Tuesday, December 12, 2006

goddammit, buy gift cards and make our lives easier

i'm not dead. shut up. i'm just working christmas retail. wtf is your excuse? exactly. i win. now drop and give me 20. by 20 i either mean dollars or 20 chalupas. either way i remain fat and happy, so there's that. coming sometime this week- 10 things i hate about xmas consumers, 10 things i want, or 10 reasons i haven't been writing in here, though that's pretty self explanatory. 1-9 are called 'lane bryant', #10 is called 'i relish my free time and don't want to waste it on you peons'. suhweet.

Thursday, September 21, 2006

ten things i want right goddamn now

so, i was at work earlier and under the glare of hallogen lights and the stupor of dehydration which seriously can be as bad as the stupor of whatever else creates stupor, which i guess is alcohol or something, and, wait, this run-on has gone on too long and i forgot my original point but anywaysorz, yeah. i was pulling an anti-theft tag off a really unfortunate sweater (who buys sweaters in arizona for cripe's sake?) when i thought, damn. you know what i want? a freakin whopper junior (b/c as big a girl as i am, ain't no way i can ever finish a whopper. never have. nor have i ever finished a dq blizzard or a mcd's flurry. true fastfood junk story.) and possibly some curly fries. but being as the manager on duty was doing reports and rearranging panties (god i hate that word, it's so perverted) and i was running the sales floor, i didn't get the chance to make a run to the BK lounge. but i still want that goddamn burger. in honor of that love lost, here are

10 things i really, totally, 110% want and by want i mean need but i guess i could go another few days without them but jeez, why are you so mean to me cruel world

1. my own tivo.
seriously. okay funny story, my mother loathes, abhors, detests, hates, etc 99.99999% of what's on tv. but she loves everything on hgtv and *gag* has this habit of tivo-ing tonight's leno to watch tomorrow, because even though it airs at 10:30 in the desert, it's still too late to keep up with. uh? anyway, dammit. so i watch studio 60, heroes (well i will when it begins this monday b/c hey, xmen-ish = okay by me), conan, and baseball games for one of my teams when they so choose to appear on my barren desert programming. is that a crime? in the Court of Mother, apparently it is, because she feels compelled to tape a rerun of hgtv 'designed to sell' that she's seen four times that conflicts with a premeire of one of my effing shows, and she says she's tempted to delete my recording (while i'm at work and she's decidedly not) and WHAT THE HELL IS THAT GODDAMMIT. i want my own tivo. and i'm aware i'm totally shallow and a slave to the digital/visual medium. ess tee eff ewe. but seriously, there's so much promising comedy/drama/dramedy/whateveredy this season that there's no room for clive and his crew of home remodelers. what? so i watch hgtv, shut up. i still feel, that being 26 years younger than said remote maiden, i deserve control of the technological device. and so far, studio 60 owns you. shut up. again.

2. a calzone.
this is really a random and new craving, but i'm really rather enamoured of the thought of dough wrapped around ricotta and mozzerella with marinara and oregano, pumped up to whatever degree it takes to blister a tongue after breaking open and gobbling said calorific delicacy. mmmm. cheese.

3. to not have to work every day from friday through next sunday during dual sales.
apparently my manager is hitting the pipe, because he's decided i'm capable of handling a string of friday-saturday-sunday-monday-tuesday-wednesday-thursday-friday-saturday shifts while we're doing some big sales to move all the merch out of the store, and holy crikey, i'm going to throw up my employee white flag here and beg for mercy. or at least a more than 40% discount on that completely adorable magenta bustier which i probably most definitely have no reason for wearing unless i pair it with some jeans, boots, and a few artfully placed barettes and camis. yay, illogical clothing decisions.

4. to be 100 pounds lighter
not only would it make #3 easier (on my feet and probably my confidence and budget) but, really, i'd love to have more than a few stores to shop at for cute clothes in my effing size. shut up, genetics. for every woman in my extended family you've given this heft to, you've at least been compliant with boob sizes. way to ride the short bus with mine. *kicks history in the nuts* ...*and bra manufacturers, for good measure* *no pun intended. i swear. ttly srsly.*

5. i guess saying sheppard's pie is totally not going to help #4
to continue the theme of what i want is totally not helping something else or whatever i forget so shut up i run this blog and you decidedly do not, i want some sheppard's pie. i'm talking the golden glop from my daycare days, a layer of crumbly beef and carrots and onions smothered in mashed potatoes and cheese and oh lord why am i so hungry? oh, right. it's because my diet as of late has consisted of two sandwiches and one diet soda a day and at least 5 hours of scuttling stock-checking retail (at least) and yet i never lose any weight. I HATE YOU UNIVERSE. anyway, maybe i'm just longing for childhood, but it's more probable i'm just lusting after mashed potatoes. 50% irish here, after all. mmm. rooty veggies mashed to a pulp and mixed with cow. who can deny that tastebud trip?

6. some comfortable shoes
here's a relatively sad/stupid/retarded/pointless story- i spent about $75 on crocs, which were not the miracle shoes my feet needed. nay, my friends, the anti-sweat anti-pain shoes made my feet squeak, sweat, and hurt after one day. so i tried some easy spirit dandies in hope of reaching sole and/or arch supported bliss, combined with dr scholl's insoles, and my tootsies (did i just say tootsies? shoot me and/or tire-iron me) hurt after a couple hours with those bastards. the most comfortable thing i've come across? my $3.50 old navy flip flops. go fig. but hell, a size 26 girl working for 8 hours under hallogen running back slacks and button downs is bound to have uncomfy feet and holy hell, would it kill you damn manufacturers to make a shoe for the bigger? we aren't exactly a minority anymore. hell, it ought to be a law, for every 'we serve man-size portions!' applebees/golden corral/burger king/olive garden/whever commercial that there must spring anew a bigger size clothing or larger heft shoe company. i'm not a product of junk but of genetics, but i'm a big girl none the less and we need a damn shoe that fits and supports our fragile arches. slaughter penguins for research if you must, i don't care. just don't tell me about it. and for the record, penguins are hilarious b/c they totally can't fly. hahahaha, suckers. oh wait, i can't fly either. and like the penguin, i am destined to live a life in black and white, coated with blubber. oh joy. and by the way, why is it that as our portions get bigger, women are supposed to be smaller? hey, jackass, we like a burger and fries too. shut up. i'm in no fit mood to argue you on this point save for the fact that no, at least my my ilk are not going to sit idly by. oh no. we're going to buy into your damn burgers and then expect something that fit us. can't have it both ways, puritanicalstripclubgiganticburgertinywaitress america! oh no, indeed. hoy! okay yeah i'm rambling. what. it's 3 in the morning. give me some slack. and a hash brown with coffee.

7. a dozen more IQ points and/or probably another point on my gpa
...i just want to go to grad school so i can do my pedigree, phd-weilding parents, and non-IQ intelligence justice. dammit. linguistics is where it's at. as it stands, a 2.5 isn't exactly that impressive. i have reasons for why it dipped that low, but really, why is a review board going to be that interested if i'm not elle woods? face it, she stole all the ideas and ran with them. we're left with nothing, my friends. an un-pink un-fashionable NOTHING.

8. an 80-gig ipod
oh, no. believe me. i have no logical reason to want to watch movies/tv/whichever on an ipod screen. but, um, i'm so, so, so, soooooooooooooo (x10^infinity) tempted to blow my past month's retail wages on one so i can watch pirates of the caribbean or the office while lounging in bed. i suck. but apple sucks more for rendering my 20 gig non-video black-and-white ipod obsolete even though it's less than two years old. DAMMIT APPLE, STOP EVOLVING, YOU COCKSUCKERS.

9. my own apartment.
again, this is sort of self-explanitory. but i don't even care if i'm sharing with a roommate (actually i'd prefer it-i want someone to bounce dialogue off of and i'm pretty sure i couldn't afford rent for a single person) and, wait, what? yeah, anyway, i need to get the hell out of here. sure, if you're 24 and above and are in grad/law/business/whatever school and/or you have some sort of well-meaning but not well-paying job it's cool to live with your rents/bro/sis/aunt/whoever so long as you can foot the rent but if you're not and can't, the world has nothing to do with you. which sucks. cause i'm totally a case of awesome waiting to be tapped. also, i desire nothing more than to live fetters-free in dc or boston or nyc or ANYWHERE OTHER THAN ARIZONA GODFUCKINGDAMMIT. the end. i think.

10. a hug.
what? bitchy ranters need hugs too. oprah says so. we all need five a day. so cough up the arm wrappage, bitch.

Thursday, September 14, 2006

one scorpion lollipop and nine other stupidities

holy crap, i'm not dead!!! no no, my friends, just working as your local friendly neighborhood prettyful clothes pusher, who then asks you to save 15% by opening a charge account so i can meet my quota, make my boss happy, make his boss happy, and tra la la yeah i know. how the mighty fall. which really has nothing to do with me, as, was never mighty. anyway, i know i've been gone awhile and all three of you have felt such a lack of snarky and/or ten-ish lists in your life. (haha, ten-ish sounds like tennis with a lisp. yeah i know. i'm slipping. shut up.) anyhoooooo, i've been held hostage by work, netflix dvd's, piles of laundry at my own expense, and a slew of random gems (or not-so-gemtastic things) that i've been mulling over for the past few weeks. thus i bring to you this collection:

ten things i feel compelled to comment on at the moment, because seriously, i took a decongestant and i'm going to be up til at least 4 and i'm in no fit state to read so i may as well write, aren't you glad, internet? no? well, shut up then.

