Isn't football exciting! Two teams vying for every ounce of the ol' pigskin glory and a chance to call yourself a world champion in front of an admiring public! It is so easy to get swept up in the excitement of it all. People who don't watch football during the regular season will tune in to see the game, the entertainment, and the premiering commercials and have a daylong indoor athletic orgasm from the sensory over- stimulation. Unless you're me.
The only time I ever really catch up on what happens in football is when some fumduck starts a fight or opens fire in a nightclub because he has that narcissistic streak of entitlement because he can run real fast or catch or throw. The NFL looks more like the general population play yard at the state pen these days.
Seriously, every game I have ever watched looks like this - fat guy on sidelines with headset has furrowed brow; the tension is set - drama builds and is released when the big guy on the field throws the ball and someone dressed like him runs with it, gets knocked down. Repeat for 3 hours. Camera will occasionally scan the stands to focus on the screaming, painted, mental midgets jerking themselves off in a collection of sheeplike chaos.
I just don't get it - unless your little brother or a friend is out there making the plays, a person has no reason to get that excited. Its not even about community pride - how many of those players live in the cities their jerseys represent? Usually the only time they spend in the state they play for is in the prison because they tried to board a plane with an illicit substance or weapon. I would seriously like to know why people get that wound up about what someone else accomplishes.
Here's a rough, albeit accurate assessment of football: Big dudes playing full contact in lycra pants trying to penetrate each other's end zone. Let's get a group of guys together to watch that while getting more obese drinking beer and eating Doritos - sounds pretty cool.
Til next time.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
Gun Cuntrol
One serious thing I don't understand about this country is the instant something tragic like a school shooting happens, the kneejerk reaction is a renewed call for gun cuntrol. It all boils down to a certain portion of the population having a blatant disregard for human lives, and being cowards, they open fire in places that they know law abiding citizens will not be packing heat. So in order to understand this argument, you have to accept that we could save lives if we overlook the fact that these bloodthirsty assholes seriously wanted to kill someone, and put into place more laws about them leaving their weapons at home. If you sympathize or believe what you just read in that sentence, then don't bother going any further. I won't change your mind, because you obviously don't have one.
The reason is simple. Just like birth defects, stupidity, pygmy goats, blue eyes, religion, and Canada, guns exist and always will - like it or not. Its the very same reason that the war on drugs will never be successful. Drugs will always exist, so as long as they're illegal, there will be a war on drugs. All the war does is drive the price up and make the suppliers a shitload of money.
In my eyes, (and I am biased here, being a gun owner) I would rather take my chances that some responsible citizen in the crowd was prepared for any trouble, because the chances of that person being an accurate, practiced marksman as opposed to some felon who used whatever means necessary to obtain a weapon and use it for an illegal purpose are pretty high. The problem is that gun laws only affect those of us that follow the law. Responsible gun owners are highly aware of the constitutional right we were given and will not abuse it for any reason, but the chances of some double digit IQ trailer trash or illegal (I like using that word - renders any argument about their legality impotent) opening fire on a crowd and taking a few innocent lives being concerned with firearm restrictions are pretty low. I know if I have the chance to shoot back, there will be no stray bullets, no excess casualties or anything other than one dead asshole. They go to the morgue, I answer some questions and go home and eat pancakes. A simplistic point of view to be sure, but the truth.
If you don't like guns or having the ability to defend yourself, that's fine, don't buy one. I don't want you to be armed either - but being armed is not synonymous with "trigger-happy". It just makes sense to some of us to have a gun. It levels the playing field - if you are the victim of a home invasion, do you think that if you are given a chance to reason with the invaders, they will respond favorably if you mention they were trespassing AND brandishing weapons at you and if law enforcement was around they would be punished to the full extent of the law? Of course not - they count on not having police there. I would also count on police not being there. However, something they wouldn't count on is leaving in a 6' ziploc. This entire topic is a no-brainer, so I guess it makes sense that it gets made into a topic by people with no brains.
Its hard to tell though. I truly do believe that some people enjoy playing the victim. If you don't believe that, head over to facebook and count up how many people are giving unwarranted medical updates or asking for prayers.
Til next time
The reason is simple. Just like birth defects, stupidity, pygmy goats, blue eyes, religion, and Canada, guns exist and always will - like it or not. Its the very same reason that the war on drugs will never be successful. Drugs will always exist, so as long as they're illegal, there will be a war on drugs. All the war does is drive the price up and make the suppliers a shitload of money.
