Annihilation Proclamation

My blind neighbor’s wife doesn’t need any paint.

noreply@blogger.com (Craig) — Wed, 14 Jan 2009 19:49:00 +0000

Oh what, Happy New Year?
The dirtbag in the picture above only wishes he could see the end of 2009. What does he have, cancer of the face? Where the fuck’s your smile, buddy? It’s a brand new year! Time to start over! What's that? Your only New Year’s resolution is to die faster? Jeez.

He’s probably miserable that all he has left is a head. How ironic—he gets cancer of the face and right before he dies his head is all he has left. As a dog you can’t do much with that. Unless you’re another dog, who comes along and sees this dog’s head on the ground and thinks it’s a toy or something. How fun! Wouldn’t be long before it picks this dog’s head up with it’s mouth and runs off. How fucked is that? Just goes to show: if dog cancer doesn’t kill you, maybe another dog will.

And speaking of New Years resolutions, does anyone really do that? There’s a reason this post didn’t see the light of day until half-way into January. Has anyone who made a New Year’s resolution for 2009 not forgotten about it by now? Oh no? You haven’t? Good for you. Glad to hear you’re still resolving it.

Want something new to try? It’s not too late. It’s never too late, really. Try this: what about making a list (Oh shit, not another list! What’s with this guy and lists?) of things to accomplish in 2009? Even better, make a list of restrictions you must obey for the entire year. Be creative, dummy. Be a creative dummy. I don’t know. It doesn’t have to make sense. But since I’m so obnoxiously obsessed with making lists, I compulsively made one myself and again I’m sharing it here. Go figure.

Get a piece of art in a gallery by any means necessary.
Dumpster dive. Donate the findings to a thrift store.
Plant a tree.
Refrain from eating fast food no more than a total of seven times throughout the entire year.
Get my picture taken with seven different animals, all of different species.
Refrain from seeing any movie with a running time of over an hour and twenty-seven minutes. You may start a movie, or finish a movie, with a running time of over 87 minutes, but you cannot exceed that time limit, in a theater or otherwise.
Take a trip to New York City and purchase an item targeted to tourists (preferably the most tacky, kitschy of items you can find) and create an elaborate story behind this item. Then sell it on eBay.
Build a snowman. Hide something in it.
Build a sandcastle. Hide something in it.
Write to Maury Povich requesting their online merchandiser create maternity shirts.
Successfully sell a hamburger to a guy selling hot dogs at a hot dog stand (i.e. a hot dog vendor).
Buy something for over $50 from a thrift store or antiques shop, and destroy it. Then try to return it; preferably within the same day.
Buy a pair of expensive underwear from Victoria's Secret or some other lingerie specialist. Go to a different clothing store and use their dressing room to put on the purchased underwear. Walk around. Go to a third clothing store only to use their dressing room to remove the underwear. Return the underwear within the same shopping experience to the original store.
Have sex in a dressing room of a store that also sells children's clothing.
Fly a kite. Then set it on fire.
Sell one book you personally own a month, or a total of twelve books at the end of the year, regardless of how old or whether it has been read by you, by any means necessary. Attempt to make up for the item you bought and destroyed for over $50, because really, reading sucks.

List: What I Don’t Want for Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (Craig) — Mon, 22 Dec 2008 17:28:00 +0000

A book report
Kleenex® Lotion Tissue
Asthma
A wedgie
Teva® Sport Sandals
Sweet potatoes
~~Rain turning into anything other than snow~~
Anything other than sunshine
Constipation
Any kind of bodily piercing found as a surprise
Cat furniture (i.e. cat condo, cat tree, kitty gym, etc.)
A computer virus
A howling dog as an alarm that won’t turn off
Leather pants
Overdrawn fees due to insufficient funds
Coal
Anything Star Trek related
Sudden and persistent influx of spam email
Gum on my shoe
A cold shower