1. the scorpion lollipop
this is no joke, folks. and quite honestly, only in effing arizona could you buy this tripe. a lollipop/sucker/tasty delight containing a FUCKING GODDAMN SCORPION in the middle. tootsie rolls and/or charms gum > frigging poisonous bugs with STINGERS. who is selling these tastebud gadgets? i spend my time smashing them off the wall with the joy of cooking (any girl's standard 'throw it at the bug and run away' volume) and/or scooping it up via tupperware and cardboard and plunging it to a watery grave in my toilets' underearth plumbing, and here's this jackass stuffing them into green goo and selling them for over $3 a pop. what the fuck? yes. what the fuck indeed. if i'd known they were selling these bastards in suckerish form, i could have made an easy hundred or two last summer peeling the bastards off my wall and carpet. welcome to the desert. kind of like that jungle song, you're gonna dieeeeee. in any event, this is dumb and disturbing at the same time. and i bet the green part doesn't even taste good. what a bastard.

2. so britney spawned her second baby
...and apparently named it sutton pierce. pierce is okay (it gets my mom's vote b/c she loves pierce brosnan (who shares my birthday, and check it out, i've got parentheses within parentheses! so avant garde...or lazy. whichever.) and um, yeah, i guess i could close the other parenthes...what the fuck is the singular form of parentheses?) and what the fuck is sutton? some sort of ivy league prepsteriffic title? well...it's better than jailynn or cletus. so, okay. fine. but way to give your kid the same initials as the first kid and only two days before his birthday. but overall, i have to give brit some snaps (or props, or whatever it is white people are allowed to say that doesn't make them look like total asses, i'll stick with just half an ass for now) for not going the pilot inspector or audio science or moxy crimefighter or bluebell madonna route. yeah. i know. i know far too much about frivolous crap. sue me. someday US weekly will want me.

...why do we have middle names anyway? i mean, aside from credit applications or any other legal document type thingey, do we even have reason? waste of ink and paper and breath! boooo! okay yeah. it's official, i pick the stupidest things to rage against.

3. i have deleted this one

...mostly because it's not true anymore, and also because i'm a shrew and if hobag in question figured out i spaketh a harsh word against her, she'd probably punch me in the jaw, and i'm a fan of my face. but at any rate, relive the glory that was this mini-rant with the basic kernel of an idea it once contained:

i swear to jesus on his pogo stick i will cut you. SHUT UP I HATE YOU AND I HOPE YOU DIE YOU WHORELING CUM DUMPSTER DIPSHIT DOUCHERAG.

...the end.

4. the farting preacher
click and pbbbbfffttt along

...i really don't have much to comment on about on this other than the fact that i haven't laughed this hard since i was little and thought madballs and transformers were the epitome of badassery.

5. 9/11 five years later
...is there a reason we have to have a media circus around this? we saw 3,000 people die. live. in front of us. remembering in a day of silence is enough. shut up, made-for-tv movies.

6. there is a cactus in my foot
okay so it's a tiny piece of cactus burr, but honestly, fuck this goddamn desert. you have a splinter? whatever. come talk to the enflamed and hurty ball of my right foot and i'll kick you with it and win. even pins and tweezers and iodine can't win on this one. again, fucking desert.

7. midterm elections
uhh, stuff happened, political in nature, things, etc, the end. yeah. actually i really shamefully admit i have no idea what happened. i'm like an ostritch with its political head in the sand, but replace sand with tablids and head with, uh, okay fine. head is the same appendage in this comparison. i lose. but i'll blame it on my local paper and its complete and utter lack of talent in the editorial/writing/anything department. they could have told me who was scheduled to go to space, take over the planet, or give me ten million dollars, and i wouldn't understand it because it's so riddled in typos and allusions to random 70's tv shows. oh god get me out of here.

8. there's a lack of helium
apparently helium manufacturers are all 'ummmm, we might not have enough lighter-than-air product for your macy's thanksgiving parade or little timmy's birthday party balloons.' i have a question- why is this a problem? helium is on the periodic table of the elements, yes? which means it exists quite naturally, yes? then why the hell is there a shortage? quit snorting it and fill up snoopy, you douchebags.

9. billy bush is an ass.
i have to admit that my #9 spot was originally going to play host to ragweed allergies and/or something else i forgot i deleted, but now that access hollywood is on and i have to listen to billy bush blather, i remember how annoying it was to wake up to him as one half of the morning show on z104 back in the day in dc. gone are the days of 97 and 98 radio, but goddamn gone are not the days of that grating voice and stupid questions. thank god for jeremy piven at the emmy's,though, with the verbal celebrity baby smackdown. and yes, i know my colmun (in my dreams)/blog/rant/list/thingcrapblobetc has demoted itself to celeb gossip countless times, but oh my god, can we kill the billy bush already? or at least give him a severe case of laryngitis or alzheimers or something else? seriously? anybody, give me a disease here. i'm reaching. plus, he's a cousin of dubya. that's reason enough to get him deleted. and if you don't agree with me, congratulations, you get a complimentary kick to the genitals.

10. apparently there's a walmart anti-smear campaign
...and my desert locale is a 'test market' for said campaign, where walmart plans to unleash its 'omg we don't deny anybody health insurance' and 'we're angelic social wonderfulnessmongers!!!' ads. ummm, yeah. does not compute. you're fucking walmart, and kind of like an oracle and 4th hobag, you're fine to visit at 3 am but you can't build a secure lifestyle around it. and i admit that was a really weak metaphore but fuck it, i'm tired and my teeth hurt from sinuses, allergies, and whatever else awaits me in the great wild blue wonderful that isn't so wonderful, IS IT?!

up next, ten shows i plan on watching again and/or giving a chance on my fall tv weigh-in. because i count as much as alynda wheat (my EW hero) or, uh, anybody else. oh god. i'm useless. *watches repeats of leno to hope she's at least more decent and less chinny than that* okay. goodnight. or goodmorning. good part-of-day. the end.

Friday, September 01, 2006

ten reasons the desert is sofa king retarded

uh, wow. so i'm watching the local yokels on nbc in the desert (believe me, it's not exactly your cosmopolitain peacock network) and alice cooper just told me to register my car with the fine state of arizona while he was sitting in a golf cart. i'd say let that digest for a bit but it's really probably not going to because that right there is the grizzle of psa's. fortunately for this bastion of unbridled loathing for almost anything that is, was or will be, it got me thinking:

the desert fucking sucks. no, really. i mean, for cripe's sake not only can i not get any east coast ball games, but our damn local baseball team is terrible and their uniforms are turquoise and purple. ow, you guys, those are my goddamned retinas, so be easy on them with the hideous early 90's color palate. also, we're either 50th or 49th in the totem pole in terms of states giving money to education and the nation's capital for skin cancer. if you haven't been accosted by a panhandler, worked a soul-sucking data entry and/or call center gig or burned your hands on the steering wheel and your ass on the seat, then you have not been here long enough and should really leave before the place infects you. i'm not kidding. get out. why aren't you listening to me? fine. i'll break this out:

10 reasons to avoid the state of arizona like the plague

1. everything is pointy.
if it grows here, it has thorns or spikes or both. we've got a bevy of cactus and yes i know the plural is cacti but that looks dumb and people won't know what i'm talking about. anyway, we've got giant cactus the size of three linebackers ready to impale you with several-inch long daggers should it fall on you (and they do, with no notice), little cactus shaped like paddles which, okay, if you're into that sort of thing but holy god ow, creeping cactus, jumping cactus, jagged aloe vera plants the size of a ginourmous green bonfire, prickly grasses, hell even the fucking lemon trees poke. and we're not talking about easy prickles here either. we're talking 'oh my god it's three days later and i think a shard is still in my skin holy shit i'm going to die of inflammation and how humiliating is that, seriously?' type of spikes. nuke 'em all. and it's not just plants either. don't forget about bobcats, bears, mountain lions, and crazed birds of prey. all pointy with their sharp teeth of the meat-mangling persuasion. and if you think i'm lying, come live out here and i'll laugh at your tombstone later.

2. everything is poisonous.
okay, i should get a pants-shittingly shiny medal of honor or at least a girlscout badge of survival for making it two damn years in the desert without having a (venomous) run-in with a rattlesnake, black widow, brown recluse spider, gila monster, or scorpion. oh i've had run-ins with the fuckers, just thankfully while i was wearing shoes, except for all the times i've woken up and/or just gotten out of the shower and whoopdeefuckingdoo, there's a scorpion on the wall and/or floor and oh my god, die already you asshats. jesus, what are we paying the 4-times-a-year exterminator for? i'm sure it's not to flirt obnoxiously with me, which he does anyway but i'll consider that his tip for getting to spend time with yours truly. but honestly jackass- you missed a spot. and by spot i mean scorpion nest. and if they don't live in nests, i'm not apologizing for being wrong, because i have to deal with them and you don't. the end.

3. if it's not poisonous or sharp, it's just plain stupid.
this could be because the state of arizona cares so little about education that it seriously gives less than freaking any other state to education. yeah we're a red state, what do you expect? in any event, the people here have lounged out in the heat so long that aside from tanning their skin into rawhide and bleaching their hair into something straw would envy, they have fried their brains into puddles of cerebellar goo. this is the state where you hear such gems like "i seen", which as you hopefully know makes me feel like sacrificing a goat or ten to the god of grammar in hopes of cleaning the badness. also, you're likely to hear something like this:

az person #1: so i'm reading maya angelou and--
az person #2: ...who?
az person #1: ...'i know why the caged bird sings', ring a bell?
az person #2: wait...is it that painter guy? michaelangeno?
az person #1: ...sure.
az person #2: wait, he sings now?

editor (or lack thereof)'s note, these people were my amusing friends at a job i had some time ago. but it doesn't detract from the fact that arizona illegally depletes people's brain cells. by whole brains at a time, mind you. MIND. hahah yes i meant it.

