The Basterd Files

STDs in the movies

2006-05-17T10:22:00.000-06:00

Click images for larger versions:

Why I hate blogs

Later today, perhaps?

Bring tha Boise!

2006-05-12T11:10:00.006-06:00

Just over a year ago, I considered vacating the mountains of Denver, Colorado in favour of other mountains in Boise, Idaho. The decision was not an easy one, and a situation as serious as that required the most intensive research tool known to humankind – A CHART.

Who will prove victorious (those of you with any reading comprehension skills already know the answer to this)? The elitist gay-friendly masses of Denver, home of Superbowl champs the Broncos? Or the totally-white-except-for-our-three-teeth-and-git-yer-ass-outta-here-fagit inhabitants of Boise, home of Chicken Dinner Road and stores that sell "Fire Woob"? That's right, Fire Woob! (Understandably, often-times Marquis signs substitute letters when tiles are in short supply, but that doesn't matter, because this sign was HAND-PAINTED).

Anyway, without further ado, behold this, the culmination of LITERALLY MINUTES of minimal research, prejudiced viewpoints and naughty words:

	DENVER	BOISE	WINNER
EMPLOYMENT	Got a job.	Ain't got no job.	Denver
RELATIONSHIP STATUS	Ain't got no bitch.	Got a bitch.	Boi... Den... Boise.

	DENVER	BOISE	WINNER
RESIDENTS	Arrogant elitists that believe all non-Denverites are brain-dead yokels with more fingers than teeth.	Brain-dead yokels with more fingers than teeth.*	Tie
DARKIES	More of the kind that negatively affect property value (Black, Mexican).	More of the kind that don't affect property value (Indian, Chinese Japanese).**	Boise
POOFTAHS	True, a large gay community speaks of a clean and safe environment. It is also true that the exterior design of the whole town will match, using a delightfully subtle, yet spunky color palette. However, it can be disconcerting to be the recipient of countless whistles from large groups of sissified "men" EVERY TIME I TRY TO RIDE MY BIKE THROUGH THE GODDAMNED PARK.	No Pooftahs.	Tie
VOTING HABITS	Blue town, Red state.	Red town, Red state.	Denver
CHRISTIAN RADIO?	Yes	Yes	There are no winners in Christian radio.

*EDITOR'S GIRLFRIEND'S NOTE: This is a little harsh, don't you think? AND is not at all accurate, Boise clearly wins out here.
EDITOR'S NOTE: Whatever, you don't like it, make your OWN damn chart.

**You may be asking yourself, "Are there really that many Indians, Chinese and Japanese people in Boise?" In short, no, but listing "None" and still declaring Boise the winner would have sounded just a little bit racist.

	DENVER	BOISE	WINNER
EFFECTS OF ALTITUDE AND HUMIDITY ON LIFESTYLE	Failure to consume 8 pints of water after every blueberry daiquiri leads inevitably to suicide-inducing hangovers.	2 Grey Goose Presbytirians, 1 Captain and Coke and a shot of Jager lead to morning queasiness. No further research conducted, but outlook is good.	Boise
PROXIMITY TO MOUNTAINS	Further, more of a nuisance for skiing and snowboarding endeavors	Closer, more of a nuisance because of skiers and snowboarders.	Tie. Mountains are for aesthetic purposes only.
PROXIMITY TO CITIES OF VARYING REPUTE	Portland, OR - Far San Francisco, CA - Really far Vancouver, BC - Really incredibly fucking far Salt Lake City, UT - 534mi	Portland, OR - 430mi San Francisco, CA - 640mi Vancouver, BC - 638mi Salt Lake City, UT - Who cares? See above.*	Boise, Boise, Boise, and Boise.
ARYAN NATIONS COMPOUND WITHIN 250 MILES?	No	Yes	Denver
TIME ZONE	Mountain	Mountain	There are no winners in Mountain Time.

*To you Easterners, these distances may ALL seem extensive, but they're not, and you are wrong.

	DENVER	BOISE	WINNER
HOUSING PRICES	Standard refrigerator box runs at least $180,000.	Really nice refrigerator boxes available for around 4 dollars.	Boise
CAR REGISTRATION	Requires bank loan	Requires $35	Boise

	DENVER	BOISE	WINNER
BW-3?	Yes	No	Denver

	DENVER	BOISE	WINNER
FOOTBALL	Broncos tend to do well and are exciting to watch.	Broncos tend to do well and are exciting to watch.	Tie
MOST TALENTED MUSICAL ACTS TO PLAY AREA IN LAST 6 MONTHS	Gwar Clutch Fu Manchu Twelve Tribes	Rod Stewart	Denver
SPEAKING OF GWAR...	2 venues per tour	1 venue per tour	Denver

	DENVER	BOISE	WINNER
MOST INTERESTINGLY NAMED CONVENIENCE STORE	"King Soopers"	"The Gittin' Place"	Boise

And so there you have it, folks. By using a scoring system I completely made up, Boise, representing the Gem State, upsets the favourite, Denver, representing the... umm... Colorado, by a score of 10 to 6.

Eat that shit sandwich, Elway!

And I thought only my mother read this blog

2006-05-04T09:55:00.000-06:00

Sure it gets about 20 hits a day, but I thought she was just hitting refresh a lot, just to make me feel better. Thanks mum!

However, this is not the case. It is now clear to me that not only do I have countless adoring fans, my detractors are growing in number as well. I discovered this courtesy of my extremely popular segment, "Why I hate blogs", which has gone without refute for months. In this recurring piece, I have thus far cleverly lampooned 14 offenders, ranging from the laughably pointless to the… seriously pointless. This went largely without notice from the owners of the Blogger accounts I ridiculed, but as soon as I began tackling LiveJournal users (whom I accurately foretold as being "gargantuan attention whores") word got out, angry emails were sent, and even angrier comments were left.

This revelation looks better in a chart, using the powers of mathematics:

Blog host
Blogspot
Xanga
LiveJournal

Blogs lampooned
11
1
2

Whiners
1
0
2

Percent of Total
9%
0%
100%!

Let's take a look at one such moanfest, shall we? This particular debate stems from my critique of LJ user, and part-time vampire, "evilfuzzle". We're going to do this shit up Tony Tiger style, comment first, expert analysis second!

Patti said...
Their next post was the next day if not later that day, not 5 months later. (check calendar view) I think you've missed that there is a "friends only" option so that YOU are not seeing the posts that their "friended" people are seeing. (In other words, people can pick and choose who they want to be able to see what.)
As far as I know I do not know this person, but you really ought to keep your facts straight.
The people you are tearing apart may or may not be sharing a lot more to others than you can see.
(Maybe they aren't all that boring but they feel no need to share their stories with the world, or maybe they have a reason for what they’re saying that they would rather keep more private etc.)

Also, there are "info" pages that you seem to ignore.
This is your blog, and I really can't tell you what to put in here, but you should respect that other people use their journals for their own uses.

I'll give you all a moment so that your eyes may lower back to their regular position.

Their next post was the next day if not later that day, not 5 months later. (check calendar view)
Well, Patti, I checked something that vaguely resembled a calendar and it agreed that there were only five tedious posts. If there was another version of the calendar elsewhere, it's news to me; evilfuzzle took it upon himself to relabel such mundane links as "Most recent entries" and "Comment on this" with much "scarier" titles like "Fresh blood" and "Give me pain" (respectively). Since I don’t shop at Hot Topic, or cut my wrists open every time I get a C on my report card, I have no means to decipher the rest of this gibberish.

