You're just mad because I said it first.

Hey, has everyone heard about the new Michael Cera movie (you guessed it, this is a trick question). You haven't? Well, I can't believe you hav--OF COURSE YOU HAVEN'T HEARD OF THE NEW MICHAEL CERA MOVIE! Wanna' take a stab at how I knew you hadn't? It's simple, because there hasn't been a new Michael Cera movie since the first time we saw his first monotone, pathetic, cliche teen angst ridden character! For something to be new, it has to be unprecedented. It can't have been done before. Watching some beanpole with all the originality of a bucket of dirty mop water do the same shit in the same contrived nonsense isn't cinema, it's formula.

Fucking sheep.

Would you like fri--er, breadsticks with that?

Yeah. I was that desperate for a job. Despite the horrific/awesome outcome of the my last sojourn into the pizza industry, when I was offered a position (see also: when I berated the unfortunate manager of the local Pizza Hut until his ears were bleeding) as a server/delivery driver/designated bitch, I begrudgingly accepted (see also: I'm surprised I didn't piss myself with joy). So, in less than an hour, I'll don the red and black that oh, so many college drop outs and recovering criminals have donned before me.

...Wasn't I supposed to be a doctor or a lawyer or some shit?

A Dying Breed

People used to know how this shit was done.

That's the thought that popped into my head when I stumbled across an old friend's page. Yeah, I know, surfing MySpace pages at 4AM doesn't sound like a very rock 'n' roll thing to do, but there's only so much guitar you can play after breaking your hand on the back of someone's head. More on that never. Back on point, I used to stomp around Cape Coral with this guy until the wee hours of the morning as a matter of fucking principle. We got busted for PI when I was sixteen, pissed off everyone in a five mile radius by blaring Anti-Flag and old school Offspring, drank the bar so dry at every party we went to that the fucking floors dry rotted and regularly took part in "Midnight Donuts", which consisted of walking around our neighborhood Wal-Mart eating as many donuts as we could before they kicked us out.

Good, Wholesome, All-American fun.

So you can imagine my disappointment when I come across the guy on MySpace and find out that at some point he turned white as bird shit. Dude used to have a 'hawk so tall he couldn't sit up straight in a car without fucking it up and now he looks like something out of Revenge Of The Nerds. That vest some of you have probably seen me wear? That was his once upon a time. Guy swelled up so wide that I doubt the damn thing would fit around his fucking wrist now. He used to jam out to Crass. I don't know what the hell he had on his profile, but I'm willing to bet that whatever it was could put Alanis Morrisette to sleep. Oh, and he's a vegan. A fucking vegan! This guy never went anywhere without his leather jacket, and now he's spooging himself over animal rights?

What the fuck, man? Look, I understand that people get older, priorities shift, you've gotta' sacrifice a few of your causes to keep food in your stomach. You buzz your 'hawk off, you don't try to look like the guy from Oxford who's every sexual experience is plastered on his computer screen. You put on a button down shirt for an interview and roll up your sleeves when it's over so you can show off your ink, you don't pay thousands of dollars to get it burned off. You find a way to incorporate who you were into who you are, you don't wash out the fucking dye and pretend it never happened. Fuck's sake, rock 'n' roll used to mean something. It was a mindset, a lifestyle, standing up and saying "Fuck you, I'll live my own life", defining your own paradigm instead of adopting the one society's tried to force down your throat since you were old enough to piss straight. Now? Now it's a fucking sticker on the back of your Volvo that you take off when you finally kiss enough brown eye to land yourself that promotion and don't want people to see it when you park in your VIP spot at the office.

I said this a few months back, but let me reiterate. Independent thought is what gives rise to advances in civilization. When we all accept the norm as ideal, we stagnate, we lose our sense of purpose toward the end of social evolution. The greatest minds in history were ridiculed, ostracised and sometimes executed for their radical theories. Stop being the one behind the firing squad with a bucket of popcorn and a hard-on, start taking a chance and fly your own fucking flag again!

Anybody know the plural form of hiatus?

