Blunt Instrument

Joe the Plumber is a Jerk

2009-06-19T17:06:00.007-05:00

Here's an actual email thread between our main man Vihar and an honest to goodness "Joe the Plumber" after the latter threw a lob for a Craigslist ad.

After that, in typical Vihar fashion, "It was on mufugger!"

Original Craigslist posting at the bottom -- read up from there.

> From: Vihar Gupta
> Subject: Need a Plumber to Diagnose and Solve Slow Drain
> Issue (Wicker Park/Bucktown)‏
> To: joseph mule
> Date: Wednesday, June 17, 2009, 2:57 PM

Judging by your reaction, looks like you were "pegged right."

Don't worry, I don't judge you because you like cock. Not my cup of tea, but It's 2009, fer’ chrissake.

Oh, and sorry about that John McCain thing.

--- On Wed, 6/17/09, joseph mule wrote:

> From: joseph mule
> Subject: Re: Need a Plumber to Diagnose and Solve Slow Drain Issue
>
> To: "Vihar Gupta"
> Date: Wednesday, June 17, 2009, 4:41 PM
>
> Hey
>
> fuck head why dont u fuck yourself u cheap fuckin
> homo...People like u should be shot...Um i dont suck dick
> but im sure for 80 bucks u can blow someone who will u
> fuckin cunt mothefucker.
>
> --- On Wed, 6/17/09, Vihar Gupta wrote:
>
>
> From: Vihar Gupta
> Subject: Need a Plumber to Diagnose and Solve Slow Drain Issue
> To: thetazz12002@yahoo.com
> Date: Wednesday, June 17, 2009, 2:57 PM
>
>
> Sir,
>
> While I don't doubt that you give a mighty good blow
> job, I am offering $80 for somebody to clear my water pipes,
> not my dick.
>
> I just want to ensure the problem doesn't come back 2
> days later like it did the last time I paid a guy $75 to do
> the job two weeks ago -- which is why I said I'd pay the
> balance after a month to make sure the job was done right.
>
> Anyway, good luck with that sucking dick thing.
>
> I'm sure eventually, somebody will pay you more than 35
> bucks.
>
> --- On Wed, 6/17/09, : joseph mule wrote:
>
> From: mailto:iperezic1@comcast.net
> To: gigs-dt5gm-1226257552@craigslist.org
> Subject: Need a Plumber to Diagnose and Solve Slow Drain Issue
> Date: Wed, 17 Jun 2009 14:42:02 -0500
>
>
> I should take the job just to show up and kick your ass. $35? Even you
> mom charged me more for the blowjob
>
> Joe
>
>
Original CL Post

Need a Plumber to Diagnose and Solve Slow Drain Issue
Date: 2009-06-17, 12:53PM CDT

My bathtub has a very slow drain. Please read below for details before responding:

1) I had someone come and snake it out about a year ago.
2) And despite using a hair catcher daily in the shower, it’s gotten slow again.
3) Drano would help a little bit, but not much, before it stopped helping altogether – as a result, the tub was taking an hour to drain after a shower
4) I called a handyman 2 weeks ago who once again snaked it (about 20 ft)
5) And although the drain appeared to clear, what was odd was that nothing came out attached to the snake. No hair or debris. Nothing. He wondered if he had somehow pushed the obstruction further down.
6) Anyway, since the tub was draining quickly, I paid him
7) Within a week the drain started slowing again -- to the point where it's taking a half hour for the tub to drain once again
8) I used a mixture of 1 cup baking soda and 1 cup vinegar and a kettle of boiling water last night, but it didn't help
9) I live on the second floor of a 3-flat condo building and have access to the basement. No other drains in my house are slow and the unit below mine is not having any issues.

So now I'm looking for a pro, once again. However to ensure the job is done right this time, I'm only going to pay $35 up front after the obstruction is cleared, and an additional $45 after one month if the problem is STILL solved. I don’t want to have to keep doing this.

Karmic Soap on a Rope

2008-12-04T14:58:00.004-05:00

http://news.cincinnati.com/article/20081201/SPT02/312010050/1066/SPT02

Pathetic.

I sometimes question how I can still be a Bengals fan after all these years with absolutely no silver linings on this cloud. Maybe I'm just sick and twisted.

Eh, that's a given.

But then I figured it out. I'm a Hindu.

And Hindus believe in cycles of reincarnation until all karmic debts are paid off.

Therefore, I'm now beginning to believe that the Bengals are *MY* karmic cleanser. Sticking and suffering with 'em should shave a couple of rebirth cycles for me.

Or at least mitigate sophomore year in college. Yes, they're THAT bad.

June 9th, 2008: Shay Day!

2008-06-02T15:23:00.012-05:00

Artist's conception of ballgame in question.

I just got the following email from a friend (grammar warts and all).

Two Choices
What would you do? You make the choice. Don't look for a punch line, there isn't one.
Read it anyway. My question is: Would you have made the same choice?

At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves learning-disabled children, the father of one of the students delivered a speech thatwould never be forgotten by all who attended. After
extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question: 'When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does is done with perfection. Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do. Where is the natural order of things in my son?' The audience was stilled by the query. The father continued.
'I believe that when a child like Shay, physically and mentally handicapped comes into the world, anopportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes in the way other people treat that child.'Then he told the following story: Shay and his father had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, 'Do you think they'll let me play?'
Shay's father knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but the father also understood that if his son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps. Shay's father approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance and said, 'We're losing by six runs and the game is
in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning.' Shay struggled over to the team's bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt. His Father watched with a small tear in his eye and warmth in his heart. The boys saw the father's joy at his son being accepted. In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but
was still behind by three. In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as his father waved to him from the stands. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the
potential winningrun was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat. At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game? Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball. However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact. The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay. As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher. The game would now be over. The pitcher picked up the soft
grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game. Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman's head, out of reach of all team mates. Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, 'Shay, run to first! Run to first!' Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base. He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.
Everyone yelled, 'Run to second, run to second!' Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base. By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the rightfielder had the ball ... the smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team. He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher's intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high
andfar over the third-baseman' s head. Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home.All were screaming, 'Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay'Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, 'Run to third! Shay, run to third!'As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, 'Shay, run home!
Run home!' Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero
who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team.'That day', said the father softly with tears now rolling down hisface, 'the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love andhumanity into this world'. Shay didn't make it to another summer. He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making his father so happy, and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero ofthe day!

AND NOW A LITTLE FOOTNOTE TO THIS STORY: We all send thousands
of jokes through the e-mail without a second thought, but when it comes to
sending messages about life choices, people hesitate. The crude,vulgar, and
often obscene pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion about
decency is too often suppressed in our schools and workplaces. If you're thinking
about forwarding this message, chances are that you're probably sorting out the
people in your address book who aren't the 'appropriate' ones to receive this
type of message. Well, the person who sent you this believes that we all can
make a difference.We all have thousands of opportunities every single day to
help realize the 'natural order of things.' So many seemingly trivial
interactions between two people present us with a choice: Do we pass along a
little spark of love and humanity or do we pass up those opportunities and leave
the world a little bit colder in the process? A wise man once said every society
is judged by how it treats it's least fortunate amongst them.
You now have two choices:

1. Delete
2. Forward May your day, be a Shay Day.

Okay, I'm going to address this one point-by-point.

Email: 'When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does is done with perfection..."

Salil: Uh, okay, daddy-o. So how do you explain your son? Clearly, everything in nature is not perfect. But you sure sound like you love your Bible. I'm already on my guard for what comes next.

Email: "The father continued. 'I believe that when a child like Shay, physically and mentally handicapped comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes in the way other people treat that child.' "

Salil: Really? So the opportunity isn't for Shay? It's for the world? Shay's just a lost cause, huh? Yeah, I can tell you're shortlisted for a Father of the Year Award.

Email: "Shay's father knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but the father also understood that if his sonwere allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense ofbelonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of hishandicaps."

Salil: Sounds like Shay's father is not only bigoted against handicapped people, he's also prejudiced against non-handicapped people, too. And obviously, what Shay needs most to help his self-esteem is to play baseball on a team that wouldn't want him to play on it, and that plays at a level beyond his abilities. That's just a brilliant idea for any handicapped child. See above-mentioned FOTY Award. He just moved up another notch.

And by "up," I mean "down." And by "a," I mean "several."

Email: "Shay struggled over to the team's bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt. His Father watched with a small tear in his eye and warmth in his heart."

Salil:

Email: "Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball."

Salil: Really? Everyone knew that, huh? Because no person with a physical disability could ever hit a ball, right? That would be all but impossible! Shay was holding the bat the wrong way, Shay was happy just to be in the outfield, Shay is just a cuddly little goofy fucker, isn't he? Gosh.

Email: "However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact."

