Saturday, March 28, 2009
Calling all ancient Greek sea monsters
Ahoy! The world's biggest dickbag has departed dry land and is now tweeting feverishly from the bounding main. A Carnival cruise ship was renamed the "Mayer Craft," thus ensuring that it is no longer worthy of the title "Fun Ship," and is slowly chugging its loathsome cargo from Long Beach, California to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. 
Yes, in yet another failed attempt at wit and humor, the Emperor of All Things Douchebaggy, John Mayer, donned his nautical-themed coochie cutters and welcomed his unfortunate fellow seamen aboard. When I die, this is what I expect Charon will look like as he prepares to ferry me across the river Styx to my eternal damnation: a dickless apparition born from an unholy alliance between old "Love Boat" episodes and any given roofie-slipping frathouse date rapist. Like the former, John Mayer isn't particularly amusing. Like the latter, he is obviously guilty of greatly exaggerating his manhood and thus suffers from a pathological need to overcompensate. I've been hearing all these rumors about how big John Mayer's wang is, and have been disputing them ever since. In these photos, I'm only seeing the slightest hint of knob, and SKINNY knob at that. Please believe that with a set of trunks like these, a veteran cock enthusiast such as myself could easily spot an impressive specimen from 50 nautical miles away. Thanks to his bulgeless short shorts, I am now confident that I am right about how NOT hung his bitch-ass is. John Mayer is, was, and ever shall be a golf pencil-rocking assclown. Trust.
John Mayer is busy turning a perfectly good cruise ship into the modern day equivalent of the Flying Dutchman, a harbinger of ill fate and maritime disaster, so the least I can do is hope that the innocent tourists aboard are put out of their misery before suffering through four days. As this isn't hurricane season, the only option seems to be a seafaring tragedy of mythological proportions to befall the Mayer Craft immediately. Since Scylla and Charybdis seem pretty content to stay put in the Strait of Messina, I'm thinking the Kraken is just the sea monster for the job. Hopefully, John Mayer will soon announce that his beauty surpasses that of the goddess Thetis, drawing her ire. Then she'll pester Poseidon to summon the Kraken, and since Perseus is busy being a constellation, there will be nobody to stop it from totally owning the Mayer Craft. Admittedly this plan is a little far-fetched, but hell...it worked in Clash of the Titans! And not only did that movie rule, but Thetis AKA Dame Maggie Smith is indeed hotter than John Mayer, so my hopes are high. With regard to Mr. Flat-Front Seaman Shorts here, the Kraken needs to get cracking.
[RAZZY Note: Yes, I know the Kraken is actually Scandinavian, and the correct Greek monster in the whole Perseus-Andromeda story is actually Cetus. I did read Edith Hamilton's Mythology like 50 fucking times. Clearly the people behind Clash of the Titans should have too. Either that, or they just decided that my Viking people had better sea monsters than those so-called "classical" Greeks. Either way, the movie still fucking rules, and John Mayer does not. The end.]
Labels: assholes, John Mayer sucks, nerd alert, ranting, seamen, small penises
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Captain Sig Hansen
DOB: April 28, 1966
Occupation: captain of the mighty F/V Northwestern, miner of the Bering Sea for "Red Gold," HOT FUCKING PIECE
Hometown: Seattle, Washington
Current residence: Seattle, Washington and Dutch Harbor, Alaska
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: It's no secret that I've got the hots for Captain Sig something serious. Let's just take a few minutes to relive the storied internet relationship between myself and the man who is going to singlehandedly cause the Bering Sea to rise due to his hotness melting the Arctic ice pack that is his bane during Opilio season.
-April 30, 2007: I write a post entitled "I'm a Sig Girl," detailing my tireless and unquenchable ardor for Sig, who I declare "the Adonis of Alaskan crab fisherman."Well, tonight is the premiere of "Deadliest Catch" season 4, and I think it's pretty easy to predict where I will be: firmly planted on my ass in front of the idiot box praying that Sig's scorching hotness doesn't melt the screen off. I figure that the first episodes will involve something along the lines of Sig's natural caloric output causing sweltering weather, triggering an unprecedented environmental crisis. Sig's hot temper only contributes to the hurricane-like conditions that will plague the vast and tempestuous Bering Sea. Luckily, it takes more than a little bad weather to set back a fourth-generation slice of hot Norwegian lutefisk like Sig (and he's used to it anyway, since climate change follows him everywhere he sails the Northwestern, not being able to dial down his own blistering hotness). Sig just shrugs it off with nary an "uff da," fires up a ciggie, and maintains setting strings like the true player-ass pimp he is. I'm pretty sure that's what they're getting at in this commercial:
-June 2, 2007: Sig links to the aforementioned post on his MySpace blog. I completely freak out and declare this "like rolling Christmas, my birthday, my wedding, the birth of my first child, and a Super Bowl where the Seahawks don't get flagrantly robbed by terrible officiating all into one uber-joyous occasion." Much like the geniuses at IvyGate, my awesomeness was misinterpreted as insanity by some of Sig's (far more stalkerish) MySpace fans. Sig, however, sees the truth and calls me "a hardcore Northwestern fan."
