If Hollywood has taught me anything, and it has, it’s that our wonderful planet is due for some kind of inevitable zombie attack. Right now it is unclear if the assault will come from an army of the formerly deceased by an apocalyptic gesture of God or merely the spread of an airborne virus from an evil corporate conglomerate (Halliburton comes to mind). One thing is for certain, there is no stopping them.
I, for one, would like to welcome our new undead friends. I feel it will finally give me the chance to fulfill my destiny as the shotgun wielding, cigar smoking, hell-bent motorcycle warrior I was to born to be (I still haven’t decided if I’m going to wear shoulder pads with spikes protruding from them yet, but I definitely wouldn’t rule it out). Nothing gets me through a boring day at the office more than the possibility of slaying a pack of flesh-eating people freshly diagnosed with a scorching case of zombiism. I wouldn’t hesitate what to do in a second and neither should you.
That’s why it is important to formulate a game plan for dealing with the zombies in various scenarios you may find yourself in. For example, when you’re in lecture or something, you’re going to want to know where all the exits are and where to find the nearest fire hatchet or at least a blunt object to strike down the zombies when they try to eat your brains.
I’d like to take a moment here to dispel a rumor that eating asparagus will make your brains less tasty to the zombies. It won’t. Don’t waste your time listening to that bogus advice, it might just get you killed or eaten.
I STRONGLY recommend that at the very least, stock up on plenty of ammunition, and if you can, get your ass to the target range to work on your head shots. Don’t be fooled by the zombie’s soft flesh, a good blow to the dome is the only way to take down the walking dead, unless you have time to remove all their arms and legs but who has time for that? Don’t get fancy out there in zombie world. Vince Lombardi once said “Stick to the fundamentals” and that advice rings true for eradicating zombies as well as winning Super Bowls.
I have hordes of other useful knowledge for exterminating zombies but I’m keeping them to myself and for all the beautiful dames I decide to rescue along the way. In the meantime, practice those head shots and just pray we don’t have to deal with the zombies in 28 Days Later. Those fuckers were FAST.
Friday, October 14, 2005
Monday, October 10, 2005
I am an original disciple of the Bubble Gum Punk revolution
You are not a punk rocker.
I hate to burst your bubble but listening to Blink 182 and Good Charlotte does not mean you are into punk. Don’t get me wrong. I love the genre. I enjoy those soapy lyrics and juicy guitar hooks just as much as the next pre-pubescent teen. But let’s get the facts straight.
Before you take heed of my words you should probably know I’m not underground music listening hipster guy with a vendetta against corporate rock. Far from it. But I know a thing or two what constitutes punk.
Punk is something you would never hear on the radio. It’s something that would never be recorded in a fancy studio with fancy bells and whistles added in post production. Punk is having a shaved head and stomping the shit out of someone wearing steel toed boots at a Sex Pistols concert. That’s about as simple as I can explain it.
Enter 2005. I recently attended a Green Day concert here in town. I was a little confused at when I first got there. What the hell were all these rugrats doing here? Is fucking Raffi in town? Maybe there was a different Alliant Energy Colliseum in Madison that I supposed to be at? I was clearly the oldest person in the crowd with the exception of the chaperones in the top bleachers (those kids need a ride home somehow, I suppose). Although it was a huge boost to my ego beating the crap out of a bunch of toddlers in the “mosh pit” as it were, I realized this was the end of an era.
It’s not all sad though. I enjoy both worlds of rock. If Zeppelin were a four course meal for your lobes, then Simple Plan would be the equivalent of taking one of those awesome bags of flavored sugar you used to eat as a kid and pouring it directly down your ear canal. Thanks to MTV, we can complete the analogy by taking that weird sugar paddle spoon thingy and jamming into your eye. Both are great, whatever you are in the mood for.
I'm getting a little preachy here, so I'm just going to shut up and let you keep on a boppin’ along to your high octane bubble gum punk if that’s what does it for you. Just do us all a favor and take off that ridiculous Ramones T-shirt. Joey Ramone doesn’t want you wearing it and neither do I.
I hate to burst your bubble but listening to Blink 182 and Good Charlotte does not mean you are into punk. Don’t get me wrong. I love the genre. I enjoy those soapy lyrics and juicy guitar hooks just as much as the next pre-pubescent teen. But let’s get the facts straight.
