Jack and Red Wine are Like Brain Laxatives

Dudes, bitches - I'm sorry. I've been busy. But just because I haven't written anything of substantial length doesn't mean I haven't been devoting substantial thought to some important shit. And yes, by "important shit" I indeed mean "fun things that don't really matter at all."

In fact, it's been quite the opposite. Over the past few months I've actually been making quite sufficient use of my Blackberry's "Memo Pad" feature - jotting down and amending different thoughts at the moment they enter what I typically refer to as "saracastic whirwind" - my mind. Unfortuantely, this often seems to happen as I'm driving, and so I've tended to endanger the lives of innocent automobile travelers by typing on my smartphone as I drive 90 in the left lane. But hey, if ultimately two or three people get a laugh because of it, then I say it's worth a little harmless vehicular manslaughter, don't you? ('Did you say harmless vehicular mans...' Yes, I did, and I realize the contradiction of terms. Leave me alone)....Alright, nice to see that my internal demon critic remembered to show up today too. And with that said, seems like we're ready to conclude the intro and get rolling. This is going to be a long one folks, so either strap in (strap on too if you're into that and my blog makes you horny) and grab the beverage (or lubricant) of your choice and settle in for a while, or make up your mind now to break it up into pieces and read in intervals. Either way, don't bother telling me it's too long. I don't care. Ok off we go:

I. THE TECHNOLOGICAL HYPOCRISY OF WORKING-CLASS, MIDDLE-AGED AMERICANS

When I look at work e-mails, I am regularly bombarded with what looks the result of my Microsoft Outlook vomiting up it's Alpha-Bits. In other words, I'm witness to a virtual cornucopia of business acronyms like NDA, RFQ, TPA, DUI (kidding), PDF, and the like on a daily basis, all of which are requested, of course, ASAP. And if they're not, then that means the email was just sent to me FYI.

What's funny to me is that the folks who use these abbreviations as elements of their typical communication are the same people who claim that teenagers communicating via text messages with acronyms like "ttyl," "tmi," "lol," "brb," "lmao," and the lesser-known "omgiltisote" ("Oh my God I love Twilight I'm soooo on team Edward") are directly responsible for the deterioration of the English language. To that I say fooey and p'shaw! While I agree that these modern pop-culture abbreviations are exceedingly lame, they're essentially used - at least theoretically - for the same purposes as the professional ones: to save time and space. And there's nothing wrong with that. With that in mind, parents, baby-boomers, old fogeys (couldn't wait to use that word!) who don't understand it - stop complaining. You do it too, just in a far different context. Plus, without unnecessary abbreviations, we would be left without some fantastic one-liner movie jokes like this one from "Forgetting Sarah Marshall":

- "You need to get over her. You need to put your P in someon's V."

- "No. I need to B my L on someone's T's."

See what I mean? Case closed. So text and abbreviate away, ye juvenile gay-vampire-loving children!

II. NEW YORK SPORTS TALK RADIO - HILARIOUS

I enjoy listening to the local sports pundits from different cities offer their "objective" thoughts on their teams and such as I'm driving for work through their domain. And while I must painfully admit that Boston seems to have the best, most articulate, and most intellectual talk-show hosts I've been fortunate enough to experience, I have to say that the New York guys are the funniest. I can't remember the exact number on the dial or the call letters right now, so I can't tell you to tune in, but they're not hard to find...

