Just A Thought: The Most Overated Things In The World

So I had this thought today and I really feel like people need to hear it. I think this sort of thing is what Twitter is for I but I’m not really sold on Twitter. Sounds kind of fruity to me.

Anyway, here it is: the two most overrated things in the world are hand jobs and the Beatles and don’t even get me started on getting a handy while listening to the Beatles. I bet you never thought you’d read hand job and the Beatles in the same sentence, but I guess there’s a first time for everything.

HJs are so overrated. Women are terrible at them. They have no rhythm and because of that it takes forever to release your man juice. If I wanted a chaffed sore penis I’d just have sex with a mail box. They just don’t get the subtleties of dick whacking.

So, I don’t know why you’d have someone do something that you could do much better yourself. I mean, by this point I’ve had almost a decade of practice. If jerking off was an Olympic event I would win a gold medal. Wait, why isn’t it an Olympic event?

The Beatles. Completely overrated. When everyone talks about what geniuses they were they only mention their later albums. Everyone just fucking skips over the part where they started of doing teenage pop love songs. And their mythology only grew after Lennon died because after that they couldn’t stick around and start releasing horseshit albums in the 80s and 90s.

I’m not saying they’re bad. They’re a great band, just not as great as everyone thinks. But can you say that to anyone? No, because they’ll have a fucking seizure, which pisses me off because those kind of people probably never heard a Beatles song until they got to college and they usually know next to nothing about music.

Fuck the Beatles, I’ll take the Rolling Stones or The Kinks over them any day.

The Best Journalist In The World

Once again I found myself sitting in Jeff’s office. Jeff was my editor at the shitty mid-circulation community newspaper I worked at. I hadn’t worked there long, but I was already making a name for myself.

Suddenly, the door slammed, and Jeff walked in. He looked happy, or maybe he looked angry. I’ve never really been good at reading people. Happy people mutter “goddammit” and “fucking retard” under their breath right? If that’s the case, then I make lots of people happy.

“What’s up chief,” I said with a smug smile. I knew he called me into his office to congratulate me on my latest article.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that,” he said happily.

“Okeydokey, sillynuts.” Sillynuts was my little nickname for Jeff. He fucking loved it.

“God-fucking-dammit, don’t call me sillynuts!” For a supposedly religious person, Jeff took the lord’s name in vain a lot. Especially when he was around me. I guess that’s okay now.

Note to self: say “goddammit,” around religious people from now on, but stop masturbating in churches.

Jeff started talking again but I wasn’t really paying attention. I just assumed he was praising my brilliant article on the new sales tax in town. However, I was paying attention to the pictures that adorned his desk and bookcase. This was some hardcore smut. I mean, kinky shit. There were kids and animals. And I was into to it.

I interrupted Jeff, “Say Jeff, I didn’t know you were into to kinky porno.”

“What? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Come on man you can be straight with me. Look at all these pictures,” I said motioning to his desk and bookcase. “But if you think this stuff is good you should see my hard drive; I’ve got a video of this girl and a llama that….” Jeff stopped me.

“These are pictures of my family and our pets, not smut you pervert.”

“Oh right, gotcha,” I said winking. “Have to keep it on the down low because of all the squares in the office.” I winked again for emphasis and also because I’m not really sure how winks are supposed to work.

“No really, these are just pictures of my family,” Jeff insisted. Regardless of what they were, I knew I would be masturbating to them later.

“Look, I need you to do something for me,” Jeff said in a serious tone. I knew exactly what he wanted me to do. My belt was unbuckled and my pants were unzipped before he could say “Rudolph red pecker.”

“Of course I’ll bang the bejesus out of your wife,” I said with enthusiasm. “She won’t be able to see straight when I’m done with her!” Jeff was so excited that I accepted his offer he couldn’t talk. He just kept mumbling under his breath and his face turned a deep shade of crimson. The vein in his forehead became engorged with blood, just like the wiener in my underpants.

“ARRRGGHHH! NO! I don’t want you to have sex with my wife,” Jeff said, well actually he kind of screamed it. “If you keep making sexual advances on my wife, we’re going to have to press charges.” Jeff complained a lot. It was always something with him, quit making sexual advances on my wife; you have to work with pants on; quit libeling the mayor.

“I need you t– no, goddammit we just went over this, put your pants back on–to rewrite your article on the sales tax.”

“Why? I thought you loved it?”

“No, quite the opposite. I hated it.” I was crushed. I thought for sure that article was gold.

“What was wrong with it?” I asked slightly hurt while giving my best “aw shucks” look.

“Well for starters, under the byline you wrote Richard Q. Gayballs….in crayon”

“And…”

“And? AND? And that’s not your fucking name!” Jeff opened his top desk drawer and took out his medicine, which was really just a pint of Congress Vodka. He took a deep gulp, “If I get another article written by ‘Richard Q. Gayballs’ or ‘Herbert M. Nerdlinger’ it’s your ass”

My ass? What did that mean? Was he going to rape me? No, I think he was coming on to me. I just played it cool and gave him the “of course I’ll fuck you and your wife eyes.”  As thoughts of Eiffel Towers and double stuffs swirled in my head, Jeff took a moment to collect his thoughts.

“I’m trying to run a newspaper,” Jeff got up and started to pace, “which is extremely difficult when my reporters don’t use facts.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m not trying to say, I am saying I don’t think there was one goddamn fact in your whole article.”

“Well I don’t think that’s entirely true I-”

“Really? Because you interviewed Dick-Fuck Jones, Jerk-Off Johnson and Whack-Off Jackson.” Jeff was now standing in front of me looking directly into my eyes. He was so close I could smell the gas station Vodka and Funions.

“Are you trying to tell me that they are real people?”

“Define real.”

“They actually fucking exist. They have social security numbers. They have addresses and contact information. They have a physical body.”

“Well then, no. But to be fair, I was really swamped and I had some stuff to deal with. You start one brawl at a drag show and the police want to ask all sorts of ‘questions.’ You know how it goes.”

“Actually I don’t, and what you do at the Ramrod is your own business. Anyway, I gave you a two day extension.”

Jeff walked back around to his desk and slumped into his chair. He took another healthy dose of his “medicine” and pulled out the draft of my article. He examined it for a minute or two and then said, “And if I’m reading this correctly, which unfortunately I believe I am, you interviewed a cat?”