Before you take heed of my words you should probably know I’m not underground music listening hipster guy with a vendetta against corporate rock. Far from it. But I know a thing or two what constitutes punk.
Punk is something you would never hear on the radio. It’s something that would never be recorded in a fancy studio with fancy bells and whistles added in post production. Punk is having a shaved head and stomping the shit out of someone wearing steel toed boots at a Sex Pistols concert. That’s about as simple as I can explain it.
Enter 2005. I recently attended a Green Day concert here in town. I was a little confused at when I first got there. What the hell were all these rugrats doing here? Is fucking Raffi in town? Maybe there was a different Alliant Energy Colliseum in Madison that I supposed to be at? I was clearly the oldest person in the crowd with the exception of the chaperones in the top bleachers (those kids need a ride home somehow, I suppose). Although it was a huge boost to my ego beating the crap out of a bunch of toddlers in the “mosh pit” as it were, I realized this was the end of an era.
It’s not all sad though. I enjoy both worlds of rock. If Zeppelin were a four course meal for your lobes, then Simple Plan would be the equivalent of taking one of those awesome bags of flavored sugar you used to eat as a kid and pouring it directly down your ear canal. Thanks to MTV, we can complete the analogy by taking that weird sugar paddle spoon thingy and jamming into your eye. Both are great, whatever you are in the mood for.
I'm getting a little preachy here, so I'm just going to shut up and let you keep on a boppin’ along to your high octane bubble gum punk if that’s what does it for you. Just do us all a favor and take off that ridiculous Ramones T-shirt. Joey Ramone doesn’t want you wearing it and neither do I.
Sunday, October 02, 2005
If Lizzie McQuire were on the cover of Maxim...
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Monday, September 26, 2005
Rule Number 2
The girl cannot suck at Volleyball.
I know that may seem weird and random, and it is. I’m not all that great at Volleyball myself. I don’t even particularly like the sport that much. It’s just when screening potential candidates as relationship material, it’s really important to me that the girl has the rudimentary skills to knock a soft inflated rubber ball over a stupid net.
This all stems back to middle school when nothing was more important than winning the whatever game of the week in gym class. Can you think of anything more annoying than that one girl in every class who ducked and screamed whenever the ball was hit to her? Or when it was her turn to serve, could not hit the ball over the net to save her life? And then she would giggle because she thought she was being cute. You weren’t. You cost the team a point and you wasted everyone’s time. The only thing you could do about it was pray she wasn’t on your team next week. On a side note: I was definitely the asshole who always hit the ball in her direction if that girl was on the other team - like I said before, gym is super important at that age.
Objectively, if I was to continue seeing a girl, I would have to get her to play beach volleyball at some point and I’d like to see her serve the ball in bounds at least 57% of the time and she we would have to be good enough to not be singled out as an automatic point by our opponents because, sadly, those assholes still exist. I’d even be willing to cut the girl some slack if we were drinking lots of those barley and hops flavored soda’s that I am so very fond of. I feel I am being pretty fair about this and I think a lot of dudes would feel the same way.
You can tell a lot about someone by how they play volleyball. Ladies, please don’t be a giggle monster out there.
I know that may seem weird and random, and it is. I’m not all that great at Volleyball myself. I don’t even particularly like the sport that much. It’s just when screening potential candidates as relationship material, it’s really important to me that the girl has the rudimentary skills to knock a soft inflated rubber ball over a stupid net.
This all stems back to middle school when nothing was more important than winning the whatever game of the week in gym class. Can you think of anything more annoying than that one girl in every class who ducked and screamed whenever the ball was hit to her? Or when it was her turn to serve, could not hit the ball over the net to save her life? And then she would giggle because she thought she was being cute. You weren’t. You cost the team a point and you wasted everyone’s time. The only thing you could do about it was pray she wasn’t on your team next week. On a side note: I was definitely the asshole who always hit the ball in her direction if that girl was on the other team - like I said before, gym is super important at that age.
