Things That Suck

Thursday's SUCK

2009-02-18T18:42:00.006-05:00

JOHN BELJAN

This topic is so obvious I almost decided not to write anything on it. Who doesn't know that John sucks? I digress, though, as I feel I should take upon the challenge of detailing everything that sucks about John Beljan; it will be a vast and arduous undertaking.

First of all, look at this piece of shit:

Why would anyone want to hang out with such a waste of life? In this photo, John appears to be playing some invisible guitar next to a very frightened female. Not only did John make himself look like an utter moron in this photo, he mistakenly revealed his alone-time O-face: eyes closed with a goblin smirk, held whilst leaning to his right and pinching his miniscule penis between his thumb and middle finger. In trying to impress a girl with his best air-Hendrix imitation, John managed to show us all what he watches on his computer after he finishes recording himself rubbing one out to his favorite Hero, Hayden Panettiere.

John is never, ever going to get this.

Next, if we take this picture at face value, another orgasmic expression is revealed. What is this guy's problem, anyway? I think that "loose cannon" is too light of a label here. Should we just start calling him "Squirts"? Did you just eat a grape, or realize that Bruce Willis is dead at the end of The Sixth Sense, John? Regardless, we must give John the benefit of the doubt. Analysis of his angled head and neck suggests that John is--this should be of no shock--actually just waiting to receive a money shot from a person of normal height. Keep in mind that John towers a staggering 3 feet, 5 inches; short enough that the average adult male might easily rest his pleasure pouch directly on his forehead or chin. In this specific photo, I would wager that John is readying for a drop or two of his favorite drink from LeBron James or someone of similar stature.

Speaking of LeBron: please, NO ONE tell him that John is one of his biggest fans. I, along with the city of Cleveland, do not want to deal with the untimely suicide of one of the potential greatest basketball players of all time. LeBron has so much more to accomplish in his career and it would be a shame for him to take his life as a direct result of becoming aware of John's obsession.

Alright, seriously John? I went into writing this with enough respect to at least dedicate some of my time to write about how much you suck, but now I'm regretting it. This picture is just atrocious. I think that it really encompasses the depths of John's intelligence; depths as in the opposite of peaks; as in, John is dumb. I'm fairly certain that he is attempting to show the camera his current mental age. Alternatively, he could be demonstrating how, in his often infantile state of mental capacity and maturity, he would grasp a breast in order to nurse from it. After all, John is just a baby: constantly wining and bitching about everything (often in fits of tears), trying to put everything possible in his mouth, defecating liberally throughout his environment, and possessing little to no hair on his head.

As I'm sure most of you know, Alex Rodriguez just recently admitted that he took steroids previously in his career. I don't care what A-Rod was on -- I want to know what this motherfucker has been taking. As I mentioned previously, John is 3'5", so he suffers from Little-Man Syndrome. In other words, John has a Napoleonic complex, and thus must make himself appear to be jacked out of his mind by taking most performance-enhancing drugs available either legally or illegally (though an unnamed female source indicates he has not taken certain types of performance-enhancing drugs, despite asked repeatedly to do so). Unfortunately for John, this is all a facade: lying beneath his David-like exterior is an exceptionally weak bitch made of wind-dried linens and foul-smelling potpourri. John has no "fight or flight" instinct, instead relying entirely on the latter whenever the slightest bit of danger presents itself.

John is such a fragile, anemic individual that he amounts to the antitheses of many of the products he uses and consumes. Despite it being the name of his deodorant, John possesses no Swagger whatsoever. Fond of chunky peanut butter, John comes across to others as delicate and creamy--in the worst possible way. He enjoys spending a great deal of time pretending to be a football player in the game NCAA Football '09; in reality he amounts to the epitome of athletic failure: terrible at every sport except Professional Cocksucking (in which he won both the 2003 Rookie of the Year award and the 2005 Jizzer's Choice award), and so bad at soccer that his SISTER has infinitely more accomplishments at the collegiate level than he does.

For some delusional reason John seems to think that he will get a job upon graduation. This is laughable for two reasons: 1) John is grotesquely ugly and would not be hired by anything other than a traveling circus; and 2) his only relevant work experience was a co-op, which is what somebody does when they can't do something without the help of someone else. Even if--by some enormous oversight--John does get a job in his field, he will likely die in a chemical spill caused by his own incompetence within two years of starting his career. As long as this spill takes no other lives, it will be looked upon as beneficial to everyone but the company paying out the life insurance policies we were all smart enough to place on John from the moment we met him.

If John had been alive during pirate times (real pirates, not Somalian pirates), he would have been used as someone's peg leg or as a measuring device for tides. Seriously, I can't get over how short this guy is. It's a shame he was not alive during Archimedes' time, as instead of failing with mirrors, Archimedes could have used John's shiny bald head as a means of reflecting the sun's rays onto the sails of oncoming ships. John has frequently been used by theologians as an argument against evolution and natural selection, which is peculiar because he was also demonstrated numerous times as proof that intelligent design is a flawed and baseless theory. Similarly, people often wonder how a god could exist that allows terrible things like AIDS or cancer to infiltrate our lives. I contend that instead, those same people should wonder how someone like John Beljan could be created and allowed to continue to live under the supervision of a merciful god. Not only does John share a first name with the killer of Abraham Lincoln, he metaphorically lurks in the dark shadows of the theater that is our lives, waiting in dire anticipation to assassinate all that is good and respected.

Overall, John Beljan really sucks. He has ruined the lives of everyone he has ever come in contact with, leaving them broken shells of their former selves. John views women solely as objects toward which no affection should be shown except for the frequent times he exposes himself to them. He is short, horribly awful at anything related to academia, and thinks that "fag" is a term of endearment. He is quick to judge others, which is surprising knowing that he is terrible at everything. Quite frankly, it is a wonder that he has yet to be killed.

Unfortunately alive for 21 years: happy birthday, John.

Friday's SUCK

2009-01-30T03:39:00.250-05:00

AUTOMATIC TOILETS

The laziness of America astounds and befuddles me. Are we really too tired, after (truthfully) laboring through wiping our asses that we cannot flush what we were so eager to jettison?

Now, don't get me wrong - I am well aware that there are sanitary reasons behind the existence of these toilets, and they are primary. However, in this respect, the toilets are self-defeating. Sure, you don't have to touch anything to flush it. This helps us avoid the undesirable task of coming into contact with something that, transitively, has touched someone else's penis. Furthermore, no longer does one have to hoist a boot to one's waist and press down on a lever to make their poo swirl down into the depths of the unknown. These are fairly decent arguments to have a toilet capable of flushing itself at its own discretion, though they are easily refuted when one realizes that serial penis-touchers may have indeed touched everything in their immediate vicinity--including your desk, car door handles and perhaps even your silverware--and that one need not be as flexible as a cheerleader to flush the toilet with the sole of a shoe.

Regardless, such arguments (I assume) have been well-respected enough to behoove the manufacturers of toilets to implement a means of flushing that requires no touching whatsoever to get it going. Not only does this conjure a comparison of an easily-excitable teen with little to no bedroom experience (other than working daily on his dexterity) accidentally brushing against his friend's mother's bosom, it makes one question who decided this mechanism was necessary in the first place. Was it a consumer relations associate, so distraught after reading countless letters begging for some flushing method that did not require gloves, who got the ball rolling? Or an entrepreneur with irritable bowels who was fed up with the notion of washing his hands every thirty minutes? Regardless of its source, automatic toilets appear here to stay. Consequently, we must deal with their truly unsanitary actions and embrace that they, like those who insist upon their installation, suck.

Truthfully, touching a toilet flushing lever has never put me in the best of moods. Yes, I understand I just wrote off this argument--and I have no regrets--but I think my reasons are compelling: first, the amount of stain on what appears to be stainless steel quite arouses my morbid (and fecid) curiosity; second, the lever represents saying goodbye to an old friend in a dramatic, quick, and violent way which I am never quite prepared for--to me, it's like shooting Old Yeller in the face with a 12-gauge ("Well, soft and brown fellow, I hardly knew ye, but your purpose is served.").

Despite these two astoundingly poignant observations, I cannot reason that automatic toilets should continue to exist, and neither should you. It is really for only one reason. Remember how I said that their sanitary goals are self-defeating? Well, here's why, in a concise explanation that should implore you to shower after every use:

ASSWATER

Right, I know what you're thinking. Why'd you put so much space there? I could see the word anyway. Instead, in case you're not, you should be filled with disgust and a little bit of attraction. Disgust because you just realized that, though you've never discussed this with anyone, every goddamn time you use an automatic toilet it flushes for no apparent reason and splashes water containing your own fecal matter onto your ass that you've worked for feverishly to clean. Attraction because you know that behind these words is a man courageous and willing enough to point out that we're all getting sprayed with ASSWATER and being complacent about it. Don't worry, my number is available upon request.