-June 4, 2007: In response to continued allegations from Sig's MySpace friends that I'm a frightening stalker, Sig DECLARES ME HIS .1 FAN! Then he exclaims "WOOT!" Can I get a "YA SURE YOU BETCHA?" (That's Norse for "What, what?!")
-June 6, 2007: I rate Sig as the hottest skipper--or any rank of seaman, for that matter--on the Bering Sea. I assert that Sig "sets an impossibly high bar for men to achieve" in terms of attractiveness and sex appeal.
-June 13, 2007: I lament the wrapping-up of "Deadliest Catch" season 3 by noting that "Sig hadn't shaved in a few days and he was thus continuing his unwitting crusade against Al Gore by ensuring that climate change continues to trend toward HOT HOT HOT." Then I throw in a classic commercial for Sea Galley just because it's fun. Man, I loved Sea Galley.
-June 17, 2007: The Deadliest fan site gives me a nod for being totally legit in the Sig Hansen adoration department.
-July 18, 2007: I note Sig Hansen's superiority in seafaring over the bastardly Danish, and bestow upon him the approval of my dead Norwegian ancestors. There's a place for you in Valhalla, Sig!
-December 10, 2007: Sig Hansen raises the 12th Man flag before a Seahawks game, thus ensuring both that the mighty Hawks lay waste to the accursed Arizona Cardinals, and that Sig was robbed in not receiving the key to the city of Seattle for his true hometown hero status.
S4 Promo
Damn, Sig, baby, I'll get my pants down if you want me to NOW. Oh, wait, did he say "pants" or "crab"? I'm pretty sure he said "Get Razzy's pants down NOW." That makes the most sense. According to me, anyway.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, Deadliest Catch, hot dudes, seamen, uff da
Saturday, March 29, 2008
It's the deadliest time of year
YESSSSSSS!!!!! "Deadliest Catch" season 4 premieres on April 15th on the Discovery Channel! Looks like KatieScarlett and I better reserve our usual barstools at the Times Square Red Lobster for our annual pre-funk. We usually go there to partake in some of the deadliest all-you-can-eat catch before returning to our respective apartments to get our minds blown and text message each other frantically about it.
"Deadliest Catch" is the greatest show about a job EVER. It has everything that could possibly make a show great: hypothermia, grisly injuries, hot fisherman, chain smoking, salty sailor talk, practical jokes, crab, rogue waves, danger, violent storms, Coast Guard helicopters, Scandinavians everywhere, and the finest fourth generation skipper ever to mine the vast and tempestuous Bering Sea for "red gold," Captain Sig Hansen of the mighty F/V Northwestern!
"Deadliest Catch" is so good that it has become a worldwide phenomenon. "Deadliest Catch" has a following in the UK, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Sweden, Norway, and Germany. In addition to live crucifixions and prison reenactments of the "Thriller" video, "Deadliest Catch" is a monster hit in the Philippines. It's also what the "terrorists" at Gitmo get rewarded with after an especially productive waterboarding session. Not even being detained indefinitely in violation of international law can keep an enemy combatant from succumbing to the awe of witnessing the gravitas and power of Captain Sig barking f-bomb-laden orders at his crew in forty-foot seas while pulling a hot string somewhere halfway to Siberia, or the touching family moments such as Captain Phil Harris of the F/V Cornelia Marie giving his sons Jake and Josh wheezy lessons in manliness during impromptu plier-based tooth extractions ("you're not makin' love to it...just give it a yank!").
God, I fucking love this show. Luckily, the lady who runs the website Deadliest Reports has posted a "sneak peek" of season 4, and I couldn't be more stoked. First, there's ample footage of Sig regulating with his crew and generally looking hot while perched in the wheelhouse of the Northwestern like a great king atop his throne. Second, it also appears there might be some explosions this season, and I'm a big fan of explosions. I mean, I hope nobody gets hurt, but explosions totally rule.
Sneak Peek 2 - S4
If you aren't counting down the days to April 15th, then I seriously question what's wrong with you. "Deadliest Catch" totally rules. I just hope that Sig Hansen isn't so famous now that he forgets that I'm not just any "hardcore Northwestern fan", but by his own declaration I'm his .1 fan!
Sneak Peek 2 - S4
If you aren't counting down the days to April 15th, then I seriously question what's wrong with you. "Deadliest Catch" totally rules. I just hope that Sig Hansen isn't so famous now that he forgets that I'm not just any "hardcore Northwestern fan", but by his own declaration I'm his .1 fan!