First off, the callers are hysterical. It's like the radio station seeks out everyone who didn't quite make the "Jersey Shore" final cut and asks them their thoughts on the Yankees. You know how when you hear someone on the radio, you think you can tell from their voice what they generally look like? Yeah, I like to think I'm pretty good at that. Therefore, I believe I can somewhat adequately deduce that everyone who participates in sports talk radio in New York currently has a wife beater adorning their woefully unchiseled body, and they're cradling their Boost Mobile phone while they apply an extra half bottle of gel to their stalactite-like hair that's just going to have a backwards Yankee hat (the kind where the emblem is made up of sequins) applied to it anyway. And when they finish their call in to the station, they're not even going to listen to the broadcasters' responses. Instead they'll run to the nearest mirror to make sure their skin is orange enough today... Now, I realize they can't all actually look like this, but that's what they sound like - "Ayy, how come the Yanks haven't re-signed Jet-ah yet? I figyah he's good for anoth-ah 15 yea-ahs and will bat at least .600 until he's fifty-fou-ah, so why not re-sign the guyyyyyeeee? Tell ya what, if they don't, me and my guys are gonna staaum the Yankee front office." That's right folks. You heard it here. ('Why do you always have to rip the Yankees? Is it cuz they beat you last year?' No, fucker. This has not been an indictment of the team. Pay attention).

But perhaps what's funnier than anything else is that they'll spend a good several segments - say, two and a half hours, talking about everything from Rivera's 9th inning ERA and Nick Swisher's OBP to A-Rod's magazine covers and Derek Jeter's favorite restaurants, but just as the show is minutes from going off the air, they'll say "We'll come back with some closing remarks after this....Oh, and the Mets stuff too." Ha! They give the poor little old Mets approximately three minutes of their time. And, to this Phillies fan, there's not many things more satisfying than that.

III. A QUICK NOTE FROM THE HIGHWAY

I drove past a Buick LeSabre. Then I laughed because it made me wonder if once there was a car model invented by a normal, dorky white dude called the "Sabre," then DeCharles Stevenson's parents got a job at Buick and were charged with inventing new model names...or LaMarcus Aldridge's parents, or DeJuan Blair's, or DeMarcus Ware's.... Haha. Come on, that's funny.

Side note: I was gonna put Delroy Lindo in there - ya know, the black detective from every movie ever? - but he gets a pass because it doesn't quite fit the scheme, and because he's Delroy Lindo (which is to say, awesome).

IV. A FEW MORE QUICK HITTERS BEFORE I MOVE ON

- I absolutely hate the phrase "come with" as in "We're gonna go grab a banana smoothie. Ya wanna come with?" First off, ending sentences with prepositions annoys me in... (Stole that joke idea from "30 Rock" and I'm proud of it!). But seriously, that phrase needs to be banished. Is it THAT much of an inconvenience to tack on "us" or "me" or "we" - whichever is appropriate - to the end of that sentence? "We're gonna go grab a banana smoothie. Ya wanna come with us?" See how easy that was? Is that too much to fucking ask?

- I was watching something with Spanish subtitles for a while. Then, after it ended and I went about my business, I didn't realize that my brain was still in "try to really understand Spanish" mode. Thus, when one of the first words I heard in conversation a few minutes later was "mosquito," I legitimately thought that meant a very small place designed for Muslim worship.

- When flying into a major city, during the initial descent as I look out the window, it ALWAYS seems like SO many people own swimming pools.

V. FEAR OF LOUD AND SMELLY PUBLIC POOPING = WARM, DIRTY SEATS

Let's face it guys (and probably girls), nobody really likes to poop in a public restroom. Not really. But as we all know, sometimes, when ya gotta go, ya gotta go, and you just have to deal with it.

When said situations arise, I'm willing to bet that most guys do the same thing - when they enter the bathroom, especially if there's a handful of people walking around in there, you walk allllll the way down to the last possible stall against the wall, don't you? Don't lie to me, yes you do. Why? That's easy - because you feel this most adequately removes you from the rest of the crowd. You feel that if you fart really loud or something, there's a chance nobody else will hear it or know that it was you if you're down at the end. Also, you just convince yourself that being all the way at the end is the closest thing to matching the comforts of pooping alone and in private. Finally, you convince yourself that all of these toilets are probably dirty, and your best chances of finding a clean atmosphere reside in the lonely stall all the way at the end; at a far enough distance that nobody would dare think to venture such a distance just to poop....