Not only is this absolutely repulsive (no, not my assumption of lust), it's rather frustrating as well. Countless times have I been peacefully recalling what I had for lunch, in a vague, brownish-green, word jumble sort of way, when to my surprise the toilet decides I have neared the brooding finale of my Symphony No. 2 (please get that joke) and abruptly calls it quits. Quite frequently this happens while I am wiping. I wouldn't really be mad, if not for this problem, which I shall simply make you envision in a rather odd way: imagine my man-parts (for assistance, Google 'Space Needle') walking down the street on a rainy day, only to be splashed with no warning by an inconsiderate motorist speeding through a puddle. Since I'm almost done, I can somewhat understand the flush--it could be interpreted as an act of courtesy, like, thanks for shitting in me, I'm ready again if you are--but the end result still remains that my ass and balls just got misted by something far from the purest water on earth. Also, all of this is rather unexpected, and provides a very unnecessary jolt in an otherwise placid setting.

This process continues until you are ultimately really done with your business. Sometimes three, four, even five flushes may occur in a given sitting. Upon raising one's pants, the toilet never flushes. Never. Nor is the bowl empty: of course, what's left behind in the toilet are what I like to think of as "White Ass-Flags of Surrender." That is, your ass has finally given up, and you are greeted with a clean sheet or two of victory. These, though not visually disturbing to the stall's next occupant, must be flushed. Thus, you have to press the small, sometimes non-existent button on the top of the toilet, which no doubt has been pressed by the very same people who would have otherwise pulled the lever in the first place.

We have now come full circle. We have sailed through the Asswater only to leave battered and sullied, well aware that what was intended to help us avoid unsanitary contact has caused us grief and left us in worse positions than before: seated, being tortured by the mist of an unprovoked turd tsunami; and standing, knowing that pressing the button is no better than pulling the lever. Hopefully, we have emerged more knowledgeable, now certain that manual toilets are cleaner than their automatic brethren. May we also have emerged more motivated, either to protest against the grievances caused by automatic toilet manufacturers and their proponents, or to wash our asses and genitalia in the sink after we have arduously completed the torturous endeavor with our bathroom nemesis.

Whatever the result, please understand that automatic toilets suck, and please, warn others.

Tuesday's SUCK

2009-01-27T16:41:00.002-05:00

Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny

First, Santa

Consider this situation:

It's Friday, and you've just gotten your paycheck. You and your spouse's five year anniversary is coming up, so you want to get him or her something special, something so awesome that it will just blow that person away. You spend most of your check on that, not crippling your bank account but stretching yourself financially. You surprise him or her with the gift by leaving it in a location where you know that person will see it. He or she opens it, and is absolutely elated.

When you see him or her next, you essentially expect the hug and thanks of your life. Instead, your spouse praises that fat, bearded homeless guy you guys both saw while you walked to dinner downtown yesterday. The homeless guy happens to have a drinking problem, and you overheard him discussing his flying abilities with his small, elf-like companion.

How would you feel about this? I imagine a bit of jealously would start to creep up, and perhaps some anger. Why should someone completely unrelated to you get credit for all of your hard work and generosity?

Well, this happens every year, except the fat homeless guy doesn't really exist, but is probably slightly better dressed. This man is Santa Claus, a concoction whose purposes are to take credit from the deserving and make children question their parents sanity and credibility.

I don't want to lie to my children. If they ask me where babies come from, I will Google "vaginas" and grant them with my knowledge. If they ask me why two men are kissing, I will say because they love each other and because they're not going to heaven. However, I will likely cave and proliferate the notion of Santa Claus. I will do this due to societal pressures. If I had my way, I'd tell them that I bought their gifts. All of them. If I had my way, when they came home from school asking why everyone else was talking about what Santa got them for Christmas, this is what I'd say:

"I worked my ass off through college, applying for jobs, and the past six years trying to get promoted so I could buy your ungrateful ass this remote controlled purple Mazda Miata, which you will likely break in a week and which also likely indicates you will be gay by the age of 17. I want credit for this shit. I don't want some imaginary fat old guy, who keeps in his company an enslaved race of assumedly inbred elves, harbors flying animals who travel faster than any of our best air and spacecraft, possesses limitless wealth and resources, and whose existence is only slightly more plausible than that of God, to get credit for the debt into which I just plunged our family. You won't be able to afford college thanks to this! I want you to know it was me who did this, not a guy who breaks into our home regardless of its fortifications, uninvited, with intentions of looting our dairy products and baked goods."

I will not do this, but I will loathe not doing it. I will somehow avoid telling them that the circumstances under which they received gifts sounds much more plausible when explained as a drunk, aged criminal who happened to rob a Toys R' Us and wanted to exchange the stuff he stole for some food, but was too embarrassed to ask politely, so he found his way into our home through the chimney of all places, and performed the exchange while we all slept.

That is until they reach the age of 6, when I will brazenly shatter their dreams and reveal to them that I have been their provider of fun and toys for their entire lives, the Abel Magwitch to their Pip, (likely) without the whole convict thing, shitty accompanying storyline, and retardedly obtuse language.

The Easter Bunny

The Easter Bunny has nothing to do with Easter. Easter is all about Jesus' finale, when he blew everybody's minds and was like

SSSYYYYYYYYKKKKKKKKEEEEE, bitches!

Let's first approach this from a biological perspective: rabbits cannot lay eggs. The selection of the animal for this holiday was foolish and poorly planned. If it were me, since we're in the spirit of making things up, I would have picked a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Yes, Cindy, the very same Tyrannosaurs Rex that managed to survive two mass extinctions and laid those massive eggs in our home last night, and in the homes of ~~everyone else~~ every Christian family in the country! Sounds similarly plausible, right? Or why not a platypus. Much cooler and more peculiar, and also educational.

Second, what is achieved by having children search for eggs in fields? Are we training future mine spotters, as if technological improvements will lead to mines being made of purple, pink, and green plastic and not be hidden under the ground? If we're going to do this, we might as well put some stationary machine guns in the same field, with live rounds, and make it done at night. This way, the poor, disadvantaged children whose parents could not afford night vision goggles wouldn't get any of the spoils.

Finally, how can a rabbit do all of this anyway? Rabbits don't even have opposable thumbs. At least a man is more capable of delivering presents than a semi-domesticated animal. Also, if it is a rabbit, why doesn't he free his companions upon entering homes with rabbits as pets? This is a heartless rabbit, one who does not care about his fellow man and lets him remain encaged and tortured by small children whom he rewards with candy; provided that they're not Muslim or Jewish, anyway.

Neither of these faux gift-givers are logical, so they suck.

Monday's SUCK

2009-01-26T02:04:00.002-05:00

In-class Know-It-Alls

Everybody knows these people, provided that they have taken some schooling, either high school or in college. Mostly I will be referring to college level Know-It-Alls, but this plague of individuals exists in grades 9-12 as well.

In-class Know-It-Alls are notorious for unabashedly raising their hands at the slightest hint of a question. Doesn't matter the question, if they think they have something insightful to say, BOOM, hand up. Normally, I don't have a problem with people contributing in class. My least favorite classes are those that discourage classroom discussion and just feed you information like it is fact. Unfortunately, though one would think that the information being professed IS fact, it most often is not. This epidemic is seen in business classes. It's a typical, here's how you do it, don't ask why, you're just supposed to depreciate the value of a stripper at 10% per year for 7 years, but why?, I said don't ask. Et cetera. Science classes don't really do this. You're allowed to ask why, and are encouraged to do so.

That ended up being really tangential. Anyway, the people I'm talking about really just love to say shit. They just love it. I'm beginning to think that they get off slightly when they hear what they have to say, because they almost ALWAYS think it to be profound. They really, truly think that no one EVER has come up with what they just said; that, or, they think no one else can figure out what they just answered. They also love to verbally answer rhetorical questions, and state personal scenarios or recall things that they have experienced which they somehow associated with the current topic. Usually, it is difficult to ascertain why they made such an association.

Here are a few hypothetical, but realistic, examples of In-class Know-It-All actions:

Professor: Now, we all know roughly when World War I took place, but the circumstances surroun--
K-I-A: *HAND SHOOTS UP* Before World War II.
Professor: ...right, so, the circumstances surrounding the beginning of....

Professor: Companies want to get you to think that their brand is the best; to ignore others and just choose theirs.
K-I-A: *HAND OUT OF NOWHERE* Like, so, I was watching TV the other night and I saw a commercial for Brawny paper towels. And then like, when I was shopping I just grabbed them, you know? Cause the guy's like a lumber...what do you call that? Like a forest person? A lumber...lumber something.
Professor: ...so companies, wait, what?

Professor: *mumbling to herself* ...11 times 3 is...
K-I-A: *no hand this time, but said in a nonchalant, snide, smartass tone* Thirty three.
Professor: Yes, thank you. It is a wonder how I managed to pass high school algebra let alone keep my learning disabilities in check to obtain a Ph.D. Seriously, thanks. I never would have been able to figure that out. I'm very glad you were in class, as it is unlikely ANYONE here would have known how to solve such a complicated and tricky problem. Thank you, sincerely.