“Oh yeah, Mr. Boots.” At that point I started to get nervous. Maybe I had been prejudiced. I knew that I should have interviewed a dog too. “It was hard to get him to talk but eventually he did.”

“I could see that, seeing as he’s a goddamned cat,” Jeff responded curtly. Then he started massaging his temples slowly and methodically. It hit me that Jeff was really upset about me interviewing a cat. I guess he was a dog person.

Note to self: Interview more dogs.

“So you’re saying you want me to interview more dogs?”

“No, I’m saying I want you to stop interviewing cats and dogs or any other animal because they can’t fucking talk!”

Note to self: Disregard last note to self. Stop interviewing dogs.

Jeff picked up my draft again and examined it once more. “There’s also a problem with your ending.” Jeff peered over the pages of the draft and looked at me as if to say, “Do you think there might be a problem with your ending?” But I remained silent because I knew my ending fucking ruled. “Well, I’ll take your silence as a sign that you don’t think there’s a problem or as a sign of ignorance, but probably both. Anyway the last paragraph is only one sentence and it just says, ‘Sales taxes are totally gay.’” Jeff held up a hand to stifle any further protest from me and continued, “I want you to work on this with Alex because he’s a good reporter and you seem to be functionally retarded.”

“But I hate that guy; he’s such a wiener.”

“I know you don’t like him, in fact the whole newsroom knows you don’t like him after last week. Do remember last week?” Jeff didn’t give me a chance to respond he just continued his verbal lashing. “You took a dump on Alex’s desk, wiped you exceptionally filthy ass with his latest article and started shouting ‘WHO’S THE BIG SHOT JOURNALIST NOW, HUH!?!?! MR. PULITZER.’ After that you told the fax machine to ‘quit looking at you funny,’ gave the finger to the computer monitor and passed out.”

I didn’t really recall what Jeff was talking about, but then again you forget a lot of things when you have Irish coffee, minus the coffee, for breakfast. Besides, who hasn’t taken a dump on a coworker’s desk? Some people are too sensitive. Jeff started talking again, right as I was contemplating taking an epic brontosaurus dump on his desk.

“You know, I don’t know why you weren’t fired after that. In fact, I don’t know why we hired you at all. When we asked for references you just gave us a list of women that you’ve had sex with. Ah fuck it, you know what? You’re fired! Get the fuck out of my office!”

“Really that’s how it’s going to end you’re just going to fire me? That seems like a cop out.”

“Well yeah, but like most of your articles, you didn’t really have an ending.”

“That’s true. But I mean what am I going to do? Just let perfectly good dick jokes go to waste?”

“Well if you feel guilty about it you just slap on a to be continued and come up with the rest of the story later. Even though you probably won’t.”

“Brilliant!”

TO BE CONTINUED… MAYBE… ACTUALLY PROBABLY NOT…

*Editors Note: I wrote this in pieces in varying states of consciousness. Some parts were written sober, some were written buzzed, some were written drunk and some were written sleep deprived. I don’t know if it’s awesome or problematic that I can’t tell/remember which parts were written in which state of mind. They all seem similar. Also for you mouthbreathing idiots out there who didn’t get it, the last four sentences are breaking down the 4^th wall between characters and author/audience.

The 10 Millionth Nice Guy Article On The Internet

The subject of “nice guys” and “nice guys finishing last” has been beaten to death. There are literally hundreds of articles about the subject on the Internet and I’m about to add to that number. I know I’m beating a dead horse, actually by this point it’s probably more like raping a dead horse, but I still feel like I need to voice my thoughts.

Women: The Fairer Sex And By Fairer I Mean Crazier

Are women crazy? Well, does the bear shit in the woods? Of course women are crazy. Women and crazy go together like porn and the Internet. It might not be immediately apparent in all women, but trust me; it’s there somewhere. The crazy usually manifests itself through paranoia, jealousy, insecurity, irrationality and an astounding lack of reason, and nice guys are ground zero for this crazy.

Women make so many rationalizations for dating complete asshats it makes my brain hurt. The most common reason I’ve heard is: “he’s not really like that. I can change him.”

You see nice guys are already nice. They treat pretty much everybody with decency and respect. They don’t really need to change. But this is where women’s logic gets shit-housed drunk, gets lost on the way to the party and ends up face down in a pile of vomit in a strange alley.

If a guy is nice to everyone how are you, as a women, supposed to feel special? How do you know he’s being genuine? How dare he treat everyone with same level of respect? On top of that, there’s no challenge because there’s nothing to change. But a complete A-hole, now that’s a challenge.

Women like nothing more than trying to emasculate men and there’s no greater achievement than putting your nuts under lock and key. They get off on the idea of someone changing for them. He must love you because he acts different around you. He changed just for you; you tamed the beast with nothing but passionate love. Well, that might be case if you live in a fucking romantic comedy but that’s not how things work in the real world.

It’s more likely that an A-hole just wants to get in your pants and he knows exactly what he has to do to get there. Or he’s just using you to get your way hotter, way cooler sister. Or your mom’s hot cougar tits. But once he gets what he wants it’s back to the same old jackassery. The point is people rarely change, especially assholes. So you might feel special for a while but when he’s done using you or you’re in an abusive relationship you’ll probably feel differently.

The funny thing is, situations like this are responsible for women saying, “all men are pigs, “men are assholes” or “why can’t I find a decent guy?” However, it was women who decided they wanted a challenge or a little thrill and ignored the guy that would have treated them decently the whole time. But no one ever said women were smart. Well, no one ever said it AND meant it.

I wish that was the only stupid reason I’ve heard for women ignoring decent guys but alas, it’s not. The previous statement tried to rationalize dating assholes but most often I hear reasons that try to rationalize not dating nice guys. They’re no less ridiculous, though.

Trust me I’ve heard all the classics from the I don’t want to fuck you but I still want to say it politely play book. Some good ones include, “he’s too nice,” “I don’t want to ruin our friendship,” “you’re great boyfriend material, but you’re just not for me” and the dreaded “you’re like a brother to me.” Socrates would shit his pants if he heard statements so illogical.