4. the goddamn 'dry heat'.
well so's a fucking oven, but you don't stick your goshbedanged head in it. to wit, wasn't that how one of the sisters in the virgin suicides offed herself? yup, i'm pretty sure it was a head in the oven. by the way, the book was really good but the movie sucked hardcore. anyway, the heat is by all counts illegal, and anytime it gets above 100 degrees everyone should get free coupons for slurpees and/or a government financed move to the cooler coast, because it's a damn state of emergency when it's 114. jerks. who thought to colonize this place? the spaniards? i'll kill you bastards, all of you. after i have some fritata anyway. mmm. fritata. but yeah. when it's hot enough that you have to carry a separate stick of deoderant in your purse and if you accidentally leave it in your car for 5 minutes it's melted and gooey along with the seat, the styrofoam cup and your cds, well, then, that's just shittastic. but that's not all, we're giving away free heat exhaustion and dehydration packages every hour! oh god shoot me now.

5. mailbox vandals.
seriously- there's a roving band of kids, most likely meth-heads, who take it upon themselves to drive their car into mailboxes. and as a testament to how snappishly smart the good citizens of this state are, NOBODY HAS CAUGHT THEM YET, and they've been at it for two years, leaving car parts on lawns (and by lawn i mean carpet of disgusting brown desert grass and artfully placed boulders) and most probably fingerprints. isn't this mail fraud, or something? gah. not only have they obliterated my mailbox, but they've gone up and down nearly every street in my neighborhood and all the surrounding areas to do the same thing and jesus h christ, if you're going to do something that stupid, at least rob people while you're at it. but not me. i have important, valuable things. god, this state is so fucking idiotic. even the people wrecking things can't get it right.

6. bad drivers.
fuck off, arizona drivers. i say this as a carseat-to-steering wheel child of washington dc, bred on i95 and 66 and the beltway and alexandria and all that stopsigned, yellow-light exhaust-clogged jazz. what this means is i'm well versed in the trappings of rough driving. however, this goddamn desert and its vultures of automobilic transportation are a different breed. we've got the snowbirds (read: old-ish out-of-towners) who have no idea where they're going because blanche lost the directions and harriet can't find them and what street are we turning on to get to tiffany's and nine west? we've got maude and wilbur, the retirees who are so fucking goddamn decrepit that not only do they look like the crypt keeper's older cousins but they can't even fucking hold their head still in their driver's license shots and the guy behind the dmv (oh i'm sorry, in the desert it's the mvd, aka, we're mightily vast dumbfucks) counter shakes his head and almost doesn't give the geezers licenses but he's on break in 5 so what does he care. then we have crystal and amber, the college tards who drive over medians in their pink jeep and then have daddy wire the money for a new one when they have a drunken fender bender with maude while i'm trying to drive home from the movie theater, thank you. oh god you should all be forbidden from *touching* a steering wheel, and i don't care if it's on a go-kart. you all suck with your lane weaving and your median jumping and no turn signals and nascar turn-lane cut offs and your incessant need to drive either 15 or 98 miles an hour. jesus h christ on a pogo stick, i hope you get buried next to the guy from #1 so i can laugh at you all together for perpetuating such four-wheel douchebaggery. by the way, your cars are all ugly. try upgrading to something possibly made in the 90's.

7. there are no seasons.
okay there are two- livable and non. go read #4 again for a refresher on why the summer does not make it okay to live here. ever. and i don't care if you think 70 degrees in the 'winter' is great, because by the time you factor in all this other bullshit it's lame and wintery snowmen are fun. and the only snowman you can make in arizona is out of hostess snowballs, and they only sell the pink kind anway, and who wants a pink snowman? exactly. this state sucks. but i'll admit it is funny to see natives shiver when it dips below 70 degrees and pull on parkas and hats when it gets to 60. dumbfucks, way to break out the earmuffs when it gets to 55.

8. the rate of pay is stoopid.
unless you're an exec and/or have some sort of government job, don't expect to make more than $8 an hour. the end. exactly. there's a reason that rent is so cheap. and i fucking went to college. *throws up financial white flag* jesus, i mean, what? because it's hot you can pay people less? god, what assfuckers. but believe you me, i've had five jobs out here and not one has paid what a college grad should earn. and they wonder why arizona is such a cheap and retarded goddamn state, oh my god city hall i will set rabid howler monkeys to steal your collective spleens for being so cheap.

9. the water is full of calcium.
seriously. i can count on two hands the number of people i've known since coming out here who've fallen prey to kidney stones, gall baldder woes, gall stones, and other random calcifications of body parts that should remain squishy and never something i could skip in a river, such as one would exist here but doesn't because well, it's a fucking desert. honestly, just don't drink the goddamn water. and i hate paying for water, cheap bastard that i am, but even i swing the dollars for bottled water without effing goddamn rocks in it. shut up, sonora desert.

10. theft.
car theft, identity theft, general crap theft, soul theft- we've got them all in spades, yes we do. i think that should be arizona's new tourism grab- 'we're #1!....in theft.' actually recently we lost out to nevada on car theft and now we're only #2, but did i mention the identity theft, petty theft and theft of will to live? yeah. hence, suckage. not that i believe we have souls anyway but maybe they just left mine out of me and that's why i'm a heartless bastard. you know you love it. and i hope by now you hate arizona. join with me in the circle of hate. we chant like a prayer and/or meditation circle but instead of being all sappy and/or hippie about it, we burn calories via hatred. it's exercise!

okay. that's that. and now it's time to sleep and i swear to jebus on a crutch if i have to work tomorrow someone's tit is getting twisted off. and that's all she wrote. for now.

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

ten reasons i haven't written in here in awhile

i'm not dead dammit.

10 reasons you might think i am but i assure you i'm not:

1. you try working retail 5 to close every day and see how you like it.

2. or try working 9 to 5 the day after that.

3. also, i'm outlining two novels. it's a bitch.

4. i'm tired.

5. i'm lazy.

6. there were emmys and you know i have undying loyalty to jeremy piven, so shut up, i had to watch.

7. fishsticks.
(not really, i just like saying fishsticks. but we did have some cod that didn't go over too well and, well, fine that can be a reason right? yes.)

8. jessica simpson's new album has poisoned my brain. sorry about that.

9. i have a buttload of backlocked blockbuster and netflix dvd's to get to and quite frankly, movies > most things.

10. i'm on strike and not writing another list until i win at least one goddamn game of 3-card solitaire.

and that, my friends, is that. coming whenever i finish watching buffy or playing solitaire or actually get a stroke of creativity, the almost-done list of why the desert is retarded and/or ten reasons i irrationally love britney and want her comeback to happen might surface. or possibly something even more unimportant, but as for now, it's time to go fold some really unfortunate mustard-yellow button downs for a pittance under hallogen lights. suhweet.

Friday, August 25, 2006

ten reasons hamsters completely own you

you may think, based purely on my vitriolic carping, that i'm an evil hatemonger and love absolutely nothing. normally this is pretty much true; my heart is icy and charred at the same time because, hey, physics doesn't apply to metaphors. but fear not- i actually have it in me to love things besides south park and wishing pain upon people. what's at the tip top of my list? hamsters. that's right. hamms. hammies. teddybears. balls of fluff. 'awwww!'s. try not to love them, and i guarantee you'll fail like you do at life. why do you fail at life? because hamsters have beaten everybody and everyone knows second place is the first loser. hence:

10 reasons hamsters are the greatest animals ever

1. they are impossibly cute.
obviously. i don't care what you say, your baby pictures cannot beat a fluffy tiny cute ball of glee that is a hamster. no. can't. shut up. hamsters > babies, especially yours. honestly, i dare you to find a cuter object of your and my and everyone's affection, and no, jeremy piven, chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and/or money do not count as much as i wish they did. so therefore, hams win hands down. i mean it. watch one fluff its hamster bedding (which comes in bags like cotton candy and even looks like it) and tell me it's not the cutestest most adorable thing you've ever seen in the world and oh my god i'm going to melt and be non-hateful anymore. clearly this madness must stop.

2. any exercise they get is hilarious.
of course this may bend or break depending on your version of hilarity, but tell me putting a fluffy thing in:

a) a plastic run-about ball ripe to run into someone's feet or the wall or the shower or the cat, b) a wheel that guarantees at least one over-zealous wheel spin-out at 3 am when the hamm can't run anymore but the wheel has other ideas and it totally sends him flying to the other side of his cage b/c yay gravity
c) hahahahahah a leash, becahse a harnessed hamster is so much more entertaining than a dog, d) a plastic car, because a hamster is possibly the only animal that can get away with said mode of transportation *and* the helmet and/or goggles to match, or
e) a mug. because honestly, what good is a pet if it can't fit into a mug full of strawberry ice cream? exactly. not much good at all.

doesn't lift your spirits at least a little. if not, there's always vodka and vicodin, and if you must resort to these, obvi hammies aren't for you b/c their charm is really quite inpenetrable. they are like the damn fort knox of adorable.