The only thing they shared

noreply@blogger.com (Craig) — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 22:16:00 +0000

Gregory rested himself on Abigail and almost laughed. She took a quick glance to see who it was. Then released a sigh of relief. It was their duty to convincingly pose for the camera. But she didn’t make any effort to move away from his advances. Gregory knew Abigail very well; and he knew a friendly photo with some ice pops would preoccupy her mind. Maybe even put her at ease. So when she neglected to deny his gentle approach, he suspected she was seduceable. Needless to say, her display of comfort foreshadowed her downfall. The photo was only a way to get his foot in the door, metaphorically speaking. And with all those wonderful ice pops, Abigail had to know she was a target. And not just a target for thirst-quenching sweet-tooths, like Gregory, but the target of a textbook case of first degree rape.

By distracting Abigail with a box full of Assorted Flavored Fun Pops, Gregory knew he could entertain her long enough to take advantage of the situation that would follow. Once they were done posing, all bets were off. He had the evening planned out, and he knew exactly how to soften her up; what to do, where to go. He didn’t care anymore if they were “just friends.” He knew he had to have her. All while he perversely forced analogies into his daydreaming: like the ice treat he once provided to keep her happy, he yearned for the moment all the ice melts away, and only the juice remains in the plastic sleeve, temporarily quenching his unyielding thirst for more.

It took only five minutes alone with Abigail before Gregory found out she used to be a dude.

Proclaiming Annihilation is for Old People

noreply@blogger.com (Craig) — Wed, 03 Dec 2008 19:30:00 +0000

How do you resurrect a blog that isn’t quite dead? Eat the brains of the elderly.

On my way into work the other morning I passed an oncoming police cruiser. Lights were off, possibly patrolling the neighborhood, but in the cruiser sat two male police officers. What’s the catch, you say? They were surprisingly old. Old police officers. I’d give up my right to remain silent to see both of these dudes come across a shootout or some kind of robbery gone awry.

Here is the beginning of a list of movies that I believe are more enjoyable than the original. These were the highlights of the series. These movies out-performed their predecessors or successors as I see it. I hope you all agree.

Airplane II: The Sequel
Star Wars: Return of the Jedi
Psycho II
Superman III
Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom
Rambo: First Blood Part II
Return to Oz
Day of the Dead
Rocky IV
Poltergeist II: The Other Side
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2
A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors
Beverly Hills Cop II
Teen Wolf Too
Ghostbusters II
The Karate Kid, Part III
Back to the Future Part II
Christmas Vacation
Gremlins 2: The New Batch
~~Robocop 2~~
Child's Play 2
The Neverending Story II: The Next Chapter
Teanage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: Secret of the Ooze
Terminator 2: Judgment Day
Honey I Blew Up The Kid
Army of Darkness
Addams Family Values
Die Hard: With A Vengeance
Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls
Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me
Toy Story 2
X-Men 2: X-Men United
Scary Movie 4
Ocean’s Thirteen
AVPR: Aliens vs Predator - Requiem
The Dark Knight

Voting is for Old People

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Wed, 24 Sep 2008 20:13:00 +0000

If one more person tells me to vote, I am going to blow their brains out. Now, don't get me wrong, I have no problem with people voting, or expressing their opinion on who they are voting for. I also understand that people have no right to complain about how things go politically if you can't participate enough to vote about something. However, all you people simply saying "go out there and vote" or "it's your civic duty" or "blah blah vote blah", shut up already. I have a question for all of you people....if someone was convinced that they weren't going to vote, and your actions of demanding them to vote was what they needed to convince them to vote, would you really trust their opinion? What if immediately after you said "go out and vote!" someone was right behind you saying "and make sure to rape some people, don't waste those genitals!". I wouldn't trust those people, so why should you?