There's just one problem, and I've already mentioned it.... EVERYONE ELSE THINKS LIKE YOU. When you go to the last stall, guess what - you're in the most popular one, motherfucker! Ha! Be honest, when you get there, you're routinely disappointed by the wet toilet paper clinging to the inside of the bowl, or the inexplicably large quantity of shredded toilet paper strewn about the floor right where your feet will have to go, or the dingleberries resting just behind the back of the seat, or the unflushed poop, or the overall stench, or something like that, right? Right. We all know I'm right. And again, that's because nobody likes to poop to the audible and olfactory displeasure of strangers, so everyone goes way to the end, thinking they're outsmarting the other, pooping masses.

You think the seat is that warm because it's hot in there? Think again. It's because there's been a consistent barrage of bursting fat assholes on that very same seat throughout the day.

There IS, however, an easy solution to this, and it's a simple one....Are you ready?.....SHIT IN THE FIRST STALL! That's right, the one right next to the urinals, the one that makes you feel almost like you're on top of the guys who just need to take a quick, innocent, odor-less little pee. Trust me on this. Nobody ever thinks to go in the first stall unless its an emergency and is the only one left available. I'll personally guarantee you it's the cleanest one, too. Because nobody wants to be loud. Nobody wants to think that all the other guys in the bathroom are standing around washing their hands saying to each other, "Hey, nice to meet you. Say, how about the guy in the first stall shitting his brains out! God, that's gross! He's gross! Let's make fun of him and laugh together!" and then they slap hands. Because that's what you think everyone else is doing... Relax; they're not. Just reconcile with yourself the fact that bathrooms are gross to begin with, and if you're lucky enough to get a clean stall, you should consider yourself just that - lucky. It results in a far better overall experience, trust me.

Plus, this way you never have to run into the conundrum that presents itself when you walk all the way to the end, then suddenly stop and think "Uuuuuuuh-oh, the handicapped stall looks clean and relatively unused, but I'm not handicapped. Is this okay? Is anyone gonna get mad?" You don't want that. You just wanna sit, split (your butt-cheeks, that is), wipe, and go. Take the first stall. You'll think of me fondly while you're wiping your butt-hole.

Finally, as a quite side note to the subject - why, exactly, are handicapped stalls THAT big? I understand that there needs to be room for either a wheelchair or an accompanying person to help, etc., but are all these handicapped people and their potential aides planning on parking their car next to the toilet? Do handicapped poopers prefer to celebrate a successful bowel movement with a game of twister on the floor? Seriously, there's WAY too much room in there. You could live in that thing.

VI. DR. DAGO'S "IF YOU THINK YOU'RE TOO FAT, YOU DEFINITELY ARE" TIP OF THE WEEK

If you're fat, you probably like to snack. For some of you this means pretzels, for others Doritos or Fritos or the like, and for the saddest among you this means multiple, multi-decker sandwiches. For the latter group, I'm sorry, you're fucking helpless. But for the rest of you, a tip:

Buy some fuckin' grapes. They come in enormous quantities, they're juicy and delicious, and you can satisfy your oral fixation and need to constantly put something in your face by eating a million of them with minimal detriment to your shape. Other fruits are good too, but grapes afford you the ability to eat for a long period of time. Apples, oranges, etc., in addition to being too much work, offer you a handful of large bites and then it's over and you're still hungry. With grapes, you can go on and on and on. So go buy like four bags' worth. I prefer the red, seedless kind. You'll thank me for this, too.

VII. A NOT TOO DISTANT TIME AGO IN A CITY NOT SO FAR AWAY...

Allow me to be crystal clear - LeBron James is a fucking loser. Period. And his first name sounds like it could be a Buick model... (LeBron? LeSabre? No? 'Eeeeeh, not your best effort.' Agreed, let's move on).