I'll never understand these people. Why they think it's not annoying to everyone else when they raise their hand and, via extended monologue, tell the class not only that horses are mammals, but they know because THEY WENT TO A PETTING ZOO ONCE...I will never know.

One favor I can thank these people for is providing countless examples of how to explain some of the most basic concepts and knowledge like they just encountered a stroke of genius, and must describe what they discovered in layman's terms so the rest of us can understand. Another, I suppose, is that they make the rest of us look just a bit smarter. I can think of many times when someone playing mental word association in class decided that there was a connection between their inane thoughts and a lecture, vocalized their connection, but then stated that they were confused about it.

One instance happened yesterday. A girl in my Marketing class raised her hand to tell our professor that some ab workout ball she saw on TV had a totally confusing and falsified graph to describe its effectiveness. The best part was the reaction she described upon seeing the graph. I can only describe it as such: OMG LOL THAT GRAPH SAYS THIS THING IS 408% MORE EFFECTIVE THAN CRUNCHES LOLOLOL HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE YOU CAN'T MEASURE THAT HAHAHHAHA OMFG I'M GONNA BRING THIS UP IN CLASS LOL THAT MEANS LIKE IT'S 408 TIMES MORE EFFECTIVE LOL GRAPH LOL ILLOGICAL LOL. Understand? Not like I need to explain this, but it certainly is possible to measure the effectiveness of a workout...or at least the muscle activity involved. No one bothered to explain this to her, so she continued in her diatribe about how their marketing campaign was ludicrous based upon this nonsensical and totally indefensible graph. She laughed during this, as if she were scoffing at the absurdity of some scientific measurements displayed in an easy to read and understandable format. What's more, her friend, or fellow idiot, or something, laughed with her, likely adding to her own perceived credibility.

I think this girl, and people like her, might think that they have been blessed with some type of special knowledge, superior rationality, or both, and must demonstrate it to others. They're kind of like the apostles when they were all gathered in that room, and the Holy Spirit was like sup go tell err'body 'bout Jesus and all the crazy shit he did, oh btw sup check out this FIRE OVER YOUR HEADS isn't that sweet? Alright yeah anyway go do that...wait damnit I forgot something...here's a copy of Rosetta Stone, it can teach you a bunch of languages...wait what? What do you mean what do you do with--oh, shit. Computers. Yeah. Alright whatever you can all speak any language you want. Except...that...these people are...well, look, I have no idea how they compare to the apostles other than that they tell everybody something that they think is cool, and I guess if they wrote it down and somebody read it 2000 years later, that person would have a similar reaction of what the hell is this? regardless of whether it was authored by an apostle or Christine in Marketing. Except the stuff that Christine in Marketing wrote would sound a lot stupider. And way more obvious.

Friday's SUCK

2009-01-16T03:17:00.000-05:00

Misused, Pointless, Stupid, and Annoying Things People Say, Part One

I loathe being trite. If there were some way for me to come up with a new, original phrase every time I spoke, I would do it.

Alright, I could do that - but I'm too lazy.

Instead, I revert to speaking that which has likely already been said. I do make an effort not to utter overly-repeated, misused, and often stupid phrases which are tossed about carelessly like babies in a car without carseats driving over more babies; on a rough road, no less.

Unfortunately for me and the rest of us who are aware there is a proper way to speak, many people are guilty of such infanticide. I hate these people; they suck, and these are the sucky things they often say:

Could care less

Could you? Then why don't you? You must be so disinterested in your lack of caring that you decided to avoid caring at the least possible level, and instead care at some pedestrian, half-assed, neither bountiful nor depleted level. Why even mention, then, that you could care less? Is it necessary to let everyone know that you sort of care about something, just not enough to shut the fuck up about it? Your middle-of-the-road caring has produced an oversight regarding what you most likely intended to say: you couldn't care less.

I suspect that it is possible you really meant what you said...if you were talking about something asinine like grapefruits or stamp prices. These are things that you could care less about if you really felt like it.

Some things I couldn't care less about:

people who say could care less
whether Barry Bonds plays baseball again
baseball
my business classes
women's basketball*

*unless played naked

...but he's a nice guy

I call this the "eternal cop out."

Actual conversation where "...but he's a nice guy" is used:

Well-informed Gentleman: I do say, Disillusioned Lady, Constable Jefferson is a rather peculiar and unlikeable fellow.
Disillusioned Lady: Oh dear! Why would you say such a thing, Well-informed Gentleman?
Well-informed Gentleman: He is just dreadful to be around; constantly being a real wanker.
Disillusioned Lady: I suppose you may be right...
Well-informed Gentleman: Indeed! Furthermore, he is a considerably daft bastard and poor at billiards and polo, not to mention entirely incapable of fox hunting!
Disillusioned Lady: Though I must agree on all counts, I find that Constable Jefferson, despite his plethora of flaws and shortcomings, is a nice bloke.
Well-informed Gentleman: Bollocks! What does that have to do with any of the facts I have presented?
Disillusioned Lady: Nothing, I suppose. I was merely offering a retort to your disparaging statements.
Well-informed Gentleman: That is not a retort, Disillusioned Lady. It is a poorly-formed excuse for every one of his faults!
Disillusioned Lady: But...but...he is--
Well-informed Gentleman: Rubbish!

As you can see, in this direct excerpt from a real conversation that took place in 1783, "...but he's a nice guy" has been used for centuries mostly by women in order to excuse a man who sucks at life. In this case, Constable Jefferson sounds like a worthless piece of shit, but is excused for being a nice guy by the Disillusioned Lady. Even if this man really is a nice guy, it unfortunately does not make up for his general lack of any life skills. Being nice is easy; it should not be praised so heavily and used as a means of excusing someone from sucking at everything else.

Bless you!

Whoever came up with this saying was clearly retarded. No need to debate its origin; being blessed for sneezing is exactly the same as someone commending you for farting. Now, I say this myself, and I clearly can't be mad at myself, hate myself, or think I suck, can I?

No.

So I have to hate the person who came up with this dumb phrase. I hate the reasoning behind saying it. I hate the circumstances surrounding it when said. I hate everything to do with this overused, pointless, useless saying.

First of all, in case this part isn't clear: one need not be blessed for his or her nose involuntarily reacting to some stimulus. Your "soul" is staying put. You're not going to fly up to Jesus just because some shit flew out of your nose in response to pet dander.

Second, why are you judging me for not saying it? YOU JUST FUCKING SNEEZED. An appropriate response to this would be, "Dude, don't sneeze on me, you unsanitary bastard," not some response sanctifying the person for adding germs to the environment. I get angry when people think that I should say "bless you" if they sneeze (if you couldn't tell that already). They think I'm not being polite, and are sometimes OFFENDED. How is that polite?????????????????????????????? Next time you drop a foul smelling, infant-sized deuce, I'll be sure to commend you for such a deed, lest I be judged! Sorry, but I don't see any legitimate reasoning for dignifying someone's sneeze, unless they managed to cure AIDS in the process of sneezing.

Third, if I do say it the first time, do I have to say it the next eight times you sneeze? I don't know the rules for sneeze blessing, and if I did, I'm sure I wouldn't understand them. Following this, I feel that people with more allergies are being blessed way more often than the rest of us. That is absolutely unfair. Just because you aren't normal doesn't mean you deserve more blessings than I do. Nobody goes around blessing midgets just for being tiny. Also, what if somebody sneezes and a priest is around? Does he say "bless you"? If not, is that priest an asshole?

Well, yeah.

ATM machine/PIN number

Based on these two common phrases, ATMs must be the most redundant technology on the planet.

It's really simple here: ATM stands for automated teller machine. PIN stands for personal indentification number. These are A-C-R-O-N-Y-M-S. There's no need to repeat the last word twice. Do you say CD discs? UFO object? OJ juice (unless referring to OJ Simpson's semen)? JFK Kennedy? I could go on forever.

Just stop. Please.

Thanksgiving SUCK

2008-11-28T03:42:00.004-05:00

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I have decided to write about several things that suck today. It's only fair to provide a vast (read: limited) selection of suckiness on a day that features vast amounts of food (you could read through the lines here and conclude that I just don't have a lot to say about one topic; I would not argue with you). Hopefully, this entry will not compare to turkey in that it induces sleep, but rather in some awkward, meaty, juicy comparison.

THANKSGIVING FOOTBALL GAMES

I really could cover this with the following:

BARRY SANDERS DOESN'T PLAY FOR THE LIONS ANYMORE, GODDAMNIT. SERIOUSLY YOU FUCKING IDIOTS, HE RETIRED LIKE 10 YEARS AGO AND THE LIONS HAVEN'T BEEN GOOD SINCE.