3. cheek pouches.
seriously, there's nothing more amusing than a very determined hammy trying to shove a 3-inch piece of cellery and/or chew toy into his cheek pouch. a cheek pouch, you ask? well of course. it's what a lot of herbivores (cowwwws) and other easily preyed upon animals (seriously, you do not want to be on an owl's dinner menu) use to graze with and then eat properly later. hamsters will shove anything and every thing (ie strawberries, celery, chew sticks, wood, chicken, your grandmother's fingers) into their pouches and run away to their secret hideaways (usually a foot away from said feeding ground, b/c they're cute but kind of stupid) and then later feast upon the delicious (?) remains. at any rate, it's really kind of eight sorts of hilarious to see a hamster shove a whole piece of steak into his cheek. and see his head get wider than his arse, and then just you watch it trying to fit through its hamster cage tubes. it's like the keg stand of the rodent world, and there are no sorority girls to get in the way. mmm. steak.

4. they are low maintenance.
honestly, could you ask for an easier pet? you make sure to clean out its age once a week (every two weeks if you're lazy like me) and give it fresh food and water once daily. other than that, it's a ripe comedy factory happening courtesy of a lovely fuzzball who has taken up residence atop your bookshelf. rarely are there vitamins, declawings, vet visits or fur washings. okay you can indulge in pet shampoo for your hammy (mine smelled like cucumbers and watermelon, shut up, i was not copying bath and body works) but for the most part, you can let it run wild and it will entertain you no matter what. oh that's right peta. i'm waiting for you to attack. why? because so often you attack people with pies. mmmm. pies. humans and hamsters both love pies. so obviously, a win all around.

5. they stay up all night with you.
got a calculous exam to study for? no problem, binkles mcblue is there. crying over breaking up with umpteenth boyfriend who didn't meet your expectations? have no fear, strawberry buttercup is here for you. insomnia? don't worry, mr bigglesworth is running around on his wheel just like you're running the emotional gamut. yay, nocturnal creatures! if nothing it's nice to know they might guard you in case of a nighttime intruder. and by guard, i mean might question why the guy with the big knife is destroying the Bringer of Food, Squeak Hop Snooze. and for the record, i have no idea why the hamster is singing jessica simpson, but go with it. it's a hamster. don't ever question it.

6. they eat anything you give them.
no, really. aside from hammy chow, mine ate smoked salmon, pâté, ice cream, reese's cups and beef jerky. that ought to be a clue right there- hamsters are not picky and will willingly gorge on your dinner leftovers. of course, leaving them a few leavy greens is nice, but how cool is it to watch a rodent devour filget mignon while your mom is all 'zomg! i cooked that to be SPECIAL!!!!' yeah. it's awesome. also, they'll eat your fruit and veggies so you don't have to eat anything nutritious. yep. they're helpful like that.

7. they're even called
i don't think you can deny the beauty of a cute thing being called an even cuter thing. btw, the teddy bear hamm (also known as the long-haired syrian) OWNS YOU with it stare, its itty bitty pawclaws, and its ability to turn metal into pure gold. okay so the last bit i kind of ripped off from harry potter but that's the league hamsters are in. so bow. bow now. bow before the cutnessssss.

8. they make superb shoulder pets.
okay, fuck pirates. no not really, i mean i heart johnny depp in eyeliner and i've love nothing more than to spend my life hunting for treasure singing inappropriate songs while balancing a monkey one one arm and a bottle of rum in the other, but seriously? hamms beat parrots and monkeys in the shoulder pet department. they wreak less havoc, talk less, eat anything and don't fling poo or want a cracker, respectively. also? they're fluffy. after ten months at sea, anything fluffy is a plus, i'd imagine.

9. they are more socially acceptable than rats.
sad but true. rats have no place in the homes of wee common folk or any folk, for that matter, bc of a few bad seeds on the nyc subway. boooo. anyway, hamsters are rodents and belong to the same family as rats (or is it genus? i know i got a 4 on the ap bio exam but that was 6 ancient years ago) so i'll say family, and, yeah. anyway. they're as much a rodenty rodent as rats or mice or gerbils or anything else, and yet everyone loves them more. why? obvious: cheek pouches. duh. so just tell that rat to step up and lose the diseases if he wants to play. oh snap.

10. less easily freaked out than guinea pigs.
okay granted this doesn't take much. my guinea pig ran away from food, water, and a hamster 1/4 its size. in short, he was a weenie. but anyway, hamsters are tinier, cuter, and infinitely easier to care for than cavies (though damn, rocko was cute even if he was a diva) and thus i list your tenth reason for owning a hamm.

okay that was a retarded list and i'll have you know i mainly wanted to write it so i could include adorable pictures of hamms, and yes i'll admit a few of those are of my own hamster. which? oh that's a mystery for the ages my friends. but i told you don't hate all. most, yes. but not all. when the apocalypse comes, i choose to save hamsters and jelly beans. why jelly beans, you might ask- well, because you never know what those kooks at jelly belly are up to next. and i want to be the first to sample when they go all wonka and actually manage to create a whole meal in a jelly bean, b/c screw a whole meal in a piece of gum that just turns you into a blueberry. other than that, yeah, hamsters pretty much win.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

ten four-letter f-words that don't end up as fuck

so i was having dinner with my parents (yeah what, free meals and no rent, shut up) and the subject of 'fuck' came up. i have the worst mouth of anybody in my family but as the angelic-eyed girlthing i keep it wrapped up in a pretty bow of femininity which i don't really understand b/c i love to blow up shit and watch baseball and say girls are hot and okay whatever. anyway, dad suggested i do this list:

10 four-letter words that start with f and end in k that don't actually result in 'fuck', which might be useful when you want to scream an obscenity but someone's kid or grandmother or impressionable kitten is in the general vicinity and for the love of god keep in mind i'm pulling half of this shit from from thefreedictionary.com and webster doesn't exactly think it's legit but IT IS and some of this crap is actually kind of interesting or at least unintentionally funny:

(oh and ps, if it's in italics i stole it from some type of dictionary, and if it's not in slanteriffic italics, it means i'm talking to you again, you firks)

1. fork
A fork is a tool consisting of a handle with several narrow tines (usually two to four) on one end. Forks are used mainly in cooking and eating, to move or hold objects (typically, pieces of food) in place. The fork is often referred to as the "king of utensils." (Similar names, such as "queen of utensils" for the spoon, have not been as widely adopted.)

also of note: notice how the forking spork was not known even as 'the prince of utensils.' if anything, it is the wench or the dungeonkeeper of utensils. the end.

2. folk
* short for folk music,
* or, for folksong,
* or, for folklore,
* or, for folk dance;
* it may be a word for a specific people, tribe, or nation, especially one of the Germanic peoples;
* it might even be a calque on the related German word Volk.

fun activity: say to a group of people, 'heyyyyy folks!' and see how many of them look at you like you're a douchebag. alternatively, if you bang your hand with a hammer, instead of fuck yell 'FOOOOLLLLKKKKK' and see if old-school jewel pops out and says 'you rang?' and i'm talking about pieces of you, 'who will saaeeaaeeeaaaave your sowulllll' and no i don't mean now jewel. god, 0304? what was that? i fear spending money on her new album if it's going to be the same heaping pile of intestinal garbage. folk you, jewel.

3. fark
Fark.com is a community website allowing users to comment on a daily batch of news articles and other items from various websites. Most links are submitted by Fark readers, which are then approved for posting on the main page by admins. Fark is one of the most widely read community sites of its type on the internet.

fark lands pretty high on the satisfying-though-it's-not-fuck word list, but i still prefer what would tyler durden do? and the onion.

4. filk
Filk is a form of music created from within Science Fiction & Fantasy fandom, and often performed late at night at science fiction conventions, though there are now dedicated Filk Conventions in Canada, England, Germany, and the USA. It is also popular in some circles of the Society for Creative Anachronism. The
term was adopted for the songs and musical parodies enjoyed by members of 'fandoms' such as Star Trek or Harry Potter. Practitioners are known as filkers.

...and i'm not ashamed to admit i rocked the valentine's podcast for the harry potter fandom (pottercast, what) with my filk of 'oops i'm crying again' as performed by a supposed cho chang. oh that's right. i went there. and by there i mean the land of total geekdom but I DON'T CARE SHUT UP.

5. flak
* Anti-aircraft gunfire, derived from the German Fliegerabwehrkanone, for "aircraft defense cannon", during World War II. See also 88 mm gun.
* criticism, as a metaphorical extension of the previous, e.g. "I'll have to take the flak for what that confounded reporter dug up."
* As a component of German and Scandinavian area place names, flak and similar may mean "flat", "plain": e.g. Flakfortet, Maasvlakte.

so you could totally give some flakian jackass flak about his malfunctioning flak, much like you could fuck with some fucking fucker about his fucked fuck. i know this can't be entirely lost on you people.

6. funk
1. Funk is a distinct style of music originated by African-Americans, e.g., James Brown, etc. Funk best can be recognized by its syncopated rhythms; thick bass line (often based on an "on the one" beat); razor-sharp rhythm guitars; chanted or hollered vocals (as that of Marva Whitney or the Bar-Kays); strong, rhythm-oriented horn sections; prominent percussion; an upbeat attitude; African tones; danceability; and strong jazz influences (e.g., as in the music of Miles Davis, Herbie Hancock, George Duke, Eddie Harris, and others).

2. A state of depression; British: a state of panic or great fear.

also totally oldschool british for 'coward', and also means a nasty musty gross smell like maybe the trunk of someone's car that they haven't cleaned since they took all the trash to the dump that one time. classy. also, somewhere in the world exists a podiatrist named dr funk. i'm not lying. i typed up a claim for him at one of my previous jobs as a soul-sucked data entrant. hot times, my friends. hot times.