First, let me get the nickname stuff out of the way. The newfound "super-trio" of Miami Heat players Chris Bosh, Dwyane Wade (Oh yes, that IS how he spells his first name), and LeBron James has already been assigned with a host of potential nicknames, chief among them "Miami Thrice," "Three Kings," and just the aforementioned plain-old "Super-trio." These are all stupid. First, "Miami Thrice" I think just sounds too cheesy. I don't have much else to offer there, I just hate it. Second, you can't go with "Three Kings" because Chris Bosh is a gangly pussy. "Two Kings and a Fucking Doofus" would work better.

Still, if they're looking for a nickname, they should capitalize on the notion that the events leading up this - from their casual agreement to unite while competing in Beijing to their contracts expiring at the same time - was a "perfect" storm of sorts. Combine that with their new jersey numbers ( Bosh -1, Wade -3, LeBron - 6), and you can call them "The Perfect 10." All it requires is simple 'rithmatic to figure that one out. I'm really clever, I know.

Anyway, more on LeBron. To steal a thought or two from ESPN's resident goofball and pop-culture enthusiast Bill Simmons, I've begun to turn the corner on this deal in that I've started to enjoy that it happened; not because I like the players or how they went about making this happen, but because I'm starting to revel in the idea of having a collaborative super-villain in the NBA for whom I can passionately pray for serious physical injury and continual, epic failure. Hating Kobe is just getting too old, and his dig on Shaq ("I got one more than Shaq") followed by his cocky smile after the Lakers won again kinda made me like him a little (That being said, he's still a dirty, deplorable rapist).

On the other hand now, we have LeBron. I used to love this guy. The people's champ. The savior of the poor, championship-less, unappealing little city of Cleveland. There was no doubt, LeBron was the solution. LeBron would come through eventually. LeBron would resurrect that city's collective sports psyche....But, to steal a line from Keyser Soze, just like that (poof)....he's gone.

You know who LeBron is? He's Anakin Skywalker ('You're not really gonna draw an analogy to Star Wars, are you? I mean first Batman, and all this constant Transformers stuff, and now Star Wars?!? That's right, bitch!). Seriously, consider the astounding similarities.... Everyone - EVERYONE - thought that LeBron would eventually get a ring in Cleveland, thus in essence, bringing balance to the force. The dark Lakers and evil Celtics were winning too much, but the chosen one would bring balance, or so it was foretold and prophesied.

Yet, try and try as young James might, he could not elevate himself to the status of champion at his young age, which is to say, become a jedi immediately like the courageous Mace Windu (Kobe) or older, wiser Yoda (Tim Duncan). So what started to happen? LeBron started to complain. I don't have enough players! This isn't fair! Waaaah! Bitterness began to envelop the young King-to-be, and by the time the Olympics came and he tasted the sweet nectar of victory, his dark destiny became frighteningly clear.

From there, all it took was a dinner with Pat Riley (The Emperor...Seriously, look how Pat Riley sits in his chair when they show him - deviously, with his fingers interlocking, kinda like Mr. Burns....Evil) to convince him that all he needs to do is bow down to him and come with him to the Miami Heat alongside Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh (Boba Fett and a Storm Trooper), and his lustful need for a championship (transition to "the daaaaaark side...") would finally come to fruition ("....would be com-PLEEETE.") And so it is, ladies and gentlemen. LeBron James - your real life Darth Vader. I hate him, but I love to do so, as we do with all great villains. That's why this move both sucks and is kinda cool. It gives us a villain, but a villain we can be passionate about ('You just ended that sentence with a preposition...' Fuck, you're right!).

All we gotta do now is find who's going to rise up and assume the role of Luke Skywalker, take the fight to Darth Vader, and eventually force LeBron to throw Pat Riley down into a really long, seemingly bottomless pit while electricity shoots out of his fingers. I suggest Evan Turner of the mighty 76ers, haha.

Either way, Shaq is the Rancor.

Alright, I got lots and lots more actually, but I gotta think that's enough for now. I think I'm satisfied with my return effort here. Let me know your thoughts. Got a better nickname for the Heat? Better method for comfortably pooping in public? Just wanna tell me that you never missed me anyway because my blogs are obnoxious, rambling, and generally unentertaining? It's all good. Hope to hear from you.

