Monday, October 30, 2006
Nothin' make a woman feel betta...
...than Berettas and amarettas, butter leathers and mad cheddars. So says Lil' Kim, anyway, and I must agree, even though I don't have any of those things. I suppose the next time I go to a bar I could order a DiSaronno on the rocks or something and at least have one out of the four.
Despite my lack of handguns, almond-flavored liquers, upscale wearable animal products, and stacks of cold, hard cash, I still managed to portray a convincing Lil' Kim at the Halloween party I attended Saturday night. In spite of my dismay at not being able to find an off-the-breast purple pantsuit at Ricky's on Saturday and having to do some extremely amateurish alterations on the "Ursa Minor" size 14 spacesuit outfit I ended up purchasing (mainly because it included a purple leotard), as well as make a customized purple pasty, I ended up pulling it off. Here I am with the Columbia virology bitches. Left to right: the lovely J-Sexy rocking a fro as Foxy Brown (Pam Grier Foxy Brown, not the deaf rapper who wouldn't be standing anywhere NEAR Lil' Kim), myself and my tit, J-Dater (graduate from my lab) dressed as a public health grad student, and my fellow Fantasy Footballer Multiple Scorgasms in her Snakes on a Plane costume.
Okay, so nobody would probably mistake me for Lil' Kim on the street, but I got the point across. I was at least fronting to be in the same league as, in the words of the Queen Bee, "Zsa Zsa Gabor, Demi Moore, Prince Diane and all them rich bitches."
Despite my lack of handguns, almond-flavored liquers, upscale wearable animal products, and stacks of cold, hard cash, I still managed to portray a convincing Lil' Kim at the Halloween party I attended Saturday night. In spite of my dismay at not being able to find an off-the-breast purple pantsuit at Ricky's on Saturday and having to do some extremely amateurish alterations on the "Ursa Minor" size 14 spacesuit outfit I ended up purchasing (mainly because it included a purple leotard), as well as make a customized purple pasty, I ended up pulling it off. Here I am with the Columbia virology bitches. Left to right: the lovely J-Sexy rocking a fro as Foxy Brown (Pam Grier Foxy Brown, not the deaf rapper who wouldn't be standing anywhere NEAR Lil' Kim), myself and my tit, J-Dater (graduate from my lab) dressed as a public health grad student, and my fellow Fantasy Footballer Multiple Scorgasms in her Snakes on a Plane costume.
Okay, so nobody would probably mistake me for Lil' Kim on the street, but I got the point across. I was at least fronting to be in the same league as, in the words of the Queen Bee, "Zsa Zsa Gabor, Demi Moore, Prince Diane and all them rich bitches."
Labels: grad school bullshit, Halloween, J-Sexy, Lil' Kim, nudity, rap, Razzification
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Stalking the Q-List
There is this blog called Gawker that has a section called "Gawker Stalker," where people lurking around Manhattan can report celebrity sightings along the lines of "Last night Chloe Sevigny was wearing some hideous outfit, sneering boredly, and blowing lines in the bathroom at Nobu, then she didn't tip the coat check girl" or "George Clooney took some whorish old bimbo to a benefit at Lincoln Center and shot his mouth off about politics" and other cut-rate gossip that isn't entertaining and frankly doesn't hold a candle to Perez Hilton.
I could never report anything to the Gawker Stalker, because I only ever see celebrities that nobody cares about in New York. Once I saw Stockard Channing having brunch at the table over at the Good World Bar and Grill. Another time LL Cool Jew and I saw Chris Matthews gasping into his cell phone after what must have been a vigorous jog, judging by his sweatiness and shortness of breath, at the 72nd street entrance to Central Park. Once I saw Gloria Steinem downtown, but that was no biggie since she was the number one alumnae whose pussy Smith College liked to regularly lick with various awards and trusteeships, and I'd always see her and her corduroy-collared jean jackets skulking around campus back in my college days. That same day, I caught a glimpse of Susan Sarandon and Billy Bob Thornton, but they were in a tent doing nothing remarkable. Probably the most exciting celebrity sighting was when LL Cool Jew, Rack, FalloniusMonk, Wmania, and myself bumped into Chris Noth, Mr. Big from "Sex and the City" and Detective Mike Logan from "Law and Order", randomly trying to get buzzed into some Upper East Side apartment. My New York celebrity sightings are nothing to blog about, because they are typically tame and uneventful.
Today's celebrity sighting was equally mundane, but I got all excited about it anyway. I had just finished the miserable experience of scouring various Ricky's stores for a costume that could be manipulated into a Lil' Kim outfit. Since everyone else in New York was also getting last-minute costumes, the process of locating a slutty purple leotard capable of being recut with minimal effort and an affordable purple wig in a large crowd of children and excitable teenagers to the aggravating tune of multiple Avril Lavigne and JoJo songs was about as close to hell as I can envision. When I finally left the store and got some Tasti-D-Lite to calm down, I was frazzled and trying to get back to the subway as quickly as possible.
Thus I didn't notice the man in the History Channel baseball cap standing on the corner of 72nd and Columbus Avenue, and bumped into him. As I looked up to say, "Excuse me," I stopped in shock. I was looking at none other than former NBC nightly news correspondent, sexpot journalist of the '91 Gulf War nicknamed the "Scud Stud", and current host of "History's Mysteries," ARTHUR KENT!
I managed to beg his forgiveness for running into him, but he kept giving me shifty looks. I think he thought I was weird, with my bag overflowing with fake purple hair and my dumbfounded stare as I shoveled butter pecan fudge Tasti-D-Lite with Oreos into my mouth. I felt awkward and I didn't want to seem like a stalker, so I hastened my clip and hustled into the subway station.
The whole way home, I kept thinking of shit I should have said to him when I had the chance. I should have said that I love "History's Mysteries" or that I thought he was hot when I was 11 and writing supportive letters to Operation Desert Storm servicemen in Mrs. Fjetland's 7th grade class. I should have at least asked him why in the name of God and Christ he was wearing a History Channel baseball cap, which in my view was a pretty effing nerdy fashion statement. As usual, I see a not-very-famous celebrity, and yet am still so awestruck by their presence that I fail to capitalize on the opportunity. Way to go, Razzy. At least I got my Lil' Kim costume.
I could never report anything to the Gawker Stalker, because I only ever see celebrities that nobody cares about in New York. Once I saw Stockard Channing having brunch at the table over at the Good World Bar and Grill. Another time LL Cool Jew and I saw Chris Matthews gasping into his cell phone after what must have been a vigorous jog, judging by his sweatiness and shortness of breath, at the 72nd street entrance to Central Park. Once I saw Gloria Steinem downtown, but that was no biggie since she was the number one alumnae whose pussy Smith College liked to regularly lick with various awards and trusteeships, and I'd always see her and her corduroy-collared jean jackets skulking around campus back in my college days. That same day, I caught a glimpse of Susan Sarandon and Billy Bob Thornton, but they were in a tent doing nothing remarkable. Probably the most exciting celebrity sighting was when LL Cool Jew, Rack, FalloniusMonk, Wmania, and myself bumped into Chris Noth, Mr. Big from "Sex and the City" and Detective Mike Logan from "Law and Order", randomly trying to get buzzed into some Upper East Side apartment. My New York celebrity sightings are nothing to blog about, because they are typically tame and uneventful.
Today's celebrity sighting was equally mundane, but I got all excited about it anyway. I had just finished the miserable experience of scouring various Ricky's stores for a costume that could be manipulated into a Lil' Kim outfit. Since everyone else in New York was also getting last-minute costumes, the process of locating a slutty purple leotard capable of being recut with minimal effort and an affordable purple wig in a large crowd of children and excitable teenagers to the aggravating tune of multiple Avril Lavigne and JoJo songs was about as close to hell as I can envision. When I finally left the store and got some Tasti-D-Lite to calm down, I was frazzled and trying to get back to the subway as quickly as possible.
Thus I didn't notice the man in the History Channel baseball cap standing on the corner of 72nd and Columbus Avenue, and bumped into him. As I looked up to say, "Excuse me," I stopped in shock. I was looking at none other than former NBC nightly news correspondent, sexpot journalist of the '91 Gulf War nicknamed the "Scud Stud", and current host of "History's Mysteries," ARTHUR KENT!
I managed to beg his forgiveness for running into him, but he kept giving me shifty looks. I think he thought I was weird, with my bag overflowing with fake purple hair and my dumbfounded stare as I shoveled butter pecan fudge Tasti-D-Lite with Oreos into my mouth. I felt awkward and I didn't want to seem like a stalker, so I hastened my clip and hustled into the subway station.
The whole way home, I kept thinking of shit I should have said to him when I had the chance. I should have said that I love "History's Mysteries" or that I thought he was hot when I was 11 and writing supportive letters to Operation Desert Storm servicemen in Mrs. Fjetland's 7th grade class. I should have at least asked him why in the name of God and Christ he was wearing a History Channel baseball cap, which in my view was a pretty effing nerdy fashion statement. As usual, I see a not-very-famous celebrity, and yet am still so awestruck by their presence that I fail to capitalize on the opportunity. Way to go, Razzy. At least I got my Lil' Kim costume.
Labels: celebrities, epic geekery, Halloween, History Channel
FYI regarding the MOST IMPORTANT EVENT OF THE YEAR
A monumental event is coming up. I have waited for YEARS for this event, and now the waiting is almost over. This is almost on par with the Seahawks going to the Super Bowl in terms of long-awaited hugeness. The BEST show ever is hitting the DVD shelves:
Yes! Yes! YES!!!! It's BEVERLY FUCKING HILLS, 90210! After years of anticipation, Bev Niner is finally going to take its appointed place in my DVD collection. Prepare yourself for the excitement of the pilot season, in which the Walsh family (uptight dad Jim, sympathetic mom Cindy, responsible boy twin Brandon, and tempestuous girl twin Brenda) moves from Minnesota to the now-infamous California zip code and experience all the highs and lows of life with their friends Kelly Taylor, Steve Sanders, Dylan McKay, Donna Martin, David Silver, and Andrea Zuckerman. During the first season, the gang tackles such issues as teenage alcoholism, coming of age, sex, pregnancy, gun control, the holocaust, hip hop, dyslexia, the lasting consequences of playing games like "skeletons in the closet", condoms, AIDS, shoplifting from Fred Segal, marital infidelity, the horror of maternal cocaine abuse at high school mother-daughter fashion shows, the phenomenon of karaoke, drunk driving, and date rape. Among the highlights:
Donna and David's burgeoning sexless relationship (lasting until David gets caught fucking Babyface's tour manager in a limo in season three, then rekindling and lasting again until David fucks Valerie, then rekindling and lasting again until David steals a check from Donna to pay rent for the Peach Pit After Dark, then rekindling again and resulting in their marriage)
The advent of Dylan and Kelly's sexually charged and extremely annoying relationship, which will go from casual screwing in empty cabanas at the Beverly Beach club to Dylan trying to trump Brandon's engagement ring with a trip around the world (Kelly eventually rejected both and chose self) to Dylan becoming a heroin addict in response to the mob hit death of his wife Antonia Marchette, AKA Rebecca Gayheart the Noxema fresh face girl. I think Kelly always liked him initially because he was a father figure, being the only 35-year-old student at West Beverly High.