Labels: Deadliest Catch, hot dudes, I LOVE IT, seamen, TV
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Daily Douchebag: Steve Fossett
DOB: April 22, 1944
Occupation: securities robber baron, aviator, seaman, pursuer of pointless records
Hometown: Garden Grove, California
Current residence: the Nevada desert
Douchebaggery: I get so annoyed with all these rich guys who decide to become famous and take up space in my news coverage with their attempts to do stupid, pointless, incredibly expensive shit. These billionaires all decide to live out their childhood fantasies of being an astronaut or a professional athlete by buying tickets to space in Russia or buying a pro sports franchise. At least the sports team owners provide some entertainment, both in terms of their product and their courtside antics (in Mark Cuban's case, anyway). The astronaut types are annoying and provide nothing of value except stupid articles concerning the breaking news of their flight in some overpriced test rocket.
Steve Fossett clearly has experienced a variation of the I-always-wanted-to-be-an-astronaut syndrome afflicting so many other dudes enjoying their billions, as he apparently wanted to be Charles Lindbergh or Phileas Fogg when he grew up. He's set a ton of records important to nobody except the publishers at Guiness, and is always looking for new ways to circumnavigate the globe for no apparent reason. His means of travel have the trappings of danger, and thus every time he busts out in the "Global Flyer" or his balloon or whatever, the media covers his ass more than the war in Iraq. However, money, press, and faggy flight suits do not make the man Magellan. Steve Fossett will interest my ass when he tries to sail around Cape Horn in a rotting, worm-ridden, single-hulled piece of Spanish crap subsisting solely on rancid seal blubber and Madeira wine while quashing mutinies and battling scurvy. Until he does that (hopefully also going out like Magellan and getting hacked to death by a horde of angry Filipinos), I could care less about anything Steve Fossett does, much less that he's missing.
While this douche was out scouting salt beds to race along in the desert, he disappeared in his buddy Barron Hilton's (aka grandfather of Paris) fancy plane. This has been the top headline for the past day, and I just don't care. Everyone seems to be shocked that this happened, but COME ON! Planes crash and this dude was always in one, so it's not like it's a surprise. His ass is probably dead and thankfully so, as he'll now never annoy me with future news headlines about breaking the land-speed record, his latest attempt at setting a who-fucking-cares record.
Sir Richard Branson, the self-proclaimed "rebel billionaire" who owns Virgin and loves to get in on the market opportunities afforded by his buddy Fossett's hobby, seems confident that I am wrong. "Steve is a tough old boot. I suspect he is waiting by his plane right now for someone to pick him up. The ranch he took off from covers a huge area, and Steve has had far tougher challenges to overcome in the past. Based on his track record, I feel confident we'll get some good news soon." A rebellious statement on par with a report to shareholders on quarterly earnings, to be sure. Branson is obviously pissed that he can't slap Virgin Atlantic logos all over Fossett's land-speed rocket car, because the charred carbon representing all of Steve Fossett's earthly remains is probably baking along with the twisted wreckage of his plane beneath the hot Nevada sun. You know that motherfucker probably had a GPS in his Rolex, so the fact that every plane in Nevada has to be called out for the search isn't particularly encouraging concerning, whatever Sir Branson might deviously say. Steve Fossett is dead. Praise the Lord.
Labels: assholes, capitalism, Daily Douchebag, intentional buffoonery, overcompensation, people who died, seamen
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: the Matawan Creek shark
DOB: 1915?
Occupation: eating motherfuckers, especially children
Hometown: the Atlantic Ocean
Current residence: Lost to history; probably a storage facility in Manhattan
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Last night I watched a show on the History Channel called "Shark Attack 1916" about some hot shark that was biting people up and down the Jersey shore. Basically, there was a big heat wave and in the cities there were huge epidemics of "infantile paralysis" (AKA sexy poliovirus) in 1916, and all the people flocked to New Jersey to cool off at the beach. On the morning of July 1st, some college dude went swimming at Beach Haven with his dog, and didn't pay any attention when all the people started screaming that he was being followed by a large dorsal fin. The shark bit him, severed his femoral artery, and he died on the manager's desk of his hotel. Considering an arterial wound like his results in copious amounts of blood squirting everywhere, I bet the hotel manager was pissed as hell when he saw what his office looked like. People responded idiotically, saying that sharks don't bite people and suggesting that it was a freak accident involving a "large fish." The director of the Natural History Museum insisted that sharks don't have the jaw strength to actually bite anyone's leg off. The director of the Philadelphia Aquarium insisted that the shark "had come in to attack the dog and snapped the man in passing." I think not. The shark didn't go anywhere near the dog, and any shark that chooses to chomp on a frat boy versus a sweet, lovable pooch is a capital fellow in my book.
