Ladies and gentlemen, I have a Facebook profile. I know that Facebook as a whole is generally frequented by self-absorbed, narcissistic assholes, but it's really the only way I can keep in touch with people. Mostly because I'm a lazy fuck and I hate e-mail. For the most part, Facebook is little more than a gigantic pain in the ass, but every now and then the opportunity for fun (see also: verbal assraping of ignorant shitheads) presents itself. For instance, my friend Aerine joined a group supporting same sex marriage. One of her friends, in much the same capacity as nearly every hate monger on the planet, jumped right on the chance to spread her message of intolerance by stating that homosexuality is a sin. Yes, I'm aware that by punishing her for indiscriminately labeling someone as inferior that I'm breaking irony, but I felt the need to share my reply.
Aerine, sorry if I'm starting a war on your page, but your friend needs to do a bit more research instead of jumping on Jerry Falwell's bandwagon and riding it all the way to wacko house. Lora, like so many things, you have to take the scripture in context. Plucking a few sentences out of the Bible and using them to justify an agenda isn't just fundamentally stupid, it's using God's word as a tool (which, by the way, I'm pretty sure the Big Guy probably takes exception to).
Also, the passages that are being debated (that's right, debated; few people who've studied the earliest available versions of the Good Book agree on their interpretation. Languages that are thousands of years old are funny like that) are from the Old Testament. Y'know, the part of the Bible that says you're in the express lane to Hell if you've ever eaten at Wendy's on a Friday? If memory serves, there was a Guy who regularly went bar hopping and spent a lot of time hanging out with prostitutes who kind of made the Old Testament a moot point. Damn, what was His name again...had that one really shitty day, did this really bad-ass party trick involving water and wine...
Oh, that's right! Jesus! Anyway, He came down and basically made it so that someone could shave their beard, have a few brews, maybe think with the wrong had and sleep with someone that they weren't already married to and NOT spend eternity wishing for a decent SPF, so long as they had Him in their hearts. Think what you want - and I'm sure you will, the Third Reich of sexual orientation always does - but do it twice before you post your uninformed rhetoric where someone with a decent education and more than two functioning brain cells can read it.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to being one of the few straight people on the planet who doesn't hate on others because of who they decide to fuck.
Rem - 1
Mindless Bigotry - 0
Friday, May 21, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Best. Drive. Ever.
So I got off work tonight fairly early by Pizza Hut standards - roughly 11:15PM - and was looking forward to a nice quiet night with one of Terry Goodkind's Sword of Truth novels. Let me illustrate to you just how accurately the word mercurial describes me and my life.
12:12 AM - Realized that I was showered, dressed and ready to go do something stupid before 1 AM, much earlier than usual. Note that the potential for disaster is much greater the earlier in the evening one finds one's self in.
12:45 AM - Convinced that it's my civic duty as a member of the Inebriated Americans minority, I leave my comfortable little attic in order to procure party favors of questionable moral nature.
1:05 AM - Mission accomplished.
1:15 AM - Arrive at ATM, wondering just what manner of masochistic insanity I was born to.
1:25 AM - Mission very accomplished. With hitherto unrevealed optional objectives completed with military precision and efficiency. And swallowed.
1:45 AM - Primary objective (see also: substances) consumed in the loosest possible definition of the word. My lungs hurt, and I am happy.
2:15 AM - Secondary objective beginning to make driving somewhat problematic. Reflectors are becoming flashers. I begin to question whether or not driving down a quasi-major state road is wise. Ignoring all common sense, I opt for an alternate route.
2:25 AM - Fuck arriving anywhere, I begin to question whether or not I'm existing on the same plane of reality as everyone else.
2:35 AM - Arrive at Will's. Theory of alternate planar occupation confirmed. I stare at the ceiling fan for an indeterminate amount of time.
2:40 AM (or thereabouts) - On the way through Emily's pitch black hallway to smoke a cigarette, I realize that I can still see the fucking lightbulb.