The first rocky months of Brenda and Dylan's relationship, which was characterized by Brenda doing a lot of crying, yelling, running away, and shouting "Dylan, you're scaring me!" and Dylan angrily pacing, breaking flowerpots, sculptures, and various other handy ceramics, drinking airplane-sized bottles of bourbon out of various Bel Age Hotel minifridges, and boning Kelly on the side.
Andrea Zuckerman establishes herself as the official cast pain in the fucking ass. When not pining after Brandon, irritating everyone with her intellectual elitism and insufferable moral superiority, or ruining someone's life in the school paper, Andrea continues to piss everyone off by making constant "I told you so" faces and shopping for hideous scrunchies to both youth her up and tether down her mane rendered uncontrollable by decades of spiral perms and Nice 'n' Easy color treatments to cover up gray hairs.
The gang goes together like shoulder padded blazers, rayon floral scoopnecked peasant blouses, and high-waisted pleated jeans go with huge belts. Bev Niner is the best show ever!!!!
Oh, and by the way, my 28th birthday is just ten days after the Season One DVD drops (November 17th), and THIS
would make a *GREAT* present. So would THIS, which comes out the same day as the 9er DVDs. And so would lots and LOTS of money...
Yes! Yes! YES!!!! It's BEVERLY FUCKING HILLS, 90210! After years of anticipation, Bev Niner is finally going to take its appointed place in my DVD collection. Prepare yourself for the excitement of the pilot season, in which the Walsh family (uptight dad Jim, sympathetic mom Cindy, responsible boy twin Brandon, and tempestuous girl twin Brenda) moves from Minnesota to the now-infamous California zip code and experience all the highs and lows of life with their friends Kelly Taylor, Steve Sanders, Dylan McKay, Donna Martin, David Silver, and Andrea Zuckerman. During the first season, the gang tackles such issues as teenage alcoholism, coming of age, sex, pregnancy, gun control, the holocaust, hip hop, dyslexia, the lasting consequences of playing games like "skeletons in the closet", condoms, AIDS, shoplifting from Fred Segal, marital infidelity, the horror of maternal cocaine abuse at high school mother-daughter fashion shows, the phenomenon of karaoke, drunk driving, and date rape. Among the highlights:
Donna and David's burgeoning sexless relationship (lasting until David gets caught fucking Babyface's tour manager in a limo in season three, then rekindling and lasting again until David fucks Valerie, then rekindling and lasting again until David steals a check from Donna to pay rent for the Peach Pit After Dark, then rekindling again and resulting in their marriage)
The advent of Dylan and Kelly's sexually charged and extremely annoying relationship, which will go from casual screwing in empty cabanas at the Beverly Beach club to Dylan trying to trump Brandon's engagement ring with a trip around the world (Kelly eventually rejected both and chose self) to Dylan becoming a heroin addict in response to the mob hit death of his wife Antonia Marchette, AKA Rebecca Gayheart the Noxema fresh face girl. I think Kelly always liked him initially because he was a father figure, being the only 35-year-old student at West Beverly High.
The first rocky months of Brenda and Dylan's relationship, which was characterized by Brenda doing a lot of crying, yelling, running away, and shouting "Dylan, you're scaring me!" and Dylan angrily pacing, breaking flowerpots, sculptures, and various other handy ceramics, drinking airplane-sized bottles of bourbon out of various Bel Age Hotel minifridges, and boning Kelly on the side.
Andrea Zuckerman establishes herself as the official cast pain in the fucking ass. When not pining after Brandon, irritating everyone with her intellectual elitism and insufferable moral superiority, or ruining someone's life in the school paper, Andrea continues to piss everyone off by making constant "I told you so" faces and shopping for hideous scrunchies to both youth her up and tether down her mane rendered uncontrollable by decades of spiral perms and Nice 'n' Easy color treatments to cover up gray hairs.
The gang goes together like shoulder padded blazers, rayon floral scoopnecked peasant blouses, and high-waisted pleated jeans go with huge belts. Bev Niner is the best show ever!!!!
Oh, and by the way, my 28th birthday is just ten days after the Season One DVD drops (November 17th), and THIS
would make a *GREAT* present. So would THIS, which comes out the same day as the 9er DVDs. And so would lots and LOTS of money...Labels: aging, Bev Niner, I LOVE IT
Friday, October 27, 2006
Businese is the bee's knees
I started in on a rant about hookers and their umbrellas, but I don't want to make fun of anyone's mom.
Instead, it's back to old faithful: more Smeeberish. Today we take a fond look at my favorite of made-up shit, the art of business language.
For those of you fortunate enough to have protected your English by staying out of nine-to-fivin', you'll need to know that "business people" don't just make words up - they cushion each sentence with about six extra words, popping in adjectives, marring catch-phrases, and adding in impossibly irrelevant-but-commonly-accepted cliches in a failed attempt at plainspoken communication. That is: fluff, brought to you by the folks who charge an hourly rate. Take a peak, but steer clear of any conversation in which you hear these jewels. Wrecks your credibility to be within spitting distance...
A few smaple Werds:
Impactful, adj.
As in "We really need to come to the table with an impactful presentation." Offered up by the sacks of tits who don't understand that, say, POWERPOINT IS ALWAYS FUCKING BORING. And even if it weren't, one makes more of an impact with real words.
Pop v.
This little gem would be better seated on a Genuwine album than in the corporate slang. "How do we make it pop?" You and every high school boy in the country want to know, bud.
Onboard v.
To transfer information from one person or party to another, ie "We'll onboard her tomorrow during our 4 pm touchbase." So no, y'all, it does not mean to mount something stallion-style. Although that would give 'toucbase' a hole new shine...
Bandwidth n.
The capacity to accept new work in proportion to work already assigned, or in laymen's terms, "Can you handle this?" Par example, "Do you have the bandwidth to get me coffee, dance like a chicken, type up that report about Milwaukee chicken farms, and still polish my shoes in the next twenty minutes?"
synonym: how much do "you have on your plate."
Soft launch n.
Test run, control group, trial phase. NOT borrowed from NASA. NOT borrowed from the porn industry. A sober reality - it means checking the shit before going public.
Radar n.
Awareness of this or that bullshit thing, such as, "Is the reorg on your radar?" My apologies to the air traffic controllers of the wide, weird world.
Leverage v.
To steal or indulge in sloth. Call it plagiary, call it efficient, call it syner-fucking-gystic - a sin any way you spin it. It means taking shit you didn't do to pass the time.
And a few key Frases:
"At the end of the day..."
When the shit shakes out, or when all is said and done, or what matters most. More filler to keep the conch in the hands of the speaker. Usage: "At the end of the day, he's still a rat bastard psychotic even though he makes more money than I do."
"Out of pocket."
NOT "pay for yourself." NOT "expenses." NOT "cost of doing business." NOT "lost it while I was changing pants." It fucking means "ON VACATION." It fucking means "IN TRANSIT." As in, "Terrence, I'll be out pocket tomorrow having my balls waxed during the Debbie Does Dallas Web cast - I need a full report when I'm back in the office Monday."
"...from a _[insert noun here]_ perspective."
When it's not enough to say what you mean, that is "Does that cost more," or "Will this fuck up our schedule" - you have instead, "...from a cost perspective," or "...from a timing perspective." And my personal favorite, a recent highlight of a drab conference call: instead of "Will that be awesome?" one says, "...from a whizz-bang perspective." I'll admit it. I don't know if "whizz-bang" has two z's or not. I didn't learn English from DC Comics. Thanks be to the Almighty Whatsit that I didn't learn it in Midtown Manhattan.
The cure: curse more. From a talking perspective, expletives are far more fucking impactful and really make your shit pop when you move the needle to onboard some one to your goddamn point. And anyway, it secured me a huge fucking raise, not to mention a spot on this here blog-o-rific bitch-o-rama....
Instead, it's back to old faithful: more Smeeberish. Today we take a fond look at my favorite of made-up shit, the art of business language.
For those of you fortunate enough to have protected your English by staying out of nine-to-fivin', you'll need to know that "business people" don't just make words up - they cushion each sentence with about six extra words, popping in adjectives, marring catch-phrases, and adding in impossibly irrelevant-but-commonly-accepted cliches in a failed attempt at plainspoken communication. That is: fluff, brought to you by the folks who charge an hourly rate. Take a peak, but steer clear of any conversation in which you hear these jewels. Wrecks your credibility to be within spitting distance...
A few smaple Werds:
Impactful, adj.
As in "We really need to come to the table with an impactful presentation." Offered up by the sacks of tits who don't understand that, say, POWERPOINT IS ALWAYS FUCKING BORING. And even if it weren't, one makes more of an impact with real words.
Pop v.
This little gem would be better seated on a Genuwine album than in the corporate slang. "How do we make it pop?" You and every high school boy in the country want to know, bud.
Onboard v.
To transfer information from one person or party to another, ie "We'll onboard her tomorrow during our 4 pm touchbase." So no, y'all, it does not mean to mount something stallion-style. Although that would give 'toucbase' a hole new shine...
Bandwidth n.
The capacity to accept new work in proportion to work already assigned, or in laymen's terms, "Can you handle this?" Par example, "Do you have the bandwidth to get me coffee, dance like a chicken, type up that report about Milwaukee chicken farms, and still polish my shoes in the next twenty minutes?"
synonym: how much do "you have on your plate."
Soft launch n.
Test run, control group, trial phase. NOT borrowed from NASA. NOT borrowed from the porn industry. A sober reality - it means checking the shit before going public.
Radar n.
Awareness of this or that bullshit thing, such as, "Is the reorg on your radar?" My apologies to the air traffic controllers of the wide, weird world.
Leverage v.
To steal or indulge in sloth. Call it plagiary, call it efficient, call it syner-fucking-gystic - a sin any way you spin it. It means taking shit you didn't do to pass the time.
And a few key Frases:
"At the end of the day..."
When the shit shakes out, or when all is said and done, or what matters most. More filler to keep the conch in the hands of the speaker. Usage: "At the end of the day, he's still a rat bastard psychotic even though he makes more money than I do."
"Out of pocket."
NOT "pay for yourself." NOT "expenses." NOT "cost of doing business." NOT "lost it while I was changing pants." It fucking means "ON VACATION." It fucking means "IN TRANSIT." As in, "Terrence, I'll be out pocket tomorrow having my balls waxed during the Debbie Does Dallas Web cast - I need a full report when I'm back in the office Monday."
"...from a _[insert noun here]_ perspective."
When it's not enough to say what you mean, that is "Does that cost more," or "Will this fuck up our schedule" - you have instead, "...from a cost perspective," or "...from a timing perspective." And my personal favorite, a recent highlight of a drab conference call: instead of "Will that be awesome?" one says, "...from a whizz-bang perspective." I'll admit it. I don't know if "whizz-bang" has two z's or not. I didn't learn English from DC Comics. Thanks be to the Almighty Whatsit that I didn't learn it in Midtown Manhattan.
The cure: curse more. From a talking perspective, expletives are far more fucking impactful and really make your shit pop when you move the needle to onboard some one to your goddamn point. And anyway, it secured me a huge fucking raise, not to mention a spot on this here blog-o-rific bitch-o-rama....