The shark wasn't done, however. It moved up the coast to Spring Lake and bit another guy's legs off on July 6th. He died on the beach. After this attack, shark hysteria kicked into full swing. Some beaches erected these metal nets on the beaches to keep sharks out, and everyone decided to do their swimming in fresh water. For example, the brackish stream emptying into Raritan Bay known as Matawan Creek. Bad move, because this shark wasn't fucking around. Then, on July 12th, a cantankerous local seaman reported that he saw a shark swimming into the Matawan Creek, but nobody believed him. The shark proceeded to completely eat some kid swimming in the creek a full 16 miles inland from the sea, and then ate a dude trying to recover the kid's body. This is my kind of shark: eating both obnoxious children and their defenders. Then the shark swam another half-mile upstream and bit yet another kid's leg off. Ha! Stupid kids!
At this point, everyone was completely freaked out since they didn't believe sharks would get into fresh water. They started stringing nets all over Matawan Creek, and even dynamiting the creek to kill the offending shark. At this point, however, the shark was like, "Get bent," and swam back to the ocean. It was unfortunately captured and killed by a taxidermist/circus lion tamer (seriously), who found a bunch of human remains and a boy's shin bone in its gut. The shark was a 7.5 foot young great white, and although there are theories suggesting that other types of sharks may have committed the attack, I choose to believe that this great white was indeed the culprit. For one thing, the shark biting everyone seemed to be a known epicure of human legs, and this one had a stomach full of legs. For another, although some so-called "scientists" say that all this man-eating is implausible even for a "rogue shark", Jaws 3-D and Jaws 4: The Revenge taught me that great white sharks will pursue a family all the way to Florida and the Bahamas in order to claim vengeance against (sexy drunk) Chief Brody's kin. I like to think that if this shark hadn't been caught, it would have bitten kept on swimming up to Coney Island and chowed kids like competitive eaters devour Nathan's famous hot dogs. What a hot fucking shark.
As an interesting epilogue, the dude who killed the shark stuffed it himself (he was a taxidermist by trade, after all), and hung it as a curiosity in his Harlem shop. Unfortunately, it was eventually lost and its whereabouts are unknown. If it ever resurfaces from the depths of history, I'm totally buying it and giving it a place of honor on my wall next to the deer head. It deserves it, for both helping to cull the population of children in New Jersey, and for causing terror just by existing and going about its business. Like I said before, what a hot fucking shark.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, destroy all children, History Channel, seamen, sexy delicious animals
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Cruise on past, asshole
I received the following e-mail today, and although I was about to delete it along with all my other spam offering me a harder and/or longer penis, increased frequency and/or longevity of ejaculation, and Adobe Photoshop for only $29.99, I opened it instead. This seemed like an unusual piece of spam. I like reading clever, eye-catching pieces of obvious spam with a unique hook, because I applaud innovation, even if it is by annoying spammers.
To: ben_edmunds@razzy.org (Since that e-mail doesn't exist, it was redirected to the inbox of the ultimate Razzy e-mail address: razzy@razzy.org)
From: EMC2 AIM Program (cruiseinfo@energeticmatrix.com)
Subject: AIM Consciousness Cruise with Stephen Lewis!
JOIN STEPHEN LEWIS, DEVELOPER OF THE AIM PROGRAM OF ENERGETIC BALANCING ON AN EXTRAORDINARY ONCE IN A LIFETIME ADVENTURE!
You are invited to join us as we sail the beautiful turquoise waters of the Caribbean with Stephen on February 9, 2008 for a 7 day adventure!
Okay, I do love the beautiful turquoise waters of the Caribbean, as well as the extraordinarily gluttonous, faux-classy shipboard buffets available 24/7 on many cruises. I also love a good adventure on the bounding main, but usually I prefer to hear about pirates/privateers (if they possess letters of marque), Magellan's liberal interpretation of the Treaty of Tordesillas, hot Norwegians crabbing on the vast and tempestuous Bering Sea, the Dutch East India Company's ships succumbing to epidemic disease at the docks in Batavia after procuring merchantmen full of silks and dyes, or explorers for His/Her Majesty's Royal Navy exacerbating native unrest in the South Pacific, and leave the bullshit New Age lingo about "energetic balancing" and "consciousness" back on dry land. The next part of this "adventure" also sounds less like questing for undiscovered passages, trading routes, and continents, Captain Sig Hansen looking more smoking hot than the ubiquitous Marb Light hanging from his sexy lips, battling swashbucklers on the high seas, hunting sperm whales, exchanging nails and twine for admittance to orgies with the sensual sluts of Otaheite, or disenchanted, scorbutic, horny, grog-addled seamen orchestrating bloody mutinies than getting straight conned.
We will be conducting over 12 hours of seminar time and as an added bonus:
HOW WOULD YOU LIKE A SPECIAL ENERGETIC EVALUATION - ONE ON ONE WITH STEPHEN LEWIS?
As a special offering Stephen will be providing PERSONAL energetic evaluations to 30 participants! Participants will be selected through a random lottery and you can be one of them!