I am not giving the excuse of not caring enough about either candidates, I am simply expressing the fact that I don't have real evidence of a single vote ever making a difference. The government and media have told us how and why voting works, and we take their word for it, which is fine, but I don't know for sure if it really was. Wasn't there possibly an election about eight years ago where people voted, and one guy got more votes, but he didn't end up being president? From a scientific standpoint, I need cold hard evidence to believe in a concept, or agree with facts coming from sources I trust expressing how and why something works for me to just follow it blindly. Since I don't have those sources, I don't know if I will be voting. I'm not saying I am ruling out the idea entirely, and I am not saying the government has some epic conspiracy, I am merely saying that I don't know if voting really DOES make a difference, and if anyone out there has proof, I am all ears.

Now, say I were to get this proof, what would I do then, you may ask. Well, I honestly don't know which candidate I would vote for. I do not feel like I am educated enough about both candidates equally to be able to say which I prefer. That's not to say I don't agree with one candidate over the other, but if I don't have a complete picture, I don't think I have a right to make fair judgement. I have to listen to all these people saying "Candidate A is the best because they believe in this, this, and this", yet when questioned about what that candidate has to say on other issues, that aren't the trendy hip issues, they don't know. Or when questioned about what Candidate B has to say on all of the same issues, they don't know for sure. Also, where are these people getting their information from? I don't think I can trust the word of any news source interpretting issues in the way their audience would see fit. For example, say I watched a channel called "Faux News" because they had babes as anchors rather than watching something called "MSPCA" because all their anchors looked like dorks. You wouldn't be getting the same information in the same way, merely based on the fact that the anchors are reading different prompts. How can you make a decision about who will head the Executive branch of our country if you only have some of the information, but don't have a complete picture of the whole scheme? Just being an expert on one issue, or one topic, doesn't really give an adequate representation. Would you go to a foot doctor if you had a cold? I mean, why not, they have a lot of expertise in one area, why wouldn't they be able to make the best decision possible when it came to symptoms throughout the whole body?

So the next person who tells me to vote, I will simply smile and nod, and vote "Yes" to human sterilization in their bloodline. And to be honest, based on the people demanding I vote, I wouldn't be surprised to find more species than just humans in their bloodline.

Fall Fashions!

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Wed, 10 Sep 2008 22:26:00 +0000

Let's discuss fall fashions. Yes, it's MUCH more complicated than we think. I hope this is more of a discussion than just me making one post. Let's think....thermal shirts or flannel shirts? Pullover hoodies versus zip-ups? When you go outside, hooded sweatshirt or light jacket? As far as jackets, denim or leather? Once it gets cold, winter coat or your fall jacket over a sweatshirt? And Jesus Christ, what about scarves?! So many possibilities! Yes, this is my first post in a while, and it should have been filled with more interesting things, but this is VERY important. Also, let me just say that wearing a thermal shirt under a t shirt looks coolest with black jeans. Anything else makes you look LAME. Here is what Arthur has to say about it....

Art Imitates Life Imitates Art

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 05:59:00 +0000

Who Doesn't Like Jokes?!

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Fri, 22 Aug 2008 05:22:00 +0000

Idiots, that's who!

I HATE YOU

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Sat, 16 Aug 2008 04:18:00 +0000

Oh my sweet lord, I don't know what kind of description to give. This video makes me laugh on so many levels.

Raccoon Wreaks Havoc on Kitchen - Watch more free videos

Maybe It's Just Me...

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Thu, 14 Aug 2008 00:49:00 +0000

...but when you wear shorts on the train, and you find people staring at your shark with legs tattoo, you can predict exactly how long it will take before looking you in the eye to confront the sick mind that would think of such a tattoo, only to flop your tongue out of your mouth and roll your eyes into the back of your head so they think that their judgmental stare caused you to expire? Lord knows I certainly do!