Too nice? What the fuck does that mean? I guess I could see that, if the guy was some kind of Ned Flanders churchy goody-good type (I’m looking at you Mormons) or if he was a spineless doormat, but I’ll get to that later. You know what, maybe there is something to that batshit-crazy logic. The other day I was walking downtown when I tripped and fell.  A complete stranger came up to me, offered his hand and said, “Are you alright?” Naturally, I thought he was being too nice. He clearly just wanted something from me. So I punched him in the dick, pushed him to the ground and while he was crying like a little girl, I told him I had filthy prostitute sex with his wife. That’s a perfectly reasonable assessment of the situation right? Oh, wait it’s not. It’s just insane, kind of like not dating a guy because he’s too nice.

The other reasons are just bullshit. “I don’t want to ruin our friendship.” That’s kind of a pessimistic view. How the fuck do you know it’s going to be ruined? It could go well and change your life. “You’re great boyfriend material, but you’re just not for me.” So you’re saying I have good qualities, qualities you yourself like but somehow you’re not interested in me. That makes sense, I guess? “You’re like a brother to me.” So pretty much, there’s no way I’m going to touch your lady-parts. In fact, in most states (depending on how far north you live) it’s actually illegal. Basically, these phrases are just a round about way of telling you something. Either:

1. She already has a guy with a wang of donkey-like proportions who satisfies her in ways sexually you could never know and she just wants to dump her emotional baggage on you.
2. Your dream girl is shallower than you thought.
3. You’re freakshow ugly.
4. She’s a bitch.
5. She’s a lesbian (hang in there, just keep telling yourself that).
6. And if god hates you, which is likely, all of the above (Yeah, I know 1 and 5 creates a paradox, but it’s a fucking joke).

Women Are Easily Confused

The problem with the term nice guy is that it’s pretty general. It covers a broad range of people. You might consider yourself a nice guy and it might be true. But you know who else considers himself a nice guy? The fat kid in the Battle Star Galactica shirt who spends all night downloading Japanese tentacle-rape porn considers himself a nice guy. That kid in your class with greasy hair and beady eyes who knows a suspicious amount of personal information about everyone in class considers himself a nice guy. The list goes on.

I think a lot women have the perception that “nice guys” are socially awkward, weird or stalkers and don’t get me wrong, some are. The problem is that guys like my friend, Mike, or me who are nice, at least mildly interesting and most importantly, NOT fucking weirdoes get lumped in with these dildos.

When a guy takes you to a family wedding on a first date and introduces you as “the one,” or if you find a guy on your lawn with a pair of binoculars and his pants unzipped, it’s safe to say at that point he’s more creepy weirdo than nice guy. So if that’s the case, call a spade a spade and refer to him as a weird bastard. Don’t feed into his self-deprecation and notion of being a hopeless romantic. Maybe if someone confronts these guys they’ll stop being so fucking awkward. If you’re saying, “But I didn’t know he was like that,” that’s bullshit. If you have any sense of perception you can tell if a guy is off after spending a little bit of time with him.

And just because a guy labels himself as a nice guy doesn’t mean it’s accurate and it doesn’t mean you have to label him a nice guy. Often I tell people my name is Baron Von Longdonger and that I’m the king of Luxembourg but that doesn’t make it true. A more accurate label would hack humor writer or porn fiend. You know, which ever.

Women, I know it’s tough for you but please use some common sense. If a guy is an over zealous stalker don’t refer to in any way as a nice guy. If a guy says that he is a nice guy, use some judgment and decide for yourself before throwing that term around. Please do this so I can describe myself as a nice guy with out people associating me with socially retarded loners, whiny little bitches or doofuses. However, if you do happen to come across a guy who is nice, respectful, funny and talented in some way, go ahead and call him a nice guy. And then have sex with him.

Doormats And Pussies

So far I’ve been pretty one-sided. Some people might call it being “sexist” but those people are probably women, so it doesn’t really matter. But believe it or not the blame doesn’t rest solely on women. Some men are also responsible.

There’s a certain type of nice guy that I’m sure you’re familiar with. He constantly laments the fact that he’s a nice guy. He spends hours on message boards pouring his heart out about how it “didn’t work out.” He creates self-fulfilling prophecies of defeat. He stays in on Friday nights and masturbates using his tears as lubricant. These nice guys are generally known as “fucking pussies,” which is ironic because that’s exactly what they’re not doing.

These guys use the nice guy persona as an excuse. They hide behind it and blame it for their relationship troubles instead of figuring out what went wrong. If one girl says, “no” they think it’s the end of the goddamn world. Well, it fucking isn’t. The odds are you’re going to get rejected at some point, but you can’t let that stop you from trying. But that’s exactly what these nancy boys do. They dwell on it and convince themselves that they won’t be successful with women. And guess what? They’re not. If these dorks put as much time into attracting women as they put into crying like little bitches, they might end up with a girlfriend.

The “spineless doormat” is another variety of nice guy but don’t get confused, spineless doormats are still pussies. Although, they usually manage to land a chick before they fuck it up, unlike the fucking pussies. These guys are goddamn neurotic messes. They’re the type of guys that constantly say things like: “Are you mad at me?,” “What’s the matter?,” “Did I do something wrong?,” or “I don’t care, I’ll do whatever you want to.” These assholes never take charge. They couldn’t make a decision if their dicks (which are probably more important than their lives) depended on it.

These jellyfish are so worried about pleasing other people that they don’t have time to relax and be themselves or think about what they want. They’re so worried about ruining the relationship that they don’t realize that’s exactly what they’re doing. Apparently, they don’t seem to grasp the fact that constantly asking “what’s wrong?” or is “everything okay?” is annoying to women.

Some women take advantage of this to get gifts or have a personal errand boy, but a lot of women get fed up with dating a nervous little girl and dump the spineless dipshit. After getting dumped, the spineless doormat completes the circle of not-getting-puss and turns into the fucking pussy and probably never talks to another women again. It’s a sad, sad cycle.

Listen guys, confidence is the name of the game. Women like guys who are confident. They don’t like neurotic wussbags who can’t even pick where to go for dinner. It might cute for a little while like when you ask her out or on the first date but after that it’s just pathetic. Women want a guy who knows what he wants. They want a guy who can take charge. If they wanted to date someone who’s submissive and can’t make decisions they’d date a woman.