I feel the title of this post is necessary due to how many times I've gone days, weeks, even months between posts. This thing used to be like a religion to me. Go out into the world, piss someone off and/or get pissed off, come home, write about it, drink, pass out. It was cozy. It was familiar.
But alas, those days are gone, at least temporarily. See, instead of being an unemployed slacker mooching off of my old man, for whatever that was worth, I'm now an unemployed slacker mooching off of my friends. Friends who, unfortunately, don't have internet access, and apparently live around a bunch of fucking yuppies who are so inconsiderate that they encrypt their wireless signals so that fine, upstanding young people like myself can't e-five finger their bandwidth. Some people just have no sense of decency. So, here I sit in a public library, mourning the loss of immediate access to pornography and wondering how many times I can type the word fuck before the elderly meatsack sitting next to me looks over and has an anuerysm.
Aside from my somewhat involuntary relocation, I have to admit the last couple of weeks haven't been completely suck factor. I mean, there's the cool not sleeping in my car and eating scraps from various fast food restaurant garbage cans, which is definately nice. Coming in a very close second, however, was when I was visited by a very good friend that, by sheer force of will, has managed to put up with me for almost thirteen years running. She didn't even get mad when I stumbled over to my neighbor's house and tried to pull him out into the street so I could paint the sidewalk with his teeth. I mean, c'mon, nothing says friendship like someone laughing their cute little ass off while you chalk up a Class C to your already impressive legal record. Bonus props for not crying like a little bitch, Rach. You're all kinds of rock 'n' roll.
Since I'm sure you're wondering, I'll go ahead and explain the misdemeanor. Apparently, at some point in time, someone decided it should be against the law to man up and try to take care of business yourself. See, the man living across the street from us is a douchebag. Not just any douchebag, though; this is a special variety of douchebag. We're talking Level 80 Elite-level douchebag (and if you know why that statement is worth major geek points, shut the fuck up; you're obviously just as bad). Anyway, after weeks of walking around with a pistol strapped to his hip, a-merrily strolling about his yard screaming obscenities at the preacher who lives next door and his wife, calling out a man three doors down who walks around with a urinary catheter hanging off of his junk and hitting the panic button on his oversized truck when girls who weigh about ninety pounds soaking wet get within fifty feet of his yard, I'd had enough (I think the twelve-pack I'd pounded earlier that night probably helped, too). Nothing came it, really; I knocked on his door, told him to come down into the street and try mouthing off to someone who both could and would do something about it, he pussed out, and that was pretty much the end of it.
Until the cops came.
Yes. He called the cops. Which wouldn't have amounted to much, if he hadn't apparently had a tape recorder directly next to his door running smooth as silk, creating a perfect duplication of every threat, rant and physically impossible description of what he should do to himself. Who does that? Tell me, please, someone just tell me what kind of a waste of carbon walks around with a .44 holstered at his side, but still has audio surveillance on the off chance that someone comes over to call him out? I honestly thought I was in trouble until half the damn neighborhood came over and told the cop what kind of a piece of shit his caller was. As of today, I still haven't heard anything from the city, county or state. Yay for neighborhood comraderie.
Aside from those two incidents, the last week or so has been pretty quiet. I'm still living off of your tax money (and your ad clicks, hint hint fucking hint), but working to change that. I'm still living off of someone else's kindness, though they don't seem to mind and, in fact, seem to think I'm carrying my own weight fairly well.
And I still say the word cunt at high volume at various intervals.
Business as usual. Phoenix out.

"If liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear." -George Orwell

The following is a post by Marie Christiansen, a student of Criminal Justice Professor Tamra White at Kaplan College. I make no claim whatsoever to the following, and furthermore, will introduce a steel toed boot to the colon of anyone who implies that I could ever be stupid enough to come up with something like this myself.