I don't define "adventure" as over twelve hours of Power Point slides (replete with exclamation points, no doubt) and motivational speeches, followed by a personal consultation reminiscent of a Scientologist "stress test." And like there's going to be more than 30 people on board the Love Boat to necessitate a "random lottery?" I guarantee it's "random" enough to select the 30 wealthiest individuals to attend this shitshow, although that's a stretch. Most people intelligent enough to have a grand to drop on this cruise probably don't wait for spam about energetic balancing to find its way to their inbox before planning their next vacation adventure. And maybe I could manage to take lemons and make Lemon Drop shots and manage to enjoy a one-on-one with this Stephen Lewis character if he were hot and there were some possibility of him balancing my energies, or at least expending them, in a sexual manner. However, since I make it a point not to fuck former used car salesmen-turned-homeopathic New Age motivation speaker grifters who look like a genetics experiment involving DNA from Phil Hartman, Dr. John Martin (Donna's dad) from "Beverly Hills, 90210," and Razzy's Reject #1 Bryan gone horribly awry.
Come with us as we energize on the greatest energy on earth and set sail for San Juan, Puerto Rico, St. Thomas - Virgin Island, Grand Turks and Bahamas. Prices start at just $934 for this 7 day journey of a lifetime!
For more information contact your facilitator or copy and paste this link
to your browser:
http://www.ronoyer.com/StevenLewis/index1.html
to see all the information for this great event.
I don't have a "facilitator," unless that was their way of telling me to call my parents and borrow money for this "journey of a lifetime." I'd like to hear my mother's response to a request for almost a grand in order to take such a voyage. I can imagine it now: "Are you out of your mind, Razzy?! NO! I'm worried about you! You're not taking drugs, are you?"
ACT NOW - SPACE IS LIMITED! CALL WORLDVIEW TRAVEL TODAY AT 888-259-9191 X213 AND ASK IBIS FOR FULL DETAILS. BOOK NOW FOR THE BEST CABINS AVAILABLE.
SEE YOU ON THE HIGH SEAS!!
Or not. I don't really have $934 (which certainly excludes cost of course materials for this fabulous energy balancing adventure) to toss away for a week on Holland America's MS Zuiderdam with this crew of New Age scam victims and confidence men.
You received this notice because you have participated in or requested information about EMC2's AIM Program of Energetic Balancing.
LIAR! I most certainly did not. "Energetic balancing"? Sha right. That sounds like those stupid crystal therapy touchless massages people get to stabilize their energies, frequencies, vapours, humours, or whatever other New Age-meets-17th-century-medical-folklore term is used by the practitioners of this fraud. I'd rather request information about a week-long cruise devoted to my fucking horoscope. I think astrology is bullshit, too, but since Scorpios are all supposedly about sex and war, I could at least meet some hot people who fancy themselves outrageous, vengeful sluts if I signed up for a zodiac cruise. This "AIM Program" balances your energy by transferring large sums of cash from your accounts to Stephen Lewis (specifically, $1000 US per adult, per their website). So he and his crystal-toting cronies can continue their mission of expanding consciousness by fixing peoples' auras or whatever, no doubt.
EMC2 does not send emails often and we never share your contact information but if you prefer not to receive these messages from us, please reply to this email and put either REMOVE or UNSUBSCRIBE in the subject. We promise to promptly remove you from future mailings.
You may also contact us by mail or by telephone.
EMC2
2349-A Renaissance Dr.
Las Vegas, NV 89119
(702) 944-1801
At least I know who to report to....actually, I have no idea who I'd report these fuckers to for sending me spam. The FTC? The FCC? The FBI? The Department of Homeland Security? Does anyone know? Please advise. I'd like to send them some unsolicited correspondence from the authorities who should shut their spamming, thieving asses down.
To: ben_edmunds@razzy.org (Since that e-mail doesn't exist, it was redirected to the inbox of the ultimate Razzy e-mail address: razzy@razzy.org)
From: EMC2 AIM Program (cruiseinfo@energeticmatrix.com)
Subject: AIM Consciousness Cruise with Stephen Lewis!
JOIN STEPHEN LEWIS, DEVELOPER OF THE AIM PROGRAM OF ENERGETIC BALANCING ON AN EXTRAORDINARY ONCE IN A LIFETIME ADVENTURE!
You are invited to join us as we sail the beautiful turquoise waters of the Caribbean with Stephen on February 9, 2008 for a 7 day adventure!