Working For The Weekday

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Wed, 13 Aug 2008 02:02:00 +0000

Not just the weekday, however, but SUPER early on a weekday. I woke up at 3:30AM to work a 5:15AM-9AM shift. Why, you ask? Because Saturday is Miki's birthday. Yes, Miki the beluga whale. Due to this, apparently someone somewhere thought it would be a good idea to do a radio broadcast and involve babies somehow or something. Who knows, I wasn't really paying attention. Either way, I decided to chronicle my morning with cell phone pictures.

This has to be the first time I ever saw the clock on the oven show 4:10, except for my days of playing COD4 until 6 in the morning. Well, except of course, when it reads 4:10PM. Come to think of it, I am pretty sure I saw it read 4:10 yesterday, so, forget how exciting this picture is.

Wrigley Field at 4:14AM. I am sure you are all as shocked as I am that there aren't any jocks standing over their date rape victims as a Playoff sacrifice or something, because that's what I always assumed hapeened once the doors closed.

A large iced coffee with extra cream and extra sugar at 4:55AM could never taste quite as good if it wasn't held up next to a "No Panhandling" sign. Also, this picture turned out to work some magic a few minutes later...

This tunnel on the way to work is usually filled with people selling 50 cent bags of M & M's for 3 dollars, but at 5:04AM, after holding an iced coffee with extra cream and extra sugar next to a "No Panhandling" sign makes their heads blow up. Unfortunately, I decided against taking pictures of their bodies.

My building at 5:07AM. Quite......boring. I mean, really boring, I think at the time it seemed like a good idea.

The sun rising at 6:04AM, even though it just looks like God is playing fireworks. Oh wait oops, there is no God, slight flaw in that description.

The raging mob I had to hold back from jumping into the dolphin habitat at 7:32AM. They might not look ferocious, but trust me, they aren't.

MY GLORIOUS REWARD AT 8:05AM. Okay I didn't get to eat the whole cake, but any day that you get to have cake for breakfast is pretty awesome. YES HELLO I AM AN ADULT!

I would have taken pictures on the way home, but why would I waste time doing that?

What Does Hair Taste Like?

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Mon, 11 Aug 2008 20:47:00 +0000

No, seriously? The title isn't meant to be cryptic or anything like that, I am just curious. Everyone freaks out when they get hair in their mouths, so I am curious if anyone can tell me what hair tastes like. Does it taste like shampoo? Does it taste like Rocky's fur smells? I don't know if I have ever stopped to consider it. Thanks in advance for any help you can contribute to this mystery!

Forget knowing how to read…

noreply@blogger.com (Craig) — Thu, 07 Aug 2008 04:40:00 +0000

You Can't Go Home Again

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Thu, 07 Aug 2008 02:24:00 +0000

Except, well, sometimes you can. Actually, most times you can, unless your house has burned down. As some of you know I recently went home for a few days. I could bore you with the details, even though they involved seeing some good friends and family and animals, but I will just tell you the story of Saturday.

Saturday was the day that my family and I went to see Bruce Springsteen, which was the reason to visit home. My mom informed me that recently on his tour, "The Boss" as he is so referred to as, has been taking signs that the audience members held up and would randomly play a few of them. This prompted quite the long email chain among my mom, my brother, my sister, and myself, with her asking us what songs we wanted to be played. I, being my usually witty self, said that I wanted him to play songs like "Hungry Heart", "Glory Days", "Dancin' in the Dark", and "Radio Nowhere". For those of you reading this blog that are familiar with his discography will realize that these are his most pop songs, that no real fan claim to be their favorite. For those of you NOT familiar with his discography, close your browser immediately, shut the computer, and blow your brains out. Cut to the night of the show. Song number three of the night was "Radio Nowhere", to which I continued to sing in my head "I was surfing on a dead dog". Throughout the course of the evening, he continued to play "Hungry Heart", "Dancin' in the Dark", and yes, even "Glory Days". I realize this story has no crux or pinnacle, however, any Springsteen fan can find humor in the situation. The non-Springsteen fans, I am surprised you even know how to read you cans of soup with eyes attached.