"Julie I like your posting and it really got me going....Laws are set to govern. I do not believe that the drinking age should change. I agree too many people do not honor that law. I was one of them. I was out drinking before I was of age. I had no consequences for that action. My parents were alcoholic and I was able to not get caught. I paid the price in a long run If people understood alcoholism and addiction they would see more reason in the law. I have been sober for 30 years. I fault many things for our younger people drinking at such a young age...it looks fun...and it was until I saw what it cost me. Our son Nick came at the end of the line of six children...we learned so much from our mistakes. Last summer when Nick thought he knew more than anybody else and wanted to live on the street and do drugs and drink we had a hotline to the police. I called in every time he was seen smoking, drinking, and when he was gone more that 24 hours. It took all summer but by August Nick was in so much trouble with the law that he ended up in court and on probation. I was thrilled that he had finally hit the wall. Today he has been clean for 9 months. I wish I had the answer but I do believe that enforcing the laws with him and backing the police was the right choice for us. Did you know that in Wisconsin it is against the law to have sex before you are 18 and you can call the police...I did. His girlfriend's parents were very upset but I was not...they were 15 and I was not allowing them to have sex in my house. Did they continue to have sex...yes but not in my house. I stood firm on things that I knew were law. I called them in every time I saw them walking down the street smoking...pretty soon those kids you do not want hanging around aren't around. I also turned in the young man who tattooed my son, the gas station that sold cigarettes, and the man who was buying them alcohol. It was the summer from hell but I have my son back today. Thank God. It is not popular to take a strong stand. I even took a stand with my church where I had gone for 25 years. I knew we would not get our son back unless he learned to respect and honor us and the law. I have had to do this with our oldest son too. The law is for our protection. Most kids do move out at 18. Some are moving on to greater things for themselves and others are just running wild....I wish I had the perfect answer but I don't. I just know it is my job to do my best to teach them the law and to teach them to honor and respect the law and authority. Thanks, Marie"

Yes, I know. It hurts. It hurts a lot. Let me make it all better by showing you my reply which, unfortunately, I couldn't post on their own forum due to not being a student.