Objectively, if I was to continue seeing a girl, I would have to get her to play beach volleyball at some point and I’d like to see her serve the ball in bounds at least 57% of the time and she we would have to be good enough to not be singled out as an automatic point by our opponents because, sadly, those assholes still exist. I’d even be willing to cut the girl some slack if we were drinking lots of those barley and hops flavored soda’s that I am so very fond of. I feel I am being pretty fair about this and I think a lot of dudes would feel the same way.
You can tell a lot about someone by how they play volleyball. Ladies, please don’t be a giggle monster out there.
Monday, September 12, 2005
The Roommate of Emily Rose
I want to know the story of Emily Rose’s college roommate.
You thought your roommate was bad. Seriously, just imagine the stories this girl came home with on that first Thanksgiving freshmen year. I think it would go a little something like this:
“Omigod, my roommate is such a bitch. I was listening to my Britney Spears CD and she was like, could you turn that down, and I was like, whatever. Can you believe that!? What a slut!”
“Yeah, I kinda know what you mean. My roommate sometimes wakes up at three in the morning and gets all contortled on the ground and starts screeching in 2000 year old dead languages. Normally, I wouldn’t mind but I have class at 8 in the morning.”
And what’s the deal with this boyfriend guy she has? This guy was SO lonely, he had to resort to the possessed girl down the hall? Did he lose a bet or something? I mean I’ve been alone on a Saturday night before but C’Mon! On the bright side, your women problems pale in comparison to this dude.
“Hey man, did you get in a fight or something?”
“Yeah, sort of, my girlfriend tried scratching my eyes out again. I guess I deserve it though, I mean I DID try to stop her from eating those cockroaches in her room. She hates that. But it could have been worse, it’s not like she has fingernails, right?”
Exorcism’s rock. They’re almost as cool as zombies.
You thought your roommate was bad. Seriously, just imagine the stories this girl came home with on that first Thanksgiving freshmen year. I think it would go a little something like this:
“Omigod, my roommate is such a bitch. I was listening to my Britney Spears CD and she was like, could you turn that down, and I was like, whatever. Can you believe that!? What a slut!”
“Yeah, I kinda know what you mean. My roommate sometimes wakes up at three in the morning and gets all contortled on the ground and starts screeching in 2000 year old dead languages. Normally, I wouldn’t mind but I have class at 8 in the morning.”
And what’s the deal with this boyfriend guy she has? This guy was SO lonely, he had to resort to the possessed girl down the hall? Did he lose a bet or something? I mean I’ve been alone on a Saturday night before but C’Mon! On the bright side, your women problems pale in comparison to this dude.
“Hey man, did you get in a fight or something?”
“Yeah, sort of, my girlfriend tried scratching my eyes out again. I guess I deserve it though, I mean I DID try to stop her from eating those cockroaches in her room. She hates that. But it could have been worse, it’s not like she has fingernails, right?”
Exorcism’s rock. They’re almost as cool as zombies.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
3 Pick-Up lines that could potentially be really great
#1 “I’m Wayne Gretsky, the Greatest Hockey Player ever!”
This line isn’t theoretical actually, my buddy actually used this line once, even though I’m pretty sure he doesn’t remember it. It wasn’t so much aimed at a particular girl either, he just kind of sprayed this line in every general direction, not caring who it hit. In any case, it attracted the attention of some pretty cute girls. Whether they thought it was amusing or they just thought my friend was an idiot (more likely the latter), who knows, he got a conversation started. Drunk Assholes: 1 Chicks: 0.
#2 “Hi, did you know that my grandpa was one of the forefathers of modern flight? He was that one guy you see in old-timey movies about airplanes before the Wright Brothers. Not that guy with the bi-plane with like 5 stacked wings that falls apart after about 2 seconds but that one dude with the contraption that looks like 2 giant horizontal cymbals that’s just pumping away but you know that jackass isn’t going anywhere but no one is that fucking stupid to think something like that would work.”
I know this line is little long winded to say the least, especially in a packed tavern, but I’ll give you 2 reasons why it will work:
1.) Old-Timey movies are funny. I think, at least subconsciously, everyone has seen that footage somewhere in their lives. It is arguably the definitive old-timey movie.
2.) Who’s going to call you out on that shit? The key to a good lie is make something up that no one can verify.
#3 “Hi, my name is John Smith. I really like your insert article of clothing here. What’s your name?