There was an interesting story on my way home from the airport, however. I was walking home from the train as it started to rain. I noticed a new orphanage at the end of the street, which must have sprung up and become fully populated within the span of a few days. As I walked towards the orphanage, I heard the kids gleefully shouting things like "It's great to be alive and not on fire!" and "My parents were killed by fire, but it's not gonna get me!". As I approached this orphanage, looking for a date (with a hot young nurse, OF COURSE), I saw Thor himself poke his head down from out of those clouds and say "NOT ON MY WATCH, MERE MORTAL" as he split the sky in half with a bolt that was filled with the anger of the Norse God, splitting the orphanage precisely in half. Those children I mentioned earlier changed their cries to "WHAT THE FUCK, WE"RE ALL GONNA DIE!" and things of that nature. I took the power into my hands to save these children, so I ran up to the door, and with my brand new Reebok's, kicked in the door until it splintered under my strength. This caused my foot to catch on fire, but who cares? Children's lives were at stake! And you ALL know how I love children, and old people. I then ran upstairs, foot ablaze, and threw the children out the windows like sacks of potatoes, which I am allowed to say because they were all Irish. They all lived and offered money and toys, yet I rejected them. Both out of the goodness of my own heart, and because orphans have the shittiest toys you could imagine. How do you tell a kid that a teddy bear with no head is worth their eternal soul? Either way, the children are alive and so am I. However, my foot is annihilated, which I am about to post a picture of. I WARN YOU......IT IS DISGUSTING, READ NO FURTHER UNLESS YOU WANT TO PUKE YOUR GUTS UP...

HERE IT COMES......

Why The Fuck Am I Alive?

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 04:30:00 +0000

Oops, please replace "why" with "how". Have any of you readers SEEN how I eat? Or I guess a better thing to say is WHAT I eat? Let's recap....Friday I had popcorn and soda for breakfast, then a Milky Way Midnight for dinner. AND THAT'S IT. All day. Today, I had two hot dogs for lunch, and an orange creamsicle. And somehow I have managed to stay a lean, mean, 175 pounds. And am rolling "balls deep" in the female persuasion. Okay that last part was a lie, it just sounded really funny in my head.

Just so you don't feel totally ripped off by not really having anything negative and profound in this post, let me add:

"Life's so fragile, a successful virus clinging to a speck of mud, suspended in endless nothing."

Name where that come from and win my phone number, and a date to the candy store!

Riding With Death

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Thu, 24 Jul 2008 04:08:00 +0000

Okay, loyal readers, we have managed to go about a month with no sort of movie review whatsoever, so the time is finally come to review the hottest movie of the summer, The Dark Knight. Wait a second, actually, I am not going to review that movie, because anyone who does is an idiot. If I were to review this movie, it would probably go something like this:

"Hey everyone, remember that awesome movie, Batman Begins? Well, remember how they set up the Joker at the end of that movie, and it was awesome? And then all the viral marketing for The Dark Knight started, and it was awesome? And then the teaser trailer came out, and it was awesome? And then they released the first six minutes of the movie in IMAX, and it was awesome? And then the actual trailer came out, and it was awesome? And then the reviews started coming in, and everyone said it was awesome? And then everyone in the world went to see the movie, and all of the reasons we thought it would be awesome were awesome and it culminated in an awesome movie? Yeah, well, it was pretty.....good."