One of the reasons that some women like assholes is because they’re usually outgoing and confident (even if it’s usually unwarranted). The two don’t necessarily go together, though. If you’re on the shy side you can still be confident, just work with what you have. If you’re not so confident, fake it. Women fake it all the time, although “it” in their case is an orgasm. If you’re knowledgeable about a certain subject steer the conversation that way so you’re more comfortable. If you have some anecdotes that always make your friends laugh, try to work one into the conversation. If you make her laugh you’re in like Flynn.

But you can’t be afraid to be rejected. I know it sucks but get over it you mama’s boy. Did you ever wonder why douche bag bros get so many girls? It’s because they don’t care if they get denied. They just move on. It’s as simple as that. Sometimes you just have to take a chance.

How many times have you been at a party, bar or show and seen a cute girl you wanted to say something to but didn’t because you were scared or intimidated? Well guess what? There were probably 10 other guys thinking the same fucking thing. So while you were all fingering your vaginas, one of two things happened. One, no one went up and talked to her and she left alone because you were all pussies. Two, some cocky A-hole decided to take a shot and talk to her, and she left with him because she didn’t have any other options. You could have left with her if you just acted like you had a pair of marbles.

Manclusion

Women are crazy and I can’t change that. It would be easier for me to change the weather than to get women to think rationally. But hopefully this silly little essay will make some women reevaluate their decisions. Hopefully some women will finally see that a great guy has been right in front of their eyes the whole time. Hopefully some women will realize that dating an asshole isn’t worth it. I’m not getting my hopes up, though. Also, in the interest of making me sound less gay on account of the previous four sentences, I would also like to say: nice guys quit being such fucking pussies.

Harry Palmer and The Sorcerer’s Bone

Last weekend there was a Harry Potter marathon on TV and I watched it. As I watched the first four Harry Potter movies in succession something started to bother me. It wasn’t the fact that I just wasted a day watching four movies that are meant for kids and teens or quidditch, which is fucking ridiculous even in a magical context. What bothers me about the movies and the books is the lack of sex/sex education.

I accept that in the Harry Potter universe classes such as potions, charms, defense against the dark arts, etc… are far more useful than physics and micro economic and are needed for a careers in the magic world. But it doesn’t change the fact that Hogwarts is full of horny pubescent witches and wizards. So where’s the goddamn magical sex ed class?

Surely STDs and teen pregnancy aren’t restricted to the muggle world. Or are they? JK leaves so many questions unanswered. Is there a spell to get rid of herpes or a potion to get rid of the clap? Or do witches and wizards have to put on a hat and sunglasses and go down the free clinic to get penicillin like the rest of us? Are there magical condoms made out hippogriff intestines? Wizards seem to be fucking awkward and weird to begin with, so a trip to Diagon Alley to buy magical condoms must be a hundred times more awkward than it is in real life. It’s like that time you stopped by the convenience store to get condoms and you ran into your calculus teacher buying six bottles of Mad Dog 20/20 and the local priest buying candy to “reward” the altar boys, only worse. If that’s possible. But that’s neither here nor there.

Sure, sex ed is usually taught by a doofus who has probably never seen a vagina in his sad life and most of the kids already know the basics of sex, but it can be useful for the naïve or sheltered kids. I would go so far as to say, a sex ed class is particularly important in the magic world. Not only would the staff have to deal with sex and the questions that come with it, but it would also have to deal with guys trying to use engorgement charms on their junks. I don’t think I have to elaborate on what could go wrong there, but the term dick melting comes to mind. And that’s only one of the possible catastrophes that could happen involving the crotchal region and magic. I mean you don’t want adolescent wizard flailing their wands around with out knowing how to use them right? But if you’ve read or watched the Harry Potter series you know there’s no need for concern. Why? Because based on the books and films wizards and witches only seem to kiss or “snog.”

Sexuality in the Harry Potter universe seems to consist of little more than some canoodling here or there, and it’s usually out of scene or briefly mentioned. I’m not asking for gratuitous nudity but come on. JK has no problems depicting brutal murders but god forbid Harry touch Ginny’s blouse bunnies. Even the literary abortion that is Twilight had some banging in it. Not only that, JK basically blue balls Ron for the entire series, except for a short time when he was dating some slut named Lavender. He and Hermione kiss for the first time at the ass end of the seventh book. Are you fucking kidding me? Ron probably beat his wand raw by that point. But the wizarding community continues to proliferate so it would seem as if people are having sex. That and the Weasley family has like seven goddamn kids. Maybe I’m way off and there’s some complicated spell for pregnancy and the Weasleys aren’t banging like a screen door in a hurricane.

Seriously, we can't get more of this

Look, I can see that JK is trying to keep it somewhat tame for her younger audience, but sex can be implied with out being graphic. How about Harry walks out of Ginny’s room in the morning wearing her pink robe while Ron’s face becomes beet red and he tries not to kick Harry in his morning wood? No? Okay I’ve got this. How about Harry and Ron walk into the dorm and Neville shouts “HEY! I’m busy get out of here,” while he pulls up a blanket to cover himself and knocks a box of tissues off the bed? Okay how about…. What? Just Stop? It’s never going to happen? Well fuck you guys and your sexless Harry Potter series. I guess I’ll just keep it in my head. It’s better there anyway.

A recent survey shows that 9 out of 10 witches and wizards below the age of 20 have no idea what a hand job is.

The Kohl’s Incident

When I was 14 I was stupid. I’m still stupid but I was exceptionally stupid at that age. The following is an account of one of my more embarrassing adolescent moments.

To say that my friends and I were obnoxious is the understatement of the fucking century. We got bored easily, real easily and that combined with our collective lack of shame, dignity and pride led to many shenanigans.

We were those loud, immature, teenage douche bags that you see in public (especially at movie theaters and fast food restaurants) and want to beat the shit out of. Actually, most of my friends are still douche bags.

So one summer day my friend, who we’ll call “Mac,” called me and said some girls we knew from school wanted to go to a movie. I don’t remember what movie they wanted to see, but I do know that it sucked and I really didn’t want to see it. But Mac being one of the horniest kids I’ve ever known wasn’t going to pass up a chance to hang out with puss. So I went along. I mean, what the fuck else did I have to do? I was 14 and it was summer. My days consisted of playing baseball and watching soft-core pornography on Cinemax.