Labels: grammar gestapo, ridiculous absurdity, Smeeberish
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Nature is the new Hustler
Today I was skimming the Table of Contents from the most recent edition of Nature, and came upon a news article about one of the perennial hot topics in science: NIH grant money, and how hard it is to get it. We have a white board outside our lab where we hang up articles of interest we find in the science journals, so that we can read them while we drink coffee safely in the hallway (not in the lab). There hasn't been a new article on the old white board in a while, so I thought I'd print this one out and hang it up. Too bad I failed to notice what was in the "snapshot" section of the PDF file next to the last three paragraphs of the NIH grant article:
There's no way I can hang this up, even though it's excerpted from a TOTALLY legitimate and top-tier science journal like Nature. I'm always getting in trouble for being the lab pervert. Apart from having very LOUD conversations with J-Sexy about our sex lives on the regular, several times my boss has walked into lab right when I've been looking at Kate and Camilla's Nerve.com blog, and chastised me for looking at "porn" in lab. Another time, when we were helping J-Sexy prep for her student seminar, I referred to one of her slides measuring expression of interferon-stimulated genes by real-time quantitative PCR as "the money shot" of her presentation. Again, my boss said, only half-joking, "Why does everything you say have something to do with porn?!" If I were to hang up this picture of "two male giraffes indulging in roadside sex" including "anal penetration and ejaculation" and "two male whales (Eubalaena australis) engaged in sexual games" my reputation as a lewd and lascivious lech would only get worse.
I really don't mean to be such a fucking perv! I was just minding my own business, keeping up with the professional literature, trying to read an article about the ins and outs of NIH grant funding statistics, and then next thing I know there's a picture of what I think are whale penises (and by the way, EW, gross!) and buttfucking giraffes. It would be a lot easier to avoid the temptation to bring illicit shit into lab, however, if Nature would quit sneaking gay animal porn into their "News" section.
There's no way I can hang this up, even though it's excerpted from a TOTALLY legitimate and top-tier science journal like Nature. I'm always getting in trouble for being the lab pervert. Apart from having very LOUD conversations with J-Sexy about our sex lives on the regular, several times my boss has walked into lab right when I've been looking at Kate and Camilla's Nerve.com blog, and chastised me for looking at "porn" in lab. Another time, when we were helping J-Sexy prep for her student seminar, I referred to one of her slides measuring expression of interferon-stimulated genes by real-time quantitative PCR as "the money shot" of her presentation. Again, my boss said, only half-joking, "Why does everything you say have something to do with porn?!" If I were to hang up this picture of "two male giraffes indulging in roadside sex" including "anal penetration and ejaculation" and "two male whales (Eubalaena australis) engaged in sexual games" my reputation as a lewd and lascivious lech would only get worse.
I really don't mean to be such a fucking perv! I was just minding my own business, keeping up with the professional literature, trying to read an article about the ins and outs of NIH grant funding statistics, and then next thing I know there's a picture of what I think are whale penises (and by the way, EW, gross!) and buttfucking giraffes. It would be a lot easier to avoid the temptation to bring illicit shit into lab, however, if Nature would quit sneaking gay animal porn into their "News" section.
Labels: grad school bullshit, perversion, porn, science, vulgar display of faggotry
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Who DOESN'T hate kids?
Kids suck. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I hate kids. They demand everyone's attention. They get their way by being complete assholes until they're placated. They are messy, they smell, they think the world revolves around them, and they have no qualms about throwing temper tantrums whenever and wherever they feel. When adults act like this, they get in trouble. People think an adult acting this way needs therapy, elicits scorn, and deserves a serious chiding. When kids act this way, their demands are usually fulfilled and people talk about how cute the little monsters are. One time when I was at my parents' house, my little cousin came over, and my mom actually kicked my brother and I off the 42" flat screen IN THE MIDDLE OF A SEAHAWKS GAME because said cousin was screaming about watching his "Thomas the Tank Engine" DVD for the millionth time. When I protested, my mom just said, "PLEASE, Razzy, it's much easier this way."
This is why I hate kids. Why the fuck do THEY get to hold everyone hostage with the threat of a screaming bout? Adults who do this lose their jobs and get restraining orders taken out against them, but kids who do this? THEY GET WHAT THEY FUCKING WANT. It's not fair. I could understand if satiating their every quixotic whim means that they grow up into happy, healthy people who contribute lots of good to society. The reality is that they just grow up into bigger assholes. My Aunt Jesus's daughter was spoiled rotten and she grew up to raise two monstrously bratty kids of her own, both of whom are not only obese, but one of whom PUSHED me last year at our family Christmas party and, as I was wearing very tall high heels, almost knocked me onto my Nicole Miller-clad ass since she's roughly the size of a NFL linebacker at age 9. Another one of my cousins was so placated that she used to cry and scream if her mother didn't go to school with her and sit outside her classroom all day. She wound up knocked up at the age of 21, unemployed now at the age of 27, living with her parents, and driving a purple '89 Honda Prelude. One of my colleagues takes this approach to child rearing as well, and he told me that recently his 12-year-old son called him a "bitch" and a "retard." When I said that if I'd pulled that crap as a child, I'd be on "restriction" (my parents' term for grounding), and would have my phone and/or TV privileges revoked, he just shrugged, as if to say "kids will be kids."
Whatever happened to the good old days when kids were supposed to be seen and not heard? What happened to the days when a temper tantrum got a kid sent to their room, or grounded, or spanked? My parents had a real challenge with me, as I was a smartass, back-talking shithead during childhood (not that much has changed), but they never let me get away with the kind of bratty behavior that most parents these days laugh off with some bullshit excuse like, "Well, they're just kids..." or "Kids will be kids." Since when did "kid" translate to "narcissistic monster who will willfully and gleefully destroy any peace you might have if he/she doesn't get his/her way"?
I'm not the only one who feels this way. There are a lot of people nicer than me who concur. Here's the transcript from an instant messaging session between myself and MillerTime, who is a sweet girl, the type who coos over babies and knows how to talk to old people in a comforting manner. It's not that MillerTime loves babies or old people, but she just has good social skills that way. Although the main point of the virtual conversation below is running road races during the holidays in the P-N-Dub, it rapidly progresses to sharing our disdain for children.
Razzy: my mom is on the hunt for some kind of 5K race we could do around Xmas
MillerTime: Ooooo...I'm doing a 5K on Thanksgiving! Turket Trot in Brownspoint!
Razzy: Sweet!
MillerTime: I was trying to find one around xmas too and thats how I found the
turkey trot...
Razzy: I bet there's lots of hills
Razzy: browns pt is mad hilly
MillerTime: the only thing I found around Xmas was the Jingle Bell Run and thats
either a full or half marathon
MillerTime: NO THANKS!!
MillerTime: not nearly enough time to train
MillerTime: there was an elf dash for toddlers...I'd be down
Razzy: yeah, fuck the jingle bell run
MillerTime: I guess the only hill is the last mile...sweet.
Razzy: elf dash sounds good...how long is it? do they let adults in? it would
be even more fun because there would be lots of children to kick!
Razzy: AND we'd probably beat all of them...stupid toddlers
Razzy: we could wave our trophy around and shout, "In your FACE, toddlers!"
MillerTime: lol...i think it only like 50 yards...yeah...stupid toddlers
Razzy: oh, that sucks. why don't they make toddlers at least do 3K?!
Razzy: this is why childhood obesity is on the rise
MillerTime: Cuz their fat parents can't keep up
Razzy: HAHAHAHA
MillerTime: totally
Anyway, then we switched topics to New Year's Eve party plans, and just as before, it came back to how much kids suck.
Razzy: i'm going to be around from dec 19 or so through the new year this
holiday
Razzy: speaking of, what are your new year's eve plans?
MillerTime: SWEET!!! Finally! You never here for New years!
Razzy: i know,
MillerTime: Mostly likely our friends the Maugas. They always have a New Years
Party thats pretty fun. You're welcome to crash whatever party we attend!!
Razzy: and i never have fun in nyc on the new year
Razzy: too expensive and as far as times sq. is concerned...sha right
Razzy: like I'm going to freeze my ass off sober in the middle of disneyland
Razzy: do the Maugas have children?
Razzy: and will they or their friends be there
Razzy: ?
MillerTime: They do, but the send them to Grandma's...
Razzy: okay
MillerTime: Don't worry...I HATE partying around kids
Razzy: do they live in puyallup?
Razzy: I DON'T party around kids
Razzy: I hate doing ANYTHING around kids
MillerTime: Yeah, they live off of 144th
Razzy: Sweet, I could jog home drunk from the party to my parents' afterward
Razzy: alcoholic marathon training!
MillerTime: lol...lol
MillerTime: Hey...gotta run...
MillerTime: literally
Razzy: Okay cool
Razzy: have fun!!!
Razzy: sha right
MillerTime: SHA RIGHT!!!
I was thinking about this more, and I was like, "Who lets their friends party around their kids?" I'm sure most parents don't want their kids to see them rip-roaring drunk, much less have ill-behaved friends (like yours truly) drunk and setting many bad examples for them. I'm sure that people do condone this, if only because the kids throw a fit that prevents any type of fun partying going on while they are in the vicinity, so parents just let them hang out while they knock back one Rainier after another and pray that they'll be entertained. I can't imagine anything worse than trying to get drunk in the presence of a bunch of attention-seeking bratty kids. All I know is that there had BETTER not be any children to spoil my New Year's Eve drunkenness this year. I'd rather put up with the crowds, terror threats, bone-numbing cold, a strict no-open-container-enforcing NYPD, Satan's spawn Ryan Seacrest, and stroked-out Dick Clark in Times Square than deal with one family's demonic progeny at a house party in P-town.
I don't get why some people seem to LIKE kids (and even kids that aren't their own). Presumably this is because kids are debatably cute and sometimes funny. I guess it's a lot of work ignoring all the negatives about kids:
To which I might remind him/her, "I don't give a FLYING SIDEWAYS REVERSE COWGIRL FUCK ABOUT YOUR GODDAMNED KIDS!" and then mutter impotently that if they little bastards weren't already vaccinated against polio, I'd teach them a thing or two. Ha! Try seeing how easy it is to sass me from inside an iron lung, you little shits! Alas, infantile paralysis is no more (except for in Amish settlements) in the U.S. So I'll have to settle for pleading with the people responsible for bringing these tiny tyrants into the world: parents, if you have kids, PLEASE keep them away from adults and in day care where they belong. And prospective parents, JUST DON'T DO IT. The world is overpopulated anyway, and your NOT having children makes the world an entirely better place.
This is why I hate kids. Why the fuck do THEY get to hold everyone hostage with the threat of a screaming bout? Adults who do this lose their jobs and get restraining orders taken out against them, but kids who do this? THEY GET WHAT THEY FUCKING WANT. It's not fair. I could understand if satiating their every quixotic whim means that they grow up into happy, healthy people who contribute lots of good to society. The reality is that they just grow up into bigger assholes. My Aunt Jesus's daughter was spoiled rotten and she grew up to raise two monstrously bratty kids of her own, both of whom are not only obese, but one of whom PUSHED me last year at our family Christmas party and, as I was wearing very tall high heels, almost knocked me onto my Nicole Miller-clad ass since she's roughly the size of a NFL linebacker at age 9. Another one of my cousins was so placated that she used to cry and scream if her mother didn't go to school with her and sit outside her classroom all day. She wound up knocked up at the age of 21, unemployed now at the age of 27, living with her parents, and driving a purple '89 Honda Prelude. One of my colleagues takes this approach to child rearing as well, and he told me that recently his 12-year-old son called him a "bitch" and a "retard." When I said that if I'd pulled that crap as a child, I'd be on "restriction" (my parents' term for grounding), and would have my phone and/or TV privileges revoked, he just shrugged, as if to say "kids will be kids."