In my eyes, (and I am biased here, being a gun owner) I would rather take my chances that some responsible citizen in the crowd was prepared for any trouble, because the chances of that person being an accurate, practiced marksman as opposed to some felon who used whatever means necessary to obtain a weapon and use it for an illegal purpose are pretty high. The problem is that gun laws only affect those of us that follow the law. Responsible gun owners are highly aware of the constitutional right we were given and will not abuse it for any reason, but the chances of some double digit IQ trailer trash or illegal (I like using that word - renders any argument about their legality impotent) opening fire on a crowd and taking a few innocent lives being concerned with firearm restrictions are pretty low. I know if I have the chance to shoot back, there will be no stray bullets, no excess casualties or anything other than one dead asshole. They go to the morgue, I answer some questions and go home and eat pancakes. A simplistic point of view to be sure, but the truth.
If you don't like guns or having the ability to defend yourself, that's fine, don't buy one. I don't want you to be armed either - but being armed is not synonymous with "trigger-happy". It just makes sense to some of us to have a gun. It levels the playing field - if you are the victim of a home invasion, do you think that if you are given a chance to reason with the invaders, they will respond favorably if you mention they were trespassing AND brandishing weapons at you and if law enforcement was around they would be punished to the full extent of the law? Of course not - they count on not having police there. I would also count on police not being there. However, something they wouldn't count on is leaving in a 6' ziploc. This entire topic is a no-brainer, so I guess it makes sense that it gets made into a topic by people with no brains.
Its hard to tell though. I truly do believe that some people enjoy playing the victim. If you don't believe that, head over to facebook and count up how many people are giving unwarranted medical updates or asking for prayers.
Til next time
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
North Til You Smell It, West Til You Step In It.
I often complain about the idiosyncracies of Bellingham - the City of Subdued Excitement; or as I like to call it - the City of Subhuman Excrement. I like to take note of our fair city and examine the things about it that the highly overrated "Bellingham State of Mind" video failed to point out. The waste that rinses into the Railroad Avenue basin aren't funny or culturally important, they simply smell and would only accurately represent our population if all of Bellingham were on work release. The number of citations given at the Holly and Railroad intersection for public urination are only a surprise to the people who haven't been here before. It is one big example of a county seat in serious need of a wipe. However, the pendulum of pointlessness will swing north for once and target my hometown.
Lynden is probably the cleanest, safest, and simply put, best place in the county to raise a family. However, that doesn't mean it is without its share of problems. A good description of it could possibly be if a person was able to grab a burlap bag and fill it with Maberry, Rod Serling, a cup of Twin Peaks, a dash of calf starter, and a tablespoon of cowshit, then line dance on it, then the hairy paste adhering the bag to itself afterwards could be called Lynden. Its not necessarily a bad place, just kind of its own little surreal island.
Oddly enough, I do love Lynden. What I don't love are stereotypes, and it is full of them. Stereotypes and cowshit. You like the smell of a family barbecue under a bright mid-July sky? Too bad. Cowshit.
As far as stereotypes, where Bellingham has the urbanized trailer trash, and high-maintenance-of-mind-but-low-rent-at-heart lack of understanding of itself, Lynden has always understood exactly what it is. Fashion is dictated by the local feed store, and the Bellingham Subarus with Obama bumper stickers are replaced with Escalades that have Cowgirl Up stickers, or trucks with bumpers taller than a giraffe's nutsack encased in mud concealing the Tap-out redneck stamp of approval.
My personal favorites are the characters driving these goliath vehicles. In order to receive your SUV pilot's license, you start as a female aged 25+ with an affinity for squeezing piano legs into the Abercrombie sausage casings known as capri pants, add a dash of Cruel Girl shirt short enough to expose flesh muffin with trite tramp stamp, insert iPhone in one hand and 24 oz. lowfat latte in the other, garnish with enough blonde hair to make Hitler sick, verify legal blindness, and there you have it.
As far as getting your muddin' & rootin' license, that's much easier. Start with a basic MMA fan, add white wife beater shirt (possible carhartt or flannel overshirt), shaved head, mandatory goatee, tribal white boy tattoos, racist leanings, appropriate confederate flag representation, functional IQ of a bowl of soup, and that's pretty much it.
Thankfully there's a church on fucking near every corner, so people can take a break once in a while from the daily rigors of incest and closet alcoholism to ask forgiveness. We may not be able to mow our lawns on Sunday, wash our cars, or buy alcohol, so we find other outlets I guess.
Like I said, I love Lynden.
Til next time.
Lynden is probably the cleanest, safest, and simply put, best place in the county to raise a family. However, that doesn't mean it is without its share of problems. A good description of it could possibly be if a person was able to grab a burlap bag and fill it with Maberry, Rod Serling, a cup of Twin Peaks, a dash of calf starter, and a tablespoon of cowshit, then line dance on it, then the hairy paste adhering the bag to itself afterwards could be called Lynden. Its not necessarily a bad place, just kind of its own little surreal island.