Salil: There you have it. When confronted with someone who has a disability, you must immediately lower your standards or expectations, because the poor dears are really lucky to be getting a shot at all, and you have a shot at changing their life just by making sure they succeed through any means possible!

(That's how we got our President, did you know that?)

Email: "He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled...Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base...Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third base."

Salil: Seriously. That's just offensive now. What's with the strange reveling in a handicapped child's lack of physical grace? Also, I have no idea how someone runs while gleaming and struggling. But there it is again, a "normal" person condescendingly setting a handicapped person on the right path. That's the only way Shay would have ever found third base.

Just like telling this story to a chick in a bar is probably the only way the email author can get to third base.

Email: "...the rightfielder had the ball ... the smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team. He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood thepitcher's intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman' s head."

Salil: So now the "smallest guy on the field" is basically almost handicapped himself? Email Forward, who do you not hate, you Size-ist bastard?

So this guy--a cross between Tiny Tim, Jackie RObinson, and Jesus--sacrifices his chance for glory and fame in the incredibly cut-throat field of Little Kids Playing Baseball In A Vacant Lot for the chance to provide this 'tarded kid a chance at finally having some satisfaction in his life.

Is anyone else feeling just the slightest bit nauseous here?

Email: "Shay didn't make it to another summer. He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making his father so happy, andcoming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero ofthe day!"

Salil: Ah, there it is. Where would a heartrending story about 'tards be without the kid dying? That's just so sad it makes me want to pound the snot out of the person who wrote this total bullshit email so hard that he won't be able to walk around unescorted anymore, and one day his dad will be walking past a baseball game with the brain-damaged email author in tow, and a bunch of kids DO NOT LET HIM PLAY and he dies alone, crying.

Email: "Do we pass along a little spark of love and humanity or do we pass up those opportunities and leave the world a little bit colder in the process? A wise man once said every society is judged by how it treats it's least fortunate amongst them. You now have two choices:
1. Delete

2. Forward May your day, be a Shay Day."

Salil: Ah, what a clever little dichotomy you've set up, Email Forward! So the first choice (love and humanity" corresponds to "Forward This Stupid Email On / I Celebrated Shay Day at Key West By Taking Off This T-Shirt!" and "Leave the world a cold place" goes with "Delete This Stupid Email and Mock the Person Who Sent It To Me Mercilessly."

Well, it's obvious which choice I went with.

Here's the real moral: a story about a dead kid with an unnamed disability will translate into an automatic email forward, and will circulate around the Internet for all eternity, because with each passing moment the general population is only becoming more like Shay in their mental abilities. I envision the day when having a birth defect, chromosomal abnormality, or getting into an accident will actually raise the IQ of the average individual who reads crap like this and decides to send it on to all points of their address book.

Odell Rant, Part Deux

2007-11-15T12:55:00.000-05:00

Would you blame the guy?

I imagine only a fraction of you follow pro football, let alone my favorite team, the Cincinnati Bengals in any form, but I'm in the mood to rant. So Blunt Instrument is my preferred outlet. As is facebook. And email. And a sportsbar. And...

Anyway, the recent news about Pacman Jones and Ricky Williams has me once again thinking about Odell Thurman.

So let me get this straight. Roger Goodell is willing to reinstate Ricky Williams who has been suspended multiple times for abusing marijuana - which is illegal. Meanwhile, Odell is being kept out of the league (for what amounts to two full seasons) for abusing alcohol - a legal substance. Ricky has gone public with his social anxiety disorder as a driver for him to smoke marijuana as a coping mechanism. Odell Thurman has publicly admitted that he suffers from alcoholism -- which many now believe has genetic basis, and is also widely considered a psychological disorder.

Is this not a double standard by the NFL? The NFLPAs actions (or should I say inaction) are equally puzzling. They are willing to put in an appeal to the NFL for why Pacman's suspension was NOT REDUCED from one season (even though he plead in away that verifies his involvement in a scary incident that ended with someone paralyzed). Yet they failed to go to bat for Odell when his suspension was inexplicably extended from one to two seasons?

What is it that we're missing? The fact that Odell is being so grossly over-penalized by the NFL and that the NFLPA is keeping its distance, it is outright baffling to me that nobody can explain the justification.

What? Did he kick Roger Goodell's dog? Sleep with Gene Upshaw's wife? Is he enriching uranium? What is it?!?

Those who follow the NFL know how badly the Bengals have needed a linebacker this year. They're getting to the point where any of us could probably go out there and put on the pads for them with the amount of LBs they have injured. Yes indeed, the Bengals are bad. But a halfway competent linebacker compared to the stiffs they are rolling out there now could have resulted in at least one or two games to go differently for them this year - the game with the Browns comes to mind.

As if Ben Affleck Weren't enough Reason....

2007-10-25T13:51:00.000-05:00

Even this dog has had the cojones to pee on the legs of German Shepards and Dobermans this fall without fear of recourse.

Being the resident sports topic writer here, I have to pose a question. Has ANY other city EVER had it so good as Boston right now?

The Patriots are not only undefeated near the half-way point of the season, but they are just steamrolling everyone in their path and are on pace to shatter records all over the place.
The Red Sox, according to ESPN, are also playing historic baseball these days. No team has ever scored double digit runs in three post season games and Josh Beckett is about as dominating as Tom Brady is. With how rusty the Rockies looked last night in Game 1, Boston may make quick work of this World Series.
BC is undefeated #2 in the BCS Standings, positioned to be playing for the National Championship in January. They may even leapfrog the Buckeyes (or at least take away some of the 1st place votes) with a convincing showing against the #8 Hokies on the road this weekend.
What really got me thinking about this was reading the chatter that's heating up regarding the upcoming NBA season. After years of being also-rans, the Celtics are going into this season with the most buzz of any team in the league. Though whether they are title worthy is debatable, they are definitely going to be a team everyone pays attention to this year with their new trio of Garnett, Allen, and Pierce.
I don't follow the NHL at all so I don't know a damn thing about the Bruins. Nor do I care.

Although I personally don't have any problems with the city of Boston, since I loved the show CHEERS and because Cincinnati sports teams hardly compete with any Boston teams on a yearly basis, this is still quite sickening. I may not be able to read another Bill Simmons column the rest of the year.

However, as a Cincinnati sports fan, I am thankful that the Big Red Machine pounded Carlton Fisk and the Sox...back when I was 18 months old.

We'll at least I'll forever have that over your head Bean-town, if nothing else -- from the immediate future.

Chips, baby, CHIPS!

2007-07-18T14:26:00.000-05:00

I can't make this stuff up...

first, watch the 49 second video below...

after you pick up your jaw....check out the crew from Oswego, NY...

...and I give respect where respect is due...Shockwave's beatboxing is solid and there were a few rhymes that I can respect...but "Sour Cream and Onion, Son???"...who the hell do you think you are?...

here is a true IM convo that I had with my boy Rob about the aforementioned topic

Ank: no comments on the CHIPS video??
rob***********: i was actually just about to view it
rob***********: same as we saw before though, no?
Ank: perfect timing then
Ank: oh no
Ank: the first one, well yes...but worth watching again before you watch the 2nd one
rob***********: second one?
Ank: I sent 2 videos
rob***********: i only got one
rob***********: "no forceps here"
Ank: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6FzX4appuC4
Ank: ok - you saw that
Ank: no
Ank: watch the link I JUSt sent you :-)
rob***********: when i drop a benjamin i want the change in singles
Ank: hahaha
Ank: wait until she asks Shockwave what his favorite flavor is
rob***********: sour cream and onion son
Ank: hahaha
Ank: the best line
Ank: Word!
rob***********: this is awful
rob***********: awful-ly good!
Ank: it's like watching a little kid get his ass kicked in a karate competition
Ank: and the worst part is....
rob***********: the dancing in the pink outfit?
Ank: ...these guys all met somewhere and someone said "yo guys....I got this concept for a hype song about "Chips"
rob***********: "let's make it hype"
rob***********: soundwave saves the whole thing with the mouth drum
Ank: seriously
Ank: apparently she is all psyched up about drinking a snapple
Ank: the guy's name is..."Illiam Phatner"...he's not bad...not the best or worst I have heard...
rob***********: it's like the top of a clock or the bite of a tick
Ank: scratching 'cause you have an itch
Ank: look at the chick at 4:08
Ank: hilarious
rob***********: "it's like chips!"
rob***********: i wonder if the beastie boys started off like this
rob*********** is away at 5:30:22 PM.
rob*********** returned at 5:46:18 PM.
rob*********** signed off at 8:30:26 PM.