Whatever happened to the good old days when kids were supposed to be seen and not heard? What happened to the days when a temper tantrum got a kid sent to their room, or grounded, or spanked? My parents had a real challenge with me, as I was a smartass, back-talking shithead during childhood (not that much has changed), but they never let me get away with the kind of bratty behavior that most parents these days laugh off with some bullshit excuse like, "Well, they're just kids..." or "Kids will be kids." Since when did "kid" translate to "narcissistic monster who will willfully and gleefully destroy any peace you might have if he/she doesn't get his/her way"?
I'm not the only one who feels this way. There are a lot of people nicer than me who concur. Here's the transcript from an instant messaging session between myself and MillerTime, who is a sweet girl, the type who coos over babies and knows how to talk to old people in a comforting manner. It's not that MillerTime loves babies or old people, but she just has good social skills that way. Although the main point of the virtual conversation below is running road races during the holidays in the P-N-Dub, it rapidly progresses to sharing our disdain for children.
Razzy: my mom is on the hunt for some kind of 5K race we could do around Xmas
MillerTime: Ooooo...I'm doing a 5K on Thanksgiving! Turket Trot in Brownspoint!
Razzy: Sweet!
MillerTime: I was trying to find one around xmas too and thats how I found the
turkey trot...
Razzy: I bet there's lots of hills
Razzy: browns pt is mad hilly
MillerTime: the only thing I found around Xmas was the Jingle Bell Run and thats
either a full or half marathon
MillerTime: NO THANKS!!
MillerTime: not nearly enough time to train
MillerTime: there was an elf dash for toddlers...I'd be down
Razzy: yeah, fuck the jingle bell run
MillerTime: I guess the only hill is the last mile...sweet.
Razzy: elf dash sounds good...how long is it? do they let adults in? it would
be even more fun because there would be lots of children to kick!
Razzy: AND we'd probably beat all of them...stupid toddlers
Razzy: we could wave our trophy around and shout, "In your FACE, toddlers!"
MillerTime: lol...i think it only like 50 yards...yeah...stupid toddlers
Razzy: oh, that sucks. why don't they make toddlers at least do 3K?!
Razzy: this is why childhood obesity is on the rise
MillerTime: Cuz their fat parents can't keep up
Razzy: HAHAHAHA
MillerTime: totally
Anyway, then we switched topics to New Year's Eve party plans, and just as before, it came back to how much kids suck.
Razzy: i'm going to be around from dec 19 or so through the new year this
holiday
Razzy: speaking of, what are your new year's eve plans?
MillerTime: SWEET!!! Finally! You never here for New years!
Razzy: i know,
MillerTime: Mostly likely our friends the Maugas. They always have a New Years
Party thats pretty fun. You're welcome to crash whatever party we attend!!
Razzy: and i never have fun in nyc on the new year
Razzy: too expensive and as far as times sq. is concerned...sha right
Razzy: like I'm going to freeze my ass off sober in the middle of disneyland
Razzy: do the Maugas have children?
Razzy: and will they or their friends be there
Razzy: ?
MillerTime: They do, but the send them to Grandma's...
Razzy: okay
MillerTime: Don't worry...I HATE partying around kids
Razzy: do they live in puyallup?
Razzy: I DON'T party around kids
Razzy: I hate doing ANYTHING around kids
MillerTime: Yeah, they live off of 144th
Razzy: Sweet, I could jog home drunk from the party to my parents' afterward
Razzy: alcoholic marathon training!
MillerTime: lol...lol
MillerTime: Hey...gotta run...
MillerTime: literally
Razzy: Okay cool
Razzy: have fun!!!
Razzy: sha right
MillerTime: SHA RIGHT!!!
I was thinking about this more, and I was like, "Who lets their friends party around their kids?" I'm sure most parents don't want their kids to see them rip-roaring drunk, much less have ill-behaved friends (like yours truly) drunk and setting many bad examples for them. I'm sure that people do condone this, if only because the kids throw a fit that prevents any type of fun partying going on while they are in the vicinity, so parents just let them hang out while they knock back one Rainier after another and pray that they'll be entertained. I can't imagine anything worse than trying to get drunk in the presence of a bunch of attention-seeking bratty kids. All I know is that there had BETTER not be any children to spoil my New Year's Eve drunkenness this year. I'd rather put up with the crowds, terror threats, bone-numbing cold, a strict no-open-container-enforcing NYPD, Satan's spawn Ryan Seacrest, and stroked-out Dick Clark in Times Square than deal with one family's demonic progeny at a house party in P-town.
I don't get why some people seem to LIKE kids (and even kids that aren't their own). Presumably this is because kids are debatably cute and sometimes funny. I guess it's a lot of work ignoring all the negatives about kids:
- Babies have diapers, which require changing, and require regular exposure to bodily waste
- Babies belch and spit up constantly
- Kids scream, kick, and cry with minimal provocation
- Kids are all like Typhoid Mary from a microbiological perspective, from the dirt under their fingernails to the food they spill all over their clothes and face to the snot that fountains from their noses
- Kids break expensive shit
- Kids harass, poke, frighten, and try to ride dogs
- Kids wear stupid clothes
- Kids don't like the History Channel
- Kids try to eat inanimate objects and get saliva all over everything
- Kids eat disgusting food, and usually get it everywhere
- Kids stink. Literally, they smell bad due to subpar hygiene and a tendency to festoon themselves in disgusting shit
- Kids monopolize conversations and interrupt people
- Kids cost a fortune
- Having kids makes adults lame and boring, because all they want to talk about is THEIR FUCKING STUPID KIDS
To which I might remind him/her, "I don't give a FLYING SIDEWAYS REVERSE COWGIRL FUCK ABOUT YOUR GODDAMNED KIDS!" and then mutter impotently that if they little bastards weren't already vaccinated against polio, I'd teach them a thing or two. Ha! Try seeing how easy it is to sass me from inside an iron lung, you little shits! Alas, infantile paralysis is no more (except for in Amish settlements) in the U.S. So I'll have to settle for pleading with the people responsible for bringing these tiny tyrants into the world: parents, if you have kids, PLEASE keep them away from adults and in day care where they belong. And prospective parents, JUST DON'T DO IT. The world is overpopulated anyway, and your NOT having children makes the world an entirely better place.
Labels: assholes, destroy all children, ranting, scathing indictments
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Allow me introduce myself...
It's FalloniusMonk in the house, ham bones, here to bring the funk. For the noise, you gotta hunt me down.
First off - a what up and a thank you to the Good Doctor for having me here tonight. Nowhere else I'd rather kvetch.
Now let's start this up with an exploration of my favorite new and old form of communication, a staple of drunkards and dip-shits everywhere: Smeeberish.
Smeeberish, thus dubbed by my Cali-based broham Chris "the City of" Compton, is the art of almost-English. The art of better-luck-next-time speaking.
It requires a special mind to speak it and an even more special mind not to fucking notice when people look at you like an asshole. The world is supersized when it skips the filter between his mind and his mouth - if it a word has two syllables, he upgrades to three or four. Four syllables, inflation takes it to five - so on and on, until you hear it come at you like German, and alls you can say at the end of the sentence is, "Can you repeat the question?"
Today's Smeeberish award goes to a kid we'll call the Professor. To sir with love.
Quotes first:
"They have beefs with us."
"The challenge for me is very challenging."
"If you want good sausage, you have to put in good meat."
"I feel convicted about this."
"I'm in the process of jettissing."
And now for high quality Smeebish nuggets:
'Anomany' for anomaly' - ie "It's almost an anomany." Yes. Almost.
'Ancilliary' for ancillary - Next to correct, at least
'Uniformimity' for uniformity - uh....
'Explorate' for explore - A line of demarcation, indeed.
'Expectorate' for expect - Exactly.
And my favorite: Ec Cetera. Oh yes. So on and on....
Hope that elucidates - rather, eluciditates. As a great man once said, "You better believe it. Cuz it's fucking happening."
In our next episode, I find out the details of his SAT verbal breakdown.
First off - a what up and a thank you to the Good Doctor for having me here tonight. Nowhere else I'd rather kvetch.
Now let's start this up with an exploration of my favorite new and old form of communication, a staple of drunkards and dip-shits everywhere: Smeeberish.
Smeeberish, thus dubbed by my Cali-based broham Chris "the City of" Compton, is the art of almost-English. The art of better-luck-next-time speaking.
It requires a special mind to speak it and an even more special mind not to fucking notice when people look at you like an asshole. The world is supersized when it skips the filter between his mind and his mouth - if it a word has two syllables, he upgrades to three or four. Four syllables, inflation takes it to five - so on and on, until you hear it come at you like German, and alls you can say at the end of the sentence is, "Can you repeat the question?"
Today's Smeeberish award goes to a kid we'll call the Professor. To sir with love.
Quotes first:
"They have beefs with us."
"The challenge for me is very challenging."
"If you want good sausage, you have to put in good meat."
"I feel convicted about this."
"I'm in the process of jettissing."
And now for high quality Smeebish nuggets:
'Anomany' for anomaly' - ie "It's almost an anomany." Yes. Almost.
'Ancilliary' for ancillary - Next to correct, at least
'Uniformimity' for uniformity - uh....
'Explorate' for explore - A line of demarcation, indeed.
'Expectorate' for expect - Exactly.
And my favorite: Ec Cetera. Oh yes. So on and on....
Hope that elucidates - rather, eluciditates. As a great man once said, "You better believe it. Cuz it's fucking happening."
In our next episode, I find out the details of his SAT verbal breakdown.
Labels: grammar gestapo, Hunter S. Thompson fetish, Smeeberish
NOT especially heinous
On the street outside my apartment, there are a bunch of signs taped to the lampposts, signs, etc. informing me that a television production will be filmed there this evening. Upon closer inspection, I was delighted to see that it's going to be THIS SHOW:
I LOVE "Law and Order: Special Victims Unit" for a few reasons. First, Tamara "Medical Examiner Warner" Tunie, the woman on the right between Richard "Detective John Munch" Belzer and Ice "Detective Odafin Tutuola" T lives in my neighborhood, and often walks her French bulldog Spraga around St. Nicholas Park. Second, Mariska "Detective Olivia Benson" Hargitay is H-O-T. Third, it has Ice-T in it, for God's sake, and there's really nothing better than watch a porn producer/pretend cop killer/rapper with a silicone wife named CoCo lecture a fictional depraved perp about the sexual exploitation of women. I could watch these people work all day...
And this evening, maybe I'll get a chance to see them work their craft in person if I lurk around the production site. It is right outside my front door, so perhaps I'll join the usual crew of teenagers and drug addicts who like to skulk about on the stoop to catch a glimpse of the "SVU" crew in action.
In the criminal justice system, sexually based offenses are considered especially heinous. In New York City, the dedicated detectives who investigate these vicious felonies are members of an elite squad known as the Special Victims Unit. These are their stories.
And this evening, maybe I'll get a chance to see them work their craft in person if I lurk around the production site. It is right outside my front door, so perhaps I'll join the usual crew of teenagers and drug addicts who like to skulk about on the stoop to catch a glimpse of the "SVU" crew in action.