Oddly enough, I do love Lynden. What I don't love are stereotypes, and it is full of them. Stereotypes and cowshit. You like the smell of a family barbecue under a bright mid-July sky? Too bad. Cowshit.
As far as stereotypes, where Bellingham has the urbanized trailer trash, and high-maintenance-of-mind-but-low-rent-at-heart lack of understanding of itself, Lynden has always understood exactly what it is. Fashion is dictated by the local feed store, and the Bellingham Subarus with Obama bumper stickers are replaced with Escalades that have Cowgirl Up stickers, or trucks with bumpers taller than a giraffe's nutsack encased in mud concealing the Tap-out redneck stamp of approval.
My personal favorites are the characters driving these goliath vehicles. In order to receive your SUV pilot's license, you start as a female aged 25+ with an affinity for squeezing piano legs into the Abercrombie sausage casings known as capri pants, add a dash of Cruel Girl shirt short enough to expose flesh muffin with trite tramp stamp, insert iPhone in one hand and 24 oz. lowfat latte in the other, garnish with enough blonde hair to make Hitler sick, verify legal blindness, and there you have it.
As far as getting your muddin' & rootin' license, that's much easier. Start with a basic MMA fan, add white wife beater shirt (possible carhartt or flannel overshirt), shaved head, mandatory goatee, tribal white boy tattoos, racist leanings, appropriate confederate flag representation, functional IQ of a bowl of soup, and that's pretty much it.
Thankfully there's a church on fucking near every corner, so people can take a break once in a while from the daily rigors of incest and closet alcoholism to ask forgiveness. We may not be able to mow our lawns on Sunday, wash our cars, or buy alcohol, so we find other outlets I guess.
Like I said, I love Lynden.
Til next time.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Boss-holes.
I've worked in the sign industry for quite a while. Certainly long enough to have come in contact and worked with many endearing, motivated, and honestly good people. The unfortunate truth is that none of them have ever owned any of those companies. I think realistically that the majority of sign shop owners are at best ineffective leaders, and at worst the raging, swollen private parts of an angry primate.
Take the last rectum I worked for, (previous to my current employer) for example. He seemed like a good guy to all that met him, but upon further scrutiny showed his true form, which just happened to be an overstuffed, pussy whipped, functionally retarded, porcine man-child with all the sophistication of a composting camp toilet (sorry composting camp toilets). The only reason this human effluent exhaust was able to keep his business afloat was the broken backs of the good people he hired; that, I suppose combined with the inherent crooked nature of the bovine princess he married. He would change the construction of a project after a customer approval drawing was completed, then proceed to blame the employees for any lost revenue on the sign. Queen Holstein would then validate his lie, and no one would ever receive a raise. Pretty cool business model, huh? I spent over ten years with that. If he WAS ever caught in a lie with her we could easily tell, as he would whine about not getting his allowance (or much else) for a week. Although, some of those x-rated cartoons people can send you over their phone are pretty funny-I'm not sure I could spend 6 hours a day dodging client phone calls and other responsibilities in favor of showing everyong a flash animation of Olive Oyl blowing Popeye.
Of course one of the other guys I worked for who seriously was a throbbing monkey member was a pill popping, megalomaniac that looked and sounded like a vulgar J. Jonah Jameson in an inflatable sumo suit. This guy would stagger around in an angry, infantile, pill induced stupor trying to instill fear in his subordinates. Really kind of run-of-the-mill now that I look back on it. He was at least somewhat amusing in that he would threaten to or actually fire someone on an almost daily basis. That guy is about a twinkie and a cigar from a massive coronary.
The saddest thing about all of it, is that I just make words look pretty so we can light them up on a wall. What I do on the surface isn't all that important - but to the people buying them it means the world. I hold a certain degree of their success in the palm of my hand. This is what wakes me up at night. Can I maintain this miserable balance for another 30 years? Can I deliver a client's expectation AND deal with managerial shortcomings?
Probably not - the customers can be fuckers too.
Til next time.