[NEXT DAY]

Ank: BITE OF A TICK!BITE OF A TICK!BITE OF A TICK!BITE OF A TICK!BITE OF A TICK!
Ank: iT'S like CHIPS~
rob***********: you have problems
Ank: I have CHIPS, buddy!
rob***********: is that a form of autism?
Ank: It's a form of idiocy that manifests itself into the subconscious, creating delusions of grandeur by making the individual hallucinate that he or she is an accomplished rapper who has street cred because they hang out with one black guy and a guy named "Illiam Phatner"
rob***********: but seriously
rob***********: the guy on the mouth drum....
rob***********: pretty hype
Ank: that's Shockwave, buddy
Ank: yeah - he's being held back
rob***********: that's DJ Shockwave to you
Ank: is it really, though?
Ank: I thought it was just "Shockwave"
rob***********: he didn't go to DJ school for 4 years to be called Shockwave
Ank: Sour Cream n' Onion, son....word!

Howdy, stranger!

2007-05-11T20:05:00.000-05:00

Welcome to Blunt Instrument. If this is your first time here, and you've come here from Unstable Gal's defunct site, you're in for a treat.

So have a look around. I'm nothing if not a good-natured host. Even to you anonymous trolls, y'all take a look around; I've got some pretty funny stuff on here, most of it dating back a few years, quite a bit of it about my own idiocy. I'm quite able to laugh at myself, and unlike some of you holier-than-thou motherfuckers, I try to learn from my mistakes.

But pardon me if I turn commenting off for a while; I'm not in the mood to deal with some of you goofy "lol... ROTFL...haha u r dum!" cretins just yet.

And while you're here, let me deliver a quick public service message. You're possibly here because you've decided to believe someone else's tired screed, namely that I'm a bad guy, that I have it in for you somehow, that I try and control things or want attention or that I worship Anna or that I'm just some kind of flunky for the Mutiny.

I'm not. I'm not racist, or an Islamophobe, or any of that. I'm my own person, with my own mind, and a very strong idea about right and wrong. I have this site, which I haven't updated in...god...months? And up until today, I didn't even feel like updating it anymore. It was pretty much shut down, too, until you numbnuts twerps came around here like some kind of weird pack of rabid dogs, all frothing at the mouth and shit. Well, I'm happy to see strangers, but I don't take kindly to idiocy, especially when you bring it to my doorstep without an invitation.

And in Mississippi, where I grew up, we shoot rabid dogs right in the street. Hell, didn't any of you read "To Kill A Mockingbird?" If not, you should. You might learn a thing or two about good and bad neighbors, and how to coexist peacefully.

Hence this message. Be nice to me, I'm nice to you. Follow the Golden Rule, and all that. Don't call me names, I won't be mean to you. I make a good neighbor, a great friend...and a terrible enemy.

Just so you know.

Salil

P.S. Nyaaaaah-nyaaaah!

Was the Victim Floyd Landis?

2007-05-03T10:13:00.000-05:00

Uses: Wood, plastic, fabric,

rubber, nutsack

http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20070503/od_nm/safrica_crime_dc_1

Now if you're gonna be a crook, you might as well differentiate yourself and get a bit of international notoriety in the process. I mean, anybody can wear panty hose on their head and tether their victim to a chair with a telephone cord.

But stepping out of GQ and super gluing a dude naked to a 10 speed bike while you ransack his place - now that's ingenious.

As imagery of the cop in "There's Something About Mary" floods into my mind, I wonder how they separated the poor fellow's scrot from the bike seat?

Cop: It's just like pulling off a Band-Aid. A one and a two and a...
Paramedic: WE GOT A BLEEDER!

Buck Me? Buck You!!

2007-05-02T13:37:00.000-05:00

Does anybody else think Greg Oden declared early

for the NBA to get away from friggin' idiots?

Is anybody else who visits here a sports fan?

Originally being from Cincinnati, I'm a huge Bengals fan and I happen to piss a lot of productive time away on related news and message boards.

Unfortunately, because of the close proximity, the Bengals share a lot of the same fan base as Ohio State. As a result, this NFL Draft season, many a Buckeye fan has opened up his or her disconnected trap on the same Bengals message boards I spend time on. And I've had enough.

First off, don't think I'm some closet Michigan fan or something. I actually have NO inherent bias towards or against Ohio State. Being that I grew up in the state, I would very much LIKE to like them. It's just that most of their faithful mouth breathers have gotten on my nerves this NFL Draft Season (had to be PC here and not say "all" seeing that one of my best friends is one of those Ohio State yahoos).

Anyway, after a multitude of irrational posts including how the severely defensively challenged Bengals should use a 1st round pick on wide receiver Ted Ginn or how BACKUP quarterback Justin Zwick would be a steal (even though all other NFL teams passed on the dude), I made an offhand comment in the Zwick thread to the board moderator that he should institute a 'Buckeye Homer' rule to curtail the unyielding nonsense. (In case you were wondering, according to the authorative UrbanDictionary.com, a 'homer' is defined as "someone who shows blind loyalty to a team or organization, typically ignoring any shortcomings or faults they have.")

After my comment, this was a representative response that I got by some fellow with the handle BengalBuckRedBull:

Interesting how you are a Buckeye Homer on this board if you say anything positive about the program or it's coaches or players. I don't think it's the Buckeye fans around here whom are the guys with the "Issue", it's some of those whom are not fans of the buckeyes and who constantly hear about the program and it just makes them sick. Sorta the way I feel about USC (but they are not in my home state) Look you don't have to hate OUR state university to show that you don't root for them.

So get over yourselves a bit, because although it may look like the OSU backers are arrogant you sure are running a tight race.

So of course, I had to retort (isn't that what we do here at BI?):

BengalBuckRedBull,

After your thoughtful post, you have quickly ascended into my list of Top 5 Dildos on this board. Your post poignantly illustrates the complete lack of critical self-awareness that most of us loathe.

It's not that we're bitter about constantly "hearing about them" that "makes us sick." Most of the members of this board live all over the country, in the midst of many different avid collegiate and pro fan bases -- myself included. It's just that we haven't come across a bigger bunch of collective jack asses who think that anyone who has been remotely affiliated with THE OSU is better than anyone else.

That someone is the "Best back up in the nation" makes someone pro worthy is one of the most imbecilic things I have ever read here…well at least since the Ted Ginn Jr thread last week.

I dunno. Maybe deep down, I'm just bitter that they rejected my med school application in 1996.

2007-01-22T22:24:00.000-05:00

The best way to find a shitty blog is to leave this one.

I was recently asked how I find the "awful blogs" I rant about so infrequently. The answer is illustrated above. I'm not making this up. I click the "next blog" button, and 9 times out of 10, the next blog is a revolting mess of scariness: poor layout and design, shitty content, atrocious grammar, incoherent ramblings.

I suppose that means I'm basically railing against the entire Internet, huh?

Awful Blog: Every Beat of My Heart

2006-10-27T01:20:00.000-05:00

What an exciting and novel new approach to web design and blogging! It's "the hemmorhage!"

If I had to sum this one up in one quoted word, it would be, "Memoriable."

She writes poetry. SHE WRITES POETRY! About...oh god, oh god. I can't tell?

The first time I saw my class,
I see their faces,one by one I gaze.
Now that time is travelling so fast,
I'm leaving them, I'm only left with days.

Clearly, she has Vogon parentage.

New rule: if you can't speak the language, don't even fucking try to write poetry in it. Yes, you are proud to have discovered rhyme all on your own. Can you find a way to rhyme "hemophilia" with a synonym for eyes?

No? That's too bad. Because that would be a great way to summarize this blog.

Ank G's 80's Flashback Video

2006-10-03T01:53:00.000-05:00

Anyone know where these guys went?

I'm starting another regular BI column...songs and videos that everyone knows, liked, and probably sang on the radio at home while all the other kids went to the mall on Friday nights...

Jen-kuyi

Shabba-Doo Part 2: Electric Boogaloo

2006-09-20T00:24:00.000-05:00

Keepin' it in da Family

2006-09-19T02:49:00.000-05:00

Singer Aaron Carter is engaged to Playboy Playmate Kari Ann Peniche, the bride-to-be confirms to PEOPLE.

"I'm very excited about it," Peniche tells PEOPLE. "Aaron is the most genuine person I know. He's kind, loving, and I love him so much."

Carter, 18, popped the question to Peniche (who previously dated Aaron's brother Nick) on Saturday in Las Vegas while they were onstage in front of 200 people during the Playboy Comedy Tour at the Palms Casino Resort.

"I don't remember it happening. It was such a blur," says Peniche about the surprise proposal. "I had no idea he was going to do this, but I'm glad he did."

The couple, who plan to wed in the next six months, hugged and kissed after Peniche accepted the proposal, Playboy tour producer and comedian Cort McCown tells PEOPLE.

"He said he was going to do it, but we thought he was kidding," said McCown. "He was really nervous."