I think you've missed that there is a "friends only" option so that YOU are not seeing the posts that their "friended" people are seeing. (In other words, people can pick and choose who they want to be able to see what.)
...
The people you are tearing apart may or may not be sharing a lot more to others than you can see. (Maybe they aren't all that boring but they feel no need to share their stories with the world, or maybe they have a reason for what they're saying that they would rather keep more private etc.)
And therein lies the point I've been trying to make for WEEKS. This person clearly has what, eight, ten friends total (it can't be much more than that, considering all the rampant friend reduction - and everybody knows LJ users don’t have any real friends) – would it be so hard to just pick up the phone? Maybe send an email? Why subject the rest of God's green earth to this retardation? Is it to remind us what ingenious soliloquies the un-befriended masses are missing out on? If that's the case, I can name 6 billion people that don't care. Really, I can.

As far as I know I do not know this person, but you really ought to keep your facts straight.
Whatever, Patti… or should I call you AFTERTHOUGHT926? OK, so you pretty much gave it away in your last comment, but to my credit, I knew right away that your passive-aggressive whinging looked oddly familiar.

Also, there are "info" pages that you seem to ignore.
Yeah, I found it (finally) under the heading Twisted info. And I did discover one fact, to my horror; nobody with a two-digit age that begins with "3" should be carrying on like this. Oh, and by scrolling down I realised that apparently anything can be considered "art" if you make a rainbow out of it. Is that what I was supposed to be getting out of this?

This is your blog, and I really can't tell you what to put in here…
True, but you do provide me with plenty of material. And to think, today's post was going to be about me eating a piece of cardboard because I mistakenly assumed it was part of my sandwich!

…but you should respect that other people use their journals for their own uses.
No.

evilfuzzle and afterthought926 posing in this artist's rendition.

Playing tug of war with Cyclops

2006-05-08T08:55:00.000-06:00

No, really, playing tug of war with Cyclops.

Why I hate blogs: Reader submissions… with PRIZES!

It occurred to me the other day that I've spent so much of the last week or two rebutting previous WIHB entries, that I haven't bothered to find any new ones. So, dear readers, I'm placing this responsibility-laden task heavily on your shoulders.

All you need to do is find a particularly shitty blog (hosted by any service), write a very short summary of what you despise about it, and pass it along via IM or email (no comments on the blog itself, please). Contact details here.

IF YOUR ENTRY IS SELECTED, you will receive a $10 gift certificate - no, that's too much - a $5 gift certificate to some place awesome, like the grocery store.

If you do not wish to be credited for your discovery, let me know, and I will bear the agony of the ensuing hate mail. And speaking of (this is what we call a "segue", folks)…

More WIHB hatemail

It seems that LJ users were not the only ones to express concerns over my public mockery (they're just more proactive. And whinier). Velvet Mouth and her co-conspirator in sexual frustration, the Dawg, had plenty to say amongst themselves about my well-researched review of her "perverted nonsense" (she didn’t like that). However, rather than use the pinpoint accuracy of scientific analysis, as I chose to do, they went the baseless accusation/sweeping generalization route. Here is a summary of their findings:

My mother did not love me enough as a child
I am not accustomed to sexual union
I hate women who are not afraid to speak about their sexuality
(Apparently that’s the correct description of someone who takes umbrage with a married mother of small children displaying her creaky minge for the entire Internet’s perusal).
Anyone who links to Gwar's website from their blog is a "fucking idiot"

Those slanderous bastards! Only 3 of those 4 things are true, and they know it!

However, Velvet Mouth was kind enough to post a considerably more polite comment in this 'ere blog, ripe for the brain picking:

All I can say is everyone has the right to write about and like whatever they want! This is such a small part of my life, my blog is more like my diary, I am not looking for comments, and I cant help who reads it.
At least I am open minded enough to let people be. I dont have a blog dedicated to bashing other people's blogs !!
Thanks for taking the time to write about me though! :)
p.s. its called age play I didnt invent it.

Take a deep breath, count to ten, think about the nice places that you've been.

All I can say is everyone has the right to write about and like whatever they want!
You're absolutely right, Velvet Mouth, you have truly opened my eyes. I will now be deleting any entries on my blog that you don't like, because… oh wait.

my blog is more like my diary
Ah yes, a diary; a private haven for our deepest and most intimate thoughts and fantasies. Of course, when ever I have any of those, the first thing I do is put it on the Internet right next to a picture of my penis.

I am not looking for comments
You know, if you just wrote this crap down on paper, or perhaps typed it in a Word file and emailed it yourself, you wouldn't have to worry about ANY comments.

and I cant help who reads it.
Uh oh, Dawg! Looks like you're getting a bit of ye olde cold shoulder there!

At least I am open minded enough to let people be. I dont have a blog dedicated to bashing other people's blogs !!
Dedicated? Not at all, the WIHB segment is merely a bonus; my blog is actually dedicated solely to the pursuit of awesomity. Think of the blog as a yummy fruit tart from Denver's "The Market" restaurant:

"Why I hate blogs" is just the kiwis.

Thanks for taking the time to write about me though! :)
You're most welcome. You know, before I critiqued your blog, I generally dismissed WIHB entries with a sentence or two, sometimes even one word. But I really challenged myself to capture the essence of your blog, and fully explore what I hated about it. As a result, I've improved my critical writing skills tremendously. Perhaps it is I that should be thanking you.

p.s. its called age play I didnt invent it.
And the award for the "Lousiest Reason for Something Not Being Weird goes to…"
Seriously, just because Pee Wee Herman wasn't the first weirdo to jerk it in public, that doesn't make it any less gross.

And, in closing, a final thought from the Dawg:
"Yes I'm HORNY 24/7 women should make any man horny 24/7."
Yes, but some of us have, you know, jobs… hobbies… I'm more of a 16/5 man myself.

Rejected "Transformers: The Movie" concepts II

2006-04-28T08:49:00.000-06:00

Part I

This addition could have easily shaved a good 25 minutes off the end:

Yes I'm a nerd, yes part of me wishes I was still 7 years old, yes it is a testament to the power of miracles that a girl has ever let me touch her special place, yes FUCK YOU.

A short list of things that piss me off addendum

When I proclaimed my total and complete hatred of buzzwords way back when in A short list of things that piss me off Volume I, I arbritrarly selected "Extreme" and "Business Solution" as perhaps being the most irritating. So imagine my astonishment when someone directed me to this website:

http://www.teamebs.com

That's right, motherfucking EXTREME BUSINESS SOLUTIONS. The name conjures images of servers being delivered via kayak; if this were actually the case, EBS would be entitled to some forgiveness. Alas, the board must be comprised entirely of dullards (finally I get to use that word without legal recourse!), who randomly smooshed together the most popular buzzwords of the day to form the basis of a seemingly non-functional company.

Tools:
As your business partner, Extreme Business Solutions defines your requirements to clearly understand your project objectives and goals.

Case studies:
Once your objectives are understood, we will work with you to determine which combination of tools and services best meets your organization's unique requirements.

Let us spout meaningless bullshit at you in short sentences, so that even after spending 15 minutes of reading, you still have no better idea what our company does than you did before clicking this link!

Why I hate blogs

What is the measure of a person's worth? Financial success? Philanthropic endeavours? A notable genetic footprint on generations to come? No, those are all wrong. I'll tell you; the true measure of a person's worth is friend lists. The reason that non-LJ/Mypsace users will NEVER AMOUNT TO ANYTHING is because they cannot prove how popular they are by garnering support from huge numbers of other attention whores on the Internet. The importance of friend lists is SO great, it's a wonder that no one has dedicated their ENTIRE BLOG to strictly analyzing their own online support group.