'Til next time texters, guidos, poopers, fatties, and basketball/Star Wars aficionados,

Dago out.

Dago Awards: The Best/Worst of 2009, and Other Miscellany

Ya know, there are many times when I look back at the events of yesteryear ('I hate that word.' Me too, let me fix it...) Ya know, there are many times when I look back on the events of the past ('better'), and for one reason or another, I have trouble remembering in what year certains things happened. For example, I often can't remember in what year I went to what bar for someone's birthday party, I can't remember the year in which a particular movie was released or a given sports team won a championship (other than 2008 of course. Go Phils), etc. You get the idea. So with that in mind, I thought it might be fun to highlight some of the more notable events, achievements, topics of dago-discussion, and the like from 2009 and brand them unto my memory by immortalizing them with a list of arbitrary awards - awards for which I may use conclusive terminology like "most", "definitive," and other words that signify the result of judicious deliberation, but about which I've really not thought about at all. In other words, this is going to be very stream-of-consciousness and poorly thought out, which I think will lead to more fun and comedic award categories and such. Let's find out, shall we?...


I. THE KELLY CLARKSON AWARD FOR "BIGGEST GUILTY PLEASURE SONG" 2009 - "PARTY IN THE USA" by Miley Cyrus


Go ahead, pretend you don't leave this song on every time you hear it in your car. I used to deny it to, but there's no use. Once you get past the awful lyrics ("Nodding my head like yeeeah! Shaking my hips like yeeeah!" So young, but oh so profound you are Miley!), which may take a while, you'll give in. I think I first realized this on New Year's eve. It's 11:59pm, I'm obviously already feeling comfortably numb ('Pink Floyd!' Relax, it's just a cool phrase) at a bar with a pretty decent crowd, and we're all watching the tv screens and counting down as the ball drops. Inattentive in my considerably intoxicated condition, I lost interest around 7! or 6! or so, stopped counting, and started chugging my drink. But then, when the 2010 logo lit up and everyone started cheering, the dj at this particular bar ('Isn't this your cue to make a lame joke about how your name is also DJ?' No, I haaaaaaaaaate that) decided to buck tradition and abandon "Auld Lang Syne" in favor of, of course, "Party in the USA." The moment I recognized the song, with neither the capacity nor intention for restraint, I slammed my drink down on the table and started dancing like....well, like a drunk white guy - which is to say, enthusiastically, albeit spastically and in a manner that puts those in my immediate surroundings in mortal danger.


I think it was about halfway through the song when I stopped - sluggish and breathless from all the food and drink I had just rammed into my face - and thought to myself, "Oh my God, I just got excited for a fuckin' Miley Cyrus song. What the hell is wrong with me?!?" Now, I was in the immediate vicinity of a couple legitimately homosexual guys, so I realized that the completely rational possibility exists that I got some of their gay on me when I shook their hands earlier that night ('Are you fucking kidding me? What - diseases are contagious, aren't they? haha, kidding). But I don't think that explains it. I just think this song, no matter who you are and what music you like, is a perfect guilty pleasure. There's no rhyme or reason as to why some songs fit this mold, they just do. Typically, they're bad songs that you ('Do you mean the royal you?' Yes, thank you) find strangely catchy and infectious, and I can't imagine "Party in the USA" not striking everyone as exactly that.


Two final notes before moving on: some other notable guilty pleasures are "Miss Independent" by Kelly "I've turned into a fucking moo-cow" Clarkson, "Crazy in Love" by Beyonce, "Just Like a Pill" AND "So What" by Pink, and "Hot and Cold" by Katy Perry. If I left any out, lemme know!.... And secondly, my forthcoming award descriptions will not be as long as this one, so no worries....