2:45 AM - Nicotine, in conjunction with whatever cocktail I have flowing through my system and making me feel like one of them thar gall dern hippies, is the greatest of man's injustices visited upon himself. I sing Great Big Sea's version of The End Of The World. Will is several levels of unimpressed, yet at the same time maintaining an obvious, almost clinical interest in my current state of mind. I close my eyes and smile like an idiot.
3:00 AM - I venture outside for another cigarette. Life is still better than it has been in months. Will continues staring.
3:15 AM - A brief period of lucidity wherein, as of the time of this writing, I vaguely recall having an intelligent, coherent conversation, the topic of which escapes me. In all likelihood, this is due to a horrible misrepresentation of the facts on the part of my memory. I do, however, still maintain that man should have been invented with a gland for this shit.
3:30 AM - During the writing of this entry and after reading through the preceding portion of the time table, it occurs to me that man was invented with a gland for this shit, albeit in significantly lower doses. Further inspection of the facts causes leads me to the conclusion that man got gypped. I continue clenching my jaw and smiling like an idiot.
3:35 AM - Struggling to think of a way to somehow anticipate events so as to commit them to this entry prior to actually experiencing them, thus leaving me with more time to do so, I acknowledge that certain hormones are racing through me at such a rate as to imply that my internal sound barrier should be breaking. Curiously, I also realize that for the first time since I was roughly eleven years old, I seem to have a sort of psychological detachment to the fact that my body desperately wants to spend time with something blond, skinny and orally fixated.
3:42 AM - Screw it. I'll just have Will tell me about all the mindnumbingly stupid shit that I do and say tomorrow morning/afternoon. More to come.
12:12 AM - Realized that I was showered, dressed and ready to go do something stupid before 1 AM, much earlier than usual. Note that the potential for disaster is much greater the earlier in the evening one finds one's self in.
12:45 AM - Convinced that it's my civic duty as a member of the Inebriated Americans minority, I leave my comfortable little attic in order to procure party favors of questionable moral nature.
1:05 AM - Mission accomplished.
1:15 AM - Arrive at ATM, wondering just what manner of masochistic insanity I was born to.
1:25 AM - Mission very accomplished. With hitherto unrevealed optional objectives completed with military precision and efficiency. And swallowed.
1:45 AM - Primary objective (see also: substances) consumed in the loosest possible definition of the word. My lungs hurt, and I am happy.
2:15 AM - Secondary objective beginning to make driving somewhat problematic. Reflectors are becoming flashers. I begin to question whether or not driving down a quasi-major state road is wise. Ignoring all common sense, I opt for an alternate route.
2:25 AM - Fuck arriving anywhere, I begin to question whether or not I'm existing on the same plane of reality as everyone else.
2:35 AM - Arrive at Will's. Theory of alternate planar occupation confirmed. I stare at the ceiling fan for an indeterminate amount of time.
2:40 AM (or thereabouts) - On the way through Emily's pitch black hallway to smoke a cigarette, I realize that I can still see the fucking lightbulb.
2:45 AM - Nicotine, in conjunction with whatever cocktail I have flowing through my system and making me feel like one of them thar gall dern hippies, is the greatest of man's injustices visited upon himself. I sing Great Big Sea's version of The End Of The World. Will is several levels of unimpressed, yet at the same time maintaining an obvious, almost clinical interest in my current state of mind. I close my eyes and smile like an idiot.
3:00 AM - I venture outside for another cigarette. Life is still better than it has been in months. Will continues staring.
3:15 AM - A brief period of lucidity wherein, as of the time of this writing, I vaguely recall having an intelligent, coherent conversation, the topic of which escapes me. In all likelihood, this is due to a horrible misrepresentation of the facts on the part of my memory. I do, however, still maintain that man should have been invented with a gland for this shit.
3:30 AM - During the writing of this entry and after reading through the preceding portion of the time table, it occurs to me that man was invented with a gland for this shit, albeit in significantly lower doses. Further inspection of the facts causes leads me to the conclusion that man got gypped. I continue clenching my jaw and smiling like an idiot.
