Watching football, hockey, and other sports often motivates me to workout, get off my ass, or do something that I would normally question the motivation for. My workout goals and dreams would be much easier if I had the services of Ray Lewis, Personal Trainer.
That dude is a maniac. I love it. And I'll bet, off the field, he's not quite as crazy as everyone says he is.
This was pretty much just a delivery post for that article. Enjoy.
Don't you let up one bit on these motherfuckers, you're a soldier, get up..
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
We Are The Champions...
Well, unless it is a server fluke, those bible-thumping fuck-buddies over at the religious equivalent of Barney's Schoolhouse have packed up shop and left the filthy, heathen interwebs behind. So long, good luck, remember Anonymous 2K8!
In addition, there is much talk of the tragedy in New Orleans. Unfortunately, my weird sense of detachment from the world has reared its ugly head again. I'm sorry it happened, I've seen the papers, I wish it didn't happen, but it is not something that voluntarily enters my brain at all. I don't even think about it really.
Maybe I'm a bad person, maybe I'm just an asshole. Whatever you think, make sure you leave your name for critisism. This way, I can insult your mother, make fun of you with direct and pointed attacks based on information gathering as opposed to baseless assumptions, and in general, make you wish you hadn't said anything.
Su-Fi, Dr. Fryer
I have spread out my hands all the day unto a rebellious people...
In addition, there is much talk of the tragedy in New Orleans. Unfortunately, my weird sense of detachment from the world has reared its ugly head again. I'm sorry it happened, I've seen the papers, I wish it didn't happen, but it is not something that voluntarily enters my brain at all. I don't even think about it really.
Maybe I'm a bad person, maybe I'm just an asshole. Whatever you think, make sure you leave your name for critisism. This way, I can insult your mother, make fun of you with direct and pointed attacks based on information gathering as opposed to baseless assumptions, and in general, make you wish you hadn't said anything.
Su-Fi, Dr. Fryer
I have spread out my hands all the day unto a rebellious people...
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Friendship, Love, and Over-Communication of the Feelings Therin...
I have seen a lot of posts on love, friendship and the feelings each of these promote lately. I figured, I'd drop my own brand of harsh-worded critique to the mix.
Many go on in leaps and bounds about the happy-happy joy-joy feelings of friendship and love. Many will spew forth a stream of delightful, flowery sonnets and verses about true friends, soul mates, the perfect companion, etc.
It would appear, much as in all aspects of living, I'm a little out of the loop as they say. Yes, I feel these feelings. Yes, I am absolutely delighted to have found the occasional person (friend or otherwise) who can put me truly at ease with myself and my surroundings. However, what I am most delighted by is the fact that I don't have to tell my true friends and loved ones of my appreciation or feelings.
What kind of soul connection do you have if you need to re-affirm it verbally every chance you get? What kind of comfort do you feel if the only thing you ever talk about is how good/awesome/relaxed this person makes you feel. If you can't just sit and talk with someone, or better yet, just sit with and not say anything at all, you don't understand what you say you have and what you are really missing.
I have gone on a bike ride, rollerbladed with, and sat in a car with a true friend and not said anything for over 10 minutes. This isn't an uncomfortable silence, this is joy. I don't need to say anything for my friend to know I enjoy his/her company more than most anything else. They don't need to say something about how much they like/love me or that I put them at ease. It's fucking understood.
As I find with some people, you can talk a mean game, but step on the court/field/rink and you fuckin' choke. Well don't let that happen to one of the better aspects in your life. Friends are friends through thick and thin, loud and quiet, up and down, down and out.
If Deuce and I were sitting in a jail cell covered in fake blood, with monopoly money stuck all over, neither of us would be saying "I love you. You make me feel totally at ease and like anything is possible. You are truly a great friend. Thank you." One of us would be complaining about a lack of alcohol and the other would be yelling "I told you to bring the fucking camera." Nor would we be saying that in a car, or in a boat. On a horse, or on a goat. Not in a house or on a plane. Here at work or in a train.