For some reason the girls insisted on seeing the movie during the middle of the afternoon. Normally (read after the age of 16) this wouldn’t be a problem but seeing as neither of us had a driver’s license and our parents were at work, we had to ride our bikes like dorks.

Mac and I decided to take my brother “Balls” along with us. On a side note, Balls is my brothers’ actual nickname. People call him that on a daily basis. It’s not like I decided to give him some asinine name for this story. He hardly knows what to do when someone calls him his given name. Anyway, The three of us set off from my house about two or three hours (this is an approximation, I can’t remember exactly) before the movie was supposed to start.

We decided to eat lunch and fuck around at some of the stores that were on the way to the theater. Mac said he wanted to stop at Play It Again Sports. I thought that it was kind of a weird request, but at the time I didn’t know what he had planned.

The three of us walked in and started looking around, pretending that we were going to buy something. Mac was looking at baseball gloves, a very expensive one in particular, and he told me to stand in front of him. At that point I realized what Mac was up to and why he wanted to go there. So I stood in front of him blocking the view of the employee at the counter, not that it mattered. He was picking his ass contemplating how bad his life sucked and the only other employee in the store was nowhere to be seen, probably jerking off in the stock room. Mac unzipped his backpack quickly stuffed the glove in, and then we calmly left the store. Then we got the fuck out of Dodge.

Riding on a wave of adrenaline, we decided to cram our gullets full of fried fast food goodness. Thank God there was a Wendy’s near. After purchasing the right side of the menu with a mere $5 we sat down to eat. I have no idea what we talked about, but there was one thing I remember from Wendy’s: we saw an obscene amount of cop cars. I think we saw three or four go by while we were eating plus one or two on the way to Play It Again Sports. I remember someone said something along the lines of: “Holy shit, we’ve seen a lot cops, I wonder if it’s a sign?” Apparently, it was a big fucking sign and it didn’t stop us from acting like assholes. God pushed the obvious foreshadowing button and we said, “Fuck that.”

After inhaling a shit-load of $1 cheeseburgers, chicken nuggets and frosties we headed toward the movie theater. We were going to be way too early for the movie. I guess it took less time to shoplift than Mac had anticipated, so we decided to kill time in some stores on the way to the theater.

For some reason we ended up in Kohl’s. Again, we pretended like we were going to buy something because let’s face it, we weren’t about to buy a new pair of slacks. Eventually we got bored and decided to leave.

On our way out, we passed a display with various wallets at the end of an aisle. Mac grabbed one and slipped it in his cargo pocket. I almost missed it because it was so smooth. We walked out like nothing happened and to my surprise nothing did happened; no alarms went off, no security guards stopped us, no cashiers yelled at us. We walked out scot-free.

At this point I wondered what the hell my friends were doing with their free time. I knew Mac (and most of my friends for that matter) had questionable morals, but Jesus-tap-dancing-Christ I didn’t know he was klepto. Despite my queries about my friend’s character, I still felt like a pussy compared to Mac. He shoplifted over $150 worth of leather to my zilch. My thoughts were interrupted when Mac tossed me the wallet, “here you go.” I had mentioned earlier that I needed a new wallet seeing as I was still using a velcro wallet like a card-carrying doofus. I changed wallets but couldn’t get rid of the card.

We moved on to Barnes and Noble and repeated the “we’re going to buy something” act. Once again we got bored and decided to leave. But we still had time to kill. This is where pride and fate conspired to bend me over and butt-fuck me. Normal people would happy with a free wallet and decide not to tempt fate, but I’m not very normal. I seem to tempt fate on a weekly basis and usually get my ass kicked, which makes me wonder why I keep doing it. In this particular instance I decided I was going to have a big swinging dick and steal something too.

“Let’s go back into Kohl’s,” I said.

“Why? Let’s just go to the movie theater,” Mac replied.

“No, I want to try to steal something too.”

“Alright, whatever.”

We started walking back toward Kohl’s. I don’t remember too many details from this next part, most likely because I was traumatized shortly afterward. We walked back into Kohl’s, which I realize now looked suspicious as hell. We didn’t buy anything the first time, why would we buy anything the second time?

I don’t know why, but we ended up in the area with the sunglasses and necklaces and all that other horseshit. It is easily one of the most open and visible areas of the store and that’s where we decided to shoplift. Holy shit we were stupid. Neither of us took anything that valuable or useful either. I think I swiped some sunglasses, and I think Mac took some necklaces and maybe some sunglasses too. Balls was the smart one, for once, and decided not to take anything. The whole time I got the overwhelming feeling that we took too long (we did) and I started to get nervous.

We made for the door while acting cool and collected. Inside I was far from cool and collected. About the time we got to the cash registers I wanted to turn around, and I almost did but almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. I should have; I knew that we took too long, and the employees were eyeing us suspiciously. I ignored my intuition, common sense and better judgment thus screwing myself.

We passed through the first set of doors. Nothing happened. We passed through the second set of doors. Nothing happened… at first. Then an ape looking motherfucker in a bad jacket with an even worse haircut stopped Mac and me. He put his hands out stopping our progress and said, “Step back inside gentlemen.” My blood felt like ice water, and I just froze. I was paralyzed. I saw my brother standing behind that gorilla, “Gordon,” and he was motioning to our bikes. They weren’t locked and Gordon didn’t actually grab us so we could have easily gotten around his monkey-ass and rode off to freedom. But we didn’t. We froze. I came to the realization that we were fucked. We were going to get arrested. Mac and I surrendered and started walking back into the store. Gordon the ape followed behind and Balls was left confused and scared outside.

Inside, Mac and I started to get desperate. We turned around and pleaded with Gordon, but he kept walking, so we started backpedaling and pleading. We were saying things like, “I have money I can pay for it” and “sorry, I forgot I put those in my pocket.” It just made Gordon angry. When Mac reached for his pocket to show he had money to pay for the items that mongoloid ape just lost it. He started yelling, “Hey, keep your hands out of your pockets! Keep them where I can see them!” When Mac persisted and I tried to back him up, Gordon started again. He yelled “Don’t play games with me!” Followed by something like, “I’ll use force!” At that point I wanted to shit my pants laughing, but I was too busy pissing them in fear. I’m not a very good multi-tasker. What grown-ass man threatens physical force on two 14 year-olds? I guess a loss prevention agent with an outdated bomber jacket, a God complex and a missing chromosome.