Okay, I do love the beautiful turquoise waters of the Caribbean, as well as the extraordinarily gluttonous, faux-classy shipboard buffets available 24/7 on many cruises. I also love a good adventure on the bounding main, but usually I prefer to hear about pirates/privateers (if they possess letters of marque), Magellan's liberal interpretation of the Treaty of Tordesillas, hot Norwegians crabbing on the vast and tempestuous Bering Sea, the Dutch East India Company's ships succumbing to epidemic disease at the docks in Batavia after procuring merchantmen full of silks and dyes, or explorers for His/Her Majesty's Royal Navy exacerbating native unrest in the South Pacific, and leave the bullshit New Age lingo about "energetic balancing" and "consciousness" back on dry land. The next part of this "adventure" also sounds less like questing for undiscovered passages, trading routes, and continents, Captain Sig Hansen looking more smoking hot than the ubiquitous Marb Light hanging from his sexy lips, battling swashbucklers on the high seas, hunting sperm whales, exchanging nails and twine for admittance to orgies with the sensual sluts of Otaheite, or disenchanted, scorbutic, horny, grog-addled seamen orchestrating bloody mutinies than getting straight conned.
We will be conducting over 12 hours of seminar time and as an added bonus:
HOW WOULD YOU LIKE A SPECIAL ENERGETIC EVALUATION - ONE ON ONE WITH STEPHEN LEWIS?
As a special offering Stephen will be providing PERSONAL energetic evaluations to 30 participants! Participants will be selected through a random lottery and you can be one of them!
I don't define "adventure" as over twelve hours of Power Point slides (replete with exclamation points, no doubt) and motivational speeches, followed by a personal consultation reminiscent of a Scientologist "stress test." And like there's going to be more than 30 people on board the Love Boat to necessitate a "random lottery?" I guarantee it's "random" enough to select the 30 wealthiest individuals to attend this shitshow, although that's a stretch. Most people intelligent enough to have a grand to drop on this cruise probably don't wait for spam about energetic balancing to find its way to their inbox before planning their next vacation adventure. And maybe I could manage to take lemons and make Lemon Drop shots and manage to enjoy a one-on-one with this Stephen Lewis character if he were hot and there were some possibility of him balancing my energies, or at least expending them, in a sexual manner. However, since I make it a point not to fuck former used car salesmen-turned-homeopathic New Age motivation speaker grifters who look like a genetics experiment involving DNA from Phil Hartman, Dr. John Martin (Donna's dad) from "Beverly Hills, 90210," and Razzy's Reject #1 Bryan gone horribly awry.
For more information contact your facilitator or copy and paste this link
to your browser:
http://www.ronoyer.com/StevenLewis/index1.html
to see all the information for this great event.
I don't have a "facilitator," unless that was their way of telling me to call my parents and borrow money for this "journey of a lifetime." I'd like to hear my mother's response to a request for almost a grand in order to take such a voyage. I can imagine it now: "Are you out of your mind, Razzy?! NO! I'm worried about you! You're not taking drugs, are you?"
ACT NOW - SPACE IS LIMITED! CALL WORLDVIEW TRAVEL TODAY AT 888-259-9191 X213 AND ASK IBIS FOR FULL DETAILS. BOOK NOW FOR THE BEST CABINS AVAILABLE.
SEE YOU ON THE HIGH SEAS!!
Or not. I don't really have $934 (which certainly excludes cost of course materials for this fabulous energy balancing adventure) to toss away for a week on Holland America's MS Zuiderdam with this crew of New Age scam victims and confidence men.
You received this notice because you have participated in or requested information about EMC2's AIM Program of Energetic Balancing.
LIAR! I most certainly did not. "Energetic balancing"? Sha right. That sounds like those stupid crystal therapy touchless massages people get to stabilize their energies, frequencies, vapours, humours, or whatever other New Age-meets-17th-century-medical-folklore term is used by the practitioners of this fraud. I'd rather request information about a week-long cruise devoted to my fucking horoscope. I think astrology is bullshit, too, but since Scorpios are all supposedly about sex and war, I could at least meet some hot people who fancy themselves outrageous, vengeful sluts if I signed up for a zodiac cruise. This "AIM Program" balances your energy by transferring large sums of cash from your accounts to Stephen Lewis (specifically, $1000 US per adult, per their website). So he and his crystal-toting cronies can continue their mission of expanding consciousness by fixing peoples' auras or whatever, no doubt.
EMC2 does not send emails often and we never share your contact information but if you prefer not to receive these messages from us, please reply to this email and put either REMOVE or UNSUBSCRIBE in the subject. We promise to promptly remove you from future mailings.
You may also contact us by mail or by telephone.
EMC2
2349-A Renaissance Dr.
Las Vegas, NV 89119
(702) 944-1801
At least I know who to report to....actually, I have no idea who I'd report these fuckers to for sending me spam. The FTC? The FCC? The FBI? The Department of Homeland Security? Does anyone know? Please advise. I'd like to send them some unsolicited correspondence from the authorities who should shut their spamming, thieving asses down.