Peniche, 22, was named Miss Teen USA in 2003, but was stripped of her title after posing for Playboy. Carter is set to appear on an E! reality show about his family, House of Carters, premiering next month...

...Okay....now I just need to know if it's just me, or can one live with the fact that "my brother boned my wife"....????

...of course, we don't know that for a fact, but rest assured that ol' Nick Carter wasn't hangin' around precious Kari for her stunning personality...and although I haven't read her playmate bio, I'm pretty sure it's a safe bet to guess that "chastity" wasn't one of her hobbies...

This kind of idiocy makes me want to tune into the show to see how f*cked up this family really is......well, maybe just for 11 minutes or so...

...and I thought Lindsay Lohan/Gary Coleman/Macaulay Culkin was bad...[rasta voice]Lordhavemercy! [/rasta voice]

Celebrity Sighting of the Week: Ted Lange

2006-09-15T21:26:00.000-05:00

In case you can't tell from the picture, it says "To Michael and Mary Jane. Thanks for the fun! Ted L."

Celebrities are people too...that's what my "celebrity sightings" posts serve to convey...we love them on the silver screen, and we should love them off it as well!

This time, it ws Ted Lange, aka "Issac" from the Love Boat that I came across when I was searching for real estate. Aside from making a mean Tom Collins, he also knows the "lay of the land"...
I spoke to him while searching for an investment condo to buy. He sized me up and said "You wanna live here?...I can make it happen!..." I was taken aback, but concluded that he must be a real estate agent. I said "I am considering it, but am not sure." Ted looked me up and down and replied with a coy smile, "Well I'm sure..."

Ted's ringing endorsement was impressive to me. I like confidence in a real estate broker. We went up in a few buildings, and to make sure I kept my balance, Ted continually kept his hand on my back. I looked at Ted appreciatively and said, "You know Ted, you can't buy this sort of customer service any more..." To which he replied, "Well, perhaps in Bangkok..."

I didn't really know what that meant, but I haven't been to Bangkok either, so I let it go. I looked around the properties and the model condos, and he even suggested that we sit on the couch to get a good idea of what it is really like. He suggested we test the floor strength and I agreed. He sat on my lap for a whole 5 minutes before finally declaring "It's hard and strong...just like I thought it would be..." I was beside myself, because I would have NEVER known to test for that when buying a property...I thanked God that Issac was there to guide me...

After testing the floor's resiliency in all of the rooms, we decided to put it on the "maybe" list...he felt the bedroom floors were pretty week, even though we tested all corners of the room....

As I went downstairs, I wantedto thank him and get his card. He said "Hey baby..you can't hang with Issac the Bartender and not have a drink with him!..."...I thought it was cool to drink with Issac from The Love Boat, so I agreed!

As we walked to the pub, I asked him for his business card to continue our real estate hunt. He said not to worry, and that he would give it to me REAL GOOD later, which was fine since we were getting a drink, I thought....

...Never before have I seen a more dedicated man to his job. Just as if he were making a Manhattan for a cruise patron, he was helping me make an informed investment decision. He went behind the bar to make us what he called "Cornhole Preppers"...

I never heard of this drink before, and told him I was a bit suspect of it, since I wasn't sure if I wanted a drink that had corn in it. He said not to worry, and that "I would love it once he gave it to me..."...I am pretty adventurous, so I was like, "Cool!"

After he came over to our table, he came really close and started reciting Marvin Gaye lyrics in my ear. I thought that was really cool, because I never really got the entire lyrics from "You Sure Love to Ball..." ...I was a little uncomfortable at this point....mostly because the table next to us had 4 cigar smokers at it....Issac, being the concerned service-oriented person that he is, said to me "You look like you have a headache. Here, take this." Who else would be concerned enough to give me an aspirin?

I mentioned to him that it looked like a rather strong and large aspirin, especially since it was shaped like a football and wrapped in a piece of aluminum foil. Ted said "Trust me homey, I wouldn't put anything in your body that I wouldn't want in my own body!"....With that kind of ringing endorsement, who could refuse such a guy that wanted so badly to help me?...I took the pill....and I think I had some sort of adverse reaction to the beer I was drinking, because I started to get dizzy and all I could see was Ted...he was smiling, so I figured everything was all right, and I think he asked me "Are you all right?"...but it kind of sounded like he could be saying "Party Time"...The last thing I remember was saying to Ted that "Ted, I don't want to be a 'party pooper..."...he said, "Dude, if you're one of those, well that's just FINE by me too!"

...I woke up at like 4 in the morning in the back alley behind the bar. I don't remember what happened after that...the last vision I had was Ted helping me out of the bar...And now, my body is really sore...apparently I must have fallen on my coccyx, because my lower back was killing me...I guess I made a fool of myself by getting drunk so quickly and embarrassing myself in front of my new friend and real estate agent. I didn't even get his card...

I want to use this forum to thank Ted Lange. Even though I didn't see him again, he helped me pick a great condo to buy, and I've rented it out for the next two years. I checked with every real estate company in town, but none of them employed a "Ted Lange." I even checked with the real estate agent registry, and there was no sign of his name. I figured he wanted to keep a low profile and go by a pseudonym...

Ted, if you do read this, it was wonderful to meet you, and thanks again for putting up with my sudden low tolerance. I still owe you your commission, so please let me know how to get in touch with you....

Awful Blog: memoriez2bekeep

2006-09-13T23:11:00.000-05:00

Somewhere, there is a graphics design major planning to commit grisly murder.

What a terrible horrible blog. Well, that's if it qualifies as an actual blog and not just a pre-cancerous condition. Can it be a blog without posts?

Or without actual coherent words?

I had a hard time picking the worst quote. I think I'm going to go with the following:

~i miss u always & eva..!~~hahas..[smile always]..~

What the fuck does that mean? If you miss him / her always and "eva," why "hahas" and "smile always?" What kind of utterly insincere bullshit is that? I mean, ok fine, spelling words out fully would require that lesion on your frontal lobes to grow back, but wouldn't it make more sense to at least be emotionally consistent within your own poorly-constructed shitty horrible terrible blog-o-poop?

I will know that I have led a very bad life if, after I die, I wake up somewhere and find my eyelids removed and this blog pasted in front of me for all eternity.

I leave you with this thought:

of cos, willl not forget the others..esp 3 mad wewes..dun play play hor..hahas..

Something to put in your car.

2006-09-12T13:21:00.000-05:00

I have no idea what this is about. I might need to buy one if I'm ever travelling in Utah, though.

Happy 9/11 Day!

2006-09-11T13:20:00.000-05:00

It's not really news anymore, people. Thanks for making me relive it, though.

I wrote the following on September 16, 2001 (that's 9/11+5 to you arithmocentric bitches) as a followup to a huge group blowjob thread on how important it is that we Americans hang together and not mistake Sikhs for Muslims and light candles in public places and hold hands and sing "kum-bah-yah" on cue whenever anyone utters any variation of the term "nine-eleven."

I think it still mostly bears up.

So it's five years later, and this country seems none the wiser to me. If anything, we're actually a bit stupider. The 50% of the country that knew better actually came around to hating Bush again, which is almost a plus. The other 50% is still totally in denial, and unable to come to grips with the idea of a country hating America for any reason, even good reason.

Back then, I was utterly wrong about one thing: that we'd have captured bin Laden by now. Now, five years later, you have to ask yourself, if 9/11 was such a horrible crime against our country, how come we haven't gone after the one guy who masterminded it all? Why is he still alive? We've overthrown two other countries entirely, we've involved almost the entire US ground force in an unethical (and even illegal) occupation of Iraq, and we've made our allies and enemies really really hate us.

So instead of telling each other "thanks for sharing your pain" or whatever other tempting form of public masturbation you're inclined to indulge in today, how about you stop and think about what we might do different, and who we should elect to make it happen?

As far as I can tell, nothing's really changed at all. We're further from actually combatting terrorism than we were on September 10th, 2001. Well, there's one (incredibly minor) thing that's changed: I am far less proud of my country and its foreign policy than I was five years ago.

I'm sure I'll get flamed for being "insensitive," for this, but I really just can't seem to bring myself to join in the mass emotional torrent of today as an anniversary of a tragedy. I don't need a rehash of the 24x7 coverage or a verbatim replay of the TV footage from that day, I don't need to revisit the site, I don't need to watch a painstakingly edited montage of dustcaked firefighters silhouetted in the gloom, or hear the flight recordings of a few brave souls rushing a cockpit. Nor, I would wager, does anyone else really need it. It might be satisfying on some weird masochistic level, to revel in the deaths, the horror stories, the dust, the cancer, the pulmonary problems, the heroics, the general feeling of being alive and significant that remembering a momentous event (unfurled while you watched!) engenders, but...it's not what we need anymore.