I do not speak what can't be said. I do not diminish the unspoken aura of the words "True Friend"
Many go on in leaps and bounds about the happy-happy joy-joy feelings of friendship and love. Many will spew forth a stream of delightful, flowery sonnets and verses about true friends, soul mates, the perfect companion, etc.
It would appear, much as in all aspects of living, I'm a little out of the loop as they say. Yes, I feel these feelings. Yes, I am absolutely delighted to have found the occasional person (friend or otherwise) who can put me truly at ease with myself and my surroundings. However, what I am most delighted by is the fact that I don't have to tell my true friends and loved ones of my appreciation or feelings.
What kind of soul connection do you have if you need to re-affirm it verbally every chance you get? What kind of comfort do you feel if the only thing you ever talk about is how good/awesome/relaxed this person makes you feel. If you can't just sit and talk with someone, or better yet, just sit with and not say anything at all, you don't understand what you say you have and what you are really missing.
I have gone on a bike ride, rollerbladed with, and sat in a car with a true friend and not said anything for over 10 minutes. This isn't an uncomfortable silence, this is joy. I don't need to say anything for my friend to know I enjoy his/her company more than most anything else. They don't need to say something about how much they like/love me or that I put them at ease. It's fucking understood.
As I find with some people, you can talk a mean game, but step on the court/field/rink and you fuckin' choke. Well don't let that happen to one of the better aspects in your life. Friends are friends through thick and thin, loud and quiet, up and down, down and out.
If Deuce and I were sitting in a jail cell covered in fake blood, with monopoly money stuck all over, neither of us would be saying "I love you. You make me feel totally at ease and like anything is possible. You are truly a great friend. Thank you." One of us would be complaining about a lack of alcohol and the other would be yelling "I told you to bring the fucking camera." Nor would we be saying that in a car, or in a boat. On a horse, or on a goat. Not in a house or on a plane. Here at work or in a train.
I do not speak what can't be said. I do not diminish the unspoken aura of the words "True Friend"
Monday, July 25, 2005
A Dichotomy of Styles...
As Deuce will woo and awe you with tales of unending relational observation and human dramatics, I... will not. The eloquence and discriptive glamour with which my counterpart flows forth stories onto these "pages" is a skill, nay, a gift, which I will never possess. However, while I will not completely invalidate Deuce's abilities in my particular area of expertise, it is precisely that, MY area. I am unaware of the existence of a being, man or otherwise, who is so fully capable of putting the summation of all of the anger, frustration, and incalculable desire for murderous vengeance a particular subset of humans creates into a better soapbox rant than I. So without further ado...
Some people, in specific areas of life, are fucking pathetic. Maybe they never stop and evaluate what they're thinking, maybe I am missing something, maybe they just don't know any better but god dammit, listen for the pop. For those who are unawares, that'll be the sound your head makes when it comes out of your ass for the first time. I will now attempt to classify some of the people who I have encountered recently or have reason to bitch about.
The Social Remora
Much like the aquatic creature of their namesake, these people lack something that they then leech from others. In this case, it is a social life. Be it through lack of social grace, friend-finding ability, or some other unfortunate affliction these people are unable to exist without their host. What pisses me off is that friends are not a fucking address book, not a god damned hotel receptionist. I don't call Deuce because I want to hang out with Brian. I don't ask Zimmer if I can come over and chill because I'd like to host a social event at his house. I call Deuce because I want to hang out with him, and I call Zac because I want to hang out with him, wherever that may be. Tell you what, since I'm not a complete asshole (being an asshole is to me what a chimp's genetic code is to human's), I offer this advice, READ THIS and thank me later, if you have time with your busy social life.