7. fink
1. An unpleasant or contemptible person.

2. Fink is widely recommended as the simplest way for users to install and maintain their favorite unix programs on Mac OS X.

3. The name "Fink" is German for finch bird, and is related to the Darwin operating system (that lies at the core of Mac OS X), through Charles Darwin's study of diversity among finches.

also, apparently fink is a band that gave a free download on itunes a few weeks ago. unfortunately it's quite tepid and boring and it's definitely no funk or folk, my friends. booyah, gimme a tap on th drums for that one, oh god i hate myself. anyway, finches are awesome.

8. firk
v. t.1.To beat; to strike; to chastise.
I'll fer him, and firk him, and ferret him.
- Shak.
v. i.1.To fly out; to turn out; to go off.
A wench is a rare bait, with which a man
No sooner's taken but he straight firks mad.B.Jonson.
n.1.A freak; trick; quirk.

this is quite possibly my favorite new f-word. with one word i can hit, make fun of, yell at, or go off of a freaky quirky trick. english language, my god you are genius, you firking firker. which i'm not gonna lie, based on phonetics alone totally made me miss frankenfurter back in tysons mall. mmm. hot dogs. what firks.

9. fisk
1. verb, to critique an essay or argument in extreme detail, named after Robert Fisk.
2. noun, fish (in Swedish or other scandinavian languages)
3. Roman: public treasury or emperor's privy purse
American railroad financier and speculator who attempted in 1869 to corner the gold market with Jay Gould, leading to Black Friday, a day of nationwide financial panic.

holy crap. so basically fisk means 1) to be an utter jackass prickalicious douche, 2) to breathe underwater and then served blackened with pasta, 3) to be some king's petty cash, or 4) to totally fuck up a nation's finances. move over firk, fisk just took your place.

10. frak!
Frak! is a platform game in which the player controls a caveman named Trogg. Trogg's object is to find three keys located on each level. When Trogg steps off a platform or ladder, he does not fall straight down, but instead slides diagonally downwards. Long falls will kill Trogg.

Enemies in Frak! come in three forms: statues of various monsters, balloons and daggers, and contact with any enemy will kill Trogg. To combat the enemies, Trogg is armed with a yo-yo that he can launch straight horizontally. The yo-yo will kill any enemy it comes into contact with.

Frak! encodes high scores as nonsensical secret messages, such as Hairy gonks kiss green Buddhas slowly. These could presumably be sent to the game's publisher as proof of reaching a high score.

hahahaha wtf is a gonk and why is buddha green? i have nothing to add to this explosion of digital crackitude save to say it's obviously genius and why have i never heard of it? faaaark.

and by now you should be well-versed in antifucks. i don't expect you to use them because nothing quite satisfies like a good eff ewe see cay, but if the gi joes taught me anything on saturday mornings, it's that knowing is half the battle. and also that shooting people usually solves problems.

up next: ten reasons hamsters own you.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

ten ways to get to sleep faster

in all reality i have no reason to be the person writing this, as i couldn't get a wink in before 4:30 in the morning. but really that's what happens when i work til close in the retail industry and tardishly drink a can of vault at 9:30 at night and damn, did you know after about 2:00 everything on tv shifts to paid programming infomercials? seriously. it's fuckish. i'm minding my own business watching a conan repeat from january and then nbc has the gall to shove a timeshare pyramid scheme down my throat, and that's just highly uncool and therefore spurred this list:

10 ways to get asleepin' without counting sheep because seriously who does that

1. alcohol.
i'm telling you, couple shots of rum (with or without the pansy hot cocoa or whatever you want to mix it with if you haven't the gullet) will ease you right into sleepy time. if it doesn't do that much, it will hopefully at least make the experience of lying in bed not sleeping a bit fuzzier and happier. if this doesn't work, throw back another couple and call me in the morning. except for the part where you call me.

2. valerian.
sure it smells like ass, but this crap is cheap ($2-4 at any grocery store or drug store and while i'm on the subject, why does walgreens sell everything bug drugs now? seriously. there's an effing walgreens on every corner and i can by a tyco truck and jessica simpson 'dessert' products and a rubber canoe and probably even a digital camera, but they're always out of allergy medicine. what the hell is that about?) and, right, i was talking about valerian. it's basically crushed up and capsuled roots of some smelly plant that, if taken about half an hour before you need to not be awake anymore, should do the trick. if not, double up the dose and rinse with listerine, cause, again: stuff smells.

3. carbs.
people are under the supposition that turkeys are only for thanksgiving, but you know, there are so many more reasons to slaughter them. namely, bedtime. have yourself a turkey sandwich or two while conan's dancing around with max and pender, feel the tryptophan work its sleepy magic, and pass out on the couch. it may not be a bed, but this is about how to fall asleep, not where, so stop being so picky.

4. read something about finances.
or your mortgage, or your retirement plan. short on those? find literature about your insurance plan from work. no? load up the wallstreet journal online. for cripe's sake, go to the 7-11 and get a copy of forbes. just read something boring as criminy and do not allow yourself to look at the pictures. just keep reading from cover to cover and feel the slumber wrestle you into a chokehold. give in to the chokehold. give.

5. sex.
with whoever you share a bed with or with yourself, i don't care. but tell me that doesn't knock you right out. no? then you're obviously faking it and you need to try harder.

6. watch the infomercials.
that's right, you heard me. if your turkey sandwiches didn't put your lights out before conan is done, you're going to first suffer through last call with carson daly and if that still doesn't bitchslap you with a sudden case of the i need to not be awake nows, watch the infomercials for tile cleaner and money making opportunities and the chance to be your own boss and zzzzzzzzzzzz. if you find yourself actually interested, you should probably just shoot yourself and sleep forever.

7. ambien.
...if you're gonna puss out and actually go to a doctor for help when a bottle of jack would really do the trick and you don't have copays at liquor stores you dumbbutt, fine. but don't say i didn't warn you when you wake up on your kitchen floor covered in egg yolk and lucky charms. there's a reason those sciencey guys warn you that one of the side effects of this crap is binge eating, and it's my theory that they just want to see how well commercials about butterflies and lovely townhouses and running on pristine beaches can persuade the general public to poppping a pill that gives you the munchies without getting completely high to even compensate for it. in conclusion, do it only if you're out of steps 1, 2, 3 or 4. the end.

8. white noise.
i'm kind of in love with my white noise cd's; i go for the frog chirps and thunderstorms personally. if these things don’t lull you to sleep, they should at least clean out your bladder (hint: avoid 'babbling brook' series if you don't want to be up all night pissing) and/or they'll seriously annoy your bedmate, which is kind of satisfying.

9. lord of the rings.
try to watch an entire extended edition dvd. if you're not a fan, you'll find the quest of the preciousssss so effing tedious that sleep will suddenly probably hopefully rescue you from middle earth's reign of boredom. if not, proceed to step ten. if you are indeed a fan, even you can't last four hours, so shut up and go to bed.

10. more alcohol.
if none of these have worked, obviously you haven't drunken yourself into a stupor yet. but fear not, there is one last remedy i can give you:

two parts 99 apples
two parts cough syrup (preferably nyquil)
one part whatever alcohol you choose
one part fruit juice or whatever kind of mixer you have lying around, obviously, because this is really hardly a recipe

blend everything together, gulp down as slurpishly as you can, and wait to have some really frigging technicolor dreams about frogs in a rodeo.

ten signs that say the apocalypse is surely upon us

quite honestly, i don't know how the entire fabric of time/space/universe/quantumwhateverish hasn't collapsed into itself. why, you ask? sadly, it is my duty to report to you these

10 signs that the world will quite possibly spin off its axis before the day is through

1. turn it up.

2. fightin' over me.

3. stars are blind.

4. i want you.

5. jealousy.

6. heartbeat.

7. nothing in this world.

8. screwed.

9. not leaving without you

10. turn you on

i'm very well aware you may be saying, 'what the shit is this?' to which i have only one answer: paris hilton's album came out today. our ears, our tween population's hello kitty wallets, and the last shred of music's dignity are all available for a fresh raping. i don't think i really need to go into further detail than that except to say oh god what a twat paris hilton is, fix your goddamn lazy eye and jebus crikey there is officially nothing sacred anymore. what a desecration. i mean have you heard this shit? she's reedy at best and that's with her vocals layered six times. six times. ho can sing as well as i can be skinny and i do believe i'm feeling the inner-skull rumblings of eardrum combustion coming on. either that or my heart just breaks into approximately 1938502310456872845 pieces at the thought of this cuntrag stealing radio/itunes/world space from deserving musicians who don't deserve to die an anguished death even a billionth as much as she does. seriously, why hasn't the syphilis taken her out yet?

oh and ps i know there are 14 tracks on the album and my list only includes ten but that's becase a) my lists only ever include ten things and b) as the world is due to implode via the musical stylings of crabcrotch mcskanky, are 4 more songs really going to make any more of a difference? it's like howler monkeys taking a dump on your house that just burned down, which, actually now that i think about it really does kind of suck because it'd make it smell. so, nevermind. whatever. the world's ending, i've got to go max out my credit cards.

