Posts Tagged ‘life’

Great basketball player? No question. Do I want him on the Bulls? You better believe it. Does he have balls the size of watermelons and an ego that makes even Brett Favre bow before him? Obviously. 

...of what happens when ESPN kisses your ass for 7 years."

Tonight at 8pm CST Lebron James is holding an hour-long ESPN special to announce which team he is going to sign with. The balls on this guy, and we thought the Brett Favre shenanigans were bad. I’m not sure how he thinks this Lebron-a-thon doesn’t end with everybody thinking he is a tremendously arrogant, self-absorbed piece of shit. Consider the scenarios: if he stays with Cleveland, he unnecessarily strung along everybody else just to give them the proverbial middle finger on a national stage. If he leaves Cleveland, it is the equivalent of pulling his pants down and asking the Cavalier fans to kiss his ass in one of the most epic breakups I’ve ever seen. Instead of signing an extension years ago or dealing with a team like a normal fucking person, Lebron thinks it necessary to drag this out and parade on stage in what has to be one of the clearest displays of pompous douchebaggery in the history of professional sports. 

Lebron already announced that he will name his team in the first 10 minutes of the broadcast, which means the ESPN anchors will undoubtedly just powder his balls for the next 50 minutes while “King James” makes it rain on them. I’m not saying I blame him, I mean what would you do if the whole world kissed your ass since High School? Granted, whichever team he signs with will produce an elated fan base, and if the Bulls land him I’d be stupid not to be happy – he makes them a much, much better team and closer to winning a title and I’m on record as saying that’s really all I care about. This, however, is a tough pill to swallow. I can not be convinced that this is anything other than a self-indulgent spectacle to show to the world that Lebron James can do whatever the hell Lebron James wants to do and there isn’t a damn thing anybody can do about it. 

“But he’s giving some money to The Boys and Girls Club.” Shut up, that’s what rich people say when they just want to have their feet kissed publicly without feeling guilty about it. If he really wanted to help a charity, why not just cut them a check with his ridiculous contract he’s about to receive? Because he likes it when ESPN gives him a reach around, that’s why. Speaking of which, I’d like to send a personal “fuck you” to ESPN for hugging Lebron’s ass through this whole process. Every reporter has a different source telling them he’s going somewhere else, and the news feeds have just been embarrassing to watch so they thought, “Fuck it, since none of us know what the hell is going on, why not let Lebron do our jobs for us?” I’m convinced that even if Lebron signs with the Bulls, Stephen A. Smith (renowned ass hat) will still report that he’s heading to the Knicks. 

This whole thing is almost too ridiculous to wrap my head around, but that being said, I’ll still tune in because sports are like my bible – regardless of how stupid it sounds I still follow it like mindless drone (it’s my curse). I do want to ask something of you guys though. It’s been widely reported that Lebron finally joined Twitter, and I’m sure he has received an outpouring of affection from all his fans. Take a minute and let @KingJames know he’s kind of a dick (I did) and send him the link to this post.

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Yeah, I said “retarded”, get over it. Anyway, how was your 4th of July? Did you blow your hand off like I said you would? I spent mine at Summerfest (big Milwaukee festival – food, drinks, mediocre music, yada yada). My wife, aware of my affinity for the ridiculous, pointed out one of the most asinine trends I have seen in a long time. My attention span was ruined for the rest of the day, I couldn’t believe what I was looking at.

So apparently this is a thing now – hiked up multi-colored NBA socks. Listen, I’m not “stylish”. I don’t “wear pants all of the time.” I never claim to “know what I look like when I leave the house.” Yes, my favorite shirt is one that reads “It’s not a beer belly, it’s a fuel tank for a sex machine”, but I would never be caught wearing some dumbass concoction of flamboyant eyesore shit like this.

This is coming from somebody who grew up in the city of Chicago, so I’ve seen my fair share of ridiculous trends but this one has me scratching my head. It honestly looks as if this guy asked his 3-year-old to put together his outfit for him. Even the 3-year-old probably giggled as he grabbed daddy’s yellow socks and black sneakers, thinking about how god damn stupid he was going to look. Much to my dismay, this cretinous collection of idiotic fashion statements were everywhere. Every direction I looked there were NBA socks: lime green, blaze orange, red, blue, most accompanied by shorts of the completely opposite color. I couldn’t prepare my camera phone quick enough to keep up with them all. I even snapped a picture while riding the sky deck.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any more ridiculous, there they were:

Yep, socks and sandals, outdoors, in public.