I’m just kidding. This would never work. Back to the outrageous claims!
Real #3
This is more of a maneuver than a line but here goes: It requires at least two other wingmen. When bar hopping, casually have one friend toss another friend into a pack of women walking in the opposite direction, knocking some of them over if necessary. Yell at your friends for being jerks, then do damage control with the ladies, help them up, apologize (important note: do this while of kind of chuckling so they know your nice but still kind of an asshole because we all know women tend to flock towards assholes; bonus that you keep the company of other assholes), ask them where they are going and offer to buy drinks. Repeat this procedure as necessary, taking turns with your buddies to be the hero. I know it’s juvenile but since when has being mature ever worked out for anyone?
This line isn’t theoretical actually, my buddy actually used this line once, even though I’m pretty sure he doesn’t remember it. It wasn’t so much aimed at a particular girl either, he just kind of sprayed this line in every general direction, not caring who it hit. In any case, it attracted the attention of some pretty cute girls. Whether they thought it was amusing or they just thought my friend was an idiot (more likely the latter), who knows, he got a conversation started. Drunk Assholes: 1 Chicks: 0.
#2 “Hi, did you know that my grandpa was one of the forefathers of modern flight? He was that one guy you see in old-timey movies about airplanes before the Wright Brothers. Not that guy with the bi-plane with like 5 stacked wings that falls apart after about 2 seconds but that one dude with the contraption that looks like 2 giant horizontal cymbals that’s just pumping away but you know that jackass isn’t going anywhere but no one is that fucking stupid to think something like that would work.”
I know this line is little long winded to say the least, especially in a packed tavern, but I’ll give you 2 reasons why it will work:
1.) Old-Timey movies are funny. I think, at least subconsciously, everyone has seen that footage somewhere in their lives. It is arguably the definitive old-timey movie.
2.) Who’s going to call you out on that shit? The key to a good lie is make something up that no one can verify.
#3 “Hi, my name is John Smith. I really like your insert article of clothing here. What’s your name?
I’m just kidding. This would never work. Back to the outrageous claims!
Real #3
This is more of a maneuver than a line but here goes: It requires at least two other wingmen. When bar hopping, casually have one friend toss another friend into a pack of women walking in the opposite direction, knocking some of them over if necessary. Yell at your friends for being jerks, then do damage control with the ladies, help them up, apologize (important note: do this while of kind of chuckling so they know your nice but still kind of an asshole because we all know women tend to flock towards assholes; bonus that you keep the company of other assholes), ask them where they are going and offer to buy drinks. Repeat this procedure as necessary, taking turns with your buddies to be the hero. I know it’s juvenile but since when has being mature ever worked out for anyone?
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Eat it, Hallmark
I do realize I go out of my way to make myself damn near unmarketable to the opposite sex. I don’t why I make dating so difficult for myself but I do. I think its because instead of waiting for that one special someone out there for me, I’ve decided to start with every girl in the world and weed them out one by one until I find that last remaining magical special person just for me. Romantic, I am.
Test Number 1:
When I find woman that I would consider a keeper, I am going to drop the following bomb. I am going to offer her a thousand dollars cash for the privilege of never having to buy a greeting card for her ever again. No Birthdays, Anniversaries, not even the sham of all holidays, Valentines Day. Before you say Ben, you cheap worthless bastard; hear me out.
If I love this woman, I am going to go beyond the call of duty to make sure she knows it. I will be more than happy to give her nice thoughtful gifts on those holidays. I am even more than willing to express my thoughts and feelings or whatever she wants to hear on some nice stationary. Fine. Great. I expect this.
I just don’t need some jerkass from Hallmark to tell me I need to shill out five bones to say I love you. That’s their whole gimic. There wouldn’t be a greeting card industry if they didn’t stamp the price on the back of those cards. “Oh honey, thanks for the card but I guess you only love me $3 dollars worth and not $4 or $5 dollars worth. No ass for you tonight.” Bite me, corporate stooge at American Greetings. I’m on to your scam and I intend to bring down your conspiracy like the house of cards that it is.
The truth is, all you really care about the personal message inside anyway. And I don’t have to scramble around at the 11th hour buying a card and waiting in line with all the other suckers. AND you get a thousand bucks. Buy yourself some nice ear rings or shoes or whatever. Who loves you, baby?