After the shouting Mac and I decided to shut it and we were ushered to a room at the front of the store. One wall was filled with numerous TVs all displaying different camera angles. Two of them were replaying our less than smooth shoplifting attempts. Other than the TVs there was just a desk and some chairs. And a smug asshole, “SA,” sitting at the desk.

At that point I wondered if they were going to beat or rape us first, but thank god neither happened. They sat Mac and I down in some chairs and we had give up what we stole. Then Gordon took individual pictures of all the items, while making condescending comments toward us. As this was going on SA and Gordon got a call over their walkie talkies saying another kid stole something and was running out the doors. Gordon just yelled, “Goddammit” and ran out the door. I thought that was fucking hilarious. I looked over at Mac and apparently he thought the same. We looked away from each other and did our best not to burst out in laughter. Then SA decided to chitchat with us.

This dicknose was trying to make small talk with us when we were one the verge of being sent to jail. I don’t know why he didn’t just keep his pie-hole shut. The mindless small talk was enough but then he started in on how cheaters never beat the system, blah, blah, blah. Then he told us people like us were the reason prices had to be raised at department stores. Maybe he was trying to guilt us, but as I mentioned before we had no shame or dignity so it didn’t really work.

Gordon returned and he did not look happy. Apparently, the young rapscallion he was chasing got away. He produced a phone and ordered us to call our parents. I guess, since we were minors, if our parents came down to Kohl’s to get us and paid for what we stole then we would be released into their custody. I didn’t know what was worse going to the police station or my dad kicking my ass. Mac and I both called, but only got answering machines. We kept trying but got nowhere. Eventually we accepted that our parents weren’t home. Gordon accepted that fact too and promptly called the Crystal Lake Police Department.

Mac and I waited nervously for a while and then there was a knock at the door. Two cops walked in the room. It was just my miserable fucking luck that one of the cops they sent was the security officer at the high school I was about to attend. My high school career was off to a great start. The cops took our information and talked to Gordon for a little bit. Then it was time to leave.

The cops decided that we weren’t dangerous so they didn’t cuff us. It made me feel like a little less of a criminal but of course god had to humiliate us even more. It was probably less than a hundred feet from the front of Kohl’s to the squad car. A hundred goddamn feet and what happens? Mac and I see a couple of dipshits we knew from school. “What’s going on guys?” Dipshit #1 said. What kind of fucking question is that? Perhaps he thought the nice policemen were helping us get our kitten out of tree. Most people with a higher IQ than a dead weasel can deduce that two police officers walking two people to a squad car usually means they’re getting arrested.

After an unnecessary embarrassment, I found myself in the back of a squad card. I probably should have been thinking about how I was going to avoid getting shenked by the drunk hobos in the holding cell, but all I thought about was my surprise that the back seats were plastic. The muddy boot prints on the side windows also caught my attention. Mac asked about them and “Officer Newman” (he looked like the retarded cousin of Newman from Seinfeld) said they arrested some drunk the night before and he tried to kick out the windows. We started talking about that and talked pretty much the whole way to the station. During that time I didn’t feel anxious at all. It was kind of like when you’re taking a test, and you know you’re fucked but once you get to a certain point you’re just happy that it’s almost over. That momentary feeling of calmness disappeared when I stepped inside the police station. Once again it was time for me to drop a load in my pantaloons.

Mac and I were taken to an office/secret room for beatings and told to wait. Well, we waited for a long ass time. Apparently, even police stations in upper-middle class suburbs are models of inefficiency. Eventually, two cops came and took our information for paper work. The cop doing most of the talking, “Sarge,” was a loud obnoxious asshole and a grade A blowhard. He was pretty much what I expected. He talked about doughnuts a lot. Actually that’s probably not true; it’s most likely a false memory my brain created because of my distaste for most cops. He might not have talked about doughnuts, but he was certainly eating them judging by the stress his belt was under. Sarge was basically a walking caricature of a police officer. A mustache is the only thing he was missing. After Sarge was done with his questions he informed us that our parents were being contacted.

For the second time that day, our parents were called, and for the second time that day, our parents didn’t answer. Sarge seemed displeased. “I don’t know what’s going on but you guys better get a hold of someone soon,” he said. “You don’t want to be around on a Friday night when we start bringing in all the drunks.” Thanks Sarge, you dick. Apparently, it was my fault my parents were still at work. I don’t know what he wanted me to do. Maybe he thought I was Harry fucking Potter, and I could summon my Dad via patronus (yeah that’s right I used a Harry Potter reference, deal with it assholes). And what the fuck was with grown men trying to scare 14-year-olds? That was the second time with in two hours. You would think that carrying a gun is enough feel manly, but I guess not. After Sarge finished with his paperwork he led us outside to another officer who happened to be very intimidating. We’ll call him “Chuckles.”

Chuckles was not fucking around. This dude could have made Stalin piss his pants with a simple glare. I doubt that he ever looked happy but he was really unhappy when he took a look at us. Chuckles was in charge of fingerprinting us and taking our mug shots. He fingerprinted Mac first.

“Have you ever done this before?” Chuckles asked.

“Yeah, once when I was a little kid in elementary school,” Mac replied.

“You think this is a joke? This is not the same thing! This is serious!”

“No… I was just answering your question.”

Mac wasn’t being a smart ass on purpose. To be fair, we really did have to get our fingerprints taken in elementary school. The school said it was to help find us if we ever got lost. I think they just wanted our prints on file because they knew the public school system would eventually turn us to deviants and miscreants. They were right. Still, Chuckles reaction seemed a bit over the top (for those of you keeping score at home this is the third adult that yelled/threatened/scared two teenagers). Mac answered his question honestly and Chuckles reacted as if Mac Dirty Sanchezed his wife. When it was my turn I decided not to say anything for fear of being knight-sticked in the package.