Labels: correspondence, ranting, Razzification, retard rage, scathing indictments, seamen
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Grandpa Ben would be proud
My Aunt Jesus once told me that my Grandpa Ben was rolling over in his grave in consternation about the content of my website. I have always doubted that, considering not even the cabalistic intrigue of the "Unsolved Mysteries" episode he was watching in his girlfriend's Puyallup double-wide on the night his soul journeyed up to Valhalla (or wherever the guys go who happen to die in a La-Z-Boy listening to the soothing gravelly sound of Robert Stack's voice rather than by being slain in glory on the battlefield) was sufficient to revive him. I think, though, that if he were to be resurrected and shown how to use the internet (which didn't exist when he died in 1991, and his ass did NOT use Prodigy) and waited for him to read my website through his one good eye, he'd at least be proud of my reminding the world of this unimpeachable fact:
NORWEGIANS HAVE BEEN KICKING DANISH ASS SINCE THE 11TH CENTURY AND CONTINUE TO DO SO TODAY!
As usual, something's rotten in the state of Denmark, or in this case, on a boat produced in the state of Denmark. Apparently the Sea Stallion, this replica Viking ship sailing from Denmark to Scotland to study "the seamanship of early Norsemen" got stalled in the North Sea due to calm weather conditions. Presumably the seamanship of early Norsemen was superior to the seamanship of extant Norsemen, especially Danish museum curators and history professors on summer break from the University of Copenhagen. They actually quit because of calm seas. I had no idea that Horse Latitudes existed up there, but apparently on either side of the equator isn't the only place you can experience a ship-stopping lack of wind. Since they were a bunch of unseaworthy wimps, the Danes running things decided to call for a tow to Scotland rather than just crack open a seal bladder full of gammeldansk and pass the time reading some Hans Christian Andersen or something while they waited for the breeze to pick up. I mean, jeez, it probably would have only taken a few days. It's not like they were subsisting on weevils and getting scorbutic.
In addition to their intolerance for pleasant, leisurely sailing conditions and their distaste for doing any actual rowing, Captain Carsten Fvid said that supposedly a couple sissy boys on the ship were also cold. Welcome to Scand-rock, bitches! Did you think you were going on a breadfruit mission to Tahiti or something and forget your Helly Hansen parkas? Some Vikings you are! Throw on a damn reindeer skin, nut up, and quit your bitching, you pussies! If the toughness of your modern sailors is any indication, it's no wonder Grendel busted into your Danish mead hall and went bowling with your ancestors' decapitated skulls without breaking a sweat. You all would have been wiped out if Beowulf didn't show up in the nick of time to save you with some clutch Goth barbarian asskickery.
This kind of quitting on a calm sea bullshit never would happen if Sig "The Hotness" Hansen was skippering the Sea Stallion instead of this Carsten Fvid jackass:
Unlike Carsten "The Boy Who Cried Hypothermia" Fvig, Sig wouldn't have allowed a little lack of wind or some nipply temperatures stop him from barking at the crew to man the oars and row that shit all the way to the North Pole. He'd just stoically zip up his Northwestern jacket and fire up a Marlboro with a contemptuous smirk on his face, holler at the crew to put their backs into it, and try to plot a course that would enable him to swing by the Bering Sea and fill the Sea Stallion's tanks with Red Gold. In fact, he probably wouldn't even have to get the crybaby Danish crew to row. Sig's presence probably generates such blistering heat that a hurricane would spontaneously form and provide the much-needed wind to blow him all the way to New York, much less Scotland. That's how Norwegian seamen do it. Leif Erikson (who was also Norwegian in spite of being born in Iceland...his father was Erik the Red, a Norwegian explorer, outlaw, and all around barbarian pimp who is singlehandedly credited with providing the genetic basis for the redheaded phenotype commonly observed in Ireland) did just that when he discovered North America and settled there with his hot wife Thorgunna around the time the original Sea Stallion was sinking to the bottom of the fjord at Roskilde in the mid 10-00's. Why did the Sea Stallion sink, you ask? Because the pussified Danes at the helm couldn't hold off a fierce fleet of bloodthirsty Norwegians, that's why! They didn't have cannons or gunpowder then, but I'm sure the turn-of-the-millenium Norwegian navy managed to find an effective way for bringing the hammer of Thor down upon those pathetic second-class Vikings. When will the History Channel make an hour-long "Viking Tech" show so that I can watch this sublime moment in my cultural history reenacted in low-budget CGI?
My grandfather might not be proud of my many drunken or depraved exploits (although he'd probably understand; when he died we took a stack of nudey mags as tall as the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree out of his house), but he'd be beaming with nationalistic pride at my Norwegian smack talking. Grandpa Ben had a clever bit of verse for belittling all of his Scandinavian rivals, such as "ten thousand Swedes ran through the weeds, chased by one Norwegian." I can't remember what he said about those fruitcakes from Denmark, but I know that he'd like ALL of what I just said. It would almost be enough to mitigate the sting of the Danes' electing a Prime Minister named Rasmussen (a move I'm pretty sure the Danish people conspired as a nation to make solely to besmirch my family name and piss me off). Here's to you, Grandpa Ben! If your surviving heirs hadn't thrown away your (completely rank from ten years of constant wear) Sons of Norway baseball cap after you passed on to the halls of Odin, I'd put it on and tip it to pay honor to our people's mighty history.