Oh wait.

http://evilfuzzle.livejournal.com

Ordinarily I would just extract key posts from a blog for your viewing pleasure, but that seems to make some people upset, so I won't be doing that again until they aren't looking. Also this blog really lends itself to more of a summary format, as it's the spirit of the blog I'm trying to capture, not any particular mind-numbing post.

February 7th, 2005: Blog declared to be "Friends Only"
Did you catch that non-friends? You are not entitled to bear witness to the next post that won't appear until more than 5 months later.

July 30th, 2005: Friends cut round one
The blogging community eagerly anticipates the release of the finalised Sweet 16 list; mass suicides ensue at the news of elimination

September 9th, 2005: A twist!
People have been eliminating evilfuzzle from their friend lists! Evilfuzzle's ironclad grip on being the envy of LiveJournal is in jeopardy! Oh the humanity!!!

November 20th, 2005: Friends cut round… one?
After rightfully reclaiming his title, the remaining few with the coveted honour of residing comfortably on evilfuzzle's friend list wait with bated breath; alas, the news never arrives.

The best part of this compendium of drama-laced vanity is that it took more than 6 months to compile. Now THAT'S dedication to a cause.

Let us celebrate the birth of our Creator

2006-04-11T09:52:00.000-06:00

...who turns 27 today. To commemorate this momentous occasion, here is a picture of me being rude outside the Taj Mahal:

Look familiar? Perhaps you have already seen this image on page 307 of McGraw-Hill's bestseller, Living with Art (sixth edition):

Please note that although flipping the bird is the single most cliched pseudo-tough guy stance one can take when one has a camera pointed at him, it is perfectly acceptable when done in front of a sacred monument.

Why I hate blogs

I have drawn many a shitty blog from Blogspot and Xanga's random blog searches. However, the real takers of the shitty blog cake are the GARGANTUAN attention whores over at LiveJournal. With no search feature, and a friends-only screening process, LiveJournal users can ensure that their deepest, darkest and most pointless musings be kept completely secret. Except that they are on the Internet.

Let us begin this multi-part series, with a (noun deleted) by the name of Afterthought926. Afterthought's meandering accounts of day to day life make nutrition facts seem llike literary masterpieces. She (he? it? - it's hard to tell) includes the usual "prepare to be bored to tears by my empty life" fare, and semi-frequently dots this garbage with "I am so sad and depressed and I can't stop crying and the only thing that could possibly rescue me from this cruel sea of misery is if someone comments on my blog" entries.

And, since I couldn't bear to copy and paste entire entries of the first type (you'll thank me when you read her blog), here's a few repetititve non-standouts from the latter category, just to get you in the mood:

http://afterthought926.livejournal.com/
April 4th, 2006
Well isn't that just lovely.
I don't feel like I can say anything anymore.
Can't say or do anything.
(edited for gratuitous whining)
Things seemed good.
Now I'm back to crying.
I'm so sick of everything.

March 8th, 2006
I need to learn... to never think about anything... never get my hopes up... never plan.
Nothing ever works out...
Yesterday was my good day. (added edit: Actually just a few good parts.)
Shortly after I woke up today I ended up crying.
I have had plans in mind for a while... and many times I wanted to do them... but now that I soon might be able to I don't want to.
Timing sucks.
I'm just not in the best of moods.
Maybe things will work out... but right now everything is looking pretty hopeless.
Tears.

March 22nd, 2006
Concider me dead until further notice... (a few hours or never... I'm not sure.)

Done and DONE!

NOTE: This entry has been edited for viciousness, for I am a kindly and gracious ruler of this here blog.

Aetna are a bunch of Aesholes

2006-04-25T09:06:00.000-06:00

Allow me to open by saying that Aetna SUCKS. Not the stub your toe or lock your keys in the car sort of sucks, but the kind of sucks that takes years of practice in the fields of incompetence and wrongdoing. The kind of sucks that turns the 2001 San Francisco 49ers (12-4) into the 2004 San Francisco 49ers (2-14), and causes the governor of Ohio to reach approval ratings so low, the people at Gallup thought them to be mathematically impossible.

I discovered one spring morning last year, to my surprise, that my four offending wisdom teeth are handled by two different factions of my beloved ex-insurance company. Courtesy of the all-orangutan policy-writing department at Aetna, my top set of third molars was a PPO issue, and the lower "impacted" (legalese for "bullshit excuse to require two separate policies") set an HMO issue. This means that in order for Aetna to cover the removal of my bottom wisdom teeth, I had to get a referral from my DOCTOR, not my DENTIST. I doubt I'm the only one here that might question why someone whose finger spends more time jabbing prostates than gumlines should be qualified to make this decision.

To compound the problem, I made the mistake of calling my doctor that same afternoon and asking the receptionist for the names and numbers of oral surgeons covered by Aetna HMO. AND, as any good receptionist knows, all words that start with "ORTHO" are the same, and she kindly provided me a totally useless list of orthoPEDIC surgeons, and not orthoDONTIC surgeons. I say "useless" because unless there is some new minimally-invasive procedure that surgically removes wisdom teeth via the foot, these people served little or no purpose in my quest. I of course had this confirmed by speaking with EACH AND EVERY ONE OF THEM.

Anyway, the upshot of all of this was that I took that Friday off to take care of the top half of my oral dilemma. It was to be an epic extravaganza of valium, percoset and baby food. Typical Friday, really, except I usually eat Wendy's.

And even today, a year later, my other two wisdom teeth perodically hammer away at my gums. I have ankle surgery scheduled for next month; hopefully that will take care of the problem.

Movie subtitles we... I'd like to see

2006-04-21T13:45:00.000-06:00

The Lord of the Rings:

The Sea Inside:

The Elephant Man:

Why I hate blogs

More LJ fun on its way...

EDIT: Actually, no there's not. Something far more interesting and LJ-related is currently taking place. Details when I get around to it.

It's not our fault their stalls are roomier and have grips II

2006-04-17T15:08:00.000-06:00

Part I

Olscamp Hall, one of BGSU's less derelict edifices, has by far the nicest bathrooms on campus, even for regular people. The handicapped stall, however, is as roomy as a small office, with enough floor space to spread out an entire USA Today. With the mere twitch of the eye, you can discover who the Browns are going to lose to this week, how many dollars your USA Today stock plummeted yesterday, and what Ted Danson's favourite sandwich filling is. Also, something from the other section. Anyway, once you have created your own veritable news command centre, you are in no hurry to leave it behind.

My old roommate Yatty has the same penchant for handicapped amenities as I do. On one such occasion (during class when the bathrooms are nearly always empty anyway), he succumbed to the temptation of handicapped facilities. He claims he was there for no more than 10 minutes, but it is easy to lose track of time in such comfortable surroundings. As he emerged, knowledge base still littered on the stall floor, he saw that one particular bathroom patron was rather perturbed by Yatty's ability to walk. A bewheeled student had been waiting outside for some time, unable to utilise the otherwise vacant bathroom.

Yatty sheepishly and hurriedly exited the bathroom, and was subsequently scolded by his girlfriend and others. His only crime was that he sought comfort, and pursued intellect, more than one page at a time.

Man, handicapped people get all the luck.

Oh, and the very anti-climactic end to last week's diarrhollercoaster tale is that either God heard the prayers of a miserable amusement park enthusiast, or my barren stomach had nothing left to give; I felt much better within minutes, and the day proceeded without further incident or stains.