Instead, I am going to review the hottest movie from the summer of 1998. That's right.....GODZILLA. First of all, this movie is, was, and forever will be, a pile of used band-aids with some fingernail clippings stuck to them. Does anyone even realize this movie is OVER two hours? Is that what that whole "SIZE DOES MATTER" marketing campaign mean? That there is a direct correlation between the length of the movie and the size of the hole you blow in your head? Why do they think all French people have names that start with "Jean" and love coffee? I am pretty sure this is the ONLY opinion the movie makers had of the French. If you haven't seen this movie, don't. It is so long. Seriously, this movie is so long, it's like watching the unrated version of 40 Year Old Virgin or something. It seems like a good idea, but when you get an hour into it, you start contemplating how you can make your eyeballs fall out of your head just so you have a good excuse to not watch it. Why was EVERY segment of this movie twice as long as it needed to be? The scene where they use a home pregnancy test to find out that "Go-ji-ra" is pregnant was ten minutes....DID WE REALLY NEED TO TAKE TEN MINUTES TO EXPLAIN HOW TO USE HOME PREGNANCY TESTS TO DISCOVER THAT RADIOACTIVE NUCLEAR REPTILES ARE ASEXUAL?! Good God. I take it back, EVERYONE should go see this movie, so that when you watch Independence Day, you appreciate how incredible it is and what it is like to have a nerdy main character that is NOT Matthew Broderick. The only redeeming qualities of this film are that both Hank Azaria and Harry Shearer are in this movie, and there are times when you can close your eyes and pretend that Moe Szyslak and Principal Skinner are fighting Godzilla.

On another note, how dumb is the phrase "more or less"? I mean, how can people honestly use this response and pretend they are being helpful whatsoever? This response means one thing....it means that whatever information someone is trying to gather by asking you a question to which you respond "more or less", that whatever amount is assumed is definitely NOT adequate, and the only sufficient amount is either more or less. More by how much, you wonder? Doesn't matter. Less by how much? Who cares! As long as it isn't the exact amount that you just inquired about! This interaction could even be deadly. Take this interaction, as an example:

Patient - "Doctor, how much of my medication should I take?"
Doctor - "Well, how much do YOU think you should take?"
Patient - "Uhhh....well, would three times a day be sufficient?"
Doctor - "More or less"
Patient - "So which is it, should I take more or should I take less?"
Doctor - "Doesn't matter, as long as you take either more, or less, and definitely NOT the amount you originally asked me about"
Patient - "You are an idiot"
Doctor - "At least I am not the one thinking medication can cure cancer"

And on a final note, anyone who has a webpage that uses white text on a black background should stab forks into their eyeballs and rotate until their pain equals mine when I try to read their page. Welcome to the internet, people!

Summer Is Almost Over...

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Tue, 22 Jul 2008 02:55:00 +0000

So here are some pictures! Sorry that I had absolutely nothing else to contribute to this post.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/jabsonridgewick/

(We Are) Bruce Banner

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Wed, 16 Jul 2008 04:15:00 +0000

Okay, well, I guess technically I meant the Hulk.

Robert's Jaguar S-Type

noreply@blogger.com (Craig) — Sun, 13 Jul 2008 09:38:00 +0000

If I were to guess, my friend “Robert” is probably a complex man. He's the kind of man who's naturally confused. A man who's quite possibly tempted by the finer things in life; faking a taste for la dolce vita, or something. But, one can only ponder whether he may also be the type of guy who's the exact opposite of these things; someone who makes eye contact with you at the urinal for instance. Or one who enjoys dissolving his boogers in his mouth (thinking nobody sees him do it). And maybe he believes in wearing his High School Class Ring far into the late stages of his life. He may even be the type of guy you've met once or twice, but hoped to God never found out where you lived, let alone your phone number. The kind of guy that gets serious about his choices in previously-owned 2004 Jaguar S-Types. Who the fuck knows what the guy likes.

A few weekends ago, I awoke to a phone call on my cellular phone from an unknown source, with an area code not too far from where I live. It was an early Saturday afternoon, and knowing I should be up already I quickly decided to answer it. I had nothing on my agenda of course, so why not hear the person out? Who knew, it could've been a recording, in which case I would've turned right around and went back to sleep.