Sunday, August 20, 2006

ten awesometastic things about little miss sunshine

i'm feeling lazy today, and entourage is on soon. so this afternoon's list is a set of quick hits about 'little miss sunshine', which owns you and your mother and probably your dog. here:

ten things that make 'little miss sunshine' the best fucking movie of 2006 so far, and i've seen a damn lot of movies this year so i feel entitled to say that

1. olive.
first of all, i love that name, so she wins. she has a pop-belly and eats icecream even though her jackass dad tells her she shouldn't if she wants to be in beauty pageants, and she's a kid. she's not all dakota fanning creepy adult-in-a-kid thing. plus her dance number was hot shit.

2. grandpa.
seriously- he snorts heroin (can you even do that? i thought snorting was for coke, but what do i know, and even if i did know i wouldn't say because, hi nsa!! yeah i know they probably aren't reading blogs but i can pretend i matter that much)- oh. right. grandpa. he likes porn, drugs, and coaches olive, the effects of which are seen in the penultimate scene and it's seriously the greatest dance bit ever. it kicks napolean's ass, anyway.

3. steve carell.
enough said. seriously. he could touch assparagus and turn it to gold.

4. the soundtrack.
i have no idea who sings it or composed it because i'm not a hipster fuck and if i ever utter 'i liked them before they were cool', punch me in the eye. please. anyway, the music is lovely and flows very well with a road-trippy type movie. so there.

5. the scene with the dead body
there are a couple, actually, but the initial one is some of the best damn hilarious espionage i've ever seen. okay so i like the word espionage and it's the wrong word for what the family hoover does with a sheet and a van, but shut up and tell me you don't laugh when you see it.

6. the silent kid gets the best lines.
never has a pen stroke made me laugh so. also, i'm totally allowed to think he's cute because in reality he's only 2 years (not even) younger than me. so there. what.

7. porn comes to the rescue.
in the movie, i mean. not for you. there's no porn here.

8. ice cream.
every movie has its gun in the first to save for the third. this time it's ice cream serving as self-confidence and a fuck off to society as a whole. sounds wonky, but it works. plus it's oh so delicious and cool and creamy and oh shit i want some half baked. this is why i'm fat, btw.

9. the beauty pageant
it's so fucking dead-on with the girls wearing more make-up than katherine harris, the snitty southern boufanty lady at the helm, and the spacey creep emceeing the thing. olive totally raises her eyebrows at him like he's an ass and draws some of the biggest laughs of the whole thing. plus, as i've said before, her dance number is super. the fact that miss california laughed and kind of grooved along with it makes it better. plus the big tattooed guy caps it all off as the most surreal, bizarre and creepily entertaining bit of the whole story.

10. the mother-effing van
what's a movie with 'sunshine' in the title without a bright, big-bird yellow vw bus? also, what's a road trip movie about a dysfunctional family without a thinly-veiled metaphor in the shape of a really fucking dysfunctional van? you've seen the commercials with the pushing and the pulling, but i'd say the horn wins. it practically has a conversation with a cop. bleeepleebeepityhonk.

and that's that. if i'm feeling inspired, later i'll do another quick list. i'm thinking, ten reality tv shows that need to happen, or possibly ten things that suck hardcore about the desert. but we'll see. as for now, hbo calls.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

ten really goddamn annoying noises

so i woke up this morning to 'your body is a wonderland' by john mayer on the radio and i thought, wow. what a way to make me hate the planet, 92.9 the mountain. fuck off with your mix of the 80's, 90's, and today with this most dispicable john mayer tripe you call 'music.' oh and by the way? z104.1 was today's hit music in dc, not fucking arizona. the fact that a station of the same name and frequency has fallen so far from the nation's capital and now owns fucking north mexico makes me sad. also? it's a good segue into today's list,

ten sounds that are so fucking obnoxious that you almost envy your great aunt mabel's total deafness

1. that jackass who won’t get a tissue
BLOW YOUR SNOT OUT OF YOUR NOSE YOU PRICK. quit slorking and snerfing it and wiggling your nostrils and coughing and making a spectacle out of the fact that you’ve got a cold. congratulations, i hope it’s avian flu. god i hate you and I hope you choke on that glob of snot in your sleep and die.

2. the coughing guy
this jerk probably sits in the cubicle next to the tissue-inept jackass, or maybe carpools with him, because he’s caught the cold but one-ups the whole thing: instead of a sniffle, we get hacks-- great big phlegmy gunk rockets battering his esophagus and occasionally sending spiffles of goo into the atmosphere of your office, possibly landing on your in/out tray or splattering your monitor. and yet this douchebag refuses your offers of dayquil or a punch in the face, nay, he says he's 'just got some allergies.' next time he gets up to pee (because this jerk totally gets up every 20 minutes to pee, fill his coffee mug, and snot all over the water cooler) cover his chair with crisco. (i know you keep some in your desk for times such as these, don't lie.) it won't solve the coughing, but when his rotund shape (he's always a bit hefty) slides from the seat to the floor and gives him a sprained tailbone and a trip home for the day, at least it'll be a bit quieter in your left ear.

3. shakira
no, shut up- seriously. she says her hips don’t lie, but oh god how they sure as fuck mislead and entire planet into listening to purported 'singing'. she’s sexy, yes. i’ll give her that. definitely poetic, if she’s not translating into english anyway. but uh, has anyone informed her that the vocal chords she’s yodeling through sound like a hose lined with the souls of a thousand beheaded geese? it's nasal to make a frenchman with a cold worse than mr coughing jackass above say 'my god, what is zat? eet ees sounding like your grandmuzzer on 'elium.' so, yeah. make it stop.

oh fine shakira sluts, send me hatemail. i don't care. all i'm saying is her videos are much goddamn hotter on mute. and also, on the french thing, you can't send me hatemail about that. i lived there and i used to speak it. bitches. okay fine you can send me mail but that'd require you to send me mail and that's why it won't happen. so basically, we all win.

4. whiny emo singers
basically the difference between human beings and emo tards is this: we pick ourselves up in the morning, they think forgetting to tivo all that rocks on m2 is reason to not change the eyeliner they slathered on last night and lie in bed with their clove cigarettes and molest their guitar. your life is not that hard. so some chick dumped you. that's what she did: dumped you. she did not tear out your fragile glass heart and with the most careless embrace mangle it like her nails were daggers, you dumbshit. good god, grow a set and learn to carry a fucking tune. is it a rule that to sing emo bullshit you have to wear black pencil jeans and sing off key? if i hear you mangle a c-note and whisper about your strangled emotions one more time i will put a cougar in your closet and give you some actual pain to write about. you can thank me later.

5. someone’s saliva swishing around b/c they got too goddamn close to the mic
if i wanted to hear your spit sloshing around against your teeth and feel like you're spittling into my ear canal, i'd put my head right up against your mouth and ask you to tell me secrets. as it is, i haven't asked you, so please recording artists/dj's/podcasters/fuckfaces with mics: distance yourselves. it's fucking disgusting that i can tell you had a hamburger for lunch b/c i just heard an errant bit of sesame seed laced with ketchup hit your back molar. god, stop it before i break your jaw and you won't even be able to open your mouth to get it near a microphone and sing your stupid song about breathysighbreathylove. also, you sound like you might need a mint.

6. george w bush’s bastardization of a giggle
'heh heh. heh...iraq.' upon even imagning the smug waste of breath that is his trademark laugh, i'm pretty sure your blood can boil tea now, yes? good. cause i brought crumpets.

7. when someone leaves the tv on and it goes eeeeee
did anybody else hear about that cell phone ringtone that only teenagers can hear b/c their ears are atuned to hear a very high pitched frequency (read: obnoxiuos as uncle sam on stilts in the 4th of july parade b/c really get out of the way old man, i want to see the hot chicks in bathing suits) that older and younger folks can't hear? well apparently my ears, along with my boobs and social ethics, are stuck in a 15-year old's body and i can hear that damn high-pitched 'screeeeeeeeeeee' and oh my god i will send a yeti to rape you if you insist upon leaving the tv on. why? because not all is silent when the screen goes dark, my friends. no. unless you actually dain to turn to squawkbox off, its screen is still alive and well and buzzing and humming and electrically going 'squeeeeeee' and if you're a child or an adult apparently you don't hear the damage. but i do because despite the fact that i've long since graduated college, my ears have yet to grow the fuck up and stop hearing it. so until that happens, if you forget to turn off the tv and fill the room with that electrical abomination of a 'reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee' i will fillet you seven ways til sunday, which is when we eat fillets of various animal parts. just thought you'd like to know.

8. tone-deaf singers
do i really need to elaborate on this? seriously, nothing ruins weezer or tori or hell even kelly clarkson (i love her and you can send hyenas to rip me limb from limb and i'll still adore her) quite like the cuntface who feels entitled to belt along in a key that not only is totally wrong, but is from so far beyond left field that it would seriously turn your theater voice coach into the hulk. HULK ANGRY. HULK SMASH TONEDEAF TURDGUZZLERS. HULK IS THE COLOR OF GREEN GIANT. HULK AND GREEN GIANT SHOULD JOIN FORCES AND PROMOTE GREEN BEENS THAT ARE NOT TONE DEAF.

9. children crying
oh jesus get a grip on your child and take it out of this public setting you crapmuncher. if your kid is screaming and they're under 2, it probably means they need a nap, they need food and not the shit you're making them eat at this classy restaurant that doesn't even do booster seats so that was probably your first hint right there, or that they've shat their pants. go deal with it. don't ignore it and let it sit there screaming. there are people in the vicinity being aurally violated. if they're a toddler or older and they're crying, either they've hurt themselves or they're just being pricks to make you pay attention to them which you should because as someone who was dumb enough to play host to this parasite who will leech off you until you die, you don't deserve a social life. go cater to your child's every whim and get out of this movie theater. oh and that was also really smart of you to bring a 4-year old to 'saw', guy. dad of the fucking year, for sure.