Next, Chuckles took our mug shots. Contrary to what movies and TV would have you think, mug shots in the real world are taken with a shitty Polaroid camera against a wall three feet from where you were fingerprinted. I did feel like a badass while the picture was being taken, but then I realized I was in jail and pretty much fucked. A second later when Sarge came over to tell us our parents were here, I realized that I was fucked beyond comprehension.

Mac and I walked back into the office, and my dad and Mac’s dad were sitting there looking disappointed. I was a little surprised that my dad just looked disappointed; I thought he’d also look irate. I assumed it was just an act for the cops, and he’d beat me with a sack of apples when we got home. My dad and Mr. Mac gave the whole we’re really disappointed in you speech, while Mac and I sat there looking at the ground. Apparently our dads told Sarge what good students we were (no they weren’t lying) and how this was extremely unexpected. Sarge told us that since we were minors and we seemed like “good guys” we weren’t being charged with anything. Instead, we were given an 8 p.m. curfew for the rest of the summer that our parents were supposed to enforce. I couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t even like a slap on the wrist; it was more like a tickle on the wrist. We went virtually unpunished.

On the way home my dad seemed more confused than angry. He didn’t yell at me like I expected and thankfully he didn’t beat me with a sack full of Granny Smiths. My mom reacted the same way. They just beat the “disappointed” horse to death. I think I would have preferred to take a few lashes from the belt rather than the mental punishment I received.

It seems that Gordon had one more trick up his sleeve, though. I was banned from Kohl’s (all Kohl’s not just the one in Crystal Lake) for life according to a message Gordon left on our answering machine. That fact hasn’t stopped me from shopping at Kohl’s and to this date I haven’t been thrown off the premises. We’ll see what happens if I apply for a Kohl’s charge card someday.

All in all it wasn’t too bad. Pretty soon football training camp and two-a-days started so I didn’t really feel like going out anyway. I just wanted to stay in the air-conditioned house and play video games. In fact, after a couple of weeks my parents didn’t even bring it up anymore. After a month or so it was like it didn’t even happen.

I think the moral of this story is shoplift while you’re young. You’ll get off scot-free with a joke of a punishment. The store you shoplifted from will ban you but it won’t enforce the ban and your parents probably won’t beat your ass.

I’m Back Bitches

Holy shit I’m back! Sorry for the hiatus but I was at the North Pole bare-knuckle boxing polar bears (I was 16-0 with 5 knockouts and 3 kills) and ding-dong ditching Superman’s Fortress of Solitude.

There will be updates posted soon, including why Tumblr sucks ass and an epic tale of my adolescent depravity. Before you navigate away from my sight to a porn site, to most assuredly break your lent promise not to pull your pork, I’d like to leave you with this short story.

I was walking to class on Thursday, and as I was nearing Speakers Circle (a place on campus where any jackass can spout nonsense anytime of day) when I heard something peculiar. I thought my mind was playing tricks, “surely people aren’t shouting ‘vagina’ this time of day.” But people were shouting “vagina.” I picked up my pace assuming that free vaginas were being handed out. It turned out that it was just a bunch of dykes advertising for the Vagina Monologues. So I did what any mature person would do; I started yelling “penis” every time the dykes yelled “vagina.” I thought it was comical, and it made it like a sexy game of Marco Polo. Apparently, others found it in poor taste. I was asked to leave and not to attend the Vagina Monologues.

Happy Holidays, Motherfuckers!

Disclaimer: Very few dick jokes. In fact, very few jokes at all. Also, this article might be offensive to Christians and by might be, I mean will be.

Happy Holidays!

That’s right I said “happy holidays,” not merry Christmas or happy Hanukah or whatever the fuck people say during Kwanzaa. For what ever reason people seem to have problem with chain stores having “happy holidays” banners and schools changing “Christmas break” to winter break. It’s utterly ridiculous.

“Chesterfield you’re just a godless, secular, bleeding heart, sodomite, liberal. That’s why you hate Christmas.” Let me say three things in regard to this statement and variations of it, which are inevitably the first and most dull-witted reaction to come out of idiots’ mouths when this subject comes up. One, I believe in god. Two, once upon a time, I went to church/Sunday school every week. I don’t go anymore because I feel that I can live a good life without antiquated rituals and pomp. Three, I might be a liberal but at least I’m not a close-minded ignoramus.

A few years ago this controversy received national attention when talking ass-hats like Bill O’Reilly and religious nut jobs started saying there was a “war on Christmas.” Around the same time, my high school sociology teacher said he felt like his rights were being taken away. What a bunch of horseshit. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to let a white, heterosexual, middle aged, middle class, Christian, male tell me that his rights are being taken away. In fact, if there were one demographic that should never be able to say that, that demographic would be it. I mean, some high school nerdlinger with acne saying, “happy holidays” instead of “merry Christmas,” on the way out of Best Buy doesn’t qualify as a violation of rights in my book. It’s not like these chains are fooling anyone. Everyone knows this time of year is all about Christmas. There are Christmas songs all over the radio, Christmas movies and Christmas specials are played non-stop on TV and Christmas trees, nativity scenes and Santa Claus are fucking everywhere. So is it really a big deal that a couple of national chains want to try to be all-inclusive and say happy holidays? I don’t think so.

Earlier this month a co-worker, who is also a friend, got upset about this issue. She was upset that there weren’t more religious songs and carols being played in the store. She went on to say that people should suck it up and that people came to this country in the first place to practice Christianity. Well that’s true but they were escaping persecution from other Christians, to be fair. I’m more concerned with this line of reasoning, though. Sure, our country was started and populated with Christians but that was over 200 years ago. Our agricultural system was originally based on slave labor. Does that make it okay now because it was okay 200 years ago? Of course not. The point is countries evolve just like anything else. The cultural dynamic of the country is changing and people are just trying to reflect it. It has nothing to do with taking rights away from Christians.

The problem is Christians think the world revolves around them and their god. If you don’t follow their rules (celebrating Christmas) then you’re living your life wrong. Coincidently, that’s another reason I stopped going to church. Many of the people I went to church with were so intolerant I couldn’t take it. As much as Christians don’t want to admit it, there are other religions and they do celebrate winter holidays too. It’s flat out condescending and offensive to just brush other holidays aside because less people celebrate them. It might have been okay to ignore other religions in the 1950s because there was only one America, white Christian America. However, America is a diverse place and has moved forward socially since then. It’s only fair that other religions are, or at least attempted to be, recognized. In way, assuming that everyone celebrates Christmas and constantly cramming Christmas down people’s throats, negates some of that progress.