I know what you’re thinking, but don’t worry – I’m an equal opportunity observational retorter.

If there is anything I have learned from this, it’s that there is no such thing as “fashion.” The term perception is reality couldn’t be more true here. They really believe, in their heart of hearts, that they look cool (the same way these assholes do). All of these trends are just an example of what happens when enough people are willing to look as stupid as one person does. Who is responsible for this crap anyway? If anybody knows the origin of this nonsense, please, comment away. If I ever become rich and famous enough to carry this kind of influential power, I’m going to start wearing pants on my arms and shirts on my legs just to see how far they’ll go. The thing that really chaps my ass is that they’re not even doing anything original here, this is just a new spin on an old classic.

Still stupid, 50 years later

Here are a few more, because inconspicuously taking all these pictures was not easy.

I spent the long weekend convincing myself that this wasn’t an actual thing, but I’m afraid I might be wrong. Is this happening everywhere, or have I just been unlucky enough to now live in a place where it looks like the Easter Bunny threw up all over everybody’s feet?

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Independence Day is almost here, so before you prove to your kid how cool you are by blowing your hand off you will most likely, at some point, be standing in a line at the grocery store to stock up. This doesn’t have to be a horrible experience, but you’ll have to keep your wits about you. It is very important to keep your head on a swivel, as choosing which check out line you stand in is of great importance. Sure, it’s tempting to pick the line with the hottest clerk, but they’re normally the dumbest ones so don’t be fooled. It’s hard to check somebody out quickly when you can’t read or operate a computer, so skip the Jersey Shore wannabe and find the savvy veteran. You’re looking for messy hair, a fake smile and the smell of cigarettes – because those people want to get you out of there just as fast as you want to leave. Look for flair, or a banged up name tag. The brand new name tag or one with a written-in name on it is a clear sign that you have a rookie and need to abort immediately. Once you’ve made sure the clerk you’ve chosen can read, stays away from spray-on tans and has a few merit badges on their vest – it’s time to scan the crowd.

You will need to pay very close attention to shopping carts and the items contained therein. All other shoppers need to be considered your competition, and treated as such. I don’t trust fruit or vegetables. Anything without a UPC can be subject to a price check intercom call – in which case you’re better off just opening that box of Oreos and taking a seat, because it’s going to be a while before the stock boy finishes his bong hit and makes his way up from the back room.

If you see grey, walk away. The only thing slower than standing behind an elderly person in the grocery line is the Cubs march to a World Series title. Don’t forget that they’re usually packing coupons too, and that is 15 minutes you will never get back.

Keep an eye out for lurkers – they are a pawn in the “lurk and swoop” tactic. Has some woman ever asked to cut you in line because she only has 1 item? This is a red flag, don’t become a victim. If they really only have 1 item they can use the self checkout or go to Walgreens, don’t buy into the bullshit. Watch for people hovering nearby with a cart packed with groceries, if you spot somebody putsing around aimlessly – tell that bitch to stuff it and start filling up the conveyor belt. Trust me, the minute you let her jump in front of you, her snot nosed teenager will come barreling in with a cart full of groceries. I have enough going on during the holiday weekend, I don’t have the time or energy to publicly berate somebody in front of her kids.

Sometimes it’s not as easy to choose your line, there are times when split-second decisions need to be made. Any hesitation at all could cost you an extra 20 minutes standing behind the behemoth man in his motorized cart. Consider the situations below. The color green indicates your average in and out shopper – easily scanned items, no fruit or coupons and sitting at a healthy, quick, mid-life age range. Yellow can represent a slightly slower shopper – maybe you notice a few coupons, or even grey hair – but using your best judgement you would have to assume they’re not too slow. Red will represent a dreadful, old, coupon having, broke, fruit lover who doesn’t know their ass from their elbows – you want to avoid them at all costs, sometimes even if they only have a few items. The numbers represent the number of items each person has in their cart. Exhibit A demonstrates a no-brainer situation: The left lane has 30 items total among red and yellow shoppers while the right line contains 15 total items mainly distributed among the competent variety of shoppers. Pick the line to the right, dumbass. Exhibit B is where it gets a little tricky. The line on the left is predominantly red and yellow shoppers, but they only have 20 total items whereas the line on the right has 15 more items, but are held by quick shoppers. Don’t be afraid to cheat a little, favor the right line but position yourself for the easy switch in case the clerk in left line happens to be an all-star during the middle of his shift. Set yourself up for success and stay sharp, these things can change quickly.