The Religious Whackaloon
This can be adapted to pretty much anyone who wears something on their sleeve (or on the back of their car, you yellow fucking ribbon sticker bitches). I have no problem with someone discussing something ad naseum... if they're willing to do just that, discuss it. If you are not open to meaningful dialogue, part of which might involve an opinion that differs, no matter how greatly, from your own, then shut the fuck up. I wear a Livestrong bracelet. Yeah, I also know about Lance Armstrong's battle with cancer, the Livestrong foundation, where he's from, what his resting heartrate is, and the only stage of the Tour de France he won this year. In other words, I'd be happy to discuss it if only to show that I am an actual fan and not a fucking tag-along.
These motherfuckers deserve two paragraphs. If you want to talk about religion all day and night and wear your faith on your sleeve, you'd better be open to dialogue. Remember all the people who had conversations about Kerry's religious background in the '04 presidential campaign? No? That's because he made a statement, didn't discuss, and didn't wear it like it was his ticket in. Then, contrarily, remember the mass of discussion about Bush's? Yeah, wore it like it was his favorite bolo-tie. But he didn't mind talking about it, even with people who had a different view. Put up or shut up. Same with you popped collar assholes. If you can validate it, discuss it, or even say "I'm just following a trend" then good for you! If not, put your collar down and do something you actually feel comfortable admitting or has reason behind it.
The Hypocrite
Last, but certainly not least considering I embody this concept, is the hypocrite. Bitch about radio nazis, but are one? Complain when things don't go your way, but get on someone else's case when they do too? Bitch about something that you do regularly? Learn to cope fucker. Get your head out of your ass, pay attention to what you are doing, realize when you are being a hypocrite and fucking stop.
In summation, the worst person ever would: Wear their religion on their sleeve, talk about it all the time, have this talk erode their friendships to the point where the needed to vicariously survive via someone else's social web and then complain about how all of those people in their host's circle of friends wear their different religious beliefs on their sleeves too but be unopen to discuss it with them.
That person should be shot, beaten, killed, and then talked to death. An eye for an eye cocksuckers.
Get off your fucking cross...
Some people, in specific areas of life, are fucking pathetic. Maybe they never stop and evaluate what they're thinking, maybe I am missing something, maybe they just don't know any better but god dammit, listen for the pop. For those who are unawares, that'll be the sound your head makes when it comes out of your ass for the first time. I will now attempt to classify some of the people who I have encountered recently or have reason to bitch about.
The Social Remora
Much like the aquatic creature of their namesake, these people lack something that they then leech from others. In this case, it is a social life. Be it through lack of social grace, friend-finding ability, or some other unfortunate affliction these people are unable to exist without their host. What pisses me off is that friends are not a fucking address book, not a god damned hotel receptionist. I don't call Deuce because I want to hang out with Brian. I don't ask Zimmer if I can come over and chill because I'd like to host a social event at his house. I call Deuce because I want to hang out with him, and I call Zac because I want to hang out with him, wherever that may be. Tell you what, since I'm not a complete asshole (being an asshole is to me what a chimp's genetic code is to human's), I offer this advice, READ THIS and thank me later, if you have time with your busy social life.
The Religious Whackaloon
This can be adapted to pretty much anyone who wears something on their sleeve (or on the back of their car, you yellow fucking ribbon sticker bitches). I have no problem with someone discussing something ad naseum... if they're willing to do just that, discuss it. If you are not open to meaningful dialogue, part of which might involve an opinion that differs, no matter how greatly, from your own, then shut the fuck up. I wear a Livestrong bracelet. Yeah, I also know about Lance Armstrong's battle with cancer, the Livestrong foundation, where he's from, what his resting heartrate is, and the only stage of the Tour de France he won this year. In other words, I'd be happy to discuss it if only to show that I am an actual fan and not a fucking tag-along.