People act like there’s some Holiday Gestapo that’ll kill them if they say “merry Christmas.” No one’s saying you can’t say that or celebrate Christmas. If you feel that strongly and someone says “happy holidays,” just say “merry Christmas” and shut your goddamn mouth, and quit pretending you’re so oppressed. You don’t know what real oppression is. On that note, happy holidays motherfuckers!

My New Favorite Movie

I haven’t actually “watched” it yet but there’s no way a movie with Dingus in the title could be bad.

Cats Are Assholes

I like animals in general. Not like those PETA freaks but I like them enough. Well, except for pussy ass animals like flamingos that wouldn’t know a limb-from-limb mauling if it bit them in their collective fruity ass.

Being an animal person I’ve noticed that people can usually be put into two categories: dog people or cat people. I am most definitely the former. That’s not to say that I hate cats. I just think they’re assholes.

Back home I have a dog and three cats and each cat is a dick in his own way. Ozzie stuffs his fucking face so full that hurls all over the carpet on weekly basis, which I have to clean up. Bo is just a pussy in general and will leave the house for a week without a second thought. Inevitably, every time we want to keep him in the house he bolts out the door and I end up getting scratched to hell trying to catch him. Taz, well there’s no other way to put it, he’s just a garden-variety jerk. He picks fights with the other cats and the dog. He eats the others’ food. He won’t shut the hell up until I let him outside and then five minutes later he won’t shut the hell up until I let him back inside. What a bunch of assholes.

The dog might drink toilet water and lick her own ass but at least she cares whether or not I have a pulse. My cats could give a shit. Every time I come back after an extended time away my dog is waiting at the door and starts jumping up and down and barking. It’s clear that she’s missed me. The cats don’t even move. If I’m lucky one might lift his head to see who came in the door. If I died they wouldn’t even care. In fact it would probably be their fault and they still wouldn’t care. I can see it now. Me sitting in the living room playing PS3 and right as I’m about to beat Metal Gear Solid 4 one of the cats knocks the plug out of the socket. I have a heart attack because of the tension of game and the rage from the cat fucking my game up. The paramedics would show up only to trip over the other cats and be knocked unconscious. They would probably wake up just in time to pronounce me dead and watch the cats play with the toe tag on my corpse.

But wait Chesterfield you can’t blame the cats, it’s probably your fault they’re assholes. The environment you raised them in must be the cause of their behavior. Yes, I am in fact an asshole. It’s pretty obvious if you’ve read Hey Suburbia or known me longer than 10 minutes. My brother, “Balls,” is also a dickhead. But I doubt it was entirely our fault. You know how I know that? Because all cats are douche bags no matter whom they belong to or what environment they’re raised in. And it’s not just that cats are assholes they’re lazy assholes.

Have you ever slept 14 hours when you weren’t hung over or sick? Probably not and if you have you suck. Do you know who does sleep 14 hours a day on regular basis? Cats. As if it weren’t enough that they claw me, almost burn the goddamn house down knocking over candles and are generally ornery, they’re also lazy. All they do is eat, lie in the sun and piss people off. If you knew a guy who did that all day long you’d hate him.

But Chesterfield that’s not all cats do, they’re actually quite good hunters. It’s true that occasionally cats do hunt. Every now and again one of my cats might go out for an hour two and then guess what they do? They bring a fucking dead chipmunk or squirrel to the front door. Yeah that’s exactly what I want a dead rodent. If I wanted a dead rat I’d just get into a Taco Bell kitchen. One time Ozzie brought a dead sparrow, or what I thought was a dead sparrow, to the front door. I screamed and swore at him like any good pet owner and then tried to kick the bird off the stoop. The only problem was it was still alive. It flew into the house and then I spent half an hour of my time that I’ll never get back trying to chase a fucking sparrow out of the house. Have you ever done that? Do you know how frustrating it is? So, if the only time they’re active I have clean dead rodents of the stoop and chase birds out of the house, they might as well do nothing.

What I don’t understand is why some people go so batshit over cats. There are magazines and TV shows dedicated to these freaks. And everyone has some crazy cat lady in his or her town that has 50 goddamn cats in a one-bedroom house because no man in his right mind would have children with her. I mean everyone hates the fat lazy kid that sits on his ass and does nothing but eat. It’s the same kid you make do the truffle shuffle and corner in dodge ball. Cats are the fat lazy gym class bitches of the animal world and for some reason people love them just because they have fur and a tail. Fuck that, they’re not getting a pass from me. A fat lazy bitch is a fat lazy bitch human or feline.

Several cats were harmed in the writing of this article.

Not So Deep Thoughts

A list of some one-liners, punchlines and asinine thoughts I’ve had recently because I’m too lazy to write any set ups or construct any arguments. It’s like a Mitch Hedberg set except not funny. If you don’t like it fuck you.

-Anyone who has ever said “I’m so random” or “my friends and I are so random” is not random. If he/she were random then they’d be wrestling a badger or stealing a cop car not telling idiotic anecdotes.

-Masturbating would be far more difficult with fins/flippers.

-Butt sex is the funniest term for sodomy and I feel that it’s not used in everyday conversation nearly enough.

-Nothing like a half black president to bring out the closet racist in everyone.

-Why can’t Jackie Chan speak English yet?

-The funniest word in the English language is wiener.

-Going to work is shitty but shitting at work is awesome. What’s better than getting paid to loosen your bowels when you should be doing mindless busy work?

-If anyone ever says, “I’m not racist…” they’re about to be overtly racist.

-Do you ever feel gay eating a banana? Sometimes I do. I suspect that’s where the term “fruity” came from.

-A car driving on a flat tire sounds like balls slapping ass at an incredible rate.

- The most watched electronic/appliance in a household is the TV. The second most watched is probably the toaster.

-If you name your daughter Chastity, Virtue, Destiny, Karma, etc… she will most likely become a stripper.