We need to start actually thinking about what...we're going...to motherfucking...DO ABOUT IT.

I apologize for subjecting a very large group of people I do not know to a
tirade. If you don't appreciate this, read no further, and delete all future
emails from me. Or email me politely, and I'll most assuredly not bother you
again.

I'd like to bring up an alternate topic, and ask a question. How many of you
think that the security measures being taken in the sky and on the ground
are going to be effective in limiting terrorist attacks in the future? We're
welcoming them with open arms now, because the populace of this country is
afraid, but wait a year. Will they seem oppressive then?

Air marshals on flights did nothing to combat terrorism in the 70's, and the
tightened FAA regulations on prohibited airspace, positive flight control,
and other regulations in the works will do nothing, and in fact would have
done nothing to prevent the actions we saw last week. Keeping unticketed
passengers out of boarding areas--what will that accomplish? They're also
making an expanded list of "security questions." You know the ones I'm
talking about: "Did you pack this bag?" and "Has this bag been in your
control since you packed it?" will now include, "Hey, are you a terrorist?"

The fact is, this country is doing nothing, as far as I can tell, to
actually face the real heart of the problem. Combating terrorism? We're
combating fear. We'll probably bomb Afghanistan shortly, and thereby relieve
some of the political pressure Dubya feels to DO something, but don't expect
originality of thinking in our "solutions." There will be no creative
tactics in this area.

Urging people not to kill the wrong ethnic group by accident isn't the
answer. Urging people to bring their children up to be more tolerant isn't
the answer, either. Putting flowers and stuffed animals in Union Square
accomplishes nothing. "Killing them all" is ridiculous, as well, totally
obviated by simply asking the question, "Who do we kill?" There are lots of
cliches in the air, but there's not a lot of rational thought.

When Dubya says we have to hunker down for a long conflict, and that we
might lose heart, he has no idea. The true fight starts after we dispense
with Osama bin Laden. Then the retaliations will begin here, on U.S. soil.
And we are *not* prepared. Even worse: fear is the start, and heart, of
tyranny. Our fear is close to bankrupting the major air carriers, has shut
down Wall Street for the longest span of time in history, has slowed the
country down to the point that if we somehow avoid a recession now, it will
be a miracle. When we're afraid, we allow things we would not normally
allow. We stay in the stairwell when we should leave the building. We become
stupid, because we want *someone* to know what's going on. The voice on the
intercom is more reassuring than the voice in your head.

Trust yourself, instead. We are on the verge of becoming a country that
actually thinks for itself, as a collection of individuals, respecting each
others' beliefs and space, instead of having a TV think for us. A friend of
mine from Israel said that when the news of the attack had finally sunk in a
bit, and the shock wore off, his reaction was, "Well, maybe Americans will
finally become more sophisticated."

He, as an Israeli, is not the only person from abroad to hold this view.
Consider the following: one terrorist was arrested back in August (after
being a complete idiot. He tried to enroll in 747 flight training, but said
he was "only interested in horizontal flight, and had no interest in
learning takeoffs or landings"
http://www.nypost.com/apstories/V6718.htm ). My point? Don't put your faith
in the big institutions. Don't be blind in your pride in this country. The
FBI never linked the guy to a potential conspiracy. The terrorists
themselves were hardly paragons of professionalism, and by all rights should
have blown their own cover time and again. They were luckier than we were.

I'm hardly a radical anti-governmental militia member. I have no agenda. I
just believe that the only true embodiment of common sense is the
individual, and very few organizations involving more than three people
retain any level of common-sense, but that ain't impossible to change. When
Dubya says, "We have to have great faith," he's just maintaining crowd
control. When Peter Jennings says the U.S. is gearing up for a "new brand of
war," he's doing the same thing.

Y'all bear that in mind. Things just took a turn for the worse, so gird your
loins.

How I Made $28 Million AND Found My Soul Mate!

2006-05-09T12:04:00.000-05:00

My point exactly. Show me the money!

The following is an actual series of emails I received. I cannot make this stuff up.

It all started when I got an email on Indiandating.com. Read it, and weep for humanity!

From: kevin_philip30@yahoo.com
To your profile: singleagain610
Date: 05/08/2006
Subject: Dearest one,
Message Details
Dearest one,
Greetings to you this day! I have the opportunity to read through your profile being as a fellow member of Indiandating.com and reading your profile,I decided to contact you for a business relationship.Please do contact me at my private email address:philip_kevin14@yahoo.com Thanks and be blessed as I waitb to hear from you. Dr.Philip Kevin.

Well! I had to reply to Dr. Philip Kevin! First, he's a doctor, and what Indian doesn't want to meet a doctor? And second, he called me "dearest!" Clearly he's feeling intimate. I think he could totally be an easy lay. So I send him an email from my gmail account.

His reply:

Dear Salil,

Thank you for your urgent mail response showing your interest in my proposal and so it is my intention to inform you the details of this transaction.

I and my colleagues have an amount of 28 million dollars belonging to Gen Robert Guei who was shot dead together with all his family by the Government soldiers here on an accusation of plotting a failed coup d'e tat .This money was 58 million dollars but some have been used in the importation of arms by the General until he met the unexpected death.

I have all the necessary documents involved in the deposition and the withdrawal of the part of the money and the next of kin was his personal security guard who also met his death.Now I want you to stand as the next of kin and help us transfer this amount of money out from hereThis business is 100% risk free and I will prepare all the documentation and prove the source of the fund before the transfer.

I want you to know that this business involves I and 5 top officials in our bank and must not be taken as a joke,I advice you to think very well before responding because we need a very strong hand in this transaction.

Your percentage and other important details will be discussed once I confirm your kind willingness in helping in the transfer. I wait your postive responds .

Thanks.

Dr. Philip Kevin.

Wow! Talk about a keeper! He's rich, and he is clearly interested in me. I wish he had a picture posted though. Well...I'll just wait until we know each other better.

Just one small problem, he really doesn't seem to be very interested in the things that turn me on. Just like a guy...he's got to be soooo selfish, it's always about what he wants. What about my needs?

Hello Doc.

I am very interested in hearing about this Bobby Guei. Is he from Tennessee? I do not like them from Tenesee. Those people are mean fuckers and deserve to be killed IN THE HEAD. thats where my wife went when she left me. her kind are no good.

I hope you will send me the check for $28 million dollars. I can put it to good use. My cat is sick and needs hemmaroyd surgry and i can barely afford to pay for the shoes for my son so teh cat has to suffer all day. We would like to eat food taht doesn't come from a can you know. its hard to be poor.

bit if you want me to be your cousin remember that we are all cousins under god. Thats what my momma always said and she was the smartest women I know.

thank you in christ.

Dear Salil,

Greetings and best wishes to you.Many thanks for your kind response showing your interest in this transaction.

For your information,Gen.Robert Guei is not from Tennese but from Ivory Coast in West Africa.It is from here that I am writing this mail to you hoping that you will appreciate all these for us to partner in this transaction.

I want to let you know that this is transaction will be taken care of by myself and five other colleagues of mine and yourself.With your coperations we can conclude this transaction within one week,So feel free with me so that we can handle this transaction for our mutual benefits.

Let me explain this transaction for your understanding .I want you to read very carefully this mail so that we shall be guided in our activities in transfering this fund to your account.

In the first place,you will be required to make a formal application to the bank introducing yourself as foreign business partner to the late Gen.Robert Guei.You will ask the bank to inform you of the procedures for the transfer of the money to your offshore account as the next of kin to the General.I will arrange and provide all the necessary cover ups so that your request for transfer of the fund will not be doubted.I will provide documents that will proof your business relationship with the late General Guei which also empowers you to lay claim to the fund as the next of kin since all members of the General's family were all mudered in that ill fated coup d'etat of 2002.As we progresses,we shall be made aware of any other documents which the bank will need from us to conclude the transaction and I assure you that those ones will be secured immediately as we reach that stage.

Immediately the bank receives your application,a board meeting will be convened and I will prepare and present to them every information that may be needed.After this,the bank will give their approval and you will be notified.Having secured final approval,the bank will go ahead to transfer the fund to your account without any delay.

At each stage of this transaction,you will make consultations with me first so that I will guide and direct you on how to go about the entire transaction.

As you can see,there is the need for us to first of all have confidence and trust on ourselves .To that effect,I will like you to send to me your phone number, residential address and a scanned copy of your international passport or id for my personal recognition.Remember that my identity will not be revealed to the bank in this transaction since I am still a trustee staff of the bank.It is when the money is transfered to your account that I and my colleagues will then resign from our jobs as bankers so that we can come over to you for the sharing of the money and may be for joint business later.

The issue of percentage for you and for us will be discussed with my colleagues and I hope to convince them to accept equal percentage with you because of the expenses you will be making in the transaction.