3:35 AM - Struggling to think of a way to somehow anticipate events so as to commit them to this entry prior to actually experiencing them, thus leaving me with more time to do so, I acknowledge that certain hormones are racing through me at such a rate as to imply that my internal sound barrier should be breaking. Curiously, I also realize that for the first time since I was roughly eleven years old, I seem to have a sort of psychological detachment to the fact that my body desperately wants to spend time with something blond, skinny and orally fixated.
3:42 AM - Screw it. I'll just have Will tell me about all the mindnumbingly stupid shit that I do and say tomorrow morning/afternoon. More to come.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
An honest mistake (waiting to happen).
Hypothetical question. If, upon the previously described Jewish girl's insistance that her daughter wasn't paying attention to what I had to say because she didn't know who I was, I bent down to the toddler and said "Hi there, precious. I'm the guy who made your mommy betray her entire race," does that make me an asshole?
...Oh, I'm sorry, I seem to have mixed up hypothetical with rhetorical. Silly me.
...Oh, I'm sorry, I seem to have mixed up hypothetical with rhetorical. Silly me.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Now Tom Cruise has TWO reasons to hate me.
There are a lot of things that can come to mind when one thinks about the various New Years Eves they've experienced, but sadly, most of them are so overdone that they inspire a nausea comparable to that of your garden variety hangover. Get drunk, take pictures, get laid, though not necessarily in that order. Allow me to establish myself, once again, as being the best there is at breaking routine.
My evening started at around 21:00, after having escaped from the indentured servitude that my employer calls an occupation. I picked up my copilot for the evening, a young man by the name of Cameron, and we started the evening with a pair of New Years mainstays and went along our merry way. We stopped at Jen's, and while the company was more than well enough, there was something missing from the evening. A particular type of music? A specific liquor? Dick Clark? No, my friends. None of the above. This particular New Years Eve, only one thing would sate our mutual inclination.
Chaos.
With that in mind, we immediately start toward Kentucky to meet my brother at his favorite bar. Getting there just in time to see the ball drop on television, we sat for a few moments until it appeared that this location had outlived it's usefulness to us. The people were friendly, docile. Hardly adequate victims. The next bar, however, proved to be a much, much different environment entirely. First of all, a good portion of Matt and I's family happened to be there already, including our brother, their father, our mother, cousins, aunts, ad infinitum. I was beginning to wonder if this were New Years Eve or a family reunion. Matt did little to aid my confusion, as within the first half hour we were already being pushed out the door by a crowd who wanted nothing more than to push us into traffic; his father had decided to court disaster by running his gums, and Matt had reacted the same way he always reacts. Specifically, by attempting to turn Donald the Shit Talker into Donald the Jello-esque Stain On The The Barroom Floor. Long story short, we were swiftly ejected from the premises, but not before your pal Rem got in one last wise-ass remark: "New show every night at 8:00, we're here all week, be sure to tip your waitress!" At that, I bowed, turned to the not unjustifiably hateful ex-girlfriend who was tending bar, winked at her, and was swept away by the half-riot we ourselves had instigated.
Goooooood times.
After dropping those in attendance off who were either A) too drunk, B) too annoying or C) both to continue on, we made our way back to Walton where our...erm, acquaintance, Kaitlyn, starts harping on Matt about how she wants a tattoo. She doesn't know what, but she wants ink, and she wants it tonight. Let me precipice the rest of this story by explaining that, while dumber than a box of cat shit, she is completely, stone cold sober. Knowing that she's Jewish, I, of course, decide to make a mockery of the suffering of God's chosen people and suggest she get twin lightning bolts done on her forearm. Now, before you go nuts imagining the various ways that she could and should have ripped me a new asshole, let me remind you that Kaitlyn is, as previously stated, as dumb as dumb can be without needing a helmet to take a piss.
Exhibit A) She's fat.
Exhibit B) She's hanging out with my brother and I.
Exhibit C) She has absolutely no fucking idea what twin lightning bolts mean.
So, after another ten minutes of deliberation, she decided on getting the tat between her shoulder blades. Just in case you haven't been paying attention, let me summarize the above. Me. And my brother. Convinced a Jewish girl. To get the SS bolts done on her back.
