Friday, June 23, 2006

Things that I love (or if you prefer - Angry at 2am)

So everyone always tells me, Blog, you are a negative nancy, a nihlistic Ned, a noodleheaded ne'er do well (swish!). But I'm here to tell you I am none of these things. There are many things in the world that give me great joy. Here are a few things that I love:

Bouncers: Is there anything better than a complete nothing with attitude? I mean I could never be a bouncer myself, for one I can read and two I'm not an awful guido. I always love the idea that somehow they're a part of the scene at the nice bar they OPEN THE DOOR AT. I mean just cuz you wipe up the spit at Marquee doesn't make you Noah Tepperberg. And now they're shooting us! Here's some advice, next time you see a bouncer whos chatting amiably to one of his horrendous pretend door friends say hey here's a tip for you: I'll give you four American dollars if you shave off your barbed wire tattoo with a Mach 3. Then when he attempts to shoot you simply stab him in the throat with a screwdriver. Then say by the way I'm starting the no holes in their neck club and believe it or not you're not allowed in.

People chock full of stories or anecdotes about their day: Ok lets lay down some ground rules. People are not interested in your job, your boss, or the funny thing your girlfriend/boyfriend said. I know you spend all day thinking about what happened at work but nobody else fucking wants to. Also unless your name is Blog and you're half Australian your story is not funny.

People who have seen an Inconveniant Truth or have read an article about global warming recently: Wow what an interesting, thoughful person you are! You want to help save the planet? Then get your parents to sell one of your 3 SUVs and buy a bicycle you know nothing twit. Also, WE GET IT.

People who used to party in college and became old men when they graduated: If you were faking it in college admit it. Because the immediate switch to boring "adulthood" within 1 month of your 38th consecutive beer pong match is just bullshit. I can't wait for the stories about what a wildman you were in college until a month after when u got a job at Xerox and now all you do is watch American Idol with your stupid girlfriend who teaches kindergarten. Going out once a week when you're 24 is not acceptable. You have the rest of your life to compare golf scores and bank accounts. I can't wait until you look back on your early 20s and think wow, I came, I saw, I went to bed at 7.

People in their mid 20s who "love their job!": Heres the thing, if you love your job as an entry level employee, and don't take this the wrong way, but I hope somebody runs over your cat/dog/grandmother. Cuz you don't. There's a reason they pay you a salary and thats because it sucks. Stop trying to convince everyone with how happy you are working hard for long hours for minimal pay. I hope a goat kicks you in the ovarys and if you're a guy I hope you start an idiotic salad business.

Now some might say Blog, these aren't things you love, these are just the bitter ramblings of an insane lunatic. And to those peopleI say how dare you! These are meticulous and thought provoking observations about modern life. Also, fuck off.

5 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Happy Birthday You Fucker
1 Michael Rappaport is a good actor.
2. right on with the bounders
3. unemployed, so youll here the good day at work bit quite seldom from me
4. fuck off with the global warming bit, environmentalists are the new coke heads. mad cool yo
5. 24, there's so much more. fuck jobs
6 you are a fucking lunatic. love it.
happy b-day and cheers to anonymous posting...

btw. what's up with the anti-semite from your very first post. this is NYC, such heads get the beat down
jk

11:36 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more

3:06 PM  
Blogger ManAmongstMen said...

Oh, vengeful Blog. Long have I known you, and long have I been privy to your pestilent daggers of wisdom. I am quite familiar with the late-night frustrations of man standing on line for 20 minutes outside a marginally enjoyable club or lounge, unhappy with his imaginary progress toward the front of a Banana Republic menswear parade. I can empathize with the parodoxical lack of approval from a man who chose the glamorous lifepath of managing swinging pieces of wood with handles, rather than coaching the freshman football team for his hometown Queens High Cannoli-Suckers, or the heroic duties behind the badge, slapping parking tickets on the windshields of his burrow's hyphenated vehicles (I-Rocs and T-birds... it's still 1988 right?).

This commiserating friend of Blog has spent countless minutes of shampooing pondering ways to bring these doorkeepers down a couple pegs for good. The best I have come up involves replacing this word 'bouncer'. The verb 'bounce', in this arena, paints the picture of a large, stately man violently deflecting unworthy club patrons with the density of his torso. This is unarguably a cool-sounding gig for anyone who earned a starting spot on their high school football team's offensive line. If this "career" had a more suitable commonly used name, the glamour would slowly but surely be sucked from the velvety post. I can propose a few, but to be effective, the winning moniker, like the rest of today's street-worthy vernacular, must first be accepted by the hip, passed on to the masses, become commonplace in the 'Laguna Beach Generation' lingo, and then awkwardly spewed out by aging young adults clinging to their vintage yet mass-produced t-shirt youths. (How A Bill Becomes a Law, Schoolhouse Rock, 1973) (always cite your sources).

We can begin our search with what these bozos really are: the absolute lowest level employee at any organization. We can borrow words from many places to describe this historic post. The Romans or our own navy would call this man a "Plebe". My late, racist uncle would name him "Darkie". If it were a group of college friends, this guy would be referred to as "The "Douche", or if it were a posse of girls "The Tramp" (1988 again?). But fittingly, I have decided to steal from the only source worth stealing from, the greatest minds of our time and the most insightful group of overdeveloped masterminds that I have encountered in my 24 years on this blue and green gonad we call Earth.

Allow me to preface my choice of plagiarism target with a confession. I find myself to be the single smartest person that anyone has ever met. Actually, if there's someone out there who has never been met by anyone, like an orphaned caveperson or something... I'm smarter than that guy too.. I mean, he lives in a cave and probably has debates with his own feces. So the credit I give to those from which I steal is an honor superior to any other. If I've done my job, you already know who I'm speaking of at this point... Zack, Slater, Kelly, Lisa, Jesse, and Samuel. Of course, we usually hear Samuel referred to by the one name that has become synonymous with notorious loserdom, Screech. I have concocted a master plan that achieves the goal of lowering these doormen to their deserved status, while paying homage a group of twenty-something high schoolers who have taught me everything I know about what's cool.

Here are some cell phone examples of how this plan must be placed into action:

"How are we gonna get in, I heard this club is packed?"
"It's cool. I know the Screech workin the door tonight."

"Are you guys inside already? I just got out of a cab."
"Just tell whoever's Screechin the door that you're part of our table."

"We're screwed. There's 3 of us, and the lines around the corner."
"Give that Screech 50 bucks, and he'll lick your scrotum on your way to the front of the line. No seriously, I've seen him do it."

These aren't tough to do, but you must immediately replace the term bouncer/doorman in your minds, in your dialogues, and in your lives. If we band together as a city, and eventually as a country, we can achieve a goal that has existed individually in the lives of partying men and women since prehistoric days, when a wealthy caveperson, Growly, hired the local buffoon, Grunty, to stand outside the Party Cave and deny entrance to any cavepeople he saw fit. And believe me, even Grunty licked his fair share of scrotums during his tenure at the Party Cave. He had a wallet full of sticks and rocks to prove it.

2:03 PM  
Blogger Mister Fedward Hyde said...

there you are. i found you again.

good stuff.

6:12 AM  
Anonymous it fun to stay at the YMCA!!!! said...

if usama offered you a creampie, which hole would you take it in:
John says:
a. ass, b, vagina (or "man hole) c. mouth. d. what? i don't take creampies! im gonna nut in that nigga's beard!

4:44 PM  

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