Please remember to keep the information of this transaction to yourself only to avoid unnecessary pubilicity.

Thanks and God bless you as I wait to hear from you.

Best regards,
Dr.Kevin.

Well, this is getting better. He must be ready for a long-term relationship if he's ready to compromise. I wonder what we'll name our kids? I was thinking "Kwame" if it's a boy, and...fuck, I hope I don't have to carry a kid for nine months. But he works in a bank! My parents will be so proud.

Hello Doc!

Yes i dont mind doing all that. I introduced myself into the bank yesterday actually. for practise. It was the bank near my house in the SAFEWAY where I cash my paycheck. I said "hello my name is Salil" and the lady said "hi I am Sally." She was real nice to me. I think I may ask her out on a date. Thats all thanks to you Doc! So thank you for changing my life already. Jesus smiles on you and on me and my babies.

Anyway I sure do look forward to getting all that money! Go ahead and send it over. I don't need to wait any longer. I want to go to the casinos in Tunica soon and I got to get my truck fixed up good for the ride.

Praise be to Jesus,

Salil

There. See, I'm showing him that I have other options on the table. It's always good to play a little hard-to-get, otherwise when you do put out, you come across as totally easy and wind up crying yourself to sleep for three weeks straight.

Dear Salil,

As I read your mail this morning,it looks to me that you did not understand my last mail giving you the details of the transaction.If you did understand all I have written in my last mail,you will notice that you get back to me with your personal details such as information of business experiences,your resident address,scanned copy of your id or passport for recognition of your personality and your telephone numbers so that I can contact you for us to have oral discussions.

As soon as I receive these details,I will direct you further on what to do.

I hope that you will understand what is required of you now.

Thanks,

Dr.Kevin.

Oh, so he goes from being all interested in me to suddenly showing his true colors! See, this is what you get when you get involved with a doctor. Remember this, desis. They're so egotistical and self-centered and....aargh! ARROGANT! Although I have to admit, it's kind of a turn-on, too.

Still, I don't want to look like a total wuss, so I give him a little sass. He has to work for it!

Hi Doc!

First let me tell you that I dont appreciate someone teling me that I cant understand what their saying. You barely speak english even though your name is "kevin philip." So dont you get all huffy with me. I cant give you my phone no# because I share it with two other people and I dont want your info to get shared by accident. And I do not have a passport because I never travel because most people in other countries are filthy lying scam artists who will steal your money right from under your nose. I am not one of those Americans who will wear a Canadan flag just to travel. I believe in who I am and what America stands for.

So anyway. Tell me what to do next.

Yours in Christ,

Salil

Hi Salil,

In my last mail,I tried to explain some issues for you to appreciate them for the progress of what we are about to do together.In doing that,I did not try to make you look stupid or insult you but tried to make you understand something from my own point of view.Be that as it may,if you are agitated because of my sincere explanations,I do hereby appologize for that.

Having said this,I had in mind that you will understand the reasons why I asked for your personal details which is for our mutual trust and confidence and nothing more.If there are people who use other people's identity to commit crimes,that is not my purpose of contacting you nor is it the purpose of demanding for your personal details.

If you understand the transaction we have in hand,you will appreciate that it is necessary for me to know whom you are.This is the reason I asked for your personal details.If you do not have any passport because you have not travelled out before,don't you have a driver's liecence or natinal identity?

The next thing to do now is to get you appreciate the need to send to me your resident address,scanned copy of your driver's liecence or national identity for recognition of your personality and this will give me confidence to entrust in you the responsibilty of this huge sum of money which I want you to receive in your account.Again,if you do not have a personal phone where I can interract with you alone,I therefore suggest that you get one since this transaction demands utmost confidentiality.As soon as I receive these items from you,I will give you the contact information of the bank so that you can make direct contacts with them asking for the procedures for the transfer of the fund to the account which you shall provide.

May God grant us the garce to understand ourselves for us to make progress in this transaction.

Best regards,

Dr.Kevin.

He's kind of sucking all the romance out of this, isn't he? I mean, am I right to expect a little more than just talk about "transactions" and money? I want something a little deeper, something...more. I want him to fill the aching void in my being!

Hi Doc!

I think it would be a bad idea to just send out my personal info to any old person. so I think you should send me your contact info and bank account first. Then I will deposit my next paycheck into it so there you go you can trust me see? And then after that you can send me the $43 million you owe me.

for the love of Christ,

Salil

And that was that. I never heard from my doctor again! Dear blog, do you think I drove him away with my demands and neediness? I'm such a horrible person. I wish I weren't so...lonely. WHY WON'T ANYONE LOVE ME?!

Trapped!

2006-05-07T20:12:00.000-05:00

Where's my fucking movie deal, bitches?

Dear blog: it is Day 130 in this fetid hellhole, and I believe I have sensed the first signs of help. Finally! After being trapped in abyssmal downtown San Francisco for ages, my only source of nourishment the produce of a nearby taqueria and this great hallucenigenic strain of mold growing on the grout in my bathtub, I think I may finally be nearing the end of my captivity. I hear voices just outside my door. The man who says this was his apartment before I broke in and took his laptop calls them "cleaning ladies."

I refuse to give up hope.

Day 131: They have reached me! Dear blog, I am so happy! At last! I am to be saved, alongside my companion, a volleyball named "Champion." I love Champ. He's my buddy. I put my hand in a plate of Nutella and then stuck it on him and made a face. I know he's not really a person, but it's really fun to give him tongue baths.

Today, Champ and I were sitting on the couch. Our routine consists of watching "Farscape" in HD and then arguing over who has to vacuum. So far I've won 123 days running, but it's all for moot since Champ has no hands. Still, it's the principle that's important. Anyway, suddenly the voices were back!

"Hello! We're in here!" I yelled through my locked door. "Do you have peanut butter?"

"Hay un psycho en aquí," I heard faintly. At last! I was to be rescued soon!

"Please! Send help! Send me a pepperoni pizza! And what are you wearing?" I screamed back, but the sound of a vacuum cleaner drowned me out. Anxiously, I listened. Did they hear me? I can only hope. And wait.

Day 135: Dear blog. It is becoming unbearable. So much has happened! The nice Latinas who were here for some sort of protest yesterday apparently don't mind helping me. They even called the media, in the form of a man named "Javier" and have run a feeding tube under my door that carries me delicious fresh marmalade and salsa, since I'm too lazy to get off the couch and Champ still obstinately refuses to grow thumbs or learn how to walk.

I am content with my umbilicus that brings me nourishment. Champ helps me cope; without his constant good humor and hazelnutty goodness, I suspect I would have gone insane long ago. I curl up into a fetal position and lick his face some more. Mmmm...hazelnut and chocolate. Yummy!

Day 139: It has been silent so long. Yesterday the media tried to bribe me with souffles and porkchops for the privilege of being the first to take my picture when I emerge from my hopeless cul de sac of despair. Champ counselled me to hold out for more. I asked for three Hostess apple fruit pies, but I have yet to hear back from them. I think they're jockeying for position amongst themselves. I have asked for an agent to get movie rights, as well. Champ says this is ridiculous, that I am a loser, and getting kind of pasty and fat, so I bounced him off the door to the bathroom to tech him a lesson. That reminds me: ask the nice Latinas for more toilet paper when they come back.

Day 145: I don't think they're coming back. Also, my toilet has backed up and the garbage disposal has choked on the remains of the pigeon that landed on my windowsill yesterday. Despair is setting in. Champ's entreaties to keep my spirits up are no avail. I am tempted to chuck him out onto Geary Street to live with the homeless people. He will be happier there, I'm sure of it.

Day 146: Oh, I give up. I'm going to take a shower and go to work. Clearly this whole being trapped thing doesn't work for anyone other than miners. Those bitches get all kinds of good shit. I get bupkis.

Screw it, I'm going to go for a walk.

Done to Death?...Not Even!

2006-02-14T23:17:00.000-05:00

It was just too hard to Photoshop him into every frame of the lobby shooting-spree scene in "The Matrix."

So by now you've all heard about how Dick Cheney shot Harry Whittington with his shotgun "by mistake." You've probably also heard about how Cheney didn't have a stamp on his hunting license allowing him to shoot Republican fundraiser lawyers who support the Bush administration, or how a pellet lodged in Whittington's heart and caused a "minor" heart attack (luckily, since he's a Cheney supporter and helps the Bush administration make money, his heart is impervious to cries of pain, pleas for mercy, dying children, the gun control lobby, Cindy Sheehan, and birdshot (unless it's made of silver)).

So Scott McClellan gets on the horn, oh...within a day or two, to let the nation know that the Veepy McShooterson had an oopsy. Norm Coleman pipes up to Wolf, telling us how bad we should feel for The Big Dick, because of the "heavy burden" he's carrying.