To say the least, even I was a little hesitant to let this happen. I mean, fun's fun and all, but this? This was appalling. This was atrocious. Hell, I'm pretty sure that somewhere in the world this was fucking criminal exploitation of an idiot. Unfortunately, I was too busy exchanging knowing glances with the other three people in the room, Kaitlyn excluded, of course, and trying like hell to stifle the maniacal fit of laughter threatening to deafen everyone within earshot. Hard by itself, nigh impossible when the poor girl winced and, I'm not making this shit up, said "This hurts different from all my other tattoos...it just feels wrong." I'm amazed my tongue didn't start bleeding, or falling off, for that matter.
The trip home, begun almost immediately after the tattoo's completion, was a waking coma by comparison. Some garbage food from Waffle House and the equivalent of a metric fuck ton of laughter made it a tolerable wind down from the night's adventures. I dropped Cameron off, got home, recounted the evening's festivities to my roommate Logan. Logan, for all his worldliness, for all his experiences, for all his knowledge of the workings of the human brain, sat with his jaw hanging two inches from the floor. When I finally finished, he ended the conversation with one question:
"Dude, how do you manage to get an entire race to hate you in less than two minutes?"
Talent, my friend.
Happy New Year!
My evening started at around 21:00, after having escaped from the indentured servitude that my employer calls an occupation. I picked up my copilot for the evening, a young man by the name of Cameron, and we started the evening with a pair of New Years mainstays and went along our merry way. We stopped at Jen's, and while the company was more than well enough, there was something missing from the evening. A particular type of music? A specific liquor? Dick Clark? No, my friends. None of the above. This particular New Years Eve, only one thing would sate our mutual inclination.
Chaos.
With that in mind, we immediately start toward Kentucky to meet my brother at his favorite bar. Getting there just in time to see the ball drop on television, we sat for a few moments until it appeared that this location had outlived it's usefulness to us. The people were friendly, docile. Hardly adequate victims. The next bar, however, proved to be a much, much different environment entirely. First of all, a good portion of Matt and I's family happened to be there already, including our brother, their father, our mother, cousins, aunts, ad infinitum. I was beginning to wonder if this were New Years Eve or a family reunion. Matt did little to aid my confusion, as within the first half hour we were already being pushed out the door by a crowd who wanted nothing more than to push us into traffic; his father had decided to court disaster by running his gums, and Matt had reacted the same way he always reacts. Specifically, by attempting to turn Donald the Shit Talker into Donald the Jello-esque Stain On The The Barroom Floor. Long story short, we were swiftly ejected from the premises, but not before your pal Rem got in one last wise-ass remark: "New show every night at 8:00, we're here all week, be sure to tip your waitress!" At that, I bowed, turned to the not unjustifiably hateful ex-girlfriend who was tending bar, winked at her, and was swept away by the half-riot we ourselves had instigated.
Goooooood times.
After dropping those in attendance off who were either A) too drunk, B) too annoying or C) both to continue on, we made our way back to Walton where our...erm, acquaintance, Kaitlyn, starts harping on Matt about how she wants a tattoo. She doesn't know what, but she wants ink, and she wants it tonight. Let me precipice the rest of this story by explaining that, while dumber than a box of cat shit, she is completely, stone cold sober. Knowing that she's Jewish, I, of course, decide to make a mockery of the suffering of God's chosen people and suggest she get twin lightning bolts done on her forearm. Now, before you go nuts imagining the various ways that she could and should have ripped me a new asshole, let me remind you that Kaitlyn is, as previously stated, as dumb as dumb can be without needing a helmet to take a piss.
Exhibit A) She's fat.
Exhibit B) She's hanging out with my brother and I.
Exhibit C) She has absolutely no fucking idea what twin lightning bolts mean.
So, after another ten minutes of deliberation, she decided on getting the tat between her shoulder blades. Just in case you haven't been paying attention, let me summarize the above. Me. And my brother. Convinced a Jewish girl. To get the SS bolts done on her back.