But instead, launching myself straight from slumber, in the nicest way possible I welcomed a warm “HELLO?!?” (complete with a smile, as if it was an inside joke between me and the guy on the other line). A gentleman with a thick Latino accent stutters a “Hello” back to me, and instinctively I shoot back a quick sunshine-loaded “HI!” like I was Rachel Ray meeting your parents for the first time. (C'mon, the dude must've been confused at this point; who answers the phone like this? With a smile, no less.)

We go back and forth unnecessarily, almost to a point that I break out laughing, until he asks for “Robert.” Without hesitating, I quickly ask for his name (i.e. “Who is THIS?!”). He tells me his name is Javier. I respond with the obligatory “Oh how are you?”, and proceed to ask who's Robert. This frustrates him. He tells me that Robert gave him this number because he was interested in a 2004 Jaguar S-Type. (Javier sounded like a desperate man about to lose a sale, or something.) He asks me once more if I'm Robert, and I say of course, to which I'm entitled to know the price of this Jaguar.

A little thrown off (and even more frustrated), he gathers himself and shuffles through what sounded like his paperwork, pauses, and offers “$13,795.” (Or somewhere in that ballpark. But yeah, that's a little low.) Unfortunately for him, it wasn't low enough. So I actually told him that this price is not good; definitely not good enough for me. And while I still had him on the phone, I proceeded with demands of spending no more than $9950, and asked him what I could get for that amount. It sounded like he processed this information pretty quickly, because he told me to hold on. Seconds later, he offered me (get this) a 2002 Jaguar S-Type.

“Not bad, but is it a convertible?” I ask. He begins to stammer, and I quickly cut him off by explaining that I have no preference in color, but I don't want white… or yellow. (So yeah, I guess I did have a preference. Whoops!) Going on and on reinforcing the convertible got him so upset that he began to act crazy on the phone. He interrupted me, spoke over me, and raised his voice. He even accused me of “doing drugs” because this in no way reflects the conversation he had with “Robert” at the dealership earlier. Can you believe that? This guy actually works at a dealership? Wow.

Unfortunately, the minute or so following his response was filled with an outburst of my own, ranting and raving into the phone as I tried to retort (Albeit rather unsuccessfully. How the hell did he know I was doing drugs!?) It took me a second to realize, but he hung up. He apparently didn't like my demands, and he wasn't happy with the inconsistent Robert; along with my innate ability to push people away, he really didn't know what he was getting himself into. But looking back on it, I guess Robert really was sort of complex. And we both experienced that.

Afterward, while I was trying to pick out which cereal to eat, I felt sort of defeated; I really wanted what I wanted, based on principle alone. And I was shocked when I realized the S-Type is about to be discontinued after the 2008 model year. The only thing worse than all of this is not knowing whether or not he knew that. Y'know what I mean?

Day Man

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Fri, 11 Jul 2008 05:05:00 +0000

I would like to take this time to promote a television show I have been watching as of late. It is called "It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia". I know what you are thinking....isn't that show so horrible that only FX would show it? And yes, yes you are right, it is on FX. However, this affords them the opportunity to use the word "shit" every other 30 seconds or so. Once you get over the fact that it is on FX, it is actually quite entertaining. Here is a clip, that hopefully works, of a song that has been stuck in my head for days.

Tom Brokaw Is An Idiot

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Wed, 09 Jul 2008 01:48:00 +0000

First of all, let me clue everyone in to the WORST Flickr account out there right now, that I happen to be in charge of. If you are interested in wasting time looking at HORRIBLE pictures, feel free to visit:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/jabsonridgewick/

Secondly, I also have a blog, which you should all check out:

www.annihilationproclamation.blogspot.com

Bookmark it so that you don't spell it incorrectly.

