to say, I'm very unimpressed. It's too busy, too cluttered. The center does not hold, to pinch from the master-poet William Butler Yeats. (Yeats wouldn't have liked facesuck at all, let alone Timeline.) The problem with Timeline is that it doesn't have a line; it should be called Timeglobule or Timesplat. It's like looking at a newspaper (I know, those don't really exist anymore) that has been constructed at random for the benefit of people with severe attention deficit disorder.
And soon I will be forced by facesuck to use Timeline. It's facesuck's way of telling me that they are in control of my television set; they control the vertical, the horizontal, do not be alarmed, you are now entering the outer limits of customer service. Facesuck (and here facesuck is capitalized only because it must be capitalized at the beginning of a sentence -- unless facesuck has elected to change the spelling rule to suit its own nefarious desires) doesn't care what its users think. Facesuck is the future (until the next internet fad comes along to displace it), and the future is bleak, rife with the possibility of mass genocide, nuclear proliferation, more cheap synthetic semi-legal drugs more dangerous than the illegal ones and which will kill you faster and better, more Craig's List serial killings (until Craig's List is replaced by a new offshoot of ebay called ebaysacrifice.com, where you'll be able to sell your torture victim's body parts to the highest bidder so you can buy more chains and pliers or simply use e-dollars to play the trendy new version of Words with Friends called Gruntings with Maniacal Cannibals on Death Row).
I don't want to seem like one of those typical technophobe baby boomers who cried incessantly when he or she couldn't figure out how to program the clock on his or her circa-1985 VCR, but facesuck's new Timeline feature really sucks. I mean, to be emphatically clear and obscene, facesuck's new Timeline feature sucks like one of the techno-robot hookers Silicon Valley will construct in the future to pleasure themselves with electronic fellatio as they come up with ever more creative ways to fuck up any and every single thing they might actually accidentally get right. If they haven't already invented those robot hookers in the first place and are selfishly keeping them for their own delight.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
There's a solar flare attacking the Earth today. You might be thinking to yourself, why is my iPhone malfunctioning? Why did I feel so unusual when I pooped ionized McNugget biscuits this morning? It was the solar flare.
But don't worry. Jesus will save you. He told me so. In a solar flare-irradiating vision. Jesus told me that you should give me all your money so that I can continue to spread His word. Jesus loves money, it turns out -- so all those televangelist/charlatans, it turns out, have it exactly right.
The world is ending and Jesus' day is come. The only way for us to get the word out to everybody is for you to sell all your possessions and give me the cash money. Jesus told me. Why would Jesus lie? Jesus died for you, you ungrateful motherfuckers, so that I could get all your money and spread His word. Quit giving your bread to Billy Graham's kid and give it to me instead! Look, Jesus told me so in a solar-irradiating vision. He wouldn't lie.
Neither would I.
Not to you.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
The new iPad is coming out today. Or maybe it's the new iPhone. I don't know which one it is, because I have neither an iPad nor an iPhone. The truth is, I don't give a shit about it. You might be wondering why I would choose to blog about something about which I care not a whit.
Well, the reason is that I have to hear about this bullshit all the time. Like "Desperate Housewives," or "The Bachelor" or "The Catty Plastic-Faced Trophy Wives of Beverly Hills." Or "Dancing with the Quasi-Celebrities" or "Down-and-Out Quasi-Celebrities Addicted to Paint-Huffing Interventions." Trends can be funny, up to a point. Like the trend where kids choke each other out to the point of unconsciousness for the "high" (when I was a kid, we weren't interested in auto-asphyxiation; we were interested in nearly killing ourselves with good dope and alcohol, and we would walk seven miles to school in the snow with paper stuffed into our hand-me-down boots -- because I lived in the fourteenth century).
Today it seems like everyone in the world has to have a computer stuck inside his or her ear even when driving recklessly down the road, crashing into befuddled Ambien-devouring dizzy grandmothers on their way to a now-ruined day of doctor-shopping.
We have to be connected at all times, every nanosecond for the rest of our existence, and up-to-date on all the latest technologies in the computer world, because we don't want just the self-asphyxiating little trendy freaks to be the only ones who are trendy. It would be like being a kid who didn't have a Frisbee or a Hula-Hoop when those fabulous inventions were given to the planet to increase peace, knowledge, and perfection among all those people out there who don't masturbate enough.
Don't get me wrong. I love technical bullshit as much as the next geek (well, not that much), but if you're out there waiting in line twice a year to pay $500 or $800 a pop to buy a new version of the thing you're just going to have to buy again four or eight months from now, my suggestion is for you to just go out and buy a fucking Frisbee.
Or, as these kids seem to be doing so much these days, just get a buddy to choke you out. Go with the trend, lemmings.