These motherfuckers deserve two paragraphs. If you want to talk about religion all day and night and wear your faith on your sleeve, you'd better be open to dialogue. Remember all the people who had conversations about Kerry's religious background in the '04 presidential campaign? No? That's because he made a statement, didn't discuss, and didn't wear it like it was his ticket in. Then, contrarily, remember the mass of discussion about Bush's? Yeah, wore it like it was his favorite bolo-tie. But he didn't mind talking about it, even with people who had a different view. Put up or shut up. Same with you popped collar assholes. If you can validate it, discuss it, or even say "I'm just following a trend" then good for you! If not, put your collar down and do something you actually feel comfortable admitting or has reason behind it.
The Hypocrite
Last, but certainly not least considering I embody this concept, is the hypocrite. Bitch about radio nazis, but are one? Complain when things don't go your way, but get on someone else's case when they do too? Bitch about something that you do regularly? Learn to cope fucker. Get your head out of your ass, pay attention to what you are doing, realize when you are being a hypocrite and fucking stop.
In summation, the worst person ever would: Wear their religion on their sleeve, talk about it all the time, have this talk erode their friendships to the point where the needed to vicariously survive via someone else's social web and then complain about how all of those people in their host's circle of friends wear their different religious beliefs on their sleeves too but be unopen to discuss it with them.
That person should be shot, beaten, killed, and then talked to death. An eye for an eye cocksuckers.
Get off your fucking cross...
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Y'arrr... Thar Be Scribblins Here...
First and foremost, allow my sincerest and cardiac-stirring apologies for my lack of textual presence on this page. I am rarely in the presence of a continuous stretch of time that can only be labelled, not from a lack of creativity on my part I assure you, as 'free'. So rare is this linear quantum anomoly that I find its presence oddly audible, in the way one hears a ninja behind you shorty before you fall prone on the floor, images of your childhood flashing prominently before you eyes, and realizing, with certainty for once, that Twinkies are, in fact, not good for you.
That being said, I am in the eye of said time period and reasoned that I might attempt to drag you kicking and screaming into a status of "up-to-date" on the happenings of my life.
Firstly, my truck should be arriving at the dealer soon. This fills me with a feeling that can only be described as much akin to the realease of urine after several hours of holding back for the sake of clothing or upholstry blended with the euphoric bliss of an evening at The Idiot.
Secondly, my compatriot has, apologies for any redundency if you read our Blog, fallen ill. So far, with a loud and exhaustive knocking on most organic furniture and shelving, I have yet to succumb to the grasp of disease. Indeed I may be forced to pry the grasping fingers of sickness from my throat with a can of Lysol and some Vitamin C, but I will not go down without a fight. I will not go quietly into the night... take over from here Bill Pullman...
Tertiarily and, with slight humor, lastly, Batman Begins is now out in theatres. I will most likely see it this evening but there have been hushed conversations and whispers in dark places about travelling to a much heralded IMAX to view this production in the full glory for which it was intended. I may not be her biggest of admirers but Katie Holmes would undoubtedly look better with 5 foot breasts.
Tits McGee ?Dr. Fryer?
Fuck L. Ron Hubbard, and fuck all his clones...
That being said, I am in the eye of said time period and reasoned that I might attempt to drag you kicking and screaming into a status of "up-to-date" on the happenings of my life.
Firstly, my truck should be arriving at the dealer soon. This fills me with a feeling that can only be described as much akin to the realease of urine after several hours of holding back for the sake of clothing or upholstry blended with the euphoric bliss of an evening at The Idiot.
Secondly, my compatriot has, apologies for any redundency if you read our Blog, fallen ill. So far, with a loud and exhaustive knocking on most organic furniture and shelving, I have yet to succumb to the grasp of disease. Indeed I may be forced to pry the grasping fingers of sickness from my throat with a can of Lysol and some Vitamin C, but I will not go down without a fight. I will not go quietly into the night... take over from here Bill Pullman...
Tertiarily and, with slight humor, lastly, Batman Begins is now out in theatres. I will most likely see it this evening but there have been hushed conversations and whispers in dark places about travelling to a much heralded IMAX to view this production in the full glory for which it was intended. I may not be her biggest of admirers but Katie Holmes would undoubtedly look better with 5 foot breasts.