And thirdly, Tom Brokaw was incorrect in naming the "Greatest Generation". He claims that all those people who were alive in World War 2, who happen to still be clinging to life in defiance of God, but I beg to differ. This so-called "Greatest Generation" has members that were too busy fighting the war to learn how to poop IN the toilet, but rather on the toilet SEAT and FLOOR. I feel like any generation refuses it's rights to anything when they poopy on the floor, other than their right to be nominated for "Best Generation at Poopy-ing on the Floor". I would like to nominate MY generation instead. No, I don't me twenty-somethings that were raised with a healthy combination of TV and the internet, I mean the generation I existed in. The one that started the second I was born and will end the second I die. This might be conceited, but it is also correct.

Needs No Explanation......

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Mon, 07 Jul 2008 05:05:00 +0000

I mean, honestly

Worst Joke Ever

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 22:22:00 +0000

So I think everyone can relate to being at a job for too many hours one day that it really starts to get to you. This happened for me a few weeks ago, and it resulted in possibly the worst joke in the history of jokes. It happened while I was working registers one day, and needed to stir things up a bit. I was starting to get a bit delirious from repeating the same gobbledy-gook for seven hours. I think the customers took notice, as I noticed they were leaving my counter faster and faster as the day progressed, while I tried having conversations with them, but were with the back of their heads instead. The joke occurred when a customer wanted to buy a ticket. I offered no sort of wackiness, as I got the impression that they were of the no-nonsense variety. I took their money, put in my drawer, and printed out the tickets. In my attempt to hand the ticket to said "serious business" customer, it slipped through my fingers not once, not twice, but THRICE. I chuckled to myself, and these words left my mouth...

"What, are these tickets made out of EELS or something?!"

To be honest, I still have absolutely NO idea what I was thinking, and I think it was obvious from the facial expression on the customers face. It wasn't a smirk or a smile, but merely a look of confusion and terror. I could see the thoughts in her mind were along the lines of "it's nice that they employ the mentally-handicapped, but shouldn't he be wearing a helmet?". Now, some of you might wonder why THIS is considered the worst joke in history, and I will tell you why. It is because I knew that they were NOT made of eels, so why would I even suggest that? Does anyone anywhere know a way to print tickets out of eels? Isn't there a better resource than that?

However, I do find something redeeming in the situation. That woman got to go home and say to all of thier friends and family, "Okay, so this idiot at work gives me the ticket...". It's the small price to pay to give a story a woman can tell for a lifetime. You're welcome, lady, wherever you are.

Pleasure is often the Introduction to Pain

noreply@blogger.com (Craig) — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 15:09:00 +0000

Hey I'm new here! I was totally invited to write for this blog. Imagine that. You can refer to me as “Craig,” because that's my real first name. And believe it or not, the photograph in my profile is actually me too! Those were the days.

Back when I was 14 years old, I never thought I'd be posting for blogs. Matter of fact, if you even told me I was going to post for blogs, I'd probably bellow a deep moan and cover my ears. Back then I didn't take too kindly to strangers who used them type of words. But now, forget about it! (How do they say it, “fuhgetaboutit?” Yeah yeah, fuhgetaboutit.) Look at me, I love it already!

The best thing about posting for blogs is you can say whatever's on your mind at any given time, as long as you know how to type and you have the blog site up with the “Compose” window open, on a computer that's working with no one standing behind you reading aloud what you're typing. It's pretty obvious that's the best thing. Just ask my blog-mate Patrick. Look at what he's blogged about already. Look at it. I don't even know what he said, but it sounds cool when read out loud.

And honestly, that's all I'm looking for here—someone to read everything back to me. As long as they're not standing right behind me reading everything I'm typing. We've already discussed this remember?

In an attempt to put this ever so eloquently, if I don't annoy you yet, just fucking wait.

Time Waster

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 01:39:00 +0000

So, I have quite a few t-shirts in my collection, and I keep trying to think of ways to showcase them. Well, here is what I decided to come up with. And it only took four days to do!

There are a total of 68 shirts there. If you hit "ESC" at any point, the frame will freeze. To get the cycle going again click the "Refresh" button, or just hit F5. The first person to list all 68 shirts wins a righteous prize. Now get to it!