SKOAL! Stolt a bli Norsk!
NORWEGIANS HAVE BEEN KICKING DANISH ASS SINCE THE 11TH CENTURY AND CONTINUE TO DO SO TODAY!
As usual, something's rotten in the state of Denmark, or in this case, on a boat produced in the state of Denmark. Apparently the Sea Stallion, this replica Viking ship sailing from Denmark to Scotland to study "the seamanship of early Norsemen" got stalled in the North Sea due to calm weather conditions. Presumably the seamanship of early Norsemen was superior to the seamanship of extant Norsemen, especially Danish museum curators and history professors on summer break from the University of Copenhagen. They actually quit because of calm seas. I had no idea that Horse Latitudes existed up there, but apparently on either side of the equator isn't the only place you can experience a ship-stopping lack of wind. Since they were a bunch of unseaworthy wimps, the Danes running things decided to call for a tow to Scotland rather than just crack open a seal bladder full of gammeldansk and pass the time reading some Hans Christian Andersen or something while they waited for the breeze to pick up. I mean, jeez, it probably would have only taken a few days. It's not like they were subsisting on weevils and getting scorbutic.
In addition to their intolerance for pleasant, leisurely sailing conditions and their distaste for doing any actual rowing, Captain Carsten Fvid said that supposedly a couple sissy boys on the ship were also cold. Welcome to Scand-rock, bitches! Did you think you were going on a breadfruit mission to Tahiti or something and forget your Helly Hansen parkas? Some Vikings you are! Throw on a damn reindeer skin, nut up, and quit your bitching, you pussies! If the toughness of your modern sailors is any indication, it's no wonder Grendel busted into your Danish mead hall and went bowling with your ancestors' decapitated skulls without breaking a sweat. You all would have been wiped out if Beowulf didn't show up in the nick of time to save you with some clutch Goth barbarian asskickery.
This kind of quitting on a calm sea bullshit never would happen if Sig "The Hotness" Hansen was skippering the Sea Stallion instead of this Carsten Fvid jackass:
Unlike Carsten "The Boy Who Cried Hypothermia" Fvig, Sig wouldn't have allowed a little lack of wind or some nipply temperatures stop him from barking at the crew to man the oars and row that shit all the way to the North Pole. He'd just stoically zip up his Northwestern jacket and fire up a Marlboro with a contemptuous smirk on his face, holler at the crew to put their backs into it, and try to plot a course that would enable him to swing by the Bering Sea and fill the Sea Stallion's tanks with Red Gold. In fact, he probably wouldn't even have to get the crybaby Danish crew to row. Sig's presence probably generates such blistering heat that a hurricane would spontaneously form and provide the much-needed wind to blow him all the way to New York, much less Scotland. That's how Norwegian seamen do it. Leif Erikson (who was also Norwegian in spite of being born in Iceland...his father was Erik the Red, a Norwegian explorer, outlaw, and all around barbarian pimp who is singlehandedly credited with providing the genetic basis for the redheaded phenotype commonly observed in Ireland) did just that when he discovered North America and settled there with his hot wife Thorgunna around the time the original Sea Stallion was sinking to the bottom of the fjord at Roskilde in the mid 10-00's. Why did the Sea Stallion sink, you ask? Because the pussified Danes at the helm couldn't hold off a fierce fleet of bloodthirsty Norwegians, that's why! They didn't have cannons or gunpowder then, but I'm sure the turn-of-the-millenium Norwegian navy managed to find an effective way for bringing the hammer of Thor down upon those pathetic second-class Vikings. When will the History Channel make an hour-long "Viking Tech" show so that I can watch this sublime moment in my cultural history reenacted in low-budget CGI?
My grandfather might not be proud of my many drunken or depraved exploits (although he'd probably understand; when he died we took a stack of nudey mags as tall as the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree out of his house), but he'd be beaming with nationalistic pride at my Norwegian smack talking. Grandpa Ben had a clever bit of verse for belittling all of his Scandinavian rivals, such as "ten thousand Swedes ran through the weeds, chased by one Norwegian." I can't remember what he said about those fruitcakes from Denmark, but I know that he'd like ALL of what I just said. It would almost be enough to mitigate the sting of the Danes' electing a Prime Minister named Rasmussen (a move I'm pretty sure the Danish people conspired as a nation to make solely to besmirch my family name and piss me off). Here's to you, Grandpa Ben! If your surviving heirs hadn't thrown away your (completely rank from ten years of constant wear) Sons of Norway baseball cap after you passed on to the halls of Odin, I'd put it on and tip it to pay honor to our people's mighty history.
SKOAL! Stolt a bli Norsk!
Labels: Aunt Jesus, Deadliest Catch, epic geekery, family matters, History Channel, PWT, Razzification, seamen
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