It's not our fault their stalls are roomier and have grips

2006-04-06T17:43:00.000-06:00

Cedar Point, as you may know, is the most awesome place on earth. Currently ranked the number 2 amusement park in the world (thanks to the accursed Japanese taking over the top spot), and a summer day there generally guarantees a solid 10 hours of merriment. That is unless, you’re me, and you foolishly got drunk the night before and consumed a large batch of extremely spicy wings at 2 o'clock that morning.

It was the year the Millennium Force opened. No ordinary rollercoaster, the Millennium Force boasts top speeds of 93mph from a staggering height of 310 feet. Being its first year, the lines were excruciatingly long; so numerous were the gathering hoards that there was even a line to get tickets that told you when to get in line.

My girlfriend, a handful of compatriots and I had been planning this trip for some time, and at 11am (somewhere between the ticket line and the ticket ticket line) the day's outlook was cheery to say the least. Then it struck. Actually, they all struck. Every single spicy wing I'd drunkenly consumed the night before began a swift march through my intestine, setting fire to things on the way. I incoherently mumbled something about my condition, and sprinted towards the nearest bathroom, which just happened to be in one of those old-timey saloon theme bars that no one goes to because why would you? This is CEDAR POINT. There are motherfucking ROLLERCOASTERS here. Anyway, I burst through the door, and saw that the only stall available was for handicapped people. This was of little consequence to me; I charged in and barely got my pants down before my sphincter let forth an unholy canon of semi-digested wings into the unassuming bowl below. It was fortunate for me that I had come upon a handicapped stall; the grips adjacent to the toilet prevented me from being propelled heavenward by the geyser erupting from below. I cried out in agony, gripping with all my might. Quickly crossing the pain threshold, I achieved a zen-like state, almost as though I were floating above the bathroom, watching a grenade go off in someone else's colon. And when the nightmare was finally over, I emerged a tired and beaten man. The bathroom was, not surprisingly, devoid of life.

Believe it or not, this lone event was not my most major concern; during my out of body experience, I concluded that if my delicate digestive state could not cope with idly standing in line, there was NO WAY I would make it through the physical trauma of the Millennium Force's first hill without shitting all over the goddamn place. As my inescapable fate gradually became clear, I wept, and actually prayed; something I have not done since, and had not done prior, save for an elementary school playground altercation with a bully.

Perhaps even worse than the prospect of soiling my trousers at 93mph was the knowledge that I would never, EVER, be able to live it down. I would be known as the "guy who shit himself on the Millennium Force" evermore, and any argument I made on any subject, no matter how compelling, could easily be countered by reminding me of this.

ME: Well, I think that you’re wrong about President Bush’s wild fiscal spending habits not having an effect on the national debt and the future ownership of this country’s assets.
DETRACTOR: Oh yeah? Well at least I didn’t crap my pants on a rollercoaster! Haha!
(wins argument, high-fives everyone)

To be continued…

Wondering what exactly the point of this story was? Why, the importance of handicapped bathrooms of course! Join us next week for the exciting conclusion of "It's not our fault their stalls are roomier and have grips"!

Infant nerdwear

2006-04-03T11:50:00.000-06:00

I am currently in the process of making/buying/renting a child so that it can adorn these bibs with great pride.

NOTE: If you get both of these references, there's a good chance you spent your teens reenacting episodes of "Star Trek" with your high school "friends".

Why I hate blogs

Velvet Mouth is an affront to the blogging community on many levels. Generally, her entries are almost indentical lonely housewife fare:

http://velvetmouth.blogspot.com/
March 14th 2006
My mind and body are always thinking of getting fucked..And I am in a sexless marriage..What's a girl to do? Masturbate! LOL

March 15th 2006
Is it me or wouldn't most husbands like that? wouldn't they want a dirty girl with a sweet tight bare p*ssy anytime they want? The idea of having my legs spread and being used is so fucking hot!!

March 17th 2006
if he would just get his head out of his ass long enough to realize he has a beautiful p*ssy just for him, we would all be happier

March 22nd 2006
I was reading some stories today, and had to hump my pillow really fast before I picked up my son from school, no time for my toy, it was a great cum...

YES THANK YOU WE GET IT. I'm just glad she finally found satisfaction from her pillow.

Interspersed among these repetitive tales of sexual frustration, Velvet Mouth reveals that she would like to be screwed by someone pretending she is a small child (What the FUCK):

March 21, 2006
How about you are 24 and I am 8. And I get to spend the weekends with you. And this is the first weekend you are going to get it in. No more trying. Or being scared. You have been watching me grow up. And you know how much I love you, and how good I feel when you touch me…

That's as far into child pornography as I'm willing to delve, you'll have to read the rest yourself.

This entire barrage of perverted nonsense is interrupted occasionally by television reviews that make Entertainment Weekly seem like The New Yorker by comparison:

March 23, 2006
LOST was really good. I love how Henry gale may have tricked them into an ambush..Very smart!! It was so good..

Well, thanks for that. I can cancel my Tivo subscription now.

Perhaps the only enjoyable aspect of this blog is that she has but one regular reader, a poor horny bastard by the name of "the dawg". He comments on nearly every entry, not only revealing his crude intentions, but also his abject desperation for companionship.

Lastly, Velvet Mouth has kindly included a picture of her vagina for the world to see, just in case we didn't know what she was babbling about four times a day. Oh joy.

EDIT: According to today's entry, two Craigslist users have already been ridiculing her and her trash blog.

DAMNIT, I WANTED TO BE FIRST

Tony Tiger: part the third

2006-03-30T09:59:00.000-07:00

Chapter 1
Chapter 2

Chapter 3: I tell you I am no bumb!

Oh Tony Tiger, you are truly the gift that keeps on unintenionally giving. Behold, the third unsolicited email from our faviort (sic) semi-coherent dating aficionado.

This is what i am what i do...

I am looking for a relationship in my life I am sick of being alone and nothing to share my fellings with or just to hang out. I am looking for a girl is honest sunsire and careing.. And Trustfull well any ways... I am a very out going person and I am very sweet loveing guy.. I live the city called broomfeild. I like rap and r&b and slow music with a girl. I like to dance and like to dirty dance too... I like action and comdy movies and romatic movies with a girl I like scare ones too.. I like basketball and vollyball and track and swimming and love softball and... I like camping and rideing my bike.. My faviort color is blue and My second color is red because it is a shape of a heart... it is a sing of love... I am a open mind person and I am very romance too. I am easy guy to get along with... And I work at larry air forece base I work for ground mantince and I pick up trash and mow lawns and just do what ever to get the job done... And I am saveing money for my car too soo I am tell you I am no bumb!!

Let's discuss!

I am looking for a relationship in my life I am sick of being alone and nothing to share my fellings with or just to hang out.
This is particularly interesting, because in his initial correspondance, he wrote just the opposite - "I hate being alone no body to love me or share my fellings with.. or hang out with or do things ..." Oh wait, not "opposite". What is the word...

I am looking for a girl is honest sunsire and careing..
People are always commenting on my honest sunsirity.

I like to dance and like to dirty dance too...
Aha! Now I must know more about this "drity dancing" because they are clearly two different things.

...and slow music with a girl
...and romatic movies with a girl
So an evening at the "Manhole Bar & Grill" and an all-night gay porn movie festival is out then, I take it?

I like basketball and vollyball and track and swimming and love softball and... I like camping and rideing my bike..
Breathe, Tony, Breeeathe... You have plenty of time to list every activity you can almost spell.