The real question is...who is Cheney going to try to kill next?!

Here's my Top Ten List (odds courtesy of my bookie).
10. Himself in the foot (2:1)
9. Dubya (7:1)
8. Saddam Hussein (9:1)
7. His...own...mother (3:1)
6. The next health care bill that hits the Senate floor (1:5)
5. Katherine Armstrong (4:1)
4. That fucking bastard Kennedy. (1:1)
3. No, I meant the other one...Ted. He already took care of that first pinko one, whatsisname, John. Can anyone say "grassy knoll?" (3:1)
2. An actual quail (19:1)
1. WMD's (2:1)

Place your bets!

Awful Blog: WTFisupwithmybestfriend?

2005-11-23T01:14:00.000-05:00

WTF is up with your boring-ass rambling emails, is soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo what I'd want to know if I was your BFF.

Such a clever and promising name and idea.

Such a horribly terribly neurotic follow-through, though. I'm not sure who would want to read a long series of rambling mundane missives about who's bringing what to dinner, and what talking might or might not accomplish other than death via brain implosion. But judging by the total lack of comments I suspect...

no one at all.

...ON THE ENTIRE INTERNET!

True Tales of Crazy Homeless People Out West, Part II

2005-11-23T00:10:00.000-05:00

Replace the word "friends" with "People who will scare the living shit out of you while throwing up gang-signs to little white kids and then stab you with a fork" and replace the phrase "the most unlikely places" with "San Francisco public transportation" for a more accurate byline to this children's primer on life in the big city.

Welcome to Part II of what may soon be a never-ending series of posts. Really, the crazy people do crazy shit faster than I can document it via blogging.

This one took place about a week after I moved to SF. I was riding the Muni outbound from Montgomery station again (sense a common thread?) and when I get on the train there's this ratty and incredibly filthy guy pacing up and down the car, yelling at everyone he sees. "DON'T LOOK AT ME! DON'T YOU FUCKING LOOK AT ME YOU FILTHY COCKSUCKERS!"

Everyone was very happy to oblige. I've never seen such intense interest in the darkness of ads, posters, and the subway walls rushing past before. "Oooh, look...a map of the Muni. I should probably memorize that incredibly complicated diagram."

As we approach where the N Line emerges into daylight and becomes a very long car on rails (I'm sorry, I'm still not used to the idea of light rail sharing the road with automobiles and buses and motorcycles and pedestrians. It just seems like a bad idea all around), another crazy homeless guy pipes up into the silence. "Hey, wouldja shut up? Some of us are trying to have a conversation here!"

The inanity of this statement was apparently lost on everyone in the car but me. There was no one talking on this train at all.

Crazy Guy #1 comes running up to Crazy Guy #2 and starts screaming at him so loud that spittle is flying around (which is really really nasty, because this guy's spit could be worse than the shit the little fuckin' dinosaurs in Jurassic Park coughed all over that one dude). "FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING MOTHERFUCKER! FUUUUCK YOUUUU!"

At precisely that moment, the doors open at the Church Street stop. Crazy Guy #1 suddenly hits Crazy Guy #2 in the back of the head and then runs down the stairs and across the street. Crazy Guy #2 goes, "Owww!" and rubs his head.

I laughed and laughed for the entire walk to my place.

Guest Blog: Brian's Kids

2005-11-17T01:27:00.000-05:00

"I dunno how I got here neither. Mr. Drummond jus' lef me by da curb."

From Alok's buddy Brian, who I freely admit I admire a hell of of a lot now. By the way, Brian, methinks thou dost protest a bit much, ya know what I'm saying?

Salil asked me to guest write something for BI here (I assume he wants something idiotic). I have a host of stupid stories, my brain is a repository of dumb memories. I can only preface this one with, “I had nothing to do with this, it wasn’t me, and I don’t condone such irresponsible behavior”. Oh, and “no animals or people were harmed in this story”. So, last night I was at a buddies, talking about chemically abusive times gone by and he told me about the time mushrooms tripping made him a town hero.

My friend John went to school out in NY and one night he and his two buddies decided to take a lot of hallucinogenic mushrooms and just trip out at home for the night. 45 minutes pass and nothing, no magic fun, no inane conversations or talking vegetables. They decide to drive to the local bar. I think some of you know where this is going.

They start doing shots, drinking beers, etc, trying to make up for the buzz they never got. An hour and a half from ingestion of said shrooms and BAM, they kick in. I can only tell you, (second hand of course), that if a person takes enough mushrooms, you may cease interest in communication with the outside world, you might have issues making change, or you could be in trouble negotiating the buttons on your 501’s after you use the bathroom. Such was the case with my friends here. A total loss of cohesive thought and functionality and now they have to go drive home.

Somewhere along the way home, one of the guys wants John to pull the truck over. He wants to steal a Pink Flamingo off somebody’s lawn. Then another. Pretty soon, the three of them are on an epic, self appointed treasure hunt around the Bronx at 3 AM. They pick up garden gnomes, bird feeders, they tie a rope to the trailer hitch and drag some newspaper stands into the street. That’s cool, throw it all in the flatbed. This proceeds for some indefinite period of time, then they all head back to the house and just pass out.

Sometime the following day, John gets up to take a pee and is jolted into shock-horror to see a small black child sitting in his bathroom. He starts sweating, profusely. He runs in to wake up his friends, “We kidnapped somebody! We kidnapped somebody! Holy shit! We’re going to jail!” The child wasn’t really talking, perhaps from shock or something, I don’t know if he planned on being there any more than they planned on having him there. The best they could figure is that he somehow got thrown into the mix with the other stuff. Part of the treasure hunt.

OK, first things first, get rid of the incriminating evidence. After that, it’s time to be men, call the cops and tell them the truth. They found a child wandering around late at night, they don’t know where they found him, but he was lost. They brought him home and he spent the night. At 5 PM they decided it would be best to let the authorities know. Seems reasonable, I’m sure his parents will understand.

The police came over and really grilled these guys. After coming up with no explanation, other than stupidity on the part of my friends, the cops explained that this boy had been missing for 12 days. The police had all but given up on him. This is why he was wondering around at 3 in the morning in a bad part of town. These boys were heroes!

Needless to say, they denied any direct interviews, but I for one am proud to know that there are still people in the world that care about others and are willing to take responsibility. Maybe I’ll take some mushrooms today, I lost my watch last week and I’ve seen some Reward signs for dogs posted around our neighborhood. I’ll get back to you all about it if I do.

One Small Misstep For An Islamic Woman...

2005-11-14T04:53:00.000-05:00

"I only wish for the freedom to kill myself and others for all womenkind. It is an important struggle for women everywhere."

Feminist Activist and Revolutionary Saijida Mubarak nearly struck a huge blow for womens' rights in the Middle East by almost becoming one of the first Al Quaeda Martyresses of Iraq. In a region of the world where women are prohibited from doing damn near anything of any importance at all, Saijida Mubarak was very nearly almost successful at blowing herself and many other people up.

"I was honored to be selected as a woman and still be allowed to take part in the struggle for freedom. Unfortunately, due to my complete lack of knowledge about anything at all, I could not figure out how to press the...what is this red thing called? Oh yes...'button'...that would...make the...um, vest-thingy...go boom."

When asked if she felt that her career as a suicide bomber had been hindered by her lack of formal education, Saijida said, "What?" Asked if she had any plans for the future, she hinted that she might practice in advance a few times in her backyard before trying to blow herself up again. "I hope that I have helped to set a new standard for almost succeeding among my Muslim sisters involved in the struggle. My near-suicide will hopefully inspire other Muslim women to boldly try to blow themselves up in places they've previously been prevented from going. Also, I hope to learn to parallel park soon, too."

Just a few of the many common household items that Islamic women terrorists can easily turn into tools of destruction and mayhem.

True Tales of Crazy Homeless People Out West, Part I

2005-11-11T12:45:00.000-05:00

Anyone who works in the Financial knows that this guy is actually real. And he's one of the more normal ones.

I just moved to San Francisco from DC about a month ago. I've noticed that the crazy homeless people in SF are far, far, far crazier and weird than any other crazy people. Anywhere. Else. In. The. World.

Today I was riding the Muni (the Muni is their lame version of a subway if you aren't in SF...it basically goes in a straight line). And there are always crazy weird people on the Muni. Well, on all SF public transport, but I ride the Muni so I see a different crazy person every day. Today there's this black gentleman, actually looked almost normal. He was wearing this tweed jacket. He looked like he could have been someone's slightly unkempt uncle.

But he was crazy.

I suppose that doesn't mean he wasn't someone's uncle, though.