Test Number 1:
When I find woman that I would consider a keeper, I am going to drop the following bomb. I am going to offer her a thousand dollars cash for the privilege of never having to buy a greeting card for her ever again. No Birthdays, Anniversaries, not even the sham of all holidays, Valentines Day. Before you say Ben, you cheap worthless bastard; hear me out.
If I love this woman, I am going to go beyond the call of duty to make sure she knows it. I will be more than happy to give her nice thoughtful gifts on those holidays. I am even more than willing to express my thoughts and feelings or whatever she wants to hear on some nice stationary. Fine. Great. I expect this.
I just don’t need some jerkass from Hallmark to tell me I need to shill out five bones to say I love you. That’s their whole gimic. There wouldn’t be a greeting card industry if they didn’t stamp the price on the back of those cards. “Oh honey, thanks for the card but I guess you only love me $3 dollars worth and not $4 or $5 dollars worth. No ass for you tonight.” Bite me, corporate stooge at American Greetings. I’m on to your scam and I intend to bring down your conspiracy like the house of cards that it is.
The truth is, all you really care about the personal message inside anyway. And I don’t have to scramble around at the 11th hour buying a card and waiting in line with all the other suckers. AND you get a thousand bucks. Buy yourself some nice ear rings or shoes or whatever. Who loves you, baby?
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Who wants to Snog!?
Yeah I like Harry Potter books. They’re great. The first couple books were kind of childish but the latter ones are actually pretty dark and deal with some pretty mature themes. I think any adult fan of the series would agree with me but I would like to go one over and scrutinize some trivial details that I promise will have absolutely no bearing on your opinions one way or another. Reader beware: you are about to get a little bit stupider.
I am going to make a weak case that Harry and Ginny are doing the deed. I basically just wanted to believe this and then proceeded to find evidence to prove it. I found none. But just think about it for a sec.
There are more hook ups going on at Hogwarts than ever before. It’s straight out of the OC, seriously. Just remember when you were 17 and in high school. You were horny, curious, and desperate to lose your virginity. I know they’re wizards but they still have raging hormones like the rest of us.
Now imagine that you found a pretty little witch or sorcerer to so some serious snogging. I think snogging is more than just making out, otherwise they would just be making out. Snogging to me is a combination of sloppy kissing and dry humping, with a dash of heavy petting for good measure. You can only do so much snogging before it leads to other things. For lack of a better word, “blue balls” is the term the kids are using these days to describe that condition. Plus they’re all cooped up in the castle so what’s more fun than snogging when you are bored?
Now look at Harry and Ginny’s situation. They are both very mature for their age. They’ve been through a lot of shit. Ginny is a saucy little red head that seems to know how to get any guy to do what she wants. She’s ready for the next step. Harry on the other hand, has to be thinking that he could eat it at any time. Nobody wants to die a virgin, I don’t care who you are. Rowling can’t write it for the children’s sake but you’d be a fool to think that killing Voldemort would be a priority before knockin’ boots with some comely lasses.
I guess the only documentation I can muster is when Harry reflects on that one amazing afternoon they had by the lake. I know it’s a stretch but you can use your imagination. I won’t even get into the fact they could probably do some pretty sweet maneuvers with their magic and abilities to levitate.
Admit it, you think about this stuff too. Tell me I'm not the only one out there!
I am going to make a weak case that Harry and Ginny are doing the deed. I basically just wanted to believe this and then proceeded to find evidence to prove it. I found none. But just think about it for a sec.
There are more hook ups going on at Hogwarts than ever before. It’s straight out of the OC, seriously. Just remember when you were 17 and in high school. You were horny, curious, and desperate to lose your virginity. I know they’re wizards but they still have raging hormones like the rest of us.
Now imagine that you found a pretty little witch or sorcerer to so some serious snogging. I think snogging is more than just making out, otherwise they would just be making out. Snogging to me is a combination of sloppy kissing and dry humping, with a dash of heavy petting for good measure. You can only do so much snogging before it leads to other things. For lack of a better word, “blue balls” is the term the kids are using these days to describe that condition. Plus they’re all cooped up in the castle so what’s more fun than snogging when you are bored?