That's really all I need to say, but I'll continue... let's look at the scores of the three games played today:

Titans 47, Lions 10; Cowboys 34, Seahawks 9; Eagles 48, Cardinals 20

Seriously? I understand that it's now tradition to put the Lions on Thanksgiving day, but it's the same kind of tradition as beating up the scrawny kid in grade school every day who has too many freckles, too much asthma and not enough guns (yet). Everyone knows the result. Does whoever schedules these games think that the Lions would somehow provide even decent competition for any NFL team (excluding the Rams, of course)? Keep in mind, this is the same Lions team that just signed a quarterback with one knee who hasn't played a full season since 2004. The same team that had to do that to replace a guy named Dan Orlovsky (remember, that QB who ran out of the back of the end zone). The same team that has drafted a wide receiver with their first pick for, I think...the past 5 years. Sigh.

Again, tradition with the Cowboys. But why Seattle? They suck. Everyone knew they would suck. I'm pretty sure they had to sign homeless guys to play wideout, plus they have a bald quarterback. Terrible combination.

The Eagles/Cardinals game had some potential, but of course it was on NFL Network, so unless you have DirecTV or spend your Thanksgiving at a bar (so, I guess a lot of people), you probably didn't watch it. Well, don't worry, it sucked anyway. Kurt Warner decided not to throw touchdowns to my favorite fantasy player, Anquan Boldin, and consequently the Cardinals lost by 28. Oh, and cardinals and eagles and turkeys are birds, so, clearly this game made sense for Thanksgiving. I hate myself for making that comparison.

THE MACY'S THANKSGIVING DAY PARADE

Whoever watches this horseshit needs to identify themselves in public on a daily basis by wearing a shirt that says "I watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and promote the shittification of America." There is a litany of reasons why this event sucks:

floats - WTF are these and who invented them? If it was the same person who named them, that person is an idiot. Sorry, but if I took a large horizontal vehicle and covered it in random shit that is likely frightening to children, I wouldn't name it something it most certainly couldn't do. Hey guys, check out this thing: it's a vessel that can only travel on water and is buoyant; I call it a sink.
huge stupid balloons - A giant balloon version of Ronald McDonald would SCARE THE SHIT OUT OF ME in person. 1) Ronald McDonald is a serial rapist in clown makeup; 2) What if it exploded? Thousands dead. Their only purpose should be for getting rid of mischievous children by tying their hands to the balloon and telling them to hang on, then watching as they sail away into a world of never being annoying ever again. Until they return 30 years later wearing robotic suits with shoulder-mounted rockets and murder you for being a deadbeat parent, then take over our government.
the time it's on - I don't have anything to do on Thanksgiving day except eat, sleep and maybe poop. If I don't get up early to do any of these three things, then I'm sure as hell not getting up early to watch a gay traffic jam.
no tanks are involved - If I were to watch or participate in a parade, one of my prerequisites would be the involvement of military vehicles, namely huge tanks. As far as I'm concerned, unless we're not rolling ICBMs and tanks through Tiananmen Square, I'm not interested.
parades make you gayer - This is indisputable and requires no explanation.

Usually a consolation prize of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade is a decent number of hot chicks. Since it's cold out, this is mostly pointless. Today, whoever watched got RickRolled. Deserving.

LACK OF TURKEYS MADE OF ALL WHITE MEAT

Short and sweet here: man on the moon, cloning, black president, nuclear weapons. Turkeys still have dark meat. WTF, scientists?

THE JONAS BROTHERS

I have no idea who these guys are, but they suck. It is pathetic that we are not only tortured with terrible matchups on Thanksgiving day, but are then stabbed in the ears and eyes by abominations of music such as these hacks during a halftime performance. Not only can they not sing (though I must commend them for actually attempting to do so and not lip-syncing), their music is more generic than Nickelback's. I guess FOX decided that their main audience was the 9-15, female demographic, and not the 18-80, drunk male demographic. Did no one at FOX know that both of these demographics could be satisfied with a Miley Cirus performance? This seems obvious.

EVERY MOMENT JULIA NUNES IS NOT MY WIFE AND/OR LOVER

Julia, the love of my life, has yet to ask me to marry her. Don't be hesitant to click her name - it's just a link to a YouTube video showing the most amazing person to walk this earth performing Accidentally in Love by Counting Crows on a ukelele, melodica, and Kleenex drums. If Julia and I don't have kids (together), I will be very sad. It is likely I will be very sad.

Screw it. Here's that video, but embedded, so you can be lazy and fall in love at the same time. Keep in mind, since this blog is about things that suck...

NOT HER

Totally New SUCK (Monday Edition)

2008-11-24T05:17:00.006-05:00

People Whose Gender is Unidentifiable

Working at a retail store has bestowed upon me the opportunity to view and interact with countless types of people over the past few years. Generally, I try to refrain from any type of discrimination toward specific categories of individuals, whether they be women, men, the elderly, the young, black people, AZNs, Mexicans, or even white people. This cannot be attributed to my desire to be politically correct or not offensive; rather, it is because people from all backgrounds exhibit shitty qualities. Just because one group of people tend to proliferate their own stereotypes does not mean that their personal downfalls are necessarily a product of the group into which they are placed.

I have, however, found that one group of people specifically cause issues in my working life that are directly related to the "life container" into which they fit. The group to which I am referring are those who cannot be immediately identified as male or female. This condition is often caused by one or more of the following:

morbid obesity
poor hairstyle choice
surprising vocal frequency

I shall further explain each aspect of the causes behind Gender Ambiguity after a brief discussion of why I take issue with this group:

I should not have to perform even the most basic of investigations to determine your gender. If I cannot look in your direction and quickly arrive at a gender conclusion, there is a mild tragedy taking place. There should not have to be any considerations weighed, nor circumstances or actions studied in order for me to decide whether the person whom I just looked at is indeed male or female. If I cannot determine this without conducting a study or asking investigative questions, how am I supposed to greet you? I have run into situations in the past where I have made assumptions about someone's gender and been completely wrong, and thus treated disrespectfully by the person whose gender I misinterpreted. If it is up to interpretation as to what gender you are, then I do not consider it my fault for possibly addressing you as "sir" if you happen to have a vagina. Sorry, but I figured if you have a groomable mustache, you were probably a dude.

As I listed previously, there are distinct causes behind people of indistinguishable gender. What I believe to be the most prominent is morbid obesity. Just a hypothetical here: if you were hiking in the Rockies, and saw a mountain inexplicably moving toward you, would you be able to determine its gender? I didn't think so. Same problem here. Unforunately, some people are so large that it is nearly impossible to decide what gender they are without doing a physical. I would assume that most of these people would find it difficult to leave their homes, but apparently this is not the case. If true, this would leave gender issues at the door (or perhaps quite literally stuck in the door), and save society from the anguish involved in determining such a person's sex.

Another reason why I sometimes find it challenging to determine someone's gender is their poor hairstyle choice. This is applicable to both male and female. For instance, it seems that quite often a man purchasing World of Warcraft has hair that resembles that of a homeless Rapunzel: it is draped over his leather trenchcoat almost to his waist, and looks to have been used to mop a floor. The opposite is true for some women, who have CREW CUTS. Clearly the man with long hair is not looking to pick up women, so I suppose no one really needs to know his gender. But the Marine-haired woman? This confuses me. I can only speculate that she is trying to pick up women as well, by looking like a man and luring them into thinking she might indeed have a penis. Beware of this trap, unsuspecting, straight females. It is seductive, dangerous, and real.

Finally, I often fall victim to the third cause I listed above: surprising vocal frequency. I call this the Wizard of Oz Effect, as I feel that there must be some other person inside the deceiver controlling its voice. You know how sometimes on the phone you can't tell whom the other person is? Well, this is like that, except that person is right in front of you, speaking to you, and you still can't figure out whether that person is a man or a woman. Your eyes indcate to you that the thing you see is a woman, but your ears scream WAIT! STOP! DON'T MAKE THAT DECISION! THIS PERSON SOUNDS LIKE JAMES EARL JONESSSSSSSSSSS! Keep in mind that I'm not talking about transgender people who might have once possessed a penis but now have some opening in their nether-regions that resembles a baby chute; I mean people who were truly born as a certain gender and have not been modified. This same situation can be applied to a man with shoulder-length hair who has the voice of Jewel. Seriously, what the fuck...

Anyway, I think I have clearly described people whose gender happens to be a variable in a very complex equation which can only be solved through guess-and-check. This wouldn't be that big of an issue normally, as I can't see myself being that interested in anyone whom I cannot immediately identify as a woman, but in a work setting where I sometimes have to refer to people as "sir" and "ma'am", this causes many problems. It angers me the most that blame is shifted toward me because I made an incorrect assumption. This is disturbingly unfair. Rather, blame should be fully carried by people who cloak their gender from the outside world.

My final plea: unless you reproduce by budding, please indicate in some fashion whether you are male or female. If you cannot do this, you suck.