To say the least, even I was a little hesitant to let this happen. I mean, fun's fun and all, but this? This was appalling. This was atrocious. Hell, I'm pretty sure that somewhere in the world this was fucking criminal exploitation of an idiot. Unfortunately, I was too busy exchanging knowing glances with the other three people in the room, Kaitlyn excluded, of course, and trying like hell to stifle the maniacal fit of laughter threatening to deafen everyone within earshot. Hard by itself, nigh impossible when the poor girl winced and, I'm not making this shit up, said "This hurts different from all my other tattoos...it just feels wrong." I'm amazed my tongue didn't start bleeding, or falling off, for that matter.
The trip home, begun almost immediately after the tattoo's completion, was a waking coma by comparison. Some garbage food from Waffle House and the equivalent of a metric fuck ton of laughter made it a tolerable wind down from the night's adventures. I dropped Cameron off, got home, recounted the evening's festivities to my roommate Logan. Logan, for all his worldliness, for all his experiences, for all his knowledge of the workings of the human brain, sat with his jaw hanging two inches from the floor. When I finally finished, he ended the conversation with one question:
"Dude, how do you manage to get an entire race to hate you in less than two minutes?"
Talent, my friend.
Happy New Year!
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Everything I Need To Know, I Learned At Steak 'N' Shake
-When the urge to eat nutritionally questionable food hits, go with it. Hilarity could very well ensue.
-When someone you once had sex with and later exposed as a borderline psychotic stalker is making your food, expect problems.
-When you can feel your stomach cringe at the smell of aforementioned food, eating it is ill-advised.
-When you can see your stomach cringe in the above situation, go talk to the other woman in the restaurant that you've slept with.
-Protip: Make sure you remember the second girl's name. Failure to do so can lead to...well, nevermind. The look on her face when I asked "Have we met?" is something I'll cherish until either death or Alzheimer's, whichever comes first.
-Turning around quickly, then back toward her, then back again to the mutual friend who walked in with her once the realization of who she is sets in? Counterproductive.
-Agreeing with her claim that she could be a famous pornography "actress", then elaborating by citing the down syndromtacular faces she makes as her future claim to fame? Also counterproductive.
-When your friend randomly decides to snort SNS Peppersauce, for the love of God, make sure your camera phone fucking works.
-Leave before the dumb bastards sober up.
-When someone you once had sex with and later exposed as a borderline psychotic stalker is making your food, expect problems.
-When you can feel your stomach cringe at the smell of aforementioned food, eating it is ill-advised.
-When you can see your stomach cringe in the above situation, go talk to the other woman in the restaurant that you've slept with.
-Protip: Make sure you remember the second girl's name. Failure to do so can lead to...well, nevermind. The look on her face when I asked "Have we met?" is something I'll cherish until either death or Alzheimer's, whichever comes first.
-Turning around quickly, then back toward her, then back again to the mutual friend who walked in with her once the realization of who she is sets in? Counterproductive.
-Agreeing with her claim that she could be a famous pornography "actress", then elaborating by citing the down syndromtacular faces she makes as her future claim to fame? Also counterproductive.
-When your friend randomly decides to snort SNS Peppersauce, for the love of God, make sure your camera phone fucking works.
-Leave before the dumb bastards sober up.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
The Only Reason I Need To Keep Facebook
SocialInterview.com asked [Kasey Ann Vlahos] "What would Rem Phoenix scream on a scary rollercoaster?"
[Kasey Ann Vlahos] answered 'I fucked your wife!'
SocialInterview.com asked [Britt Winchester] "If Rem Phoenix was really rich, would you ask him/her for stuff?"
[Britt Winchester] answered 'Yes, I would demand we go watch ladies take their clothes off for money.'
So much for being a misunderstood anti-hero. Fuckers have me down to a science.
[Kasey Ann Vlahos] answered 'I fucked your wife!'
SocialInterview.com asked [Britt Winchester] "If Rem Phoenix was really rich, would you ask him/her for stuff?"
[Britt Winchester] answered 'Yes, I would demand we go watch ladies take their clothes off for money.'
So much for being a misunderstood anti-hero. Fuckers have me down to a science.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)