Labels: celebrities, I LOVE IT, Ice-T, Law and Order
Monday, October 23, 2006
An introduction
So I've decided that since I get too busy to post regularly sometimes, I would invite some of my funny friends to also contribute to this blog. So now in addition to me, you can love or love to hate them as well. So let me introduce my Razzy Guest Writers so far:
Morrissey'sHair went to high school with me, and we wrote political point-counterpoint columns for the critically acclaimed Bellarmine Prep newspaper The Lion while there. Currently he resides in the P-N-Dub and provides legal representation to broke-ass motherfuckers. When not doing that or reading RAZZY.org (occupying approximately 99.9% of his time), he enjoys banging intellectual models, locating amusing news articles about popular rap stars, being sarcastic, fixing his hair, and listening to Morrissey.
FalloniousMonk went to Smith with me, but I didn't meet her until my two year reunion when she won my heart forever by carrying a toolbox filled with bottom shelf booze around all weekend. She is originally from South Carolina, but currently is a power player at a very important experiential marketing firm here in Manhattan. When not traveling the NASCAR circuit or blowing up Bank of America balloons, FalloniousMonk enjoys chain smoking, lauding the French, drinking beer, navigating the G train, and chatting up people in convenience stores.
So when they post, leave them a comment to welcome them, bitches!
Morrissey'sHair went to high school with me, and we wrote political point-counterpoint columns for the critically acclaimed Bellarmine Prep newspaper The Lion while there. Currently he resides in the P-N-Dub and provides legal representation to broke-ass motherfuckers. When not doing that or reading RAZZY.org (occupying approximately 99.9% of his time), he enjoys banging intellectual models, locating amusing news articles about popular rap stars, being sarcastic, fixing his hair, and listening to Morrissey.
FalloniousMonk went to Smith with me, but I didn't meet her until my two year reunion when she won my heart forever by carrying a toolbox filled with bottom shelf booze around all weekend. She is originally from South Carolina, but currently is a power player at a very important experiential marketing firm here in Manhattan. When not traveling the NASCAR circuit or blowing up Bank of America balloons, FalloniousMonk enjoys chain smoking, lauding the French, drinking beer, navigating the G train, and chatting up people in convenience stores.
So when they post, leave them a comment to welcome them, bitches!
Labels: FalloniusMonk, Morrissey'sHair
Aleksey Vaynar: Douchebag of the year
Today a lot of my beloved Razzyphiles have been sending me quality blog material. Right after Morrissey'sHair emailed me about Lil' Wayne's recent legal troubles, I received another gem in my inbox:
To: Razzy (razzy@razzy.org)
From: The R-uh (r-uh@bigbiotechcompany.com)
Subject: One name...
"Aleksey Vaynar."
This Dud(e) had a personal video made and included a link to it on his CV to UBS Warburg. And you can trust me Raz, EVERY fucking investment banker on the planet is JUST LIKE THIS ASSHOLE!
I dare you to see if you can stomach all six minutes of the smug and most loathsome Mr. Vaynar preaching about his foolproof plan for success interspersed with shots of him lifting weights, ski jumping, playing tennis, ballroom dancing, and karate chopping a stack of bricks:
The one thing Aleksey doesn't talk about is his undoubtedly freakishly tiny penis. His overcompensatory bench pressing and his willingness to audaciously lecture people about success from the standpoint of an unemployed failed "professional" athlete translate to one thing: SMALL WEINER. This guy gives the women unfortunate enough to sleep with him migraines more often than he gives them orgasms. I've got him pegged as one of those guys whose dick looks like a bee-stung thumb: swollen and lumpy-looking, and neither practically nor aesthetically pleasing. I'd wager he has some erectile dysfunction issues, as well. If he ever gets a job, I predict that his first purchase will be a bright red sportscar.
It appears that the staff in the UBS Warburg human resources office thought Aleksey was a obnoxious, self-satisfied asshole even by investment banker standards, because not only did they not hire him to work there, but they leaked the video to YouTube. Once this shit went viral, Aleksey threatened to sue UBS Warburg over the "stress" that it has caused to his family, as reported by the always hilarious folks at Fox News:
I've got news for you, Aleksey: when you make a video portraying yourself as the most pompous fucktard on the planet, you have NOBODY TO BLAME BUT ALEKSEY VAYNAR! Don't blame UBS Warburg because they and the rest of the world took your advice to "cross (losers) out of your life" and did just that to you. Man up and take responsibility for being a stupid asshole, you penis-challenged tool.
To: Razzy (razzy@razzy.org)
From: The R-uh (r-uh@bigbiotechcompany.com)
Subject: One name...
"Aleksey Vaynar."
This Dud(e) had a personal video made and included a link to it on his CV to UBS Warburg. And you can trust me Raz, EVERY fucking investment banker on the planet is JUST LIKE THIS ASSHOLE!
I dare you to see if you can stomach all six minutes of the smug and most loathsome Mr. Vaynar preaching about his foolproof plan for success interspersed with shots of him lifting weights, ski jumping, playing tennis, ballroom dancing, and karate chopping a stack of bricks:
The one thing Aleksey doesn't talk about is his undoubtedly freakishly tiny penis. His overcompensatory bench pressing and his willingness to audaciously lecture people about success from the standpoint of an unemployed failed "professional" athlete translate to one thing: SMALL WEINER. This guy gives the women unfortunate enough to sleep with him migraines more often than he gives them orgasms. I've got him pegged as one of those guys whose dick looks like a bee-stung thumb: swollen and lumpy-looking, and neither practically nor aesthetically pleasing. I'd wager he has some erectile dysfunction issues, as well. If he ever gets a job, I predict that his first purchase will be a bright red sportscar.
It appears that the staff in the UBS Warburg human resources office thought Aleksey was a obnoxious, self-satisfied asshole even by investment banker standards, because not only did they not hire him to work there, but they leaked the video to YouTube. Once this shit went viral, Aleksey threatened to sue UBS Warburg over the "stress" that it has caused to his family, as reported by the always hilarious folks at Fox News:
I've got news for you, Aleksey: when you make a video portraying yourself as the most pompous fucktard on the planet, you have NOBODY TO BLAME BUT ALEKSEY VAYNAR! Don't blame UBS Warburg because they and the rest of the world took your advice to "cross (losers) out of your life" and did just that to you. Man up and take responsibility for being a stupid asshole, you penis-challenged tool.
Labels: assholes, Morrissey'sHair, retard rage, the R-uh
Mo Money, Mo Problems
Dwayne "Lil' Wayne" Carter, like most other Southern rappers, is a hideously ugly man (although he has defied the typical Southern rap custom of also being morbidly obese). Now his heinous countenance looks even worse, as he is bummed out and sad that he may be facing criminal charges over an incident at Morgan State University in Baltimore:
Lil' Wayne, who also answers to the names "Weezy" and "Tha Carter", looks so gloomy because after some retards in his entourage threw money into a crowd of poor college students, said crowd turned on each other and some bitches got injured. I can see why the most exciting moment of the Lil' Wayne concert was throwing money around, because in addition to the fact that acquiring money rules, his new single "Stuntin' Like My Daddy" pales in comparison to his former friend, current rival, and perennial player from the 'Nolia Juvenile's latest record Reality Check (and in particular, the song "Loose Booty"). Since Lil' Wayne's greatest achievement to date (fucking Trina) has nothing to do with his music, he obviously needs to pay off his audience to keep their attention. Well, that strategy has apparently backfired, as the ensuing melee over what were probably a few stray Andrew Jacksons and Alexander Hamiltons (I don't believe that Lil' Wayne was tossing C-notes around) has led authorities to consider pressing charges against him. Good move, Weezy.
*Many thanks to my "most intrepid freelancer" Morrissey'sHair for the tip and the link to the fabulous above portrait of Tha Carter.
*Many thanks to my "most intrepid freelancer" Morrissey'sHair for the tip and the link to the fabulous above portrait of Tha Carter.
Labels: assholes, Dirrty Dirrty, Juvenile, Lil' Wayne, Morrissey'sHair, rap
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Meanwhile, back in the P-N-Dub...
HotLawyer, pay close attention. Here is a seemingly golden opportunity for you to provide vigorous defense counsel to a whole new category of potential criminals, now that Washington state's new anti-bestiality legislation is getting put to good use:
Man could be charged under cruelty law
Prosecutors say a man’s wife caught him having sex with their dog. He might be the first in the state charged under a new animal cruelty law.
KAREN HUCKS;
The News Tribune
Published: October 20th, 2006 01:00 AM
A Spanaway man is the first person in Pierce County – and possible the first in the state – charged under a new section of the state’s animal cruelty law that makes bestiality a felony. Pierce County prosecutors say Michael Patrick McPhail, 26, had sex with his family’s dog Wednesday.
Deputy prosecutor Karen Watson charged the father of two Thursday with one count of first-degree animal cruelty – a crime that could mean up to a year in jail if he’s convicted.
McPhail was arraigned Thursday afternoon in Pierce County Superior Court and a not-guilty plea was entered on his behalf.
Judge Katherine Stolz ordered him held in the Pierce County Jail in lieu of $20,000 bail.
Stolz set trial for Dec. 11.
According to a Pierce County Sheriff’s Department report, McPhail’s wife told investigators that she caught her husband on the back porch about 9:30 p.m. Wednesday having intercourse with their 4-year-old female pit bull terrier.
She took photos of the act, the report says.
The bestiality law, which took effect in June, was prompted by a case near Enumclaw in which a man died after having sex with a horse.
Before the law was enacted, Washington was one of 14 states where bestiality had not been explicitly prohibited.
The totally not-charming burg of Spanaway is just a stone's throw from my hometown of Puyallup, and I have a couple cousins who live there. You may recognize the name from seeing the Pierce County Sheriff's Department bust up numerous Spanawanian meth labs in a seminal series of classic "Cops"/"America's Most Wanted" crossover episodes. It's hardly surprising that back porch pit bull fucking is occurring there, and I'm just relieved that the alleged caniphile isn't related to me somehow.
What I'm really curious about is the guy from Enumclaw (an equally shiteous hellhole), and how exactly he died fucking a horse. Did it kick him or something? Or did he go out like Catherine the Great and get crushed to death mid-coitus? These are the very important details that a relatively crappy paper like the Tacoma News Tribune fails to report. Why would a guy want to bang a horse in the first place? Although I'm unfamiliar with equine genitalia, presumably the nag would have a huge vagina, and I was under the impression that guys typically find that undesirable. Then again, guys typically don't look to other species in kingdom Animalia to get their rocks off, so I suppose that generalizations don't apply in this circumstance.
Anyway, apart from beautiful scenery, verdant evergreen trees, and delicious salmon, the P-N-Dub has something new to brag about: we send people who pork domestic animals to prison! Man, I can't wait for my next trip home to the 253 now that I know its new zero-tolerance policy regarding sex with animals is being rigidly enforced. Finally, I'll get to experience Christmas in a bestiality-free state!
Man could be charged under cruelty law
Prosecutors say a man’s wife caught him having sex with their dog. He might be the first in the state charged under a new animal cruelty law.
KAREN HUCKS;
The News Tribune
Published: October 20th, 2006 01:00 AM
A Spanaway man is the first person in Pierce County – and possible the first in the state – charged under a new section of the state’s animal cruelty law that makes bestiality a felony. Pierce County prosecutors say Michael Patrick McPhail, 26, had sex with his family’s dog Wednesday.