II. THE HERMIONE GRANGER AWARD FOR "NEWCOMER OF THE YEAR ONTO THE 'NEEDS TO GET IT FROM DJ' LIST" 2009 - TAYLOR SWIFT


No no no, you belong with me, Taylor....(Get it?)


And she's, what, 19? Day-amn, that almost makes wanting to nail her feel wrong. Awesome, but still wrong. Still, if I got Taylor all to myself for the night, the sex would be.....wait for it....you know it's coming....swift (ba-dum, cha!)





III. COREY HAIM AWARD FOR "UNDERACHIEVER OF YEA...NAY, CENTURY!" - JOSH DUHAMEL


Why? Because Fergie's face becomes more grotesquely contorted and mushed and awful and gross and disgusting and gross by the minute. And I'm sorry guys, no ass in the universe can completely make up for that mug. Uck....Yes, u-c-k, uck.


It's such a shame too, for he's one of the better looking dudes in Hollywood these days, and he was in "Transformers" for Christ's sake! He's so close to being completely awesome! But no, he had to go get himself love-drunk of her fuckin' lady humps. So sad....Not to mention that he's in some new chick flick with the celestially beautiful and virtually flawless Kristen Bell (aka "Sarah Marshall"), with whom he would have made a fine real-life partner, and to whom the tabloids and Perez Hiltons and of the world could lovingly and conveniently refer to as "DuhaBell." That would have been better. And they would have gotten married on top of a mountain, and they're children would have formed a family band that toured the countryside, and the Black Eyed Peas wouldn't have been invited! ('To be clear, that last little rant was from Anchorman, right? Right).


IV. THE JAMEER NELSON AWARD FOR "ATHLETE WHO DJ THANKS GOD FOR" 2009- TRACY PORTER (CB, New Orleans Saints)



Because he's the guy that picked off Brett Favre. Die, Brett Favre. Die slowly. But die.








V. THE RODNEY KING AWARD FOR "WORD, PHRASE, OR OTHER VERBAL INSTITUTION THAT HAS BEEN BEATEN VERY BADLY AND NOW JUST REALLY, REALLY NEEDS TO GO AWAY" 2009 - THE INCORRECT USE OF THE WORD "RANDOM"


As far as I'm concerned, this word has been raped. And not like your harmless, every day, friendly, just-sayin'-hey rape (Harmless? You're an asshole! Yup. But rape jokes are funny). I'm talkin' like angry, dirty, back alley, I'm-also-gonna-steal-your-ipod-when-I'm-done rape. Folks, "unexpected" and "random" are two very different words with two very different meanings. For example, hypothetically, if you're sitting around talking about/listing your favorite movies, and someone says "I really like 'The Cowboy Way' with Keifer Sutherland and Woody Harrelson," that's not random. It's unexpected, and in this particular case maybe a bit ridiculous as well. But there was obviously a deliberate selection process involved there with a specific goal in mind - naming a favorite movie. That's not random. Random would be the following:


Person a: "Name any movie ever."
Person b: "'The Cowboy Way' with Keifer Sutherland and Woody Harrelson."


Get it? There's no selection process, no process of elimination, no nothing. Just a blind selection. Ponder this example, learn from it, and please, apply what you learn to your normal conversational speech, and let's try to restore "random" to its rightful place as a respectable player in the English language.


Previous words, phrases, or socially accepted verbal institutions that have needed to go away include: "You go girl," "Is that your final answer?," "Buuuuuurn!," "Catch you on the flip side," "E.V.O.O.," and "psyche!"


Did I miss any? Let me know.


VI. THE BRETT FAVRE "YOU'RE THE WORST EVER. FUCK YOU. MAKE UP YOUR MIND" AWARD 2009 - JAY LENO



Quick, somebody name something worthwhile that Jay Leno brings to the table!...I'll wait.... Ok who are we kidding, we could be here for months before we get an answer, and even then it would be forced. Why? - because Jay Leno is a fat, talentless hack who had to rely on Hugh Gran'ts libido and other people's misspelled newspaper headlines to appear hip and funny for the past decade. And now he's gone and wiped the funniest man in late night from the schedule. Fuck you, Jay Leno.