Thursday's SUCK

2008-09-11T02:14:00.004-04:00

Being Too Smart for Your Fantasy Draft

A few days ago, I earned the first pick in my NFL fantasy draft. I say earned because I assume that because of the daily--no, hourly--virtuous and kind deeds I perform for the rest of humanity I was quite deservedly granted the number one overall pick, so that I could dominate my "friends" and steal their money in a rout.

I debated for a day or two about whom I would take with the first pick. In our league, rushing touchdowns are worth six points; two more than passing touchdowns. Clearly this would push me toward picking a running back - after all, there are really numerous options at that position, and one fairly obvious choice: LT. LaDainian I Don't Even Need to See at Night to Run Your Face Off Tomlinson. The best fantasy running back, the best fantasy player, the overall baddest-ass motherfucking black visor wearing fast as shit stat monster who would would guide my team to victory.

Wait. Did you spot the factual error in the last statement? Exactly. LT wasn't the best fantasy player last year. Who was? The answer is obvious, and is probably seducing your girlfriend or mom at this very moment: one Thomas Edward Brady, Jr., quarterback and chief heart-throb of the New England Patriots, the team that decided it was too good to win the Super Bowl; so good, in fact, that they allowed any of their immediate relatives and close friends to play for them in that game. What else could explain their defensive line's inability to sack Peyton Manning's pathetic excuse for a brother...err, what? He actually IS a quarterback? I always thought the Giants just let some confused, whiny, armless guy play on their team for shits and giggles. And I'm not even a fan of the Patriots...

Tom Brady was THE only possible choice with the first pick. Had any of the other idiots in my league gotten the first pick, they would have wasted it on some chump like the aforementioned Ray Charles impersonator, or the player whose only career accomplishment in the NFL is setting the single game rushing record (given one entire year in the NFL, it would be reasonable to assume he could have at least tied the career rushing record). Luckily, I had the pick, and Tom Brady and his beautiful face would soon be nestled in my starting lineup for Week 1.

I have yet to mention that Tom Brady used to play for the University of Michigan. Being an Ohio State fan, I do have some deep-seeded animosity toward any player--current or graduated--from UM. Tom Brady, however, is so good that he completely removed any reservations I had toward having any Wolverine on my bench. In fact, his smug demeanor in interviews reminded me of how I would secretly enjoy the inherent irony in rooting for a player upon whom I should wish a painful and elaborate death.

Irony.

Let us briefly examine this word.

First, its definition:

"an outcome of events contrary to what was, or might have been, expected"

This offers some substance. For what happened was exactly contrary to what I expected.

The known: Week 1. Patriots vs. Chiefs. BLOWOUT. The Kansas City Chiefs are likely worse than a random assortment of Indian Chiefs who, upon discovering how to travel through time, found themselves lost and bewildered on a football field in Foxboro, Massachusetts on September 7, 2008.

The assumed: Tom Brady would surpass last season's record of 50 passing touchdowns in this game alone. I would amass at least 200 fantasy points, thoroughly crushing Kevin and setting the stage for a season's worth of disappoint and loss for the rest of my league.

The reality: A lack of irony. Yes, yes...I do mean a lack of irony. Well, at least in the Pictionary sense. I've never done this, but I would guess that if given the word irony in a game of Pictionary, I would draw the following:

(No, I would not draw an iron and a knee. That is absurd, would never work, and clearly is worse than the above example which I certainly did not choose for the purposes of this article and the comparison that shortly follows this.)

What I never knew and could never know, but what I do know now, is that Tom Brady does not have iron knees. Every scouting report I have ever read, every medical report I have ever seen, indicated that Tom Brady's entire body--excluding his heart--was ruthless, and more importantly, ferrous. Little did I know that Tom Brady's knees and knee ligaments were NOT MADE OF IRON, AND THUS WERE SUSCEPTIBLE TO DEFENSIVE PLAYERS DELIBERATELY RAMMING THEIR HELMETS INTO THEM. REPEATEDLY. ON PURPOSE. A LOT. MEANLY.

As it turns out, I am out a quarterback and now must play Jon Kitna in Tom Brady's place. This is the price I pay for being too smart for our league. I chose the smartest pick possible, and it along with Tom Brady's ACL and MCL blew up in my face. Sometimes, even the most intelligent members of society must bear the burden of knowing that they are, indeed, better and smarter than everyone else. Regarding myself, this inherent truth dogmatically applies to every aspect of life, including fantasty drafts. As a warning to future participants in any fantasy sport, do not make the smart pick. If drafting for the NBA, pick Michael Jordan over LeBron or Kobe, as he would be more likely to come back from retirement and average a quaddruple double than those players would be to get injured. If involved in a baseball draft, just pick Ted Williams, as the likelihood of his cryogenically frozen corpse being thawed and hitting for the cycle in 162 consecutive games compares favorably to the chance that Alex Rodriguez is downed by an errant pitch.

And lastly, if you're participating in an NFL fantasy draft, choose Michael Vick, who has never played a full season and isn't even in the NFL (drafts can allow write-ins). There will likely be a better chance of him getting out of jail and putting up monster numbers than a player like Tom Brady, whose lack of injuries was so absurd that he was SARCASTICALLY listed on the injury report for 53 consecutive weeks, suffering a season-ending injury in Week 1.

OH WAIT, THAT FUCKING HAPPENED,

FUCK ME.

Wednesday's SUCK

2008-09-01T21:47:00.004-04:00

DELAYED MORNING WOOD

Today's topic is perhaps one of the worst afflictions in the modern world. I liken it to HIV/AIDS in both the magnitude of its victims and the method of its onset.

Delayed morning wood is a disease whose only visible symptom is a GIANT ERECTION AT AN INAPPROPRIATE TIME AND PLACE. It occurs later than normal morning wood does (...hence the adjective "delayed"); somewhere around one to two hours after waking up. As a general note for the unfamiliar, normal morning wood usually occurs almost directly after a man rises (lolololol) from his slumber. Accompanying an alarm is usually what appears to be a box spring from one's mattress that has somehow poked through the top and is now raising the sheets above one's body. Despite the unlikelihood of this event, it can be used as an excuse to confuse an outside observer.

Unfortunately, men suffering from delayed morning wood are often confused with pedophiles and people with general sexual issues. Based on my own studies, I would estimate that 91% of all public indecency cases are the result of delayed morning wood being mistaken for intended inappropriate sexual display.

I have experienced delayed morning wood directly - thankfully not indirectly - and I can verify that it is not desirable. The most vivid memories of my affliction stem from pitching tents in Psychology 101 during my freshman year. I suppose I was lucky that this was not Child Psychology, or some class involving lying on my back for a fifty minute duration or standing in close proximity to others' faces and asses. Nonetheless, it was a maelstrom of non-desirable circumstances. The class consisted of approximately 150 people, all eager to learn about interesting case studies involving railroad ties being rammed through an individual's brain, and surprisingly not eager to witness what appeared to be the same device in my pants.

Luckily I was able to disguise my late-arriving friend through various means. Had I not been so successful, however, I would most likely have been subject to much ridicule and questioning. I feared that someone would eventually wonder why I decided to bring a carrot to class; much less one that I carried in my trousers. I suspect that others have not been so successful.

Delayed morning wood most likely occurs because one awakens before their normal, biological time. For myself, this is something like 12PM. However, my Psychology class was at 10AM, so, near the end of class, my body was like oh shit wtf you're awake? why didn't you say anything goddamnit? oh well here's a boner. I mean, I'm paraphrasing, but it was basically like that.

In summary, if a guy has an inappropriate erection and isn't wearing a public masturbator trench coat, driving a serial killer van, or hasn't shaved for a while and has developed a pedophile beard (all demonstrated here), check the time...he might just be suffering from delayed morning wood. Have some compassion, please.

Monday's SUCK

2008-09-01T02:17:00.004-04:00

UNNECESSARY, UNPROVOKED AND INCORRECT PLURALIZATION

So prevalent in today's society is the lack of and disregard for proper use of grammar. As an anal sonuvabitch, this really bothers me.

Let's begin with a concise review of how not to pluralize anything: by adding an apostrophe and an S.

An example: You learned this shit in sixth grade, you idiot.

What if I wanted to refer to more than one idiot? Would I arbitrarily add an apostrophe, throw on an S and call it a fuckin' day?

NO.

Why do people do this? I don't get it. The same goes with these other common, but equally wrong, mistakes:

"Sometimes (and really, only sometimes, I swear) I like to try to fit my penis inside the holes on CD's."

I have no qualms with this man's activities. Who I am to judge the sexual exploits of others? However, despite his penchant for trying to re-enact putting PLAY-DOH (yeah that's how it's spelled, assholes) through that weird plastic pasta-making thing (couldn't they have made something that would have instilled better life skills in children, like the... PLAY-DOH How to Work at a Fortune 500 Company by Making Shit Out of Clay That Tastes Like Salt Super Fun Kit), his grammar sucks. It's not CD's.