Deputy prosecutor Karen Watson charged the father of two Thursday with one count of first-degree animal cruelty – a crime that could mean up to a year in jail if he’s convicted.
McPhail was arraigned Thursday afternoon in Pierce County Superior Court and a not-guilty plea was entered on his behalf.
Judge Katherine Stolz ordered him held in the Pierce County Jail in lieu of $20,000 bail.
Stolz set trial for Dec. 11.
According to a Pierce County Sheriff’s Department report, McPhail’s wife told investigators that she caught her husband on the back porch about 9:30 p.m. Wednesday having intercourse with their 4-year-old female pit bull terrier.
She took photos of the act, the report says.
The bestiality law, which took effect in June, was prompted by a case near Enumclaw in which a man died after having sex with a horse.
Before the law was enacted, Washington was one of 14 states where bestiality had not been explicitly prohibited.
The totally not-charming burg of Spanaway is just a stone's throw from my hometown of Puyallup, and I have a couple cousins who live there. You may recognize the name from seeing the Pierce County Sheriff's Department bust up numerous Spanawanian meth labs in a seminal series of classic "Cops"/"America's Most Wanted" crossover episodes. It's hardly surprising that back porch pit bull fucking is occurring there, and I'm just relieved that the alleged caniphile isn't related to me somehow.
What I'm really curious about is the guy from Enumclaw (an equally shiteous hellhole), and how exactly he died fucking a horse. Did it kick him or something? Or did he go out like Catherine the Great and get crushed to death mid-coitus? These are the very important details that a relatively crappy paper like the Tacoma News Tribune fails to report. Why would a guy want to bang a horse in the first place? Although I'm unfamiliar with equine genitalia, presumably the nag would have a huge vagina, and I was under the impression that guys typically find that undesirable. Then again, guys typically don't look to other species in kingdom Animalia to get their rocks off, so I suppose that generalizations don't apply in this circumstance.
Anyway, apart from beautiful scenery, verdant evergreen trees, and delicious salmon, the P-N-Dub has something new to brag about: we send people who pork domestic animals to prison! Man, I can't wait for my next trip home to the 253 now that I know its new zero-tolerance policy regarding sex with animals is being rigidly enforced. Finally, I'll get to experience Christmas in a bestiality-free state!
Labels: bestiality, P-N-Dub, perversion, PWT
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Memo to guys with full beards: shave
I hate guys who sport really full beards. I can put up with guys who have a five o'clock shadow, or a neatly trimmed goatee, or a soul patch (although that usually looks stupid). For example, that guy from "Six Feet Under" is always rocking varying degrees of stubble, but it's short and doesn't interfere with him being hot:
Same with the smoking hot Christian Bale. He sometimes rocks a beard, but it's always neatly shorn:
Justin Timberlake needs a beard, in spite of it making him resemble David Silver from "90210", to make himself sexy (since otherwise he looks like he's 12), but wisely keeps it very short:
Even though my boyfriend Ernest Hemingway usually has a full-face beard, he keeps it trimmed even when hanging out in a safari cabin full of elephant tusks, and thus is squeaks by as a marginally acceptable quantity of facial hair:
However, when I see a guy with a really voluminous beard reminiscent of Jerry Garcia, Santa Claus, or guy from ZZ Top, I just want to attack him with a can of Barbasol and a razor. Hence, Karl Marx gets no love:
There are a lot of general issues I have with these really full beards. They are favored by hippies, probably because they are a style achievable through laziness and poor hygiene. Also, hooking up with guys who have beards is typically a very irritating experience. Apart from beards' kinship with shitty grooming habits and their ability to chafe faces (and sometimes inner thighs and labias), the biggest problem with beards is that they can get downright disgusting.
Roald Dahl was one of my favorite authors as a kid, and he wrote a book called The Twits about "the most revolting couple in the world." The Twits made that family from Pink Flamingoes look sophisticated and refined. I remember that Mr. Twit had a full beard, and he had all kinds of food trapped in it: cornflakes, ketchup, hot dogs, chicken tenders, etc. Whenever he got hungry, he would just start licking his beard to coax out some crusted-on food from meals past. I imagine that the food-trapping issue is a real problem for any man with a beard large enough to obscure the mouth. I'm not down with acquiring sticky, perishable shit in one's hair.
I have long hair, and I usually wear it back because I don't like getting shit in it. Sometimes my hair gets in the way when I'm eating or doing something gross in lab. I've gotten French onion soup and puttanesca and soy sauce with wasabi in my hair. I've gotten don't-let-me-hold-your-unvaccinated-baby polio-ridden mouse spinal exudate in my hair. I've lit my hair on fire. I've dunked my hair in a crock pot. My hair is already unruly due to years of vicious chemical treatments, so I restrain that shitshow when I come across situations, like cooking or working, that have a splash risk. However, dudes with beards can't just tie that shit back. Their facial hair is always there, always in the way, and always ready to mop up whatever type of liquid comes in the vicinity of the mouth. I can't imagine why guys would willingly embrace this personal style. Motherfuckers with beards clearly just don't get it. Beards are gross, and if you have a big one, you should immediately shave.
Same with the smoking hot Christian Bale. He sometimes rocks a beard, but it's always neatly shorn:
Justin Timberlake needs a beard, in spite of it making him resemble David Silver from "90210", to make himself sexy (since otherwise he looks like he's 12), but wisely keeps it very short:
Even though my boyfriend Ernest Hemingway usually has a full-face beard, he keeps it trimmed even when hanging out in a safari cabin full of elephant tusks, and thus is squeaks by as a marginally acceptable quantity of facial hair:
However, when I see a guy with a really voluminous beard reminiscent of Jerry Garcia, Santa Claus, or guy from ZZ Top, I just want to attack him with a can of Barbasol and a razor. Hence, Karl Marx gets no love:
There are a lot of general issues I have with these really full beards. They are favored by hippies, probably because they are a style achievable through laziness and poor hygiene. Also, hooking up with guys who have beards is typically a very irritating experience. Apart from beards' kinship with shitty grooming habits and their ability to chafe faces (and sometimes inner thighs and labias), the biggest problem with beards is that they can get downright disgusting.
Roald Dahl was one of my favorite authors as a kid, and he wrote a book called The Twits about "the most revolting couple in the world." The Twits made that family from Pink Flamingoes look sophisticated and refined. I remember that Mr. Twit had a full beard, and he had all kinds of food trapped in it: cornflakes, ketchup, hot dogs, chicken tenders, etc. Whenever he got hungry, he would just start licking his beard to coax out some crusted-on food from meals past. I imagine that the food-trapping issue is a real problem for any man with a beard large enough to obscure the mouth. I'm not down with acquiring sticky, perishable shit in one's hair.
I have long hair, and I usually wear it back because I don't like getting shit in it. Sometimes my hair gets in the way when I'm eating or doing something gross in lab. I've gotten French onion soup and puttanesca and soy sauce with wasabi in my hair. I've gotten don't-let-me-hold-your-unvaccinated-baby polio-ridden mouse spinal exudate in my hair. I've lit my hair on fire. I've dunked my hair in a crock pot. My hair is already unruly due to years of vicious chemical treatments, so I restrain that shitshow when I come across situations, like cooking or working, that have a splash risk. However, dudes with beards can't just tie that shit back. Their facial hair is always there, always in the way, and always ready to mop up whatever type of liquid comes in the vicinity of the mouth. I can't imagine why guys would willingly embrace this personal style. Motherfuckers with beards clearly just don't get it. Beards are gross, and if you have a big one, you should immediately shave.
Labels: assholes, hot dudes, overcompensation, ranting, scathing indictments, vanity, you're ugly
Friday, October 20, 2006
You go, Larry Johnson
Because I've wanted to see someone do this to Shitburgh Stealer Troy Polamalu for a very long while:
Cut your hair, bitch!
Cut your hair, bitch!
Labels: assholes, NFL football, Stealers suck, you're ugly
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Good news for chronic consumption
Apart from being awesome at alleviating glaucoma, counteracting cachexia (wasting), curbing chemotherapy-induced nausea, and getting you totally high, a team from Scripps showed that marijuana blocks the pathogenesis of Alzheimer's disease. Go on with your bad selves, medical researchers using mouse models to produce insightful and useful information! This is an excellent finding, because it makes me think happy thoughts, like "Hey, Ronald Reagan, bet you wish you had just said YES, asshole!"
This is also rad because it supports a new legitimate bullshit story to tell law enforcement officials should they catch you carrying. "I'm doing what I have to in order to stave off the debilitating effects of Alzheimer's disease," you can argue. I mean, if I'm getting a cold, it's not a crime to take vitamin C and drink orange juice, is it? If I feel an amyloid plaque coming on, then I shouldn't be criminally liable for taking necessary preventative measures. Even better, amyloid plaques can't be detected without some major cranial invasion, so nobody can even tell if you're truly experiencing early-onset asymptomatic Alzheimer's or just coming up with some bullshit excuse because you're high. Brilliant. I love it when a plan comes together!
This is also rad because it supports a new legitimate bullshit story to tell law enforcement officials should they catch you carrying. "I'm doing what I have to in order to stave off the debilitating effects of Alzheimer's disease," you can argue. I mean, if I'm getting a cold, it's not a crime to take vitamin C and drink orange juice, is it? If I feel an amyloid plaque coming on, then I shouldn't be criminally liable for taking necessary preventative measures. Even better, amyloid plaques can't be detected without some major cranial invasion, so nobody can even tell if you're truly experiencing early-onset asymptomatic Alzheimer's or just coming up with some bullshit excuse because you're high. Brilliant. I love it when a plan comes together!
Labels: drugs, epidemic geekery, I LOVE IT, politics, science
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Rohr
I accompanied KatieScarlett and Bienvenido-a-Miami to the historic Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn so that KatieScarlett could film a very scary movie there in preparation for Halloween. KatieScarlett is an excellent director, as you can tell from the scary, scary camera work, the terrifying effects, and the way she inspired Bienvenido-a-Miami and myself to run all over the place. She was so inspiring that I didn't even mind the bruise on my shin I got from purposefully tripping over the rail by Boss Tweed's family plot. So without further ado, check out our spookty movie, Rohr:
My favorite part of the whole thing is the Rorschach test-meets-kaleidoscope effect KatieScarlett employs in the middle of the film. Well, that and the lightning, obviously. The one failing was that the camera angle botched my attempt at providing the film with a solid titty shot, so I mooned the camera instead. It's not a horror movie without nudity, after all. That's called acting, people.
My favorite part of the whole thing is the Rorschach test-meets-kaleidoscope effect KatieScarlett employs in the middle of the film. Well, that and the lightning, obviously. The one failing was that the camera angle botched my attempt at providing the film with a solid titty shot, so I mooned the camera instead. It's not a horror movie without nudity, after all. That's called acting, people.