My faviort color is blue and My second color is red because it is a shape of a heart... it is a sing of love...
Somehow, Tony managed to repeat sentiments in his first email and make even less sense, which is truly a feat. Red is a shape? A sing of love? Be warned, typing that exact sentence into Microsoft Word and doing a spelling and grammar check will crash your machine and set fire to your office.

And I work at larry air forece base
This comment really threw me at first. Earlier he mentions living in Broomfield, CO, a town I am quite familiar with, and I can attest that there is no "Larry Air Force Base" (considering that Tony Tiger commutes to work on a bicycle, I didn't bother searching too far outside of city limits). Could it be that Tony Tiger was a fraud, and I was the victim of an Internet prank, and not the perpertrator, as I had originally thought? Not so. The Air Force Base in question is "Lowery", and the poor bastard doesn't even know the name of his own employer. Of course, it's hilarious to think that he pedals by that sign every morning, thinking it says "Larry". Perhaps one day he will be promoted to head of ground mantince (see below), and once he has fulfilled his destiny of owning a car, could even transfer to "Steve's Air Force Academy" or "Bob's House of Coast Guard".

I work for ground mantince
Don't worry Tony, you're not alone! A routine Google search determined that 352 other mental midgets think that this is how you spell "maintenance"!

...soo I am tell you I am no bumb!!
No one, and I mean NO ONE, has EVER accused you of being a, you know... "bumb".

Sadly, there is but one last chapter in the Tony Tiger saga, in which rather than parade his own pathetic agenda, Tony turns the tables on Heather! Prepare your fun receptors for "Chapter 4: This is my qustion on woman!!!" coming your way whenever the hell I feel like it!

FUCKING

2006-03-27T19:28:00.000-07:00

Clearly, the station's actual call letters, "XTSY", were not explicit enough for this Los Angeles motel owner.

Why I hate blogs

It is a concern of mine that the broadening acceptance of AOL speak is systematically dumbing down our youth. Even I, however, had not realised the levels to which written skill amongst our teens had sunk until I came across this idiocy, which is an apparent slanderous attack on one "Alex" and a subsequent signoff:

http://llamahotline.blogspot.com/
March 15th, 2006
MOO HOO HA HA HA!!!!!! UUUUUUU SUUUUUCK!!!! HA HA HA HA!! HE HE HE! TEE HOO HA HEE HO!!!! la la la la la lala...... YOU r so DUUUMB!!!!
there. all better. : )

cya later chicas pals amigos bellas! whatever. BYE!

~ mmmmmiiiiiiiaaaaaaaaa LOL (lots of love)
x3 x3 x3 x3 x3 x3 x3 x3 x3 x3 x3 x3 x3 x3 x3 x3

Take that Alex! Take that Webster! Take that entire English language!

Nin and the night of 1000 alcohol-related crimes II

2006-03-23T09:41:00.000-07:00

HALT! This won't make any sense until you read Part I (and maybe not even then).

The three of us sat in absolute silence, straining to hear the sobriety tests taking place behind the car. Occasionally we could make out the officer shouting things along the lines of,
"Do you understand what I'm telling you to do, Eric?!"
At last we heard a dull thud, as Nin was pushed up against the back of his Blazer, and the unmistakable series of clicks that can only signify the adorning of handcuffs.
"Oh", I thought, "So that’s his real name."

Moments later, the darkness was penetrated by a bright flashlight inches from my face. I maintain that there is no sobriety catalyst quite like a cop's flashlight. Coffee, water, cold shower, nothing. In that split-second I went from maybe being able to tie my shoe, to being able to recite the Gettysburg address and tie my shoe at the same time.

The cop collected our IDs and read them into his radio while standing by the car. When his dispatcher told him of Pantera Dave's earlier doings, he chuckled.
"Looks like one of you has already been in some trouble tonight", he laughed.
Since Pantera Dave was sitting behind me, I could only imagine the look of contempt on his face, but I'm sure that it was there.

In a surprising moment of compassion, the officer let the three of us go. He asked if any of us were capable of getting Nin's Blazer home for him (we were now no more than a 1/2 mile away), to which we replied "Fuck no" in the politest way possible. We had seen enough action for one night, and Nin wouldn't need it anyway; he was being escorted downtown, and not expected to drive.

So we walked, and counted our blessings all the way. Being 21, KC carried what was left of our beer (which was apparently more important than Nin or his car), and arrived home shortly thereafter.

The evening's revelry picked up where it left off at Kamikaze's; there were many roommates and guests to share our adventure with. Even Pantera Dave was beginning to see the humour by retelling recent events, despite his mood following his apprehension.

Eventually the phone rang, and we were informed by the police that someone would have to pick up Nin, lest he spend the night in jail. This proved to be a dilemma for the house, because basically, none of us really cared if he spent the night in jail or not.

Enter Darren. Darren was our neighbour, and a good friend of Nin's. He was also blind drunk. He admonished us for not being willing to assist our roommate, and proclaimed that he would rescue Nin from a night in the slammer. Not receiving any real resistance from anyone, off he went.

Time passed. An unusually long amount of time, in fact; long enough that those who remained at the house began wondering where Darren and Nin might be, then stopped wondering, and ultimately forgetting about either of them.

Presently, the phone rang again. My roommate Superdave answered.
"Hello?"
I could tell by his initial reaction that it was a phone call of a formal nature. Almost immediately, however, he started giggling uncontrollably. By the time he hung up, the hilarity had amassed quite a curious audience.
"OK," he began, trying to compose himself, "Now someone has to go pick up the guy who went to pick up Nin."

Apparently, Darren had rear-ended someone at a red light on his way to the police station, and now he too was in custody.

As hilarious as all this was, we realised that any of us that attempted to retrieve those two from jail would be picked off one by one. The police knew what our little corner of Campbell Hill Apartments was capable of, and were counting on our bravery to net the city a few thousand dollars each in the form of DUIs.

Luckily, we did have one sober roommate, who had been peacefully sleeping throughout this entire ordeal. He remained surprisingly patient as we painstakingly recounted the evening’s events to him, and he and his girlfriend, Jody, drowsily set off towards the police station. They returned just minutes later, with a back seat full of criminals.

Upon their arrival, Jay and Jody went right back to bed, and Nin and Darren had quite an exchange of drunken words outside. What exactly was said, I'll never know, but they could be heard through a heavy glass door that routinely silenced helicopters, low-flying aircraft and tornado sirens. Eventually Nin stormed into the house, and without a word, skulked off to bed.

The night was finally winding down, and the excitement seemed to be over. Superdave had had a few friends over himself, and as they drifted towards the door, his friend Angie leaned over and belched into a semi-conscious Pantera Dave's ear. He passed out in his chair shortly thereafter.

It wasn't until the next morning that Pantera Dave realised that fate had one last "Fuck you" in store for him. Angie had not only belched in his ear, but also unknowingly vomited a little into his hoodie.

He had slept with his face buried in it all night.

Nin and the night of 1000 alcohol-related crimes

2006-03-20T10:01:00.000-07:00

Kamikaze's is one of Bowling Green's more underage-friendly drinking establishments. In fact, considering the bar's clientele, horrendous music and disco lighting, it's safe to say that Kamikaze's is populated solely by underage drinkers, with just a sprinkling of perverted elderly men. Under 21's are branded with a felt-tip "X" on each hand, which they then proceed to wash off immediately in the bathroom, if they haven't licked them off on the way there. Kamikaze's bouncers occasionally take steps to prevent this, but tend to be lenient, not wanting to see their livelihoods diminish and be forced to return to whatever other menial labour it is that bouncers can do.