That about sums up my thoughts on Jay. But before I go further, on a brighter note, don't you think it would be funny if SNL ('You still watch SNL? Yeah, ya know what, I do. Andy Samberg, Kristin Wiig, and Seth Meyers are legitimately funny sometimes, so suck it) did a skit that featured Jay Leno and Brett Favre trying to order food at a restaurant?:



Jay: "I might just get an appetizer. I want to be done before it gets late."


Brett: "I want the filet. I love the filet with all my heart (starts to well up). I'd do anything for the filet..but...but I...but I just don't know if I can handle it anymore. Either my body or my mind. I might need to put on my Wranglers and think about this while sitting on the flatbed of my truck with my dog."


Jay: "Maybe you can just get the filet as an appetizer. I mean, there's nothing wrong with doing the exact same thing, just at an earlier time and telling everyone it's something new."



Brett: "You're right. I do want the filet. But I don't want to eat it here anymore. I want to eat at a whole new table with all new waiters and bus boys. But only after I tell our waiter here that I'm not going to eat at all."



I'll stop there, but you get the idea. That could be funny I think...But still, fuck Jay Leno.


Alright, that's enough for now. More awards to come if I ever think of any. Otherwise, I'll be back soon. 'Til next time.


DJ

I. THE MOST ANNOYING THING IN THE WORLD


If Iwere temporarily all-powerful and could instantly fix/eliminate but one major problem in this modern world wrrrrrrrrought ('Why all the extra r's?' I feel the word "wrought" packs a bit more of a punch if it sounds like you're grumbling when you say it, or if you trill the r's like in Spanish. Try it, you'll see) with impending global catastrophe in which we all live, it would not be world hunger, it would not be homelessness/poverty, it would not be crime, it would not be racism/prejudice/stereotyping, it would not be the sickening lack of Vince Lombardi trophies in Philadelphia, it wouldn't be drug addiction, it wouldn't terrorism, it wouldn't be general ignorance, it wouldn't even be the Jonas Brothers. No no, instead, I'd devote my attention to a much more irritating and unacceptable concern...


... Don't you hate it when you try to fill up your gas tank and the little latch that allows you to lock the pump handle in place is broken, thereby crushing your wish to either sit in the car while the gas pumps because it's cold outside or go inside the station itself to buy a cup of coffee and a scratch-off instant lottery game? Isn't having to stand there and manually squeeze the pump routinely the worst minute to minute-and-a-half of your day? You know it is, don't lie. The only thing that even comes close if when the latch is not broken, you set it all up, you go inside and buy your coffee and lotto ticket figuring that by the time you return to your car you will have a full tank of gas, then you find that for some reason, the gas stopped pumping about three seconds after you left it. That sucks a fat one as well. But still, you can always just set it up again, then sit in the nice warm car with your nice hot (or iced) coffee, so this situation doesn't make my blood boil quite as much as the goddamn broken latch - by far Earth's most pressing concern. In fact, this pisses me off so much that whenever I come across it, I feel more than just mildly compelled to spray down the whole station with gasoline and drop a lit match on it. The only reason I don't is because I don't want to lose the attached Dunkin' Donuts or A-Plus or Hess Express or whatever it is attached to it that gives me my huge french vanilla coffee. That's reasonable, right? ('Jackass, if you DID drop that lit match, you'd end up killing yourself too, did you ever think of that?' Nah-ah, cuz I'd do it drive-by style like black people like to do in movies and by movies I mean real life.... So there.).



II. MOVIE QUOTE/DIALOGUE OF THE DAY


From "Me, Myself, and Irene":


Hank: "So what's your tale, mother goose? Where ya from?"
Irene: "Oh, all over really."
Hank: "Mmmm - omnipresence. I like that in a woman."