The same with years expressed numerically. I was conceived in a test tube in the 1980s, not the 1980's. However, the 1980's technological offerings enabled me to exist and to later bitch about inane things like this topic.

The ultimate goal of this post lies in the first two adjectives that describe the title.

Question: Have you ever been to Kroger's?

If you answered no, are female, and live in the midwest, you may possibly be the love of my life. Please consider contacting me if interested in pursuing a meaningful, passionate, grammatically sound relationship, or if you've just always wondered, What is it like to have sex with a horse?.

If you answered yes, well... you're a liar. No one has ever been to Kroger's. Actually, I rescind that statement. You know who's been to Kroger's?

Bigfoot. Bigfoot has been to Kroger's. He buys his condoms there. Yetis (not Yeti's!) buy ice cream at Kroger's. Fucking Santa Clause buys all of his gifts there. Chupacabras particularly enjoy their selection of salsa. In fact, if I hadn't actually been to a Sonic restaurant, I'd assume it was owned and operated by the same people who own Kroger's.

Hopefully you see my point. If not...well, all hope for you is probably lost. If you're saying to yourself, What is he talking about? I just got some stuff at Kroger's a few days ago... STOP. Think. The name of the store is...

wait for it...

KROGER.

Crazy, right!??!! I know it's hard to believe that the store isn't actually called [its actual name] + random apostrophe + S, but take some time to think about that.

Still a bit unsure about your favorite grocery store's name? Let's look at this from a different perspective...

If I told you I just got back from "Walmart's", wouldn't you have a bit of an issue with what I just said? You might say something like "from Walmart's...what? Walmart's Employees Work for Free Day? Walmart's One Day of the Year Where You Don't Feel Guilty Buying Stuff from Us because We're Donating .01% of Our Profits to Charity Day? What about, Walmart's This Joke is Getting Old Really Fast Day? I'm confused." Hopefully you would at least be cacophonous and acerbic in your criticism.

Just like you've never been to or heard of Giant Eagle's, you've never been to and will never go to Kroger's. It just simply isn't real, and you're a bastard for proliferating its faux name.

As a plea, I beg you to stop butchering the English language. I understand it has been an asshole to you throughout your schooling, but, like John McCain, it has been through enough torture.

Thursday's SUCK

2008-08-28T00:50:00.002-04:00

TIT CURTAINS

Are you pregnant?

What's that, you say? Yes? Then I refer you to Motherhood.com. Otherwise, dear reader, read on!

Now...let's try this again; I'll ask it in a different form:

Not pregnant?

Did you say yes? Fantastic! THEN STOP WEARING GODDAMN DRESSES THAT MAKE YOU LOOK PREGNANT.

This is an absolutely absurd trend. It is often stereotyped that women are overly concerned with their physical appearance and whether or not they "look fat".

Well, let's clear something up once and for all: if you wear something that is tight under your boobs, and then flows freely from there and is not a black dress, yes, YOU LOOK PREGNANT. This is not a debatable question. Yeah, great, you're accentuating a good area - boobs - but you're also leaving it up to the wind to decide how big your stomach looks. The wind is not kind. The wind is a cruel motherfucker. Did you see what the wind did to New Orleans? If the wind has no respect for cajun food, it certainly has no respect for the apparent size of your unborn child.

Do you really want the blonde Russian bitch from Captain Planet deciding what trimester you're in that day? Please keep in mind that she was a jealous whore. First of all, she took a back seat to Earth and Fire; need I remind you that Earth was represented by a minority and Fire by a ginger? Clearly, Wind, jealous of the United States' superior weaponry displayed during the Cold War, and pissed that two oppressed people came before her in the listing of elements that composed Captain Planet, was a bastion of jealously. She clung to a group of individual parts that formed a whole; could this more perfectly parallel the split of the USSR and her need to be a part of something any more than it does? Absolutely not. Additionally, her appearance was at the mercy of her animators. Should they decide one day to break out the template for Fat Albert and throw on some blonde hair, Captain Planet could be composed of Earth, Fire, Super Huge Slow Ass Wind, Water, and Heart. I think you get my point.

Don't put yourself at the mercy of Linka.

For clarity: I don't really have a problem with the way these "dresses" look. I mean, yeah, they look retarded. It really does look like you decided to get blinds for your windows and thought hey, why should I waste this fabric? I'll fuckin' cover my tits in it! Who cares if it looks like a hot air ballon is flowing from under my bosom!? But I don't think it makes girls look bad. It just makes them look like the Virgin Mary, who, I might remind you, was pregnant despite parading around as a virgin. As an aside, I wish such absurd events occurred in today's society:

e|_izaB3Th77: hey mary saw u 2day u looked kinda fat

guadalupEYchik: lol shut up...

e|_izaB3Th77: no srsly, wuts going on???

guadalupEYchik: wel im pregnent

e|_izaB3Th77: no way!!!!!!!! wat r u n joseph gunna do?

guadalupEYchik: hes not the dad

e|_izaB3Th77: lol u slut!! who is???

guadalupEYchik: god

e|_izaB3Th77: lol ok right

guadalupEYchik: no im serius. and im still a virgin

e|_izaB3Th77: wtf ur crazy. wut did joseph say when u told him???

guadalupEYchik: he wants 2 go on maury cuz he doesnt beleive me

Ad infinitum.

Anyway, my point remains that any apparel which makes one resemble household decor is usually frowned upon. I've never seen anyone wearing a lampshade or shag carpet as a shirt or dress. So unless you've been knocked up by someone, raped by God, or sat on the wrong toilet seat lately, stop wearing these shitty dresses.

They suck.

Monday's SUCK

2008-08-25T11:28:00.005-04:00

FARTING DURING NORMAL, EVERYDAY ACTIVITIES

I'd like to share with you a story about myself to which very few people are privy. I think that by sharing my cautionary tale with the rest of the world, I can shed light upon something that not only sucks, but can potentially be avoided through simple self-control.

As many of you are aware, I have a fairly liberal personality. This also means that other aspects of my life tend to lean a bit left at times. In this specific instance, the ASSpect (ah, puns...) of my life was, unfortunately, my liberal lower intestine.

Nearly two years ago, I was standing in my freshman dorm's cafeteria, unassumingly obtaining food so that I could scurry up to my room and consume it by myself in solitude. Unbeknownst to me, my colon was brewing a dangerous mix of the previous day's consumptions, and unfortunately seemed to be doing so on the "purée" setting.

As I began to pay for my food, I felt a gaseous outburst quickly approaching the outer regions of my ass canal. Normally, this would be a non-issue. It is here that I learned my lesson, and it is one that I will preach to you:

Do not carelessly, liberally, and unabashedly fart in the presence of others unless involved in some type of community shitting effort, or certain of the state of matter inside one's body.

The consequences of such actions are cataclysmic; I know first-hand because I did not heed this warning.

As I began to fart, I felt what seemed to be a waterfall of poo running down my once-clean leg at a rather quick pace. It was like Willy Wonka opened up a new factory in my ass and made my asshole the mouth of his chocolate river. In what seemed to be the longest few moments of my life, I paid for my food and scurried upstairs. Luckily, I was not wearing shorts; for if I had been, the floor would have flowed brown with my embarassment.

It was my brazen attitude toward careless farting that caused this whole debacle. Had I simply waited until I was alone, I would not have suffered through what was one of the worst days of my life.

Let this be a lesson to you: control your ass unless you've previously only consumed lead. You never know when your bowels might deceive you; what you think is air could turn out to be the equivalent of squeezing a GoGurt between your ass cheeks.

Beware.

Thursday's SUCK

2008-08-21T15:29:00.001-04:00

PEOPLE WAVING FROM AFAR

So you're just standing there, talking to one of your friends between classes, when you notice something out of the corner of your eye.

Somebody is waving to you! Oh, the joy. Do I know this person? Wait, she's hot...do I care if I know her? You begin to smile, and start to raise your hand to wave back. You begin your waving motion. The initial waver continues her potentially flirtatious advance. By now, you have fully committed to waving back at this person. Slightly befuddled by her lack of immediate response, you offer what is always a 100% accurate way of determining whether or not someone is actually waving at you: The Clarification Poke. If you're unfamiliar with this technique, it is a rather simple maneuver that involves you poking yourself in the chest with an inquisitive look on your face, essentially asking, "Am I important enough for you, random person, to be waving at me?"

Clearly the answer is no. The Clarification Poke merely clarifies that you are a pompous moron, and that you just made yourself look like a douchebag. It is always 100% accurate in determining that the person you saw was not waving to you. During The Clarification Poke, you usually see the real person your would-be greeter was waving to approach the waver, and begin to talk to him or her. At this point, you feel worthless and probably want to kill yourself.