On this warm mid-September evening (still months away from my 21st birthday), I was enjoying my premature alcohol fix on the patio at Kamikaze's rear. I was joined by Pantera Dave (also underage), my of-age roommates KC and Nin, the latter also serving as our designated driver. He was not with us on the patio, instead opting to make public nuisance of himself inside.

I mentioned that Kamikaze's bouncers tend to be lenient of underage consumption, but unfortunately, that night was not such an occasion. Courtesy of Pantera Dave's obliviousness to nearby staff, it didn't take long for him to be kicked out. This does little to deter a young drunkard however, and we continued to feed him drinks through the patio fence. He seemed content to stand in the adjoining alleyway, as long as there was a steady supply of beer.

And then the slippery downward slope of the evening began. Two police officers happened to be strolling down the alley, and immediately caught sight of Pantera Dave. I turned quickly to warn him, but he was already half walking and half running in the opposite direction. This was a hilarious sight to behold, as Pantera Dave is a lazy man, quite possibly the laziest in Wood County. To see him actually hurry was like watching the awkward bipedal motion of a speeding collard lizard.

The alley ends in a gas station parking lot, and as soon as he thought he was invisible to the cops, he hurled his half-full beer cup several yards. It was to no avail, however; he wasn’t fooling the long arm of the law, and was charged with open container and underage possession.

With one man out of Kamikaze’s for good, he, KC and I decided that it was probably time to leave. We just had to locate Nin (nicknamed such after an eighth-grade Trent Reznor obsession), who was currently doing weird Nin things within the bar. He had this tendency to spend his drunken evenings (read: all his evenings) in public by following this exact schedule:

Select a girl.
Stare at her intently for several minutes, if not hours.
Invent in his mind conversations, subsequent interest, and a confession of love between the two of them, and assume they were going home together.
Get upset when selected girl left with her friends/another man because in all likelihood, she wasn’t even aware that Nin was standing there.

This evening not being atypical, by the time we found him, he was already raving about some bitch he was "about to hook up with" that had left with another man (presumably her boyfriend, whom she arrived with). For some reason, having a drunk, angry person drive us home was preferable to walking, so we convinced him that she wasn’t coming back, and it was, in fact, time to leave.

We did so. I drunkenly clambered into the passenger seat of Nin's blazer, KC and Pantera Dave, still pissed about his ticket, sat in the back.

We had already begun our voyage home when it occurred to me that having Nin drive may have been a mistake. Still ranting and raving, he sped us down Wooster Street, one of BG's two main roads. I quickly spotted a police car, waiting specifically for shitty drunken drivers, as they often did at that time on Friday nights. I brought this to Nin's attention, not realizing that he would react by accelerating, instead of slowing down, and then scream "COME GET ME, BITCH!" out my window.

A fellow motorist chose that inopportune moment to pull out somewhat aggressively in front of Nin. Even madder, Nin leaned on his horn and accelerated further, until we were mere inches behind the intruding vehicle, and still honking wildly. All this in plain view of the police car, of course, which pulled out and began following us.

Over the next mile, Nin forgot that he was angry at the driver in front of us, but continued to yell about a variety of topics. He also continued to drive like a retarded blind person, sometimes drifting toward oncoming traffic, and sometimes hitting the curb on my side of the car. I assured Nin that he could shout all he wanted, as long as he looked at the road while he did it, instead of at me. Every few seconds, I glanced in my side mirror, hoping that if the police car was going to pull us over, he would just get on with it. I knew there would be repercussions if we got caught, but those repercussions seemed preferable to those that Nin was careening us into.

For some reason, Nin decided to take us home a new way (I'm sure he wasn't even aware of the cop at this point), and took a wide right turn down a side street. This was no regular wide turn, however; this was the sort of turn that semi trucks make, just at speed. I can't recall for sure, but I'm almost certain a few pedestrians had to dive for safety. The cop, of course, followed, and finally, FINALLY, turned on his lights. Nin, in a rare moment of sound judgment, pulled over.

I remember the Blazer being very quiet as the officer approached; the three passengers weren't saying anything, and Nin had finally run out of things to gripe about. The cop tapped the driver's side window, which Nin had not yet bothered to roll down. Nin obliged him by opening it just a crack.

After being provided with license and registration, the officer asked the fateful question,
"How much have you had to drink tonight, sir?"
"Two beers", Nin slurred, although the way he said it made it seem like there were more K's and G's in that phrase than normal.
"Step out of the car please."

Goddamn, this story is long! Watch for "Nin and the night of 1000 alcohol-related crimes: the conclusion", coming soon. No, really, soon. I'm not going to fuck around with this the way I do with monthly Tony Tiger updates.

Kitty turns 9 today

2006-03-17T07:27:00.001-07:00

Yay Kitty

A short list of things that piss me off II, addendum
Having just had my hair cut, I remembered a conversational no-no that has plagued me every couple of months since I was but a wee lad. There are always a certain number of schoolmates/coworkers who can't wait to point out to me that I've had a trim. I wouldn't mind comments like, "Your hair looks nice" or "You look like your dad had a go at you with the lawnmower", what bothers me is:

IDIOT: Ooh, you just got your haircut!
ME: ......

These bastards NEVER offer an opinion on how I look, mind you, they just want to make sure that I know that they know I've had a haircut; something anybody who isn't legally blind could easily detect from 50 feet away. And I am stumped every time, because in all my years, I have yet to come up with an adequately sarcastic reply. I can't even respond with something simple, like "I see you're fat and ugly today", because at least that statement comes with a viewpoint.

Fun with math

2006-03-14T15:34:00.000-07:00

Gary Coleman...

... plus Beetlejuice...

... equals Spike Lee.

Why I hate blogs

See if you notice a pattern in the responses to the following posts:

http://gamermusketeers.blogspot.com/
February 28th, 2006
i will put comics that are drawn by me or my friends here
0 comments

February 27th, 2006
well look for updates frequently
0 comments

PLEASE COMMENT!!!
0 comments

here i post important crapo
0 comments

this is where i will put stuff for halo 1,2and wuteverelse comes out
0 comments

well now here we have the xbox post like new games ratings and other stuff
0 comments

If there's one thing that I hate more than worthless posts on the Internet, it's PLACEHOLDERS for worthless posts on the Internet. But since I am of a generous breed, Kyle, behold; your shitty blog is devoid of comments no more.

Look at the queers

2006-03-10T11:33:00.000-07:00

Long-time readers of The Basterd Files, and new readers with access to the archive (read: all of you) will recognize the tale that I'm about to unfold. It’s almost exactly the same as my first anecdote, Look at the Jews, just with a few different nouns here and there.

I understand that some of you may feel cheated by this blatant material-recycling. If so, here are the pertinent setting and character changes for today's narrative, so that you may recreate the story in your mind without having to read seven paragraphs of the same shit:

Jews : queers
An airport : a gay bar
Travis's brother : Julia Gulia
Travis's dad : Coltrane
Travis : Me

And now, onto the meat:

Courtesy of one particular manager's preferences, Wendy's continuously hired a disproportionate number of gay people. So many, in fact, that there were certain evening shifts I felt that I was intruding on a parade more than running the grill.

Of course, being no bigot, I didn't really care, and actually preferred their company to the usual trash that strolled into the kitchen area stinking of cheap cigarettes and cow shit. One of the gay elite, Josh, was even a pageant-winning drag queen. You could tell too; he made every sandwich and took every order with the elegance, poise and limp-wrist that only a homosexual of his standing in the gay community could do.