10. bagpipes
i'm pretty sure that's what pubescant elephants would sound like if they weren't built already knowing how to honk through their trunks. seriously, that shit is not music. it's audible assault, and this is coming from someone who's at least 1/3 irish. celtic &/or gaelic culture/history/language/all that crap? awesome. green hills and potatoes and soda bread and hot accents? sign me up. but bagpipes make me want to kill a leprechaun. so, dear bagpipers of the world: cease and desist or you will never find the pot of gold because i've killed your guide.

coming tomorrow or whenever, because i have work:
ten things not to do to people
ten reasons hamsters are fucking awesome
ten words you've never heard in your life
ten things to do when pmsing. ladies, this is obviously for you. or men who aren't very testosterony. which for some reason makes me think of rice-a-roni, probably b/c everyone and their sister has seen that friends episode. so now i kind of want rice-a-roni, or possibly bread with butter and apricot jam. uh, okay goodnight.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

ten grammatical things you do that piss off the planet

okay. i know what you're thinking. 'how the eff can b comment on grammar when she's not even using capitalization? what a douchebag.' which, fine. but at least i'm spelling properly (hopefully, because the spellcheck on blogger is heinous) and using proper grammar most of the time.

unfortunately there are scads upon heaps upon multitudes of assgoblins who cannot use proper grammar to save their lives. i'm not saying we all have to have perfect spelling and grammar (hell, even i don't understand half that textbook crap foisted on us year after year in school, and i declare sentence diagrams utterly useless) but there are some basic tenets of the language i just have to nail down before i suffer an aneurism from constant english abuse. and so, without further verbal procrastination,

ten things people do that are grammatically incorrect and make them look like jackholes.

1. i seen
first of all: no. you do not/don't/didn't/won't seen something. it's not possible. subject-godfuckingdamn-verb agreement, jerks. god, this pisses me off. when did this start happening? i swear i never heard this crap on the east coast. but once i got out here to non-specified western-ish locale, it started needling my ears and making me twitch. typical usage of said abomination:

worker bee #1: has anyone from the tech desk stopped by to fix this monitor?
worker bee #2: yeah, i seen someone here ten minutes ago.

okay. what's wrong with this? i'll tell you. you can't seen something, plain and simple. you saw it. saw. repeat after me: i saw someone here ten minutes ago. why can't you seen? because seen is goddamn motherfucking some verb tense that i'm not going to pretend to know the name of but i know it's definitely not plain jane ordinary past tense, you insipid moron.

proper ways to use 'seen':
i have seen someone come on previous occasions, but not today.
i hope to have seen someone stop by before the day is over.
no, i haven't seen anyone stop by yet.
i thought i had seen someone but it turns out i didn't.
by now, i hope everyone has seen how retarded these assholes sound saying 'i seen.'

in conclusion, no. you may not use 'seen' by itself. 'i seen' deserves a meat fork in your goddamn eyeball if i hear it uttered even once. you may say 'i have seen' if you have done said action before said occurrence and-- oh fuck it, just make it simpler and not about subjunctives or whatever this is and say 'i saw.' but not 'i seen.' capiche? it better be goddamn capiche cause i'm not reminding you again. turd.

2. i don't know?
holy shit, you're riding the short bus. are you asking me if you don't know? because a ? turns a statement into a freaking question and i'm really running out of answers for you people. most likely if you're telling me you don't know something --which i don't doubt because, well, you're abusing your own goddamn language-- you're doing just that: telling me. not asking me. if you're not asking, you don't need a question mark. let me repeat that: if you are saying you do not know something, you are stating you don't know it, not asking if you don't know it it. a statement has no holy effing question marks about it, you butt scuttler.

i don't know why she said that?

less headache-inducing way:
i don't know why she said that.

is this getting through your skull? you don't say 'i know?', you say 'i know.' saying you don't know is simply negating the frigging sentence. making it negative doth not a question make. is there any way i can make this easier to understand? look, it's totally understandable to turn it into a question in this way:

why did she say that? i don't know.

okay? there. that's how. if you don't understand this basic idea, then i'm going to slap your face with my mahi-mahi of persuasion, and trust me it's cold and scaly and you don't want it.

plausible scenario:

idiot: i don't know where i'm going? (making a statement, retardifying it by using ? instead of .)
b: you don't know? (this is allowable, because i am asking a goddamn question.)
idiot: i don't understand?
b: *slaps you with a fish*
idiot: ow, why did you do that? (this, finally, is acceptable questioning behavior. well done. but if i see you type 'i have no clue why b slapped me with a fish?' i will kill you.)

to recap: not knowing/understanding/being confused by something is not a question. question marks are only for actual questions. oh god my brain cries.

3. your/you're
sweet unmerciful crap. it mashes my brain into babyfoody bits to see how many people with ma's and phd's can't spell their way out of your bag. and that's your, not you're. why? the answer is simple:

your = belonging to you. that's it. nothing else. it is yours. your cat. your retardation. yours alone. actually, unfortunately, not yours alone, but shared by many.

you're = you are. again, that's it. simple as can la di fucking da be. okay? you are. you're. as in 'you're retarded', or, 'you are retarded.' does this make sense?

your retardation = the retardation that is yours and yours alone, belongs to you, nobody else's.
you're retarded = you are fucking retahdid.

and that's all. please dear god let that be all i ever have to say about this one again. if it isn't, i fear i will go on a murderous rampage and the first victims shall be those without a basic k-8 understanding of spelling and grammar. so, all higher learned folks who think they can skate by on jargon and suits alone, look out. this means you.

4. there/their/they're
i'm not going to cover all the homonyms in the english language because quite frankly my life is too short and my genetics say i'm due to kick the bucket in less than another 50 which may be why i'm so bitter to you peons, but, let's get this straight: these are three different words, shiteaters. observe:

there: a place. a position. a location thereof. it is there. as in 'there lies the grave of my dead aunt sally, the last of my family who had two brain cells to rub together before the rest of us ate paint chips for afternoon snack.'

their: belonging to two or more people. as in 'their paint chips were indeed tasty and redolent of peanut butter, and yet their intelligence did wane in proportion to paint chips consumed.'

they're: contraction of 'they are'. that's it. as in 'as a result, they're all now collectively as smart as a beaver whose head was crushed by a californian redwood after gnawing it down in the prime of its life.'

so to conclude: despite their constant bitching amongst mouths stuffed full of skoal and pabst, there is no need to place blame on 'the system' for the tripe they're calling 'dialect.' no. dialect is a way of speaking unique to a region, not a fucking decimation of intelligence and hope. go wrestle a fucking alligator already, and if he drags you under, he just wants to play. remember, if you try to breathe, you're insulting him.

5. for all intensive purposes
um, have you ever picked up a book, newspaper or magazine in your life and in it seen this phrase written? no, dickweed, you haven't. and yet you hear it all the time. what's up with that? i'll tell you what's up: you've spelled it phonetically, which goes to show you just wanted to sound intelligent using a grown-up phrase that only sooper smrt people use and have thus shown how mentally inept you are because you can’t have any actual concept of what this phrase means if you write it ‘intensive purposes’. what the fuck are intensive purposes?

look, brainiac, the phrase is for all intents and purposes. not intensive purposes, unless maybe you’re an obsessed stalker and you’re writing your purposes in a creepy diary you’re creating out of this girl’s used receipts, tissues and hair you took from the girl’s bathroom that you’re pretty sure is hers because it curls in just the right way. and even then, to stalk is your intent and purpose, not intensive purpose. so, shut up and stop being so untalented in the thinking department.

6. i could care less
well crap on a cracker, i bet you actually could care less, because it would appear that you've exhausted your brain by caring so goddamn much about your unimportant problems that you left no capacity whatsoever for cognitive reasoning. jerkoffs break this golden oldie out all the time, and it never ceases to amaze me how many people don't realize they're flat-out as wrong as republicans.

what you mean to say is that you couldn't care less. let's look at an example of this atrocity:

imbecile #1: i heard that cow farts are destroying the ozone layer!
imbecile #2: whatev. i could care less. we can tan faster!

if you're a total tard and you care more about tanning than the protective layer of shit that makes sure you don't get a dozen kinds of cancer, it is sadly safe to assume you don't care about the cows and their methane destroying said layer. so it would reason that you are both really orange and probably have bad extensions and also that you could stand to care more about the ozone layer because you don't care at all about it right now. hence, if you could care more, you cannot care less. cripes.

let's have another example because i'm relatively sure one scenario is not good enough for you dopes.

jerk #1: dude, my dog died.
jerk #2: so? he bit my nuts that one time. i could care less if he died a thousand fiery deaths.
jerk #1: ...your mom's a whore.
jerk #2: ...so is your dog for chomping my balls.

let's review: the dog that died bit your nuts. hence, you are not sad that the damn dog is dead. you do not care. you care much less than jerk #1. in fact, one might say you couldn't care less. am i making myself clear to you cretins? i hope so, because did you know every time you fuck up could and couldn't, it makes you smell more like a cow fart? true story.