Wow. Just...wow. You have no idea just how much I'd love to reply with "Way to suck" and leave well enough alone but, sadly, I find that the older I get, the more I need to go into detail as to why something that someone did was a mistake instead of simply waiting for them to show up on the Darwin Awards.
Let's start out with the most disturbing aspect of all this, just to get it out of the way so I can stop being angry at a society that equates parenting with acknowledging a problem and finding someone else to solve said problem. I can grant you the benefit of the doubt to the extent that you're Catholic instead of one of the many perpetually spread-eagled welfare mothers who have a house full of children because every nine months they find a new boyfriend who just can't stand the thought of wearing a condom so that there will be room on the planet for everyone else, but that's about all the slack I'm willing to cut you. That said, are you fucking kidding me? It's a uterus, not an assembly line! While a level of intelligence, or lack thereof, that can't comprehend the basics of birth control would explain why you're letting local law enforcement rear your offspring, it doesn't change the fact that you're obviously biting off more than you can chew and need to look into sterilizing yourself, if for no other reason than anyone who can justify the things that you've done in the name of teaching your children right from wrong just doesn't need to procreate.
Second, I feel it's necessary to address your level of complacency. People like you are exactly the kind of people who've made it so easy for our government to slowly rob Americans of rights that are ours from birth, not because we deserve them, but because thousands of every day citizens took up arms against concepts and ideals they believed to be corrupt. I'm willing to bet you have no idea what I'm talking about, so allow me to elaborate a bit. The Revolutionary War was fought and won by Americans who believed that by virtue of living, a man should be free to seek contentment in whatever way he saw fit, so long as sad contentment did not come at the cost of someone else's well-being. At no point do I remember either my high school or college history instructors saying anything close to "Life, liberty, and the persuit of puritanical fanatic approved happiness, derived with no less than seventy-five percent of your clothing on and with a completely sober mind." Maybe I was asleep that day. What I do recall is being taught that this country was founded on liberty, on the concept that every human being was born with the right and the duty to make his or her own decisions. You are aiding in the desecration of the memories of those brave men and women, and at the risk of sounding trite, that makes you suck out loud.
Now for the fun part, explaining just how badly you've hurt your child. I'm not sure if you've ever stopped to think about the way that the legal system works these days, but it's got the same inner circles and gossiping coworkers as any other office-based occupation. For the sake of not letting my opinion of you slip any lower than it already has, I'll assume the child in question wasn't of age when you ran to the police flailing your arms around like an idiot screaming "Please do something, my teenager is rebellious in much the same capacity as every other teenager in the history of humanity, and I just can't bring myself to put my foot down and do something about it myself!" Did you ever stop to think about the ramifications of trying to get John Law to play babysitter? About how those charges are going to follow him around for the rest of his life? About how potential employers rarely look into the specific circumstances of a charge before dismissing the applicant without a second thought? Before you make the argument that charges brought against children are sealed the moment that child turns eighteen, don't bother. I've seen with my own eyes just how effective that is in protecting citizens from their own capricious youth. Let me put this simply: if someone is brought up on charges as an adult, a district attorney can get his or her hands on any piece of information they damn well please. What do you suppose happens when the D.A. in question runs into aforementioned adult's judge? "Oh, I'm sorry your Honor, but I'm not at liberty to discuss this young man's past. We're still playing eighteen holes this weekend, right?" Are you honestly that naive? Your laziness has made your child's life all the more difficult in a time when over half of America is subsisting below the poverty line. I reiterate, way to suck.
Finally, I'd like to take a moment to explain why law enforcement organizations exist in the first place. Have you ever seen what a severely beaten housewife looks like? Have you ever witnessed the psychological trauma of a rape victim? Have you ever watched a team of surgeons try to extract bullet fragments from the torso of a seven year old who was caught in the crossfire of an inner city firefight? Have you ever taken one step outside of your happy little psuedo-Christian suburban bubble and seen what happens when real criminals are allowed to run free a-merrily throwing bricks through store windows and ventilating innocent bystanders because their local police force, whose officers were spread far too thin to begin with due to budget cuts, had to answer a noise complaint because Susie Homemaker's neighbors were having band practice while she was trying to watch American fucking Idol? Police officers are meant to serve and protect. The next time your son breaks wind too loudly or, God forbid, makes out with his girlfriend, look on the side of the attending officer's car after you distract him from doing his real job because you're too busy organizing a bake sale, it's written there as plain as day. You're taking them from where they're needed most because you don't have the stones to be a real parent.
I'd like to hope that you actually took the time to read through the bulk of this and consult the dictionary of your choice when you came across the multitude of words I'm certain you had no idea how to define, but honestly, I can't quite make myself care. It's not because I condone your actions in any possible sense of the word. It isn't because I think you should keep on ruining your childrens lives and making everyone else miserable with your self-righteous, holier than thou, "I am totally gay for the law!" rhetoric. It isn't even because I think the carbon that went into the formation of your pitiful little mind wouldn't have been better utilized as fertilizer. It's simply because I'm all too familiar with your type. When you speed, you justify it by saying you're in a hurry. When you jaywalk, you justify it by mentally pointing out the lack of crosswalks. Finally, when you're too lazy to take an active role in your child's life by doing whatever's necessary to teach him or her right from wrong instead of relying on the education system, the judicial system or Congress to do it for you, you justify it by blaming society. To you, I'm likely to be filed away as just another part of the problem. Thankfully, I acknowledge that I could be something much, much more terrible.
I could be like you.

Blood is thicker than water, but not bullshit.

Y'know what's fun? A family reunion where seventy-five percent of the people in attendance are over the age of seventy, the few people under thirty are either doctors, lawyers or in high-priced colleges, and you're the only one with tattoos and/or piercings and/or a drug addiction that everyone knows about. Also, you're adopted.

It was the best two hour kick to the balls ever.

In light of recent events, I've come to a few realizations that I'm going to forc--uhm, share with the rest of you.



-Delivering pizzas only leads to spontaneous sex and/or orgies in the movies. Damn it.

-Winter weather, and it's negative effects on one's ability to walk down a flight of stairs without falling, doesn't hold a candle to the destructive power of a dog's chew toy.

-Regardless of how nice the cute, pink haired chick at your favorite gas station seems, don't ask for her number. Nothing good will come of it, I promise.

-I'm pretty sure there was a time in life when I didn't prefer being asleep to being awake, but I just can't seem to remember it. Maybe it was a dream.

-Some of my friends got really, really attractive overnight, and as a result, I've decided to be a lot more careful about who I share my stories of rampant sexual misadventures with. Y'know, because it sucks when you realize that you've cockblocked yourself.

-And most of all...

-...Wait for it...

-I FUCKING HATE VALENTINE'S DAY!


Thank you, and if I see you kissing someone on the street, rest assured that you deserve the subsequent shoe print that I've left in your face when you wake up. Honest.