One Tuesday evening he invited a few co-workers to Uptown, the local gay-friendly watering hole, for a weekly drag show. We happily complied, and in typical fashion, got drunk and stoned to the bejesus bells to make the impending surreality even more entertaining. I, also in typical fashion, completely overdid it, and by the time we got to the bar I had less of an "Oh this is cool, I’ve got a decent buzz, I like the lighting, the music’s not bad, the people here are interesting, I wonder what Josh is going to look like" experience, and went straight into more of a "OH MY GOD IT'S DARK AND WHAT LITTLE STROBELIGHT THERE IS IS TERRIFYING AND THIS MUSIC IS TOO LOUD AND WHY ARE ALL THESE STRANGE PEOPLE STARING AT ME PLEASE GET ME OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW AAAAAARGH" shock.

After a short while, my discomfort subsided, but my bemusement did not. I couldn't help but stare at each of the men dressed as Vegas showgirls and women dressed as construction workers as they passed; and they weren’t even the performers, they were just attendees. Every now and then, a transvestite adorned in heaps of feathers, sequins and clown makeup would walk by, thus adding to the carnival-like nature of the evening.

At one point I found our small group completely surrounded by these fantastically weird-looking people. I leaned over to Julia covertly, and whispered, “Look at the queers”. She gave only a dumbfounded stare, and so of course, I repeated myself in a harsher whisper. You already know where this is going.

I glanced up and caught the gaze (gays, hurr) of my friend Coltrane. The look on his face was that of an ashamed parent, whose child had just been naughty in public. My realization that I wasn't whispering at all, but actually screaming "LOOK AT THE QUEERS" at the top of my lungs, came from the fact that he had heard my declaration from a full three rows in front of me. In a noisy dance club.

The queers in question may or may not have been offended, I’ll never know. I was fucked up and already babbling about something else within seconds.

Drunk? Don't tell jokes

2006-03-06T12:45:00.000-07:00

(click to enlarge)

Why I hate blogs

Background: noun
1) A position or area of relative inconspicuousness or unimportance.

http://revont.blogspot.com/

Stare at this blog for about 60 seconds, and then look at the wall. Yeah, it's going to do that for a few minutes.

Drunk? Don't drive (unless you've got something important to do)

2006-03-02T18:48:00.000-07:00

It stays light late on summer nights in Bowling Green, Ohio; it's one of the perks of living on the western edge of Eastern time. Near the summer solstice, the sun will not set until around nine pm, which makes for some lengthy end of school year alcohol extravaganzas. On one such day of revelry, at the conclusion of my sophomore year, I spent much of the afternoon annihilating my motor skills on BG's south end. I was vaguely aware that this put me in an awkward position; at some point I'd have to drive to the other side of town for further celebrations. Ordinarily, in my befuddled state, I would have probably just said "fuck it" and stayed put, but it was a journey that had to be made. Why? There was a certain fine piece of ass on the other side of town, and I wasn't about to miss out on it.

I said my goodbyes, assured everyone that I was, in fact, "Cool to drive" and stumbled my way out the front door. My friend James stood amused on the front porch as I drunkenly assessed my surroundings. It was now past ten and quite dark. After some disorientation, I located my car and engaged in the final staggerings necessary to commence this perilous quest.

I flopped into the driver's seat and took a deep breath, repeatedly whispering to myself, "You can do this". Already, the entire vehicle was beginning to reek of Coors Light and rum, so I popped 3 or 4 pieces of wintermint gum into my mouth and rolled down all four windows. I started the car, fastened my seatbelt, turned the radio off (so as not to be distracted) and grabbed the steering wheel firmly, at precisely ten and two. There I sat for a few moments, practicing the entire route in my mind, over and over, the way an Olympic bobsledder might prior to his final run. Eventually, realizing that I had mustered all the confidence that I was ever going to, I signaled, pulled out and plunged into the night.

James' lone voice rang out in the darkness.
"Turn your fucking lights on!"

We here at the Basterd Files do not condone this sort of behaviour, but we do agree that it can be tremendously funny.

Dear "That's My Bush"...

2006-02-26T21:08:00.000-07:00

Oh, how great you could have been.

Why I hate blogs

After literally minutes of scouring the Internet, I think I have finally discovered the Antibasterd. The poor sod in question is one Matthew Reynolds of Knoxville, Tennessee, a devoted young Christian eager to discover God's plan for him. Here's what he had to say about God's plan for... blogs?

http://vfc-freshman.blogspot.com/
February 9th, 2006
Blogs are for honoring. I am now convinced of that. Examples: Joanna honoring CJ Mahaney, Kevin's honoring of Jill, Jenn, Craig, and Adam (kinda), Leslie honoring Laura, Leslie honoring herself through Cap's blog, Jill honoring someone every other post, and so on and so on. After thinking about that I am convinced that I need to honor someone. Actually, I'll make it a habit.

Oh Matthew, you silly person. Blogs are for ridicule and hurting people's feelings! Also, here's Matthew demonstrating his unique skill with the ladies:

February 13th, 2006
Thanks to any girls reading this (and those that aren't). You all are a gift from God. Seriously, we don't just say that because it's that time of year again. We admire your Godliness. We respect your humility in serving and your desire to grow in Godliness. I think it's amazing to see girls that won't let anything come between them and serving and loving the Lord. I am amazed at God's work in your lives. God has really been faithful to give us amazing, Godly, and humble sisters. Be encouraged! God is working in your lives. We see it all the time!

Whatever happened to more simple pickup lines, such as "Do your pants have mirrors?" I was under the impression that those still worked. And finally, it's been a long time since I've dabbled in poetry, but I'm certain this ode he wrote to his friend is utter shit:

February 16th, 2006
John Mason is really cool
Even When he plays pool
He can be kinda nice
With all that hair he must have lice
John Mason can me really mean
At least he keeps it clean

I highly suggest you visit his blog for more of his innocuous views on existence. Hell, if I had a heart, I'd probably feel bad for the poor fuck.

The Basterd Files will be on hiatus until Thursday of this week, as business has me travelling to Goddamned Dallas for three Goddamned days. Matthew, don't read that last sentence.

Tony Tiger II

2006-02-22T21:29:00.000-07:00

First, allow me to apologise for the delay in this post. I have been preoccupied with a low fever and a leaky bum.

Chapter I

Chapter 2: I would take you to the park and flod out a blekent

It would be unfair to claim that everyone was on board with my original scheme. One of my detractors was my roommate, the lovely Mrs. Dunstein. An epitome of kindness and civility, she felt that my womanly masqueradings were inappropriate, regardless of the severity of my intentions. However, after being read aloud the first of Tony Tiger's odes to the English language, she at least saw the value in the bi-product of my plan, however unintentional.

And then, a few days later, and without any provocation, I received this:

this is my dream date... this i would do treat you like a queen...

I would pick you up at your house give you a single rose and a box of candy and give you a kiss and then i would open the door for you the car and the house...And then ever time is red light i want to kiss you intill the light turns green and then i would take you to a restruant and it will be a candle light dinner and a wine bolt for you and me.. and I would buy you any thing on the menu and then I would take you to the dance floor and dance with you.. if you dont how to dance I would show you hot too I am a very good dancer and I like to drity dance.. then I would take you to the movies and buy you pop and some popcorn and then if you want some candy I would buy it for you too.. and then you and me cudle and watch a movie and then you and me hold hands and cudle and kiss if you dont like the movie I would make out with you the whole movie.. And then after that I would take you to the park and flod out a blekent for you and me and put some romance music on and then you and me cudle and hold hands and just lok at the stars and kiss.. if you want to go more then that i would let you do the first step I am a true gentel man.. And then I would take you home and give you a night kiss I would say can I have another date with you again?

that is me did you like it?