Meanwhile, I'm going to wait to buy an iPad or iPhone when they come out with the version that plugs directly into your brain so it can simulate a three-way for you with Salma Hyek and Monica Belucci. Because I'm all about techno-diversity.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Rush Limbaugh isn't the only symptom of the diseased state of political discourse in our nation. If you step outside and turn to your neighbor and talk to him about one subject after another, I am quite sure at some point one of you will call the other a slut or a prostitute. Dan Ackroyd used to make fun of such a character on "Saturday Night Live," when he would turn to Jane Curtain after she had made some reasonable argument on SNL's fake newscast, and he would call her an ignorant slut. Now we don't have to make fun of that character, because we are that character.
We can't just disagree. We have to attack. And everyone's been guilty at one time or another of this transgression into rudeness -- or else you haven't lived long enough. The problem is that no one seems to be hesitant in the slightest anymore about vilifying someone for believing, say, that a tax increase might not be such a bad idea; or that a tax increase might just be a whopping terrible idea. Instead of just disagreeing, people nowadays are likely to try to tear the other person down by calling him or her some awful pejorative they wouldn't dare use in front of their mothers.
I disagree with everyone about everything. Everyone's wrong. Only I understand the facts completely, and therefore you are all ignorant sluts, whores, prostitutes. You're hippies! You're right-wingers! You're zombies! You're prostituting zombies sucking on Godzilla's cock! How's that for political discourse?
It doesn't really make sense -- I'll grant you that.
But just when was American discourse civil? When we hanged witches in Salem?
(By the way, Rush Limbaugh, you're a fat-ass Vicodin junkie who sleeps with interstate truckers for Oreos. Fair enough, Rush? Accept my apology if you're offended. If not, go fuck yourself ... respectfully.)
Monday, March 5, 2012
Due to being abducted by my four-year-old niece (who didn't want to go to daycare today because she was "tired," although she perked up as soon as her mother left) and my eleven-year-old taekwondo tournament-winning nephew (who is "sick," although he, too, perked up as soon as his mother left), today's Doomed Stuffing is cancelled until tomorrow, when I will continue to "rage against the dying of the light," to quote the sloppy drunk and long-deceased English poet Dylan Thomas. Here's to you, Dylan.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Google and Facebook are my friends. They provide me with access to a bunch of free stuff. I can blog, I can chat, I can -- and I just found this out -- engage in another form of chatting that is called "IM" or "Instant Messaging" (I am very old and semi-senile and internet-unedumicated). Google and Facebook are fantastic.
Evil, I say. They don't want the government to protect our privacy, because our privacy means big bucks to them. Huge bucks. Gargantuan bucks. I'm just about out of superlatives to describe the bucks that our privacy will bring to Google and Facebook. And for that, we get free chatting and blogging and "the service of advertising." The "service" that these two evil minions are bringing to us through advertising is that the price we pay for free blogging and free chatting is the "service" of stealing our privacy. We have no stake whatsoever in Google and Facebook's advertising, but we're the ones who make it possible for Google and Facebook to make those big, huge, gargantuan bucks in the first place.
So when you hear one of these cunts from Facefuck or Gigglefuck on TV telling you that they are providing a free service to you, be sure to call up whatever TV show their on (or just Facebook them), and tell them that you're on to their evil. You're not an idiot who believes everything. Trust me, you're not. (Or are you?)
Meanwhile, Google and Facebook, suck on my big, huge, gargantuan blog ... and swallow!
Thursday, March 1, 2012
I hate losing. America hates losers (I think that huge asshole General George S Patton was the one who said this originally, and he often made his soldiers pay for this dictum by getting them needlessly killed so that he could show the news media how much of a hero he was by persevering through so much of his men's needless suffering). We hate losing so much because we're all such bad sports.
Words with Friends is a Scrabble-like game stolen by facebook (or, as I like to call it, facesuck) with the specific and diabolical intention of making me look like a sore loser. Granted, I am a sore loser, but Words with Friends provokes the loser in me like no game can -- be it chess, checkers, Texas Hold'em poker, or Russian roulette (I've shot myself in the skull six times already, but I've only played Russian roulette twice ... I'm that competitive).
What makes me such a sore loser is that Words with Friends considers meg and lez to be words, but I can't use the word qat (this latter word is the normal spelling of the word that denotes a plant that is used in the Middle East and Africa as an intoxicant). I hate Words with Friends for many reasons (and, no, none of those reasons include Alec Baldwin, whom people who disagree with him politically seem to despise, but whose Irish rage reminds me of my own German-Irish ancestry and poor sportsmanship). Words with Friends is evil and I will continue to play it, because one cannot turn his eyes from evil; one must stare Evil in its face, then maybe cut its eyes out with a butter knife by using one of Words with Friends' own fake words to magically gouge its eyeballs out of its annoying game-face.
I hate you, Words with Friends. I will defeat you. I will disembowel you. I will turn your offspring into goat feed and use your Words with Friends wife, Monopoly, as a toilet receptacle. This may sound vicious to some of you more demure readers ... but, as General George S Patton might say, "War is fucking hell ... for wealthy generals with so many chest medals that it's hard to stand upright while I tell my soldiers to go forth and die for my glory."
America hates losers. It's what makes us great and magnanimous in victory. (Don't you dare say anything about the wars we've lost, you cynical shits out there -- be a good American! And win!)