7. utilize
alright, i understand that in some circles utilize is a perfectly acceptable word. are you an engineer? do you work for nasa? is your iq 180? no? then cut it the fuck out and say 'use'. jesus. here, this annoys me so much that i can't even put it into words so i'm going to let the good folks behind the apple dictionary widget speak for me:

usage: utilize, borrowed in the 19th century from the french: utiliser, means 'make practical use or effective use of.' because it is a more formal word than use and is often used in context (as in business writing) where the ordinary verb use would be simpler and more direct, utilize may strike readers as pretentious jargon and should therefore be used sparingly.

unfortunately the dictionary did not include this addendum, furnished by the Society for Hunting & Trapping Useless Pretentious fucks, or S.H.U.T. U.P.:

if you are an interior designer, sales associate, office minion, barista, or general jackass, you have no right or reason to use 'utilize' and therefore will be penalized for said unnecessary verbal crime. punishment for any jerkass who does not hold a phd in physics, engineering or some other impossible science using 'utilize' in any context will be done up the butt with a cactus. repeatedly.

8. it's/its
alright. this is not hard. this is the kind of shit that preschoolers can master in eight languages if you give them 5 minutes with a stickybear bop cd-rom, and yet here you are in all your wisdom saying 'its my birthday, yay!' i don't give a flying fuckling if it's your birthday, you will sit here for two minutes and learn the goddamn difference between it's and its.

short for it is. that's all there is to it. it + is = it's.
ie: it is time for birthday cake = it's time for birthday cake.

belonging to it, quality of it. basically, if you could not say 'it is', you say its. look below.
as in: the cake was so half-assed that its icing resembled mud and tasted like ass.
see how you couldn't say 'it is icing'? that's what we call idiot-proofing. if, after this, you screw up its and it's, you have my full permission to see what happens when you taunt a rattlesnake.

get it? let's mix and match: "like your present? _____ a bottle opener that says 'beer! _____ what's for dinner!" said her boyfriend. not so tragically, _____ sharp end soon found _____ way into his aorta because she broke up with him a week ago and he only showed up for cake, the bastard.

if you answered it's, it's, its and its, congratulations, you have a functioning frontal lobe. if you answered in any other combination, i hope you eat the entire birthday cake and contract diabetes.

9. weird.
look, buttermonkeys, this isn't hard. this is like the one time ever that people actually pay attention to a fooking lesson they learned in school, that being the 'i before e except after c' rule that we learned in third grade and it's obnoxious as all hell that nobody ever taught them the exceptions. that's right, i'm looking at you, teachers. what the fuck are we paying you for? oh, right. we hardly pay you shit. nevermind.

anyway, since nobody's paying me either i feel i'm equally qualified to teach you: weird is weirdly spelled. get it? see what i did there? didya? eh, eh? look i only ask so many times because i'm quite sure you didn't. w-e-i-r-d. stop listening to the i before e rule on this one. it's not wierd. it's weird. the end. ass.

10. eye dont no y u r typin lyke thiz lol fOr ReAlz!!1!
jesus christ on a crutch. stop. there is no other grammatical order i will give you. just cut it the fuck out. if you have to stop to think of a goddamn alternate spelling for one-letter words or in turn create one-letter blips out of actual longer ones, you are spending too much time on this and not enough on learning how to kill yourself for being such a waste of space. to be perfectly clear, i will jam pliers through your nose and into your limbic system, ripping it and your pathetic dried-up brain's other lobes out through your nostrils much like ancient egyptian mummies if you don't stop it with this abhorrent typing shit. spell correctly. also? ThIs Is FuCkInG rEtArDeD. do you know how long it takes to type that verbal diarrhea? holy god, get a goddamn motherfucking life you douchebag, stop polluting the internet with your mismatched case tripe, and/or hang yourself. in fact, no. you're too fargone to be taught proper typing. just go ahead with the hanging.

Monday, August 14, 2006

ten things i love about entourage

okay so i lied. i said the next list would be grammatical errors and/or insults, but, to hell with it and back i say. i just finished watching the latest episode of hbo's 'hollywood insider'-ish offering lovingly (or despisedly) known as entourage. and thus beget tonight's list,

10 things i love about hbo's

1. kevin dillon as drama.
egads, brilliant, this guy. it's been a long day since his ranks amongst the Platoon, but you know dillon thinks he's hot shit as he struts around in ugly manboob-clinging shirts and apes in a kitchen baking tofu for vince and co. and you know what? he totally is. honestly, he's the reason i tune into this thing. if only to hear the words 'viking quest' uttered in complete earnest every week.

sample of greatness:
turtle: (looking at the pacific ocean) what direction is that?
johnny drama: it's east, idiot.
eric: it's west, idiot.
johnny drama: (long pause) well, i mean, in new york it's east.

2. turtle.
and this isn't because the turtle is one of my inexplicably favorite animals. it's just because he's so delightfully unneccessary for vince and hence is the ched
dar cheese of the show. he's not the meat of the outfit, but a delish dish just doesn't taste the same without the garnish and extra calories. wow that was a bad metaphor, but turtle's a bad charicature- or rather, he *could* be bad and should be, and instead he's all goofy and endearing. even if he is a yankees fan. so basically we all win.

slice of greatness:

*reading a review of vince's newest movie*
"fuckin prick called you a thespian!"

3. vince's pritty pritty eyes.

what, like i h
ave to explain that?

4. the cars.

so i'm a whore for expensive
automobiles, is that a sin? oh, for real? damn. well, see you in hell then. i'll bring the sunblock, you bring the skewers for s'mores.

5. ari effin' gold.

holy s
hit. never has a more foul-mouthed suit so bracingly captured my heart, but, there it is. yes he, the maven of 'cunt-muscle' and thousands of acidic 'FUCK!'s, is the #2 reason i tune in after johnny drama. i know i should have put him in the #2 slot but i'm lazy. anyway, ari the power agent, with his lloyd-bashing, hen-pecked husbandry (i know husbandry actually refers to farming and raising of animals but deal, blog readers, this is the internet and not the almanac) and penchant for beating things to a pulp leads me to the conclusion that i love this man. as in have his illegitemate babies even though his wife would shank me kind of love. i know, right? lame. but so addictive. try not to be persuaded by the power that is ari. like the gaysian lloyd, you'll be hard-pressed not to make out.

representative sample of the greatn
"You know what other class I took at Harvard? Business Ethics. I don't steal other people's motherfucking clients! But in your case I'm going to make an exception! I'm going to take everyone, your B-level sitcom stars, your reality tv writers, when I'm done with you you're gonna be repping sideshow freaks! You need Jo Jo the dogface bitchboy, call Josh Weinfuck, the lightweight pen stealing fuckface!"

6. debi mazar.
blink and you'll miss her ever-shrinking role, but as pretty much the only power-playing female of the entire show, shawna (vince's publicist and 'west coast mom') is a vision in hard-blocked accent, comely white suits and langauge even more foul than mine. it's like i had a lovechild with a sailor, let it grow up in the backalleys of queens and then sent it to publicist finishing school for the hardassed. it even has lovely hair and a pretty set of nails to boot.

why i love her:
: you should get me on a talk show. i'd kill.
: maybe i'll get you on springer. fat, little horny fucks and the women that despise them.
drama: *snickers*
: what are you laughing at? maybe i'll get you on montel with don swayze, joey travolta and the other retarded star siblings.

7. mandy moore is a two-timing cantankerous bitch.

personally, i always knew this was true. she slinks by on that 'awww i'm so adorable look at meeee *squeakcleansqueak*' image and yet only manages to create crap movie after crap movie, an
d excuse me while i barf them up and clean it with a mop made of her hair- her perfect hair that 13-year old girls think is made of golden kitten whiskers or something equally as stupid that only 13-year old girls would think it, like the fact that mandy moore is not actually a raving bitch underneath that cupie façade. to wit, thank you hbo, for creating the mandy-breaks-vince's-heart-and-puts-it-in-a-blender-stompity-stompity! storyline. she denied his marriage proposal. bitchface. years later she breaks up with her fiance to go out with vince again? BIIIITCH. after a week, she starts going back to the fiance behind vince's back. deliciously evil. and then she breaks poor vince's ass, goes back to the fiance (whom she was marrying in like a week) and still has to work with him for months on a movie set. HAHA. wow, way to be a douchebag mandy. two stars for you. and three for the hbo writing team.


(after mandy dumps him) "...i feel like i got shot!"

8. all the cameos.
the fact that in the pilot episode we get a livid ali larter storming through (and we are never told why, nor do we ever see her again) should be t
he tip-off- random celebrities from a-list to f-list are going to wander around the show for no apparent reason, and it will be amusing. there's bob saget at the whore house, garey busey and his ugly statue on vince's lawn, larry david haggling with ari, seth green telling eric he banged his girlfriend, and u2 telling johnny drama to have a happy birthday. i'd think of more, but frankly, i'm lazy and feel like breaking out my entourage dvd's. oh wait, i don't have those. damn being poor. vince, give me some cash.

classic line:
(at a madam's house)
johnny drama: turtle, if you can't get laid here, turn your dick in.
*5 minutes later*
...did you just get cock-blocked by bob saget?

9. LLOYD!!

oh come on. try not to love the cute little gay asian assistant man. the fact that ari makes threats to pay him in yen, that he tries to come into work dressed as andre 3000 from outkast, he of the undying loyalty to ari who tries to throw computers out the window- it's just lovely. also? he got johnny drama his next pilot, something ari couldn't even manage. way to go lloyd.

see, really, this is why he's great:
ari: 'if this isn't taken care of by the time i get back to the office, i will choke you out with a strap-on!'
*hangs up phone* '...pottymouth.'

10. my dad doesn't get it.
because if he did, i'd be really scared.