Items for discussion:

I would pick you up at your house
Bear in mind, this is the man who informed me not three days prior that he was "trying to save a car and aww that stuff". I can only assume that I would be treated like a queen that happens to be perched on the handlebars of a Huffy ten speed.

i would open the door for you the car and the house
I don’t think the car, house and I are all going to fit.

ever time is red light i want to kiss you intill the light turns green
I can picture an eternity spent kissing at a stop sign as he patiently waits for it to change colour.

… and a wine bolt for you and me
I think I have a few of those in my toolbox.

I am a very good dancer and I like to drity dance..
I am now convinced that "drity dancing" is something the kids do these days, and not a misspelling at all. Either that, or he's very consistent with his idiocy.

and then you and me cudle and watch a movie
Movie, perhaps. But I don't cudle, not on a first date.

if you dont like the movie I would make out with you the whole movie
It's suggestions like this that would cause me to force a smile for the duration of "Big Momma’s House 2".

I would take you to the park… and then you and me cudle and hold hands and just lok at the stars and kiss.. if you want to go more then that i would let you do the first step
What first date is complete without being fucked in the park? Tony Tiger, you truly are a gentleman.

Next time, a considerably more desperate Tony Tiger reaffirms his feelings for Heather, expands his list of interests, and spells his place of employment wrong! Don’t miss "Chapter 3: I tell you I am no bumb!"

Social and historical tragedies... for kids!

2006-02-18T11:12:00.000-07:00

(click images to enlarge)

Why I hate blogs

"Yes, I'm here about the business plan."
http://abusinessplan4u.blogspot.com/
"Oh. I see."

Seriously, what the fuck? This shit has been going on for OVER THREE MONTHS.

Occasions on which spousal abuse is appropriate

2006-02-15T12:00:00.000-07:00

... or "He did say medium".

Many people do not know this, but Bowling Green, Ohio (the small college town in which I spent my teens and the hazier part of my twenties) is proud home to the National Tractor Pulling Championships. Of course, if you can read the words on this page, you would have no reason to know that.

Tractor pull weekend was always the most exciting time to be a Wendy's employee, especially since it often coincided with college move-in weekend. For three consecutive days, the restaurant overflowed with drooling hillbillies and confused, miserable, eighteen year-olds.

But let us forget about those at least attempting higher education for the moment, and focus on the real spectacles of this 72-hour nightmare; the tractor pull fans. Hour after hour, families of inbred stereotypes poured through the door and demanded to be fed in their most sophisticated series of grunts. The sheer number of morbidly obese, barking mothers, waif-like, indentured fathers, 16 year-old girls cradling the youngest of their own offspring, comically retarded-looking elderly (sunglasses with one lens missing and completely mismatched shoes and socks) and a myriad filthy children polluting our dining area was truly mindblowing. But it did make for some smashing stories when I got home from work each day.

During a rare slow period one afternoon, I took the opportunity to make sense of the dining room, which, courtesy of the devolved nature of our guests, had been transformed into a cluster of abandoned zoo cages. Glancing out the window, I noticed a rusty heap careen into the parking lot, supported on tires approximately the height of my garage.
"Georgia plates", I thought to myself. "Awesome".

As I made my way back to the register, in walked a couple of ridiculously stereotypical mouth-breathing types. The husband was a monster of a man; a 6' 5" , long-haired, biker-mustachioed, oily, boot-stompin', shit-kickin', what-r-u-lookin-at-fagit monster. The wife, probably in her mid-thirties, was petite, yet sassy, and dressed like a particularly slutty teenager. I awaited the worst.

Surprisingly, the majority of their meal was ordered without incident. Then we approached the topic of dessert, and everything changed.

"…and a medium Frosty", the barbarian declared in a deep, sinister voice.
"Make it a large", interposed his wife, eyebrow cocked and head tilted in such a way as to demonstrate she meant business.
My finger hovered over the two buttons. This is precisely the sort of dispute I didn’t want to have to deal with. I glanced up at the husband, and detected no desire to compromise.
"I said medium." He stared at me coldly, as Death himself might, before relieving me of my very breath with his bony hand.
"Laaarge", the woman, half whined, half-shouted. At this point, she almost had my admiration, as I wouldn’t think of disagreeing with this brute unless it was in a whisper, and from hundreds of miles away.

And then it all turned ugly. Without hesitation, he struck her squarely in the middle of the back with the heel of his hand. Probably not hard enough to cause any lasting damage, but hard enough to thrust her forward a foot or two, and cry out from the pain.

At that moment, the temperature in the restaurant dropped a good thirty degrees, and the ensuing silence was more ominous than most.
"I said medium."
Although he had just repeated this phrase (this time in even lower tones), there was a certain finality in his voice. The size of the Frosty was no longer open for discussion.

"Medium it is, then!", I nervously quipped, and scurried away to the Frosty machine.

That was the last tractor pull weekend I agreed to work.

Rush Limbaugh masturbating

2006-02-13T11:55:00.000-07:00

Consider the following:
http://www.worldaheadpublishing.com/helpMom/index.php

The above image is, unfortunately, not Photoshopped. It is the cover to a children's book by which ultra-conservative parents can pound their agenda directly into their offspring's skulls at an alarmingly young age. Obviously one shouldn't wait until the kids are old enough to formulate their own opinions; that would be dangerous.

A certain loudmouthed, neocon drug addict had this praise for the book:

"Our hat is off, here, to Katharine DeBrecht, the author of Help! Mom! There Are Liberals Under My Bed."
- Rush Limbaugh

"Our hat", indeed. His words are only so kind because the second book in the series is dedicated to him:

The 5 H's of Denver driving, addendum
A reader mentioned recently that since my analysis of the driving habits of homosexuals in The 5 H's of Denver driving was so positive, there was no real point in including them at all. Let me assure you, dear reader, that my deep respect for their vehicluar skills ends in a little place called Cheesman Park. A notorious gay pick-up area, these drivers are so concerned with the scenery and finding a bush to get a good blowjob in, it tends to make them less wary of other, heterosexual travellers. Yes, I know that's EXACTLY the purpose of Cheesman Park, but when you live there, it can be really fucking annoying.

Why I hate blogs
There are two possible locations for this information, but only one is correct. Your options are A) a small, rectangular slip of paper, known as a "receipt", and B) the Internet. Let's take a look at an example of someone who got this question wrong.

http://searchingfortheendofmyrainbow.blogspot.com/
January 29th, 2006
As promised my Sainsburys bill – although not as many bargains this week unfortunately

£15.58 was actually £17.58 but I had a £2 off voucher
8 chicken pies (my fave) – buy 1 get 1 free
lasagne sheets
pearl barley (for soups and casseroles)
matches (for candles and incense sticks)
2 bars plain chocolate (for banana and chocolate cake)
goats cheese
iceberg lettuce
2 pints milk
2 pack butter (for cakes)
can artichoke hearts
8 yoghurts (half price)
brown cap mushrooms
button mushrooms
bag of apples
12 toilet rolls (at £3.99 the biggest expense this week)
Also made 1 loaf of bread, 1 chocolate and banana cake (to freeze slices for work) and 1 almond and cherry cake (again to freeze)
So that’s the weeks shop. Also got some more of the half price Innocent smoothies, but used some of my cash for that.