You now have two options: sulk in shame, and resume conversation with your friend who has either left or is now questioning your friendship; or perform the seldom-used Revenge Wave. The Revenge Wave is a slight misnomer as your revenge will be exacted upon some other, unsuspecting victim, but it usually will result in some satisfaction. To perform the Revenge Wave, you start to happily and potentially violently wave at some random person who is at least 50-75 yards away. As they begin to exhibit the signs of falling victim to your bait, you just stop waving, flip them off, and walk away. Feeling satisfied, you can now go home and masturbate.

Tuesday's SUCK

2008-08-19T14:23:00.000-04:00

KETCHUP PACKETS

This is one of those small problems in life that everyone ignores just because it's not bad enough to petition for change. However, it is of great concern to me, for one simple reason... it sucks.

Ketchup packets - surely an American invention - defy all American principles. America loves to do things big. We've got the largest military in the world, the biggest canyon in the world, the biggest Declaration of Independence in the world...hell, even the biggest population of Americans are in America!

So why would we continue to use something so small and useless as a ketchup packet? It boggles the mind. When was the last time you used just ONE ketchup packet during a meal? If you answered never, you're an intelligent individual. If you answered anything other than never, you're probably a midget. In that case, continue using your one ketchup packet. I understand.

Ketchup packets need to be at least double their current size. This would allow for their frequent use on hot dogs and burgers, but also cut in half the number of packets needed for things that require large amounts of ketchup, such as french fries. This would also lower the number of ketchup packet droppings, which occur when large amounts of small packets are carried from the condiment are to the table. Packets are very slippery so they often fall from the hands of their greedy captor.

In summary, I'm all for ketchup packets. I have Heinz stock, so I really wish people would just grab handfuls of them and throw them away. However, for an item designed to be convenient, tiny ketchup packets are the polar opposite.

Monday's SUCK

2008-08-11T23:26:00.006-04:00

HOW IT'S MADE

How It's Made is easily the worst show on television. It is the epitome of what this blog is all about - something that sucks so badly, it shouldn't even exist.

One thing How It's Made has going for it is its uniqueness. No other show reminds me of "Hot Girl on the Side of the Road Syndrome"; otherwise known as Jailbait Mirage. If you're unfamiliar with what I'm talking about, here's the phenomenon in short: driving along, one notices (from afar) a seemingly hot girl on the road. Interest is sparked. Upon approach, however, what was once a hot, legal girl, now reveals herself to be...

...

...

TWELVE.

Sorry, ladies, if you don't understand what I'm talking about. It's mostly the clothing. For some reason, twelve year old girls in short skirts morph into 19 year old virgin girls with C cups in short skirts from distances of 30 yards or greater.

Anyway, back to the point. How It's Made draws you in to at least get a look at what it offers. Once you see what it offers, however, there are a few reactions (these parallel with the Jailbait Mirage):

Normal person reaction: changes the channel, admits that he was at least slightly intrigued, but once he realized what he was getting into, he got out before it was too late.
Trouble with managing anger person: turns off the television, proclaiming out loud that he "didn't want to watch TV anyway! TV is for fatasses."
Crazy/old/pedophile person: watches the entire show, possibly aware of the risks of doing so, and enjoys it. Disgusting.

I switch between number one and number two based on what else is on TV.

Sometimes this happens: NOTHING else is on, so I think "eh, maybe I'll see what's on Discovery. Oh, How It's Made! I hate this show. Whatever, maybe it'll be something cool this time, like AIDS."

"Today, on How It's Made..."

"briefcases" ... "goddamnit, why did I..."

"marbles" ... "is this a joke? The next one better be 'a way to block the Discovery channel when How It's Made is on...'"

"cardboard" ... "alright, fuck this, what's on Oxygen?"

ONE time, just ONE TIME, I want it to be something cool. Not ballpoint pens - thermonuclear bombs. Not cue sticks - particle accelerators. Not dog leashes - the universe, special guest God/The Big Bang.

I've never watched an episode of How It's Made (yes, I have gotten through a few) without hating myself afterward. It really is the worst way to waste a half our of your time. I'd rather spend a half hour testing vice grips with my testicles. After watching it, I wish they'd have shown how to make pipe bombs, so I could blow up myself and my immediate surroundings.

I really, really hate this show.

Sunday's SUCK

2008-08-11T17:15:00.005-04:00

ENDLESS SHITS

We've all had them: a seemingly infinite shit whose only approachable bound is the amount of toilet paper remaining on your roll. These always seem to come at the wrong times; right before you have to leave for something, when you're already running late, when all of your friends know you're in the bathroom taking a shit and it takes 25 minutes (yes, there is an explanation required for such a lengthy liaison with the lavatory), or when you're almost out of toilet paper.

I consider pooping to be one of my pastimes. I often enjoy relaxing on the toilet. Its time I get to spend with my ass that, if not for the necessity of shitting, I would otherwise not enjoy. Sure, you can spend time with other people's asses in various ways; if you can find a cup and a couple girls, you could even have a grand ol' time. It is a rare occurrence that one gets to spend time with their own ass, and I want this time to be peaceful. I don't want to have to work during this time, tediously toiling at my own waste valve so long that by the time I'm done, all I want to do is get the hell out of the bathroom.

Endless shits often ruin the next few hours of my life, because I always spend them wondering if I really did finish wiping. This is my primary concern. If I didn't completely finish, eventually I'm just going to have an itchy asshole, and this could potentially be even worse than an endless shit.

I think the worst part of this whole problem is that there is no apparent solution. The only one I can think of is to just not eat. If anyone knows any anorexic people, can you please ask them for me if they experience endless shits? I think I'd sacrifice food in exchange for the removal of endless shits from my life.

In case there's SOMEBODY out there who has never experienced this terrible event, I'll give a brief comparison. You know how at a deli, they take a big chunk of meat and just shave off small slices over and over? That's an endless shit, just in an edible, tasty form. You just keep removing poop after poop, but it never, ever ends. It's impossible to leave the bathroom satisfied. There's never a, "Alright good, I'm done - the paper is clean this time" moment. It's just, "Ok...that looks basically the same as the last time. Let me try again... ooookkk, same thing again..."; this just continues with no impending finale. You leave feeling worthless, like you've been trying to achieve something so simple for so long, but it has just been out of your reach.

I hope that one day, it will be socially acceptable to take friends to the bathroom to make sure your ass gets thoroughly wiped. Equipped with baby wipes and a small mirror, they could be at the ready outside the stall, eagerly awaiting your beckoning to tidy up your dirty work. Perhaps women have already conquered this problem, as they seem to take flocks of each other with them to the restroom.

Women, I commend you for conquering endless shits.

Saturday's SUCK

2008-08-10T03:33:00.004-04:00

AUTO-TANGLING CORDS

I would like to point out a phenomenon that I have experienced for some time, and have not yet begun to solve. It is something that really bothers and befuddles me, as it tediously consumes my time, and yet has no apparent solution.

First, I just want to ask: have you ever put two ropes, electrical cords, wires, strings, or penises next to each other without them being tangled when one (or both) needs to be removed? Exactly - it's impossible. I've never once done this and been able to remove one of the objects without it being wrapped around and entangled with the other (especially penises), and I suspect you never have.

It seems that if any cords are put into a pile on the ground, and are left alone for an extended period of time, they become tangled. How is this possible? I could only fathom this scenario's plausibility in an equally-plausible situation:

At work in his jewelry shop, a very cautious and well-prepared Jew decides he no longer wants to live. However, it is nearly 7PM, and he never misses a rerun of Seinfeld. Desperate to return home to watch what he knows will be his last episode before his impending self-imposed demise, he grabs two (just in case) rather lengthy extension cords he has sitting around in his shop, tosses them haphazardly into his trunk, and drives the speed limit home.

Upon arriving in his driveway at 6:59PM, he rushes to his trunk to grab the cords before he heads inside. Much to his dismay, he is met with a pile of cords more tangled than the curls on his head. Being a man who is a bit obsessed with eliminating clutter, he immediately grabs the cords and relentlessly tries to untangle them. His initial efforts prove mostly futile. However, after a few moments of frenetic cord untangling, he succeeds in separating cord from cord. His reaction is that of joy and triumph.

The setting sun catches his watch briefly and sends a glint of light toward his face. He knows. He has missed Kramer's entrance. It is 7:08PM; time seems to stop.

He thinks, I am such a schmendrik! If I just hadn't spent so much time worrying about these cords, I could have seen my last episode. I was going to kill myself after the episode anyway; the cords could have been untangled then!

It is then that he decides he has the will to live. If I can live with missing an episode of Seinfeld, I can handle anything, he realizes. I want to live. Unfortunately, at nearly that same moment, he is struck by a large pickup truck barreling down his street. Both cords fly out of his hands, forming a fantastic literary parallel with the way his large intestine spews forth from his severely ruptured lower abdomen. The cords and digestive tract all fall to the ground in a heaping mess of what once helped him live and what was to help him die.