Labels: artfaggotry, BK, creative projects, epic geekery, KatieScarlett, Razzification, spooktiness
Razzy's husbandry skills on the decline
For the first time EVER, I just lost a mouse in my lab. Usually "losing" mice means that they are cannibalized by their mother, or they just die for no apparent reason at all. Today, however, a mouse actually escaped on my watch. I was about to humanely sacrifice him as follows:
I was about to close the lid on my dry ice and ethanol death chamber and end his existence in this mortal coil when the little fucker jumped out onto my shoulder (mice have serious hops). Then he jumped down to the floor, and before I could either grab his tail or stomp on him, the motherfucker ran off. I guess he wasn't too keen on winding up like this:
I can't say I blame him. I applaud his drive to survive, but because he's inbred and probably retarded even by mouse standards, he'll probably die of starvation in the lab ventilation duct system. Now I've had to inform everyone in my lab that while they are trying to work, they might be surprised by a little guy suddenly running onto their bench and freaking them out. Since everyone but me is the type of girl who will jump on a chair and shout "Eeek!" (well, except J-Sexy, who will probably just say, "Razzy, get over here and kill this dis-gos-ting mouse." Anyway, I'm contemplating putting up posters to apprehend the fugitive before he can spread his transgenes around the Washington Heights wild mice community:
I was about to close the lid on my dry ice and ethanol death chamber and end his existence in this mortal coil when the little fucker jumped out onto my shoulder (mice have serious hops). Then he jumped down to the floor, and before I could either grab his tail or stomp on him, the motherfucker ran off. I guess he wasn't too keen on winding up like this:
I can't say I blame him. I applaud his drive to survive, but because he's inbred and probably retarded even by mouse standards, he'll probably die of starvation in the lab ventilation duct system. Now I've had to inform everyone in my lab that while they are trying to work, they might be surprised by a little guy suddenly running onto their bench and freaking them out. Since everyone but me is the type of girl who will jump on a chair and shout "Eeek!" (well, except J-Sexy, who will probably just say, "Razzy, get over here and kill this dis-gos-ting mouse." Anyway, I'm contemplating putting up posters to apprehend the fugitive before he can spread his transgenes around the Washington Heights wild mice community:
Labels: epidemic geekery, grad school bullshit, lab mishaps, mice, science
Cry me a river, Duke LAX
On "60 Minutes" this weekend, one of the three Duke lacrosse players accused of raping a stripper at their party talked to Ed Bradley about the charges. He stated plainly that they are totally false and that he is being unjustly accused. Making matters worse for the prosecution is that fact that apparently none of David Evans, Reade Seligmann, or Collin Finnerty's DNA supposedly matches the sample collected by the police, and the fact that the alleged victim's friend told Bradley that she was stripping again within two weeks of the lacrosse party where all this went down because she is a lying whore. I don't know whether these guys raped her or not, but I do know one thing. These guys are ASSHOLES. You can tell just by looking at them.
This is David Evans:
This is Reade Seligmann:
And this is Collin Finnerty:
I don't really care whether they raped that woman or not. I know that these guys are just creeps. You can just see how entitled they feel by their body language. Behind those WASPy blazers, Ken doll hairstyles, and thickly knitted brows lurk dudes who, when not competing in belch-offs, spend their time bragging about their penises and calling their female professors names like "sweetheart," "baby," and "doll." They are the types who blame it on their girlfriends when they can't get it up, and who probably secretly beat off to the domestic violence scenes in Lifetime movies. It's not a stretch to imagine any of them discreetly slipping rohypnol into some unsuspecting bitch's spodie and sodomizing her with a lacrosse stick, so I can certainly see them being at the very least abusive pricks to the stripper.
Even when David Evans started whining to Ed Bradley about the injustice of it all, I don't really feel sorry for him even if he is being falsely accused. For one thing, whether he did it or not, he's probably not going to be convicted, because expensive attorneys vs. minimal physical evidence and the dubious word of a poor black stipper is a court battle that the expensive attorneys will probably win, particularly since the stripper is now being called a liar even by her friends. For another, even if they go to trial, they will not be dogged by this scandal forever after their inevitable acquittals. Without any evidence, the stripper will not get far in terms of recompense in civil court (and that's on top of them undoubtedly not tipping her). Also, they won't even suffer professionally, as I am sure their daddies can all get their nepotism on and hook them up with some type of cushy job at their investment firms or whatever. So go ahead and ask for whom the bell tolls, because it does NOT toll for the Duke lacrosse players. They'll be just fine, and once the charges are dropped, they'll be back to date-raping Duke sorority girls with impunity.
This is David Evans:
This is Reade Seligmann:
And this is Collin Finnerty:
I don't really care whether they raped that woman or not. I know that these guys are just creeps. You can just see how entitled they feel by their body language. Behind those WASPy blazers, Ken doll hairstyles, and thickly knitted brows lurk dudes who, when not competing in belch-offs, spend their time bragging about their penises and calling their female professors names like "sweetheart," "baby," and "doll." They are the types who blame it on their girlfriends when they can't get it up, and who probably secretly beat off to the domestic violence scenes in Lifetime movies. It's not a stretch to imagine any of them discreetly slipping rohypnol into some unsuspecting bitch's spodie and sodomizing her with a lacrosse stick, so I can certainly see them being at the very least abusive pricks to the stripper.
Even when David Evans started whining to Ed Bradley about the injustice of it all, I don't really feel sorry for him even if he is being falsely accused. For one thing, whether he did it or not, he's probably not going to be convicted, because expensive attorneys vs. minimal physical evidence and the dubious word of a poor black stipper is a court battle that the expensive attorneys will probably win, particularly since the stripper is now being called a liar even by her friends. For another, even if they go to trial, they will not be dogged by this scandal forever after their inevitable acquittals. Without any evidence, the stripper will not get far in terms of recompense in civil court (and that's on top of them undoubtedly not tipping her). Also, they won't even suffer professionally, as I am sure their daddies can all get their nepotism on and hook them up with some type of cushy job at their investment firms or whatever. So go ahead and ask for whom the bell tolls, because it does NOT toll for the Duke lacrosse players. They'll be just fine, and once the charges are dropped, they'll be back to date-raping Duke sorority girls with impunity.
Labels: assholes, crime and punishment, retard rage, sexual assault
Monday, October 16, 2006
A recent dream ALMOST comes true. Almost.
When discussing the death of Yankees pitcher Cory Lidle making like Mohammed Atta except less determined, more inept, and with far less carnage last week, I mentioned that "if only A-Rod and Jeter would take up some type of dangerous and life-threatening hobby, my day will have been made." Apparently A-Rod already had: private ownership of a Gulfstream G3 piloted by someone with skills tantamount to Cory Lidle's flight instructor's.
I've hated Alex Rodriguez ever since he blew off the Mariners because the Rangers gave him a ridiculous contract. I didn't blame him for following the money, as I'm totally cool with capitalism. However, I thought that leaving to play for a loser team like the Rangers was a bad idea, if only because George W. Bush used to own a share of them and rocks their logo gear on the regs. Well, and the RANGERS SUCK, and A-Rod was too much of a pussy to admit that. Instead, he would say a bunch of incredible bullshit about how the Rangers were a solid team and he was making this decision because he loves to play baseball, and not because he was getting a quarter of a billion dollars to go to Arlington. I strongly dislike people who would rather say a bunch of overtly insincere bullshit rather than just say, "Hey, I'm a greedy asshole, and I wanted to make $250 million dollars just because some rich, desperate idiots in Texas are willing to pay me that." If you're an asshole, have some self-respect and just admit it, for fuck's sake! Spend your time and your signing bonus fucking expensive hookers, drinking Louis XIII, buying diamond-encrusted jockstraps, rolling around on rugs made out of baby seal, and anything else stupid and ostentatious NOT related to building an obviously false image with your PR rep or whoever. Anyway, after tucking his shit firmly between his legs for the sake of PR, A-Rod went from bad to infinitely worse by signing with THE FUCKING YANKEES. That pretty much sealed my eternal grudge against Alex Rodriguez, and in my mind makes him entirely deserving of death by freak plane crash, or at least an embarrassing anal perforation-induced trip to the ER involving Derek Jeter and a most unfortunate gerbil.
I thought the former was going to happen earlier this week when I read the exciting headline: "A-Rod in Plane Crash." However, despite the promising moment when A-Rod's private jet skidded out of control on the tarmac at Bob Hope's Rich People Airport, my fantasies of Pay Rod getting his karmic untimely death comeuppance for being a sanctimonious corporate whore to George Steinbrenner were destroyed by a wall of crushable concrete blocks. Crap.
Although chances are nothing plane crashy ever happen to A-Rod again, I can at least hope that he suffers something like this...
...except instead of being attacked by a fellow baseball player, A-Rod gets his eyes gouged out by a rabid badger wearing shinguards, a chest protector, and a catcher's mask. Seriously, would that not completely rule???
I've hated Alex Rodriguez ever since he blew off the Mariners because the Rangers gave him a ridiculous contract. I didn't blame him for following the money, as I'm totally cool with capitalism. However, I thought that leaving to play for a loser team like the Rangers was a bad idea, if only because George W. Bush used to own a share of them and rocks their logo gear on the regs. Well, and the RANGERS SUCK, and A-Rod was too much of a pussy to admit that. Instead, he would say a bunch of incredible bullshit about how the Rangers were a solid team and he was making this decision because he loves to play baseball, and not because he was getting a quarter of a billion dollars to go to Arlington. I strongly dislike people who would rather say a bunch of overtly insincere bullshit rather than just say, "Hey, I'm a greedy asshole, and I wanted to make $250 million dollars just because some rich, desperate idiots in Texas are willing to pay me that." If you're an asshole, have some self-respect and just admit it, for fuck's sake! Spend your time and your signing bonus fucking expensive hookers, drinking Louis XIII, buying diamond-encrusted jockstraps, rolling around on rugs made out of baby seal, and anything else stupid and ostentatious NOT related to building an obviously false image with your PR rep or whoever. Anyway, after tucking his shit firmly between his legs for the sake of PR, A-Rod went from bad to infinitely worse by signing with THE FUCKING YANKEES. That pretty much sealed my eternal grudge against Alex Rodriguez, and in my mind makes him entirely deserving of death by freak plane crash, or at least an embarrassing anal perforation-induced trip to the ER involving Derek Jeter and a most unfortunate gerbil.
I thought the former was going to happen earlier this week when I read the exciting headline: "A-Rod in Plane Crash." However, despite the promising moment when A-Rod's private jet skidded out of control on the tarmac at Bob Hope's Rich People Airport, my fantasies of Pay Rod getting his karmic untimely death comeuppance for being a sanctimonious corporate whore to George Steinbrenner were destroyed by a wall of crushable concrete blocks. Crap.
Although chances are nothing plane crashy ever happen to A-Rod again, I can at least hope that he suffers something like this...
Labels: celebrities, fuck the Yankees, large exclamatory font, Mariners, NYC
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Frigid bitch
So I've heard that last Wednesday, Shanna Moakler drifted down the Hudson River in plain view of my lab window on a giant iceberg to promote Smirnoff Ice Arctic Berry flavor. I have no idea why the marketing people at Smirnoff would think that this herpes-ridden skank is an appealing spokesperson for their stupid new take on Zima, but apparently some idiot there decided to greenlight this extraordinarily shitty idea:
In case you don't recognize Shanna Moakler, let me give you a quick recap of her CV:
In case you don't recognize Shanna Moakler, let me give you a quick recap of her CV:
- Became Miss USA by default (because the existing Miss USA quit to be Miss Universe) in 1995
- Married boxer Oscar De La Hoya, got pregs, and hit him up for 18 years worth of alimony/child support
- Boned Billy Idol and Dennis Quaid
- Miss December 2001 in Playboy
- Married former Blink182 drummer and skater dude douchebag Travis Barker, popped out a couple of his demon spawn, and starred with him in MTV's "Meet the Barkers."