Fuck L. Ron Hubbard, and fuck all his clones...
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Fuck the Game...
It has come to my attention that there is an ever-emerging trend of "playing games" in many facets of life. Dating, Employment, Government, hell, even interacting with friends. So often you see employment ads, conversations, personal ads, and politicians who long for constituents who "don't play games". The funny thing is, everyone plays the game but, deep down, no one likes it. Much as Dane Cook theorized with Monopoly. At some point, you throw down your piece on the board, scatter the houses and scream "Fuck this game, I quit!"
Well, in my search for employment I've come to just such a situation. HR people are some of the few that actually enjoy playing the game. I have surmised that this is because they are, in fact, the banker. "Where'd you get the pink fifties you cheating whore?!"
They have all of the power, and no real punishment for not hiring you except having to find someone else. Fortunately for them, that person is probably behind you, and possibly weilding a knife. I had to buy more time for a job offer and as my Dad said "you don't want to lie, but you do need to omit some truth." This, to me, is fucking stupid.
I want to be honest. I want to be straightforward. Why? Makes me feel better, who knows. That's how I roll. I want to say "Look, I am waiting on another job offer to weigh the two." Can't do that. Why? Page 4, paragraph 2 in the Rule Book: "See Rule 1". Rule 1: PLAY THE FUCKING GAME!
I did, and I got my extension but it makes me wonder...
What if I didn't NEED a job. What if I was applying to see if I could get it. Oooh, money trays gettin' further away isn't it. Not so powerful now because I am not afraid to lose. I figure if everyone just played it straight, Monopoly would be fun. But nope, The Game is designed with one purpose in mind. Get yours, fuck the rest of em.
Well the buck stops here. Employment, Friends, Dating, Life. I'm not playing anymore. I quit. You want me, I'll be at the Dominoes table where it's an honest competition. You ask a question, you get an answer instead of a calculated pre-screened response. You say something, it is because you are being honest. One drop in the bucket probably won't matter but know this: If I like or love you, I'll be honest about. If I want a job, I'll tell you. If I don't, I'll tell you. If I have something to say, you can believe it.
You don't need a Rule Book when noone is trying to figure out how to cheat
Like Cleopatra, Joan of Arc or Aphrodite...
Well, in my search for employment I've come to just such a situation. HR people are some of the few that actually enjoy playing the game. I have surmised that this is because they are, in fact, the banker. "Where'd you get the pink fifties you cheating whore?!"
They have all of the power, and no real punishment for not hiring you except having to find someone else. Fortunately for them, that person is probably behind you, and possibly weilding a knife. I had to buy more time for a job offer and as my Dad said "you don't want to lie, but you do need to omit some truth." This, to me, is fucking stupid.
I want to be honest. I want to be straightforward. Why? Makes me feel better, who knows. That's how I roll. I want to say "Look, I am waiting on another job offer to weigh the two." Can't do that. Why? Page 4, paragraph 2 in the Rule Book: "See Rule 1". Rule 1: PLAY THE FUCKING GAME!
I did, and I got my extension but it makes me wonder...
What if I didn't NEED a job. What if I was applying to see if I could get it. Oooh, money trays gettin' further away isn't it. Not so powerful now because I am not afraid to lose. I figure if everyone just played it straight, Monopoly would be fun. But nope, The Game is designed with one purpose in mind. Get yours, fuck the rest of em.
Well the buck stops here. Employment, Friends, Dating, Life. I'm not playing anymore. I quit. You want me, I'll be at the Dominoes table where it's an honest competition. You ask a question, you get an answer instead of a calculated pre-screened response. You say something, it is because you are being honest. One drop in the bucket probably won't matter but know this: If I like or love you, I'll be honest about. If I want a job, I'll tell you. If I don't, I'll tell you. If I have something to say, you can believe it.
You don't need a Rule Book when noone is trying to figure out how to cheat
Like Cleopatra, Joan of Arc or Aphrodite...
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