Most importantly, trust your instincts – if they look stupid, they probably are. If the guy in line looks like he might only have $3 in his bank account, he probably does, and get out – because voiding an entire sale due to non-sufficient funds will require you to break out the Oreos again. I know this may seem funny now, but you won’t be laughing when some pimple faced jerkoff cuts you in line after his mother preyed on your kindness and the old lady in front of you shakily gathers her coupons to give to the half-wit bimbo clerk… are those bags of apples, broccoli and nectarines? Cancel your plans.

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I have had this conversation with so many people it’s stupid, and sometimes I’m shocked at the answer I get. It’s simple, if you won the lottery, or otherwise came into an enormous sum of money – would you keep your job? This hypothetical amount of money would have to be enough to live on, of course, or else this conversation is pointless. I have run into this answer more than once and it drives me insane. “I would keep working, at least part-time. I would be so bored otherwise.” Are you fucking kidding me? If I had the winning powerball numbers I would quit my job before the final number was even finished being read on TV. I would take a great deal of satisfaction in going into the office the next day as if nothing happened to just do whatever the hell I wanted, all day. I’d play Tetris, make personal calls, get hammered and fall in and out of sleep. When, inevitably, somebody finally asks me to get to work I might fart into my cupped hand and waft it their way, presenting it as a gift then walk out without a word. I’m not terribly confident I wouldn’t send an email to the whole office of my bare ass with the winning ticket stuck to it. There is also a slight chance I would bust into the office through the window on a zip line later that week after a 3 day bender in Vegas to gather my things, set them on fire then piss on them to put it out… because I’m fucking rich, that’s why. I love the people I work with, and this wouldn’t be done out of malice. I would quit almost ANY job upon becoming filthy rich. I just don’t know if I would be able to contain myself. Listen, I don’t care what anybody says – people are not meant to sit at a desk while being watched and judged for 8 hours a day. The pure elation that would come with the thought of knowing I’ll never have to do that again would make me drunk with creative ways to celebrate – appropriate or not.

People have told me, “You would get bored being at home all day.” 1) If you honestly think that, you obviously don’t know me too well and 2)Who says I’ll be at home? If I feel like having crab legs for lunch, I’ll take a trip to Maine. Feel the urge to riot, loot or kill? We could head down to New Orleans during hurricane season. You would be surprised how not bored I’d be playing Xbox on my 50 foot TV all day. I really do believe that if you are one of those people who says they would still work if they won the lottery – you’re either full of shit or don’t know how to have fun. Take a good deal of that money and bank it, invest it, find ways to make it grow then enjoy sleeping in every day and doing whatever the hell you please. We get one life (unless you’re delusional, then you think we might get another up in the sky) so why the hell would I spend it commuting, reporting, frustrated or deadlined? If you ever win the lottery and feel the need to keep working, give me your winning ticket and I’ll have fun for you – because you’ve obviously given up on life. So what do you think – would you work, or quit?

(Also – it’s a celebration bitches, this is my 150th post!)

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6-25-2010

It was a sad day in North Korea as Kim Jong-Il’s pride was beaten to a bloody pulp, so he paid it forward. Monday, North Korea’s World Cup team lost to Portugal 7-0 in a humiliating send off on Soccer’s biggest stage. “Oh, they’re all dead, believe me. It’s not important how they were killed, just know that it was very painful” Jong-Il declared to a terrified press room on Friday. “It makes me look weak, and I can’t have everybody knowing how small my penis is. I’d kill Cristiano Ronaldo too if he wasn’t so damn cute.”