Take the last rectum I worked for, (previous to my current employer) for example. He seemed like a good guy to all that met him, but upon further scrutiny showed his true form, which just happened to be an overstuffed, pussy whipped, functionally retarded, porcine man-child with all the sophistication of a composting camp toilet (sorry composting camp toilets). The only reason this human effluent exhaust was able to keep his business afloat was the broken backs of the good people he hired; that, I suppose combined with the inherent crooked nature of the bovine princess he married. He would change the construction of a project after a customer approval drawing was completed, then proceed to blame the employees for any lost revenue on the sign. Queen Holstein would then validate his lie, and no one would ever receive a raise. Pretty cool business model, huh? I spent over ten years with that. If he WAS ever caught in a lie with her we could easily tell, as he would whine about not getting his allowance (or much else) for a week. Although, some of those x-rated cartoons people can send you over their phone are pretty funny-I'm not sure I could spend 6 hours a day dodging client phone calls and other responsibilities in favor of showing everyong a flash animation of Olive Oyl blowing Popeye.
Of course one of the other guys I worked for who seriously was a throbbing monkey member was a pill popping, megalomaniac that looked and sounded like a vulgar J. Jonah Jameson in an inflatable sumo suit. This guy would stagger around in an angry, infantile, pill induced stupor trying to instill fear in his subordinates. Really kind of run-of-the-mill now that I look back on it. He was at least somewhat amusing in that he would threaten to or actually fire someone on an almost daily basis. That guy is about a twinkie and a cigar from a massive coronary.
The saddest thing about all of it, is that I just make words look pretty so we can light them up on a wall. What I do on the surface isn't all that important - but to the people buying them it means the world. I hold a certain degree of their success in the palm of my hand. This is what wakes me up at night. Can I maintain this miserable balance for another 30 years? Can I deliver a client's expectation AND deal with managerial shortcomings?
Probably not - the customers can be fuckers too.
Til next time.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Your Silence is Greatly Appreciated
One of the reasons I started doing this is because it was getting increasingly hard to distinguish between facebook and WebMD. If someone has an interesting thought on something, the chances of reading a blog for me are a lot higher than me reading a paragraph about how you need prayers because your foot hurts. If a person has wonderful exciting news about something, I love to hear about it. Otherwise, facebook turns everyone into a 12 year old girl with severe self esteem problems.
Seriously, if I've known you for 20 years the chances of me giving a kilt without undies about your choice of dinner that night are pretty slim. That's just one example; how about reposts about anything? Every single day there are more pictures with text than I can count with quirky, ironic, moronic, baseless, pointless, stupid things that someone saw and re-posted thinking THIS WILL BE MY CHANCE TO TAKE THE WEB BY STORM! - using someone else's idea of course. Near as I can tell, most of the people on facebook are either a woman that wishes she had a penis or a man who wishes the one he had was bigger. All the bluff and crass "I'm a woman and I'm tough, see, Grrrr!" or "I'm just chillin, tryin to sound cool so I can eventually get laid by impressing people with my status updates" Jeezis, it could drive a Catholic priest to diddling women.
I like to hear good news about events that are shaping my friends' lives and futures. This is life whether you feel like you're getting a decent return on investment or not. Presenting these useless updates about the trivial bumps in the road in your day is like asking your friends to watch you masturbate, and a couple of button clicks away from making video games seem like a wise use of time. I would have to say - change the world - if not, change your own world. People who thrive on re-posting on facebook bring to mind ravenous sports fans; unless its your ass out of that chair sans Fritos scoring the big game-winning touchdown, you're just another mindless worshipper of someone else's acheivements- so shut the hell up and don't expect me to give a shit.
F u fb. lol, rotfl, lmao, :) :(
Til next time.
Seriously, if I've known you for 20 years the chances of me giving a kilt without undies about your choice of dinner that night are pretty slim. That's just one example; how about reposts about anything? Every single day there are more pictures with text than I can count with quirky, ironic, moronic, baseless, pointless, stupid things that someone saw and re-posted thinking THIS WILL BE MY CHANCE TO TAKE THE WEB BY STORM! - using someone else's idea of course. Near as I can tell, most of the people on facebook are either a woman that wishes she had a penis or a man who wishes the one he had was bigger. All the bluff and crass "I'm a woman and I'm tough, see, Grrrr!" or "I'm just chillin, tryin to sound cool so I can eventually get laid by impressing people with my status updates" Jeezis, it could drive a Catholic priest to diddling women.
I like to hear good news about events that are shaping my friends' lives and futures. This is life whether you feel like you're getting a decent return on investment or not. Presenting these useless updates about the trivial bumps in the road in your day is like asking your friends to watch you masturbate, and a couple of button clicks away from making video games seem like a wise use of time. I would have to say - change the world - if not, change your own world. People who thrive on re-posting on facebook bring to mind ravenous sports fans; unless its your ass out of that chair sans Fritos scoring the big game-winning touchdown, you're just another mindless worshipper of someone else's acheivements- so shut the hell up and don't expect me to give a shit.
F u fb. lol, rotfl, lmao, :) :(
Til next time.
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