Now look at Harry and Ginny’s situation. They are both very mature for their age. They’ve been through a lot of shit. Ginny is a saucy little red head that seems to know how to get any guy to do what she wants. She’s ready for the next step. Harry on the other hand, has to be thinking that he could eat it at any time. Nobody wants to die a virgin, I don’t care who you are. Rowling can’t write it for the children’s sake but you’d be a fool to think that killing Voldemort would be a priority before knockin’ boots with some comely lasses.
I guess the only documentation I can muster is when Harry reflects on that one amazing afternoon they had by the lake. I know it’s a stretch but you can use your imagination. I won’t even get into the fact they could probably do some pretty sweet maneuvers with their magic and abilities to levitate.
Admit it, you think about this stuff too. Tell me I'm not the only one out there!
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Just when I thought I kicked my Minesweeper habit...
My crippling addiction to Minesweeper was a long and enduring one. I don’t blame Minesweeper necessarily, just simple mind games in general that manage to burgle my precious time. They never seem to go away, just morph into different forms. First it was just Solitaire proper, then you graduate to Minesweeper, and then the deviants at Solitaire Inc. win you back with Spider Soliaire. The bastards. Who are these people, anyway? Why do they hate free time so much? It’s like someone woke one morning and said, “I think progress has been happening too fast lately, if only there was some way to make people less productive. Who needs a cure for cancer or a longer lasting light bulb when we can point and click at stuff for hours on end.” They should all be kicked in the testicles.
After taking off all those pointless games off my computer, my brain started seeking new ways to distract itself. It found the solution on my last visit to B&N where there was a big display of Su Doku puzzle books. I knew I should be studying but instinctively I reached for the book and low and behold, many hours of my life have disappeared like that period between midnight or so and bar time on a Saturday night.
If you have never done a Su Doku puzzle, don’t. If you have, you probably know what I am talking about. Since when has the process of elimination ever been so fun? The Japanese really have that shit figured out. Thanks Japan. I could have been a doctor, you know.
Someday, I’m sure I’ll find a girlfriend or something that will occupy my time in more acceptable ways but until then, I’m going to exercise the utmost care to avoid addicting logic games that … wait a sec, I never saw this Hearts game before. I’ll just try it once…
After taking off all those pointless games off my computer, my brain started seeking new ways to distract itself. It found the solution on my last visit to B&N where there was a big display of Su Doku puzzle books. I knew I should be studying but instinctively I reached for the book and low and behold, many hours of my life have disappeared like that period between midnight or so and bar time on a Saturday night.
If you have never done a Su Doku puzzle, don’t. If you have, you probably know what I am talking about. Since when has the process of elimination ever been so fun? The Japanese really have that shit figured out. Thanks Japan. I could have been a doctor, you know.
Someday, I’m sure I’ll find a girlfriend or something that will occupy my time in more acceptable ways but until then, I’m going to exercise the utmost care to avoid addicting logic games that … wait a sec, I never saw this Hearts game before. I’ll just try it once…
Monday, August 08, 2005
Crispin Glover: Greatest Actor Ever!
You know who doesn’t get enough respect ever. Crispin Glover, the genius who played George McFly in the Back to the Future movies. It is arguably one of the greatest performances in the history of cinema. I’ll give you one solid reason why:
If you had the choice of getting punched in the face by anyone or George McFly, the correct answer would be anyone else. Why? Because not only are you going to get knocked out, but your entire life will be ruined. You will deduced to waxing cars or some other comparable monkey job and you would end up kissing people's asses for the rest of your life. Not bad for someone who loves peeping into windows and chocolate milk.
That’s why I personally implore the Academy to honor this man with a lifetime achievement award or possibly even inventing an award in his name. It his high time this mighty thespian be recognized for this monumental role.
If you had the choice of getting punched in the face by anyone or George McFly, the correct answer would be anyone else. Why? Because not only are you going to get knocked out, but your entire life will be ruined. You will deduced to waxing cars or some other comparable monkey job and you would end up kissing people's asses for the rest of your life. Not bad for someone who loves peeping into windows and chocolate milk.
That’s why I personally implore the Academy to honor this man with a lifetime achievement award or possibly even inventing an award in his name. It his high time this mighty thespian be recognized for this monumental role.
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