Kim Jong-Il is putting himself in charge of the next World Cup team and says armed guards will surround the field at tryouts. Missed passes, bad shots or goals allowed will result in immediate death “because I fucking can, that’s why”, he said. In a more revealing report, he was overheard saying, “How the hell are we supposed to rule the world when we lose 7-0 in a sport where the average goals scored is 2? This is worse than the days my daughters were born.” He wasn’t asked many more questions, but still occupied about an hour threatening to nuke the media, South Africa, Portugal, anybody associated with FIFA and anybody who ever mentions this game again. He was asked why the team was so ill-prepared and exclaimed, “Your mom was ill-prepared!” then kicked the podium and walked away. It was very awkward, juvenile and disturbing. Additionally, the funeral services will be held “In hell” according to a representative of the Jong-Il administration.

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Irony is a son of a bitch. A six-story statue of jesus in the town of Monroe, OH was struck by lightning and burned to the ground a few days ago. Did Jesus forget to clean his room? Was this a cruel form of omnipotent punishment? I searched like crazy to read the explanations from religious nutjobs but became increasingly frustrated when they continued to elude me. It’s funny how when something terrible happens (i.e. September 11th) the delusional masses find ways to exploit those situations into some ecclesiastical “I told you so” lecture (i.e. God is mad, so he allowed September 11th to happen to teach us a lesson). What happens when tragedy strikes their own iconic figure? Nothing. I guess there’s no good explanation for why God would shit where he eats huh? What I DID find, though, were plenty of explanations about how the steel frame was what attracted the lightning strike. So science and reason are admissible for this incident, but not for everything else they believe in? Selective reasoning is also called denial.

Church pastor, Darlene Bishop, said, “It will be back, but this time we are going to try for something fireproof.” What about prayer and holy water, no good? It’s the same reason why some churches have lightning rods on their steeple, and it’s a direct contradiction to their very dogma. Maybe they’re not so confident anymore? Listen, if you’re going to cite scientific fact of electrical conductivity in metal then I don’t think you’re allowed to hypothesize that a magic man created everything from thin air in 7 days with nothing to prove it with. If you’re going to be irrational, be irrational all the time – don’t jump in and out like some drunken moron attempting double-dutch. The damage to the statue and amphitheater is reported to be around $100,000 but it’s cool, when your company’s not taxed and your customers believe everything you tell them, you can make that up pretty quickly.

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I’ve heard this happen before and know people who it has happened to. You might be familiar with the scenario, it generally takes place at a party, other get together or sometimes over the phone:

-I’m sorry, what was your name? Mr. Jones?

-It’s Dr. Jones.


Oh is it? I don’t think you heard me. I didn’t ask if you were an arrogant prick, I asked you what your fucking name was, but thanks for answering the former. Are we in a doctor’s office, is there a reason why I should drop to my knees and weep before you? Oh, my bad, you have me confused with somebody who gives a shit. Besides, I’m pretty sure you go home, take a dump and watch TV just like I do so excuse me for not boosting your fucking ego any more than it already is. Why the hell should I have to address you with a special title, because you went to medical school? Kiss my ass, you’re smart, we get it – now do your job like every other god damn citizen in this country. I won’t bow to you because you’re allowed to fondle my balls once a year. Is there actually a viable reason why we’re supposed to address these people with the title of their academic achievement? I’m coming up with very few reasons why it would benefit anything except, of course, just enabling them to remain on their pedestal. I’ve actually had people tell me, “Make sure you address him as Dr.” Give me a break, if his name is Fred I’m calling him Fred, if for no other reason, to spite him. If he wants to throw a fit about that, then I’ll just go with “turd.” Listen, Dr. Dickbag, your payoff for completing medical school is the giant paycheck. If you’re spending it on hookers, blow, prescription drugs and need a title to feel superior, then come to my office where Dr. Nick administers free humbling punches to the face. I’ll write you a prescription for tell somebody who cares and a lifetime dose of shut the fuck up. If you insist or ask that I call you Dr outside of the workplace, I’m going to have to insist that you stop wasting your time. You paid for the title, not me. Look in the mirror and call yourself Dr, because I’ll most likely just call you Fred. If that makes you sad, then drive your BMW to your country club and cry about it there.

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