The police arrive shortly, as do the paramedics. Upon finding his mangled body, he is pronounced dead at 7:16PM. However, something peculiar has happened. One of the police officers notices something odd a few feet from the man's car: it appears the two electrical cords, once liberated and free, had become entangled with what looked like the man's missing large intestine. Realizing the impossibility of these things simply tangling themselves, the man's death is ruled accidental, due to what the coroner described as the "likely consumption of two 10 foot electrical cords, which, having passed through the stomach, broke through it and became wrapped around the large intestine. The deceased subsequently exploded."

The point of all this is that cords, ropes, and even penises, can tangle themselves with one another. The minute you turn your back on them, they become ensnared with each other. Never let them leave your sight. Ever. Otherwise, something shitty will happen to you like that COMPLETELY TRUE STORY.

Thursday's & Friday's Combined SUCK

2008-08-09T05:57:00.006-04:00

BANKS and MAIL

These two ancient institutions never get called out for being pathetic, lazy pieces of shit. I'm not afraid of you. I don't care that you've both stood the test of time, even though more modern and efficient replacements have already been created and are widely used.

Banks and mail suck because they operate on a "fuck the world" schedule. Want to deposit money after 5PM on a weekday? Fuck you, come back tomorrow. What if it's Friday? Oh, well then come back Saturday, but make sure it's before 12PM, otherwise, we'll be closed. Don't even bother coming in on Sunday, no one needs money that day, even though that's when everybody goes shopping. The mail offers a similar policy: sorry, you're not getting shit or sending shit on Sunday. We're going to church. All. Day. We don't have time to deliver you anything on Sunday...you know, when you're most likely sitting around, waiting till Monday to get your stuff.

I do not understand these lazy bastards. At least stay open till like 8 or 9, banks, and be open on Sunday. All retail stores are, so why not you guys? And mail, really? Is it that hard to deliver stuff on Sundays?

Clearly banks and the mail system have entered some sort of agreement with the Catholic Church to not operate on Sundays. There is no other explanation (except the real explanation, which I am completely ignoring, that no corporations operate on weekends). Here's why:

Everyone's List of Stuff to Do on Sundays:

deposit money at the bank
send and receive mail
blow off church
jerk off

Here is the typical way this is executed:

Fuck, it's Sunday, the bank's closed. Oh well, I guess I'll go get the mail and drop off this letter that must be sent and received today. DAMNIT, it's Sunday; no mail! Now I have nothing to do. I guess I'll go to church... man, that was pretty boring. That whole spilling seed thing was kind of interesting though, I mean, I've never really thought about it like that... now I don't really feel like jerking off anymore.

See? This is such an obvious conclusion to reach.

Wednesday's SUCK

2008-08-07T22:49:00.000-04:00

This should be a continuation of Tuesday’s suck, since I’m still stuck in Amish country, but I did manage to leech the wireless internet across the street from the clearly normal people living there. The only issue I encountered with this was that I had to plug my laptop into an outlet attached to a sign near the road, and sit by the road late at night to receive any signal. Regardless, it was worth it to not have my coverage dropped every minute or two. Luckily people don’t worry about password protecting their networks.

I should mention that one thing that DOESN’T suck about this place is the potential for humor that lies in these memory books in the cabin. Apparently when one stays here, something is supposed to be left for the next person to read (and also, I’m sure, for the people who own this place to read and then subsequently feel better about themselves). People have written things like “Thanks for the cookies, they were great!” or “The cabin was so peaceful, and the lake was fun.”; generic stuff. I have a few ideas of what I want to write (as a basis for this…there are no televisions, you are not allowed to drink, and the area where we stayed was a living room with a lofted bed):

The cabin was fantastic. Really liked the serenity of it—also enjoyed the 3 huge TVs! Big surprise! They were tricky to find though.
Loved the cabin and the homemade moonshine you left us.
Had a terrible weekend; our five year old son was carried off by bears while we were fishing and we have not seen him since. Please inform us if anyone sees him. Otherwise, great weekend!
Cabin was awesome! Enjoyed the fresh breakfast every morning. Hid a $100 bill somewhere in the cabin for the next guest!
The basement was a big surprise, enjoyed the Amish-built workout equipment down there!
Cabin smelled of rotting corpses, but otherwise, peaceful weekend.
Got divorced. Thanks.
I was able to murder my fiancé here without anyone noticing. Lake provided good dumping place, though didn’t know bodies floated that easily! Thanks for the opportunity; I’ll definitely be back sometime.
Sorry about the cabin; will help you rebuild if necessary.
Who is the man who knocks on the door repeatedly every night? Otherwise, quiet and serene getaway!
Didn’t know there were crocodiles in Ohio! Regardless, fantastic week. Driving stick with one arm might be difficult. Thanks for the cookies!

I assume these are much less funny than I think they are. I’ll blame it on you not being here to experience the wonder that is “Water’s Edge Cabin” (this place is actually pretty nice).

Back to what actually sucks:

COBWEBS THAT APPEAR OUT OF NOWHERE

I don’t have much to say about these, other than that they have plagued me nearly my entire life. It seems that when I least expect it, I walk into a cobweb that cannot be detected by any means other than casual, unaware walking. Looking for these things is useless. They make me feel like a surprised porn star, because every time I’m fucking sauntering about, BOOM, one of them EXPLODES ON MY FACE. Somehow, out of nowhere, an invisible web of ANNOYANCE and SHOCK woven by a spider of equal invisibility and cloaking skill sticks directly on me. Clearly this web is weak and pathetic, as I break through it easily. However, what is the purpose of your web, asshole translucent spider? Did you really anticipate catching a full grown man in your web? Or did you just want to make me look like a moron, wiping an invisible substance off my face like a blind Jenna Jameson being unloaded on by Hollow Man (I mean, his jizz was invisible too, right? Right.) I think your motives lie in the mimickry of this seedy industry, and I frown upon you and your unavoidable webs.

Tuesday's SUCK

2008-08-07T22:45:00.000-04:00

THE AMISH

Seriously Jeremiah, no TVs? I don’t get it.

I suppose I should elaborate a tad…

I’m sitting on the porch of an Amish cabin/house/dwelling, under an electric light, mind you, writing this because I can’t watch baseball highlights on SportsCenter tonight. See what I’ve become without one day of television? A monster. I vehemently hate baseball, and for me to wish to see highlights of something I hate is akin to the parents of JonBenét Ramsey asking for footage of their daughters’ murder to watch with a bowl of popcorn and a Bud Select.
The Amish suck for several reasons, which I shall enumerate:

A la carte Amishness: They don’t have televisions, but they do have phones, computers (but no internet), CD players, electricity, and they take CREDIT CARDS as forms of payment in their homes. Since when can you pick and choose?
They don’t allow alcohol or gambling. No betting that someone can’t drink something in an absurdly low amount of time.
Ridiculous beards. Sorry, but unless you are Zach Galifiniakis, a participant in a bet/challenge, Abraham Lincoln, Blackbeard, or an offensive lineman, you should not have a huge beard. It serves no purpose other than to make the rest of your face look stupid. Flip a baseball field upside down and you have a rather good idea of what an egregiously-bearded man looks like, only with a green beard, rather red skin, three mouths, and one eye. That was a fucking terrible comparison.
Fucking huge, Power Ranger spiders. One almost killed me. Luckily, I smashed it. Unfortunately, the first time I smashed it, it merely released literally THOUSANDS of smaller (and for the purposes of hyperbole, more deadly) spiders. Apparently this spider was just assembled from smaller spiders, like the Power Rangers used to do when they formed whatever the fuck that big robot thing was. This spider required two murders, which is rare. I suspect the remnants of its existence are plotting revenge as I type.
Attributing normal, everyday events (only good ones) to God’s blessings and mercy. The lady working here said that she was so thankful that it rained, because “God is so kind and merciful that he sent us rain”. Sigh. God also invented TVs. Use them.
Every Amish restaurant has the same goddamn food, and it sucks. There is absolutely no originality in Amish food. Here’s a common Amish recipe: some type of meat, a form of potatoes, and no added flavors whatsoever. Possibly breading. Just that, probably with gravy on both items, and some bread, is Amish food. Anyone can make Amish food. It takes no skill, the most common ingredients possible, and only has one absolute requirement: it can’t be healthy at all, because grills don’t exist for the Amish. Everything must be fried, or if baked, MUST BE COVERED IN GRAVY made from fat.

I’m certain there are more than six things that suck about Amish people, but these are the most prominent.

A Foreward

2008-08-07T22:42:00.001-04:00

Before I start this, I just want to mention that I had a blog before they were cool and mainstream. I’m talking about before half of the news personalities and talking heads on TV delivered their thoughts in blog format (which just means it’s the normal news, with less influence on the importance of proper writing, using something “cool” as a vehicle for their shortsighted opinions). Anyway, what I just said was pointless, because I can now unfortunately be labeled as a blogger. However, I feel like I need to shed light upon things that suck, because hopefully, my opinion – an opinion that is vastly more important than yours – will make them suck less.