- Got ass whupped on "Dancing with the Stars" by the likes of Jerry Springer and Emmitt Smith
- Handled divorce proceedings with the aforementioned Mr. Barker through a series of vicious MySpace blog postings and by punching Paris Hilton, who was recently rumored to have given Barker the clap outside Hollywood nightclub Hyde
What the hell was I so busy doing on Wednesday in lab that I didn't notice a giant faux iceberg floating down the Hudson, especially one topped with the despicable Ms. Moakler in a pair of cheap wintry boots and hawking berry-flavored malt liquor??? This would have been a perfectly good reason to get a sniper rifle and make the world a better place, but I was apparently too busy splitting cells or killing mice or something to notice. Fuck. Another missed opportunity.
Labels: alcoholism, celebrities, media whores, stank vaginas
Saturday, October 14, 2006
The latest item on my "to vanquish" list
Once again, I'm giving non-smoking a go for about the hundredth time. I HATE quitting smoking. I'm so sick of doing it: going through the suffering and misery of withdrawal only to have a couple drinks, fire up a Parliament Light, berate myself for failing, and wind up back to my pack-a-day old ways.
Therefore, in order to prevent relapse history from repeating itself, I need to take drastic measures. Since merely mentally committing to quitting smoking clearly isn't enough to keep me off the coffin nails, I have to do something that absolutely, completely,unequivocally prohibits me from smoking. It has to be something that I could never do while smoking at all, and it has to take up at least a year. I was trying to think of different things that are very athletic and aerobic, and require endurance beyond that of a heavy smoker's. The other day on the subway, I saw an ad, and the answer was immediately clear to me. Next year, I am going to compete in this:
I can almost hear all the people who know me laughing scornfully, saying "sha right, Razzy will never be able to quit smoking, much less quit smoking and run 26.2 fucking miles." It's true that I'm very lazy, and I've been a smoker since the tender age of 13, and both those facts support a negative outlook for me successfully running this entire marathon. I think, however, that this is an excellent opportunity to prove to myself and everybody else that I can actually accomplish major feats of athleticism if I am determined enough. Also, my parents are on board, and they are buying me a new pair of fly running shoes in a show of support. And I love shoes, betch, so this should at least motivate me enough to get started. I have enlisted the assistance of the able distance runner KatieScarlett, who is taking me to the best running shoe store in Lesbianville, Brooklyn.
There's another reason why I'm going to run a marathon, and that is because I hate them. I say fuck marathons, and fuck the ancient battle versus the Persians that happened there, too. Memo to Greece: your poems, myths, tragedies, democracy, thinkers, feta cheese, baklava, and word origins are cool and all, but YOUR TECHNOLOGY SUCKED. That's why I got pissed during the movie Troy, because it was all shitty ancient Greek military technology without any gods intervening. Furthermore, the fact that Greece's cultural dominance in the ancient world relies entirely on mythic heroes and the exploitation of Olympian family drama is because your boats and weapons were so fucking crappy in the first place. Marathons are a big part of ancient Greek tradition, and since they aren't epic stories by Homer or badass albeit mythologically inaccurate movies starring Harry Hamlin as Perseus, I can't hold my head up high without definitively kicking some 26.2 mile SISSY MARATHON ASS.
I have 13 months to prepare for this, and in order to get into the marathon, I have to qualify by running in 9 different New York Road Runner races. Well, I don't have to do this, because there is a lottery for people who don't; however, I've never been particularly lucky, and apparently the lottery has steep odds because of the surprisingly huge number of people who for some reason want to punish themselves in this manner. The way I see it, if I qualify by running 9 races alone, it will be pretty damn encouraging that in fact I would be capable of actually sticking it to the ancient Greeks and pulling off an entire full-length marathon.
Just looking at the course makes me want to throw up. Somehow I'll have to get my ass all the way out to Staten Island to start, and then run all the way back to Manhattan through Brooklyn and Queens with a quick detour through the Bronx. This is an absolutely terrifying prospect:
However, if I can do this, then there is NOTHING I can't do, because not only will I have smote the marathon's ruin upon the proverbial mountainside, but I will have accomplished the far more difficult trial of quitting smoking. Achievement here will spur me on to accomplish greater goals, like finally graduating and getting the hell out of grad school. After that, it's straight up world domination time. Go Razzy!
Therefore, in order to prevent relapse history from repeating itself, I need to take drastic measures. Since merely mentally committing to quitting smoking clearly isn't enough to keep me off the coffin nails, I have to do something that absolutely, completely,unequivocally prohibits me from smoking. It has to be something that I could never do while smoking at all, and it has to take up at least a year. I was trying to think of different things that are very athletic and aerobic, and require endurance beyond that of a heavy smoker's. The other day on the subway, I saw an ad, and the answer was immediately clear to me. Next year, I am going to compete in this:
I can almost hear all the people who know me laughing scornfully, saying "sha right, Razzy will never be able to quit smoking, much less quit smoking and run 26.2 fucking miles." It's true that I'm very lazy, and I've been a smoker since the tender age of 13, and both those facts support a negative outlook for me successfully running this entire marathon. I think, however, that this is an excellent opportunity to prove to myself and everybody else that I can actually accomplish major feats of athleticism if I am determined enough. Also, my parents are on board, and they are buying me a new pair of fly running shoes in a show of support. And I love shoes, betch, so this should at least motivate me enough to get started. I have enlisted the assistance of the able distance runner KatieScarlett, who is taking me to the best running shoe store in Lesbianville, Brooklyn.
There's another reason why I'm going to run a marathon, and that is because I hate them. I say fuck marathons, and fuck the ancient battle versus the Persians that happened there, too. Memo to Greece: your poems, myths, tragedies, democracy, thinkers, feta cheese, baklava, and word origins are cool and all, but YOUR TECHNOLOGY SUCKED. That's why I got pissed during the movie Troy, because it was all shitty ancient Greek military technology without any gods intervening. Furthermore, the fact that Greece's cultural dominance in the ancient world relies entirely on mythic heroes and the exploitation of Olympian family drama is because your boats and weapons were so fucking crappy in the first place. Marathons are a big part of ancient Greek tradition, and since they aren't epic stories by Homer or badass albeit mythologically inaccurate movies starring Harry Hamlin as Perseus, I can't hold my head up high without definitively kicking some 26.2 mile SISSY MARATHON ASS.
I have 13 months to prepare for this, and in order to get into the marathon, I have to qualify by running in 9 different New York Road Runner races. Well, I don't have to do this, because there is a lottery for people who don't; however, I've never been particularly lucky, and apparently the lottery has steep odds because of the surprisingly huge number of people who for some reason want to punish themselves in this manner. The way I see it, if I qualify by running 9 races alone, it will be pretty damn encouraging that in fact I would be capable of actually sticking it to the ancient Greeks and pulling off an entire full-length marathon.
Just looking at the course makes me want to throw up. Somehow I'll have to get my ass all the way out to Staten Island to start, and then run all the way back to Manhattan through Brooklyn and Queens with a quick detour through the Bronx. This is an absolutely terrifying prospect:
However, if I can do this, then there is NOTHING I can't do, because not only will I have smote the marathon's ruin upon the proverbial mountainside, but I will have accomplished the far more difficult trial of quitting smoking. Achievement here will spur me on to accomplish greater goals, like finally graduating and getting the hell out of grad school. After that, it's straight up world domination time. Go Razzy!
Labels: defiance, exercise drama, smoking
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Al Qaeda? No, it's just a Bronx bomber.
Usually, the words "a plane crashed into the side of a high rise building in New York" lead most New Yorkers to think "terror" and not "rich professional athlete's tricked-out Cessna had fuel pump problems." I was relieved that yesterday's headline about this was not the bad news that Osama Bin Laden has orchestrated another attack on the Big Apple, but actually the good news that the ever-loathsome Yankees are short a starting pitcher:
I'm sure people are probably going to think it's really mean to make fun of someone who died in a plane crash, but whatever. I HATE the Yankees, and I think anyone else who roots for an American League team that isn't from New York feels the same way (I'm a Mariners fan, obviously). In my dream world, the Yankees' entire starting lineup dies in a plane crash. Better yet, the Yankees' entire starting lineup winds up in one of the Saw movies, except in real life. Because of my blind and consuming hatred of all things Yankee, when one of them dies by accident or otherwise, I consider it a cause for celebration rather than mourning, especially when the deceased was famous for being a slovenly asshole (not that this is any different than any other Yankee). Fellow pitcher (and former Seattle Mariner) Arthur Rhodes had this to say about him:
Despite this, of course the New York tabloids are already trying to be laudatory and respectful, while at the same time coming up with headlines like "'Bomber' pilot crashes plane", although the Post left this off the front page in favor of a more sentimental montage of the crash, a plane, and a photo of Cory Lidle looking sad because he's dead. The Daily News kept the cover simple, but inside the article compares Lidle's death to 9/11. Are you fucking kidding me???
Anyway, at the risk of being killed by mobs of Yankee fans when I venture outside, I'm going to say that dying in a plane crash is Cory Lidle's karmic reward for agreeing to pitch for Satan's pinstriped minions. Now, if only A-Rod and Jeter would take up some type of dangerous and potentially life-threatening hobby, my day will have been made.
I'm sure people are probably going to think it's really mean to make fun of someone who died in a plane crash, but whatever. I HATE the Yankees, and I think anyone else who roots for an American League team that isn't from New York feels the same way (I'm a Mariners fan, obviously). In my dream world, the Yankees' entire starting lineup dies in a plane crash. Better yet, the Yankees' entire starting lineup winds up in one of the Saw movies, except in real life. Because of my blind and consuming hatred of all things Yankee, when one of them dies by accident or otherwise, I consider it a cause for celebration rather than mourning, especially when the deceased was famous for being a slovenly asshole (not that this is any different than any other Yankee). Fellow pitcher (and former Seattle Mariner) Arthur Rhodes had this to say about him:
"He's a scab. When he started, he would go 5 1/3 innings and the bullpen would have to win the game for him. The only thing Cory Lidle wants to do is fly in his plane and gamble."After that, Rhodes goes off on how Lidle worked as a replacement player when baseball players were striking in the mid-90s (hence the scab reference), and how instead of lifting weights he sat in the clubhouse eating ice cream. Lazy fucker. I guess flying his plane was the gamble that finally finished his picket line-crossing ass off.
Despite this, of course the New York tabloids are already trying to be laudatory and respectful, while at the same time coming up with headlines like "'Bomber' pilot crashes plane", although the Post left this off the front page in favor of a more sentimental montage of the crash, a plane, and a photo of Cory Lidle looking sad because he's dead. The Daily News kept the cover simple, but inside the article compares Lidle's death to 9/11. Are you fucking kidding me???
Anyway, at the risk of being killed by mobs of Yankee fans when I venture outside, I'm going to say that dying in a plane crash is Cory Lidle's karmic reward for agreeing to pitch for Satan's pinstriped minions. Now, if only A-Rod and Jeter would take up some type of dangerous and potentially life-threatening hobby, my day will have been made.
Labels: assholes, fuck the Yankees, large exclamatory font, NYC