III. PHALLIC IRONY!

Ya know what's funny? - the fact that birth control pills come in a package shaped like a clam. That's just....I don't know, that's just funny to me.


IV. FUN WORD COMBO

Taking two words - typically an adjective and the noun it's describing - and making them into one bigger, often funnier word has become a preferred custom of mine over the past few years. I do it a lot...Like, a lot alot. It's a fun game. And I thought that it would make a fun, quick little blog item earlier today when I was talking to my special lady friend. At one point during the conversation, she let loose a laugh that was very high-pitched and also sounded kinda retarded, ya know, like a retard. So naturally, I looked at her and said, "You sound like a three year old retard.... Wait....Yup, you're a threetard." We then laughed again, but this time, thankfully, we both sounded like like normal adults.



V. WAIT, MY NETWORK IS 3G?!? THAT'S AWESOME!....RIGHT?


As if Luke Wilson wasn't lame enough already - 'The rest of the cast of Old School is making funny movies, but I'm gonna make cell phone commercials!' - I can't sit down to watch tv anymore without having to endure him and his goofy square jaw and the rest of his I-look-like-a-middle-aged-and-stupider-looking-Zach-Braff face blab on and on about the wonders of having the world's largest 3G network at his disposal. Let me ask everyone something...


...What the fuck does "3G" even mean? Huh? What does that do for me exactly? I want some fucking explanations. I realize that it's an established (and apparently successful) marketing technique to throw a vague, poorly explained quality/feature of a given product into said product's commercials and imply that said quality/feature is what makes said product superior and/or needed ('You said 'said' too much just now.' Yeah, I know). I understand that this method probably works because the majority of humanity will listen to what they hear and believe what they're told because they're sheep (By the way, I will write a book, it will be called "People are Sheep".... and you will buy it.... Baaaaa.), but that's not enough for me this time. In past instances I haven't really given a shit - I don't care what chemical it is in 'Lectric Shave' that makes the hairs on my face stand up or why the fact that Denorex tingles while Head and Shoulders does not means that Denorex works better - but I've been so indundated with advertising of 3G networks and such that I just can't handle it anymore. Somebody fucking tell me. Now.


But ya know the only thing that pisses me off more than this? - the fact that one of the cell phone companies (I don't remember which) - is now hawking the nation's first 4G network!... And all I can think is - is it really that simple? Is that what all the middle-aged executives talk about when they're sitting around the large oak conference room table with the speakerphone that looks like like a spiderweb in the middle? I bet it is. It's amazing that people like that who probably make millions earn their riches (clearly I'm using the term "earn" loosely) by conducting a meeting that most likely goes like this:


Douchebag Exec A: "Alright, here's the dilemma. AT&T has gotten Zach Braff to advertise the hell out of their 3G network coverage. I need ideas.



Douchebag Exec B: "Actually that's Luke Wilson."



Douchebag A: "Whatever....Thoughts?"


(5 minutes of silence)


Douchebag Exec C: "...I got it! They're saying that their 3G network is best. Why don't we... and I know this sounds crazy, but follow me here... say that we have a FOUR G network?!?! (Sticking his arms out, moving fingers on both hands back and forth in a wafting motion as if to say 'Come here.') Ehh? Eeehhh? Not bad, right?"


Douchebag A: "Genius! Done! I want commercials to air tomorrow, and next week, let's figure out what we're going to tell people 4G could actually mean."


Yeah, that's probably how all those meetings go down. The DirecTV commercials also did a great job of parodying this phenomenon. You know those commercials - "But we don't broadcast in a million 80p, do we?..." Those commercials. I actually used to sit in on meetings just like this -complete with the huge table, comfy chairs, and fantastic views of the city -during my time at a certain science museum in Philadelphia, so I can legitimately attest to the overwhelmingly and comically superficial intelligence of these meetings. Nothing of note is ever actually said or done. It's hilarious.


But still, seriously, someone fucking tell me what 3G is and what it does.

DJ