Anyway, so there's this nice looking young Filipina chick sitting next to him. Anyway, he was talking to her, and he started getting really loud. All of a sudden he's yelling, "AH NEVA GOTS MAH FODDYAKAS ANNA MOOL NEETHER!" The girl is like, "umm, what? I didn't understand you." He's like, "FODDY AKAS ANNA MOOL! EBRY EX-SLAVE SPOSED TA GET FODDY AKAS ANNA MOOL. DAMMIT! FUCK! THE GODDAM MUFUCKN MANCIPAZIONPROCMAZN. HANT YOU HERD UBBIT!? DAMN DON GIT ME STARTED! FUCKN BUSH! HIS FAULT! I NEBBER GOT MY FODDY AKAS ANNA MOOL!" She's like, "I can't understand what you're saying."

I was ready to scream after 10 minutes of this. I wanted to turn around and yell, "He's saying 'emancipation proclamation' and 'forty acres and a mule.' And you dumbass, you were never a slave."

But I didn't. I should have, though.

So there you have it. That is just one story of the craziness that is the SF Muni. If you like, I will share more. I have many.

Awful Blog: Point Form

2005-10-28T16:39:00.000-05:00

Yes. Pasta first. Then get off the Interweb, please.

This is a very bad blog. I'm not sure that it means anything. I was able to stay on the page for 20 seconds without bleeding out. See if you can do better. Post your scores here.

Remote-Controlled People

2005-10-26T19:09:00.000-05:00

This could easily be an offensive caption contest. Click on the picture for a fun story about the Asian perspective!

As if reality TV and celebrity-hosted talk shows didn't do enough in terms of mind-control...researches in Tokyo have created a way to remotely control a human being.

Of course it's the Japanese that come up with this. They can't envision any more sinister implications than putting it to use in the next iteration of "Dance Dance Revolution." Meanwhile, gleeful Pentagonian generals are rubbing their medals in delight.

Best Junk Mail of My Morning

2005-10-05T10:53:00.000-05:00

Thank goodness, I clicked on that link in my inbox!

Thanks Adam, for getting me started on this. I deleted this from my Bulk Mail folder just now.

"Has your cum ever dribbled and you wish it had shot out?"

I suppose this would be especially desireable for guys who hustle in those bottle rocket type of Ejaculation contests.

Guest Rant - Brimful

2005-08-24T13:52:00.000-05:00

Bad end-user! BAD! Go to your cubicle, and do not come out.

Special thanks to brimful for this bagful of angry:

Dudes,

I have to rant to someone right now, so why not rant at a blog that specializes in ranting?

I've been at three large corporations where a distribution list is created in error and fiascoes ensue. Someone mistakenly creates a d-list that goes to the entire company, and then, the idiots come out of the woodwork. They can be grouped roughly into a few categories:
1) idiots that reply to all with "I think I received this email in error." No shit you received this email in error, you moron- it's about something completely unrelated to you and if you flexed your eye muscles for five seconds and noted that it was sent to a d-list, you would have figured that out on your own.
2) idiots that reply to all with "Me too." These people should just be shot. Not only are they idiots, but they are sheep who need other idiots to validate their behavior.
3) the arrogant idiots that think they are slightly above the curve that write "Stop replying to all! I have a hundred emails in my inbox now about nothing." Yeah, I know it's tempting to write just such a response when you've just been deluged with internal company spam, but I'm sure the irony is not lost on you all, that the arrogant idiot has just REPLIED TO ALL.

It doesn't surprise me that some people do this. But it does surprise me that hundreds of people do this. Email servers have crashed over this shit. I yearn to inflict harm on someone right now. To stave off my homicidal tendencies, I had to send this over to you.

Regards,
brimful

The Dewey Desi-mal System: Your Index to Desi Club Personalities

2005-08-22T08:02:00.000-05:00

Desi club guys: the ones in black are saying, "look at those stars," while the one in white pointing you-know-where says, "screw the stars, check out my crotch."

Don’t lie. I know at some point in your life, you were at a desi club party. If you’re no longer part of the scene, chances are you came to the conclusion that every party is the same. Am I about to make a counterpoint here? Hell no! I’m about to beef up your argument.

It really doesn’t matter if you’re in Houston, Atlanta, Chicago, DC, or out west; the desi club is a universe of its own. I liken the desi club experience to watching a Bruckheimer movie; a lot of money gets spent, the characters are quite predictable, and the ending is always disappointing. Yet we all go back weekend after weekend, just like those idiots who go back to watch another Bruckheimer. Recently, I started asking myself the following question when deciding whether or not to go to another desi club: “Would I watch National Treasure every Friday and Saturday of every weekend of my post college life?” Asking myself that question put things in perspective. In fact, I urge you to do the same. Start replacing desi club with the shitty Bruckheimer movie National Treasure. I guarantee that everything becomes a little clearer. Here is a good example:

Desi 1 – (phone ringing) Hello.
Desi 2 – Hey yo, sup.
Desi 1 – Not much.
Desi 2 – So what are you up to tonight?
Desi 1 – I was thinking of just staying in.
Desi 2 – A bunch of us are gonna meet up and watch National Treasure. You wanna come? We could swing by and get you.
Desi 1 – No, I just saw National Treasure last night. It was crazy! I had a great time!
Desi 2 – You sure you don’t wanna watch it again tonight?
Desi 1 – Yeah, but let me know if you guys watch National Treasure next weekend.
Desi 2 – Aight yo. I think we will because next weekend is Karishma’s birthday and we wanted to take her out to see National Treasure.
Desi 1 – Cool. I’ll def watch National Treasure again with you next weekend.
Desi 2 – Okay bro. Later.
Desi 1 – Later.

I hope that helps some of you. For those others who disagree and think that the desi club scene is a diverse mix of complex characters, I offer the following: The Dewey Desi-mal System. It is an index guide to the most typical desi personalities in the club scene. Let me apologize in advance for offending some of you. But keep in mind that I’m one of these personalities too. Now let’s start with the guys, shall we.

100s – The Guys
200s – The Girls

101.01: Boyfriend Guy

This guy is a good place to start. He shows up at the club with his girlfriend, most likely overdressed. He’s the type of guy that refuses to leave her side, for fear that if he does, she’ll be kidnapped by some horny Punjabi. Can’t blame him really. The scenario that epitomizes Boyfriend Guy is the one where he is forced to leave “his girl” to get drinks at the bar. When that happens, if you start talking to “his girl,” he rushes back like she was a Bentley and you just set off the alarm. Then he just kind of hovers there in silence as if to say, “if you want a ride, get your own.” During the next couple of months, girlfriend will get increasingly annoyed with Boyfriend Guy and put a stop to their relationship. And as always, Boyfriend Guy will never see it coming.

102.01: The Brother

The Brother is named as such, not because he acts like he’s black, but because every desi girl sees him as her brother. In the club, he is always the one surrounded by the hottest girls, all of whom are his friends of course. He’s that great guy everybody loves, and no one will fuck. Unfortunately for him, he’s often the medium through which his girl friends and guy friends meet. There will be a time when The Brother questions himself and decides maybe he should become an asshole because his “sisters” seem to go for that. Tragically enough, his I’m-an-asshole-now-have-sex-with-me experiment will go awry when he realizes he has a conscience. My two cents for The Brother: Relax. There will be a time when the right girl comes along who understands that the outrageously sweet guy in you will eventually settle; meanwhile your “sisters” will realize that the asshole just became a bigger fuckin’ asshole!

102.02: Another Brother

102.01 was every girl’s brother because he was too sweet and nice. 102.02 is every girl’s brother because he’s short. My heart goes out to the short guy, for he gets the least amount of play. I would tell you where in the club to find him, except it’s hard to spot that little fucker at all. Desi girls are notorious for blowing him off because he doesn’t come close to their height requirements (normally between 5’9” and 6’ something). What really amazes me is the fact that you’ll find a 4’9” desi girl with height requirements. You’d think her requirements would involve someone around 5’5” or above. But no! She also wants someone between 5’9” and 6’ something. Still, the short guy tries all kinds of things to make up for his height. He tries clever lines like, “God asked me where he should put the extra inches; let’s just say I’m 5’4” for a reason.”……….. Good one genius! Another one of his tricks involves hitting the weight room. Many short guys are buff nowadays because they seem to think it masks their dwarfism. Apparently, they believe desi girls use some kind of formula where they multiply your height with your body mass index divided by your percentage of body fat. In reality, they look at you and go, “he’s too damn short.” But you keep tryin’ little fella’.

103.01: The I-hate-desis-and-their-stupid-club-scene-but-I-come-out-because-that’s-what-my-friends-are-doing Guy

Dear Diary: This is Vijay. You see that guy being referenced above, number 103.01; well, I’m him! There, I confessed. Are you happy, you fucking diary! I hate you!

I’m the little bitch in your group who complains that all we do is go out every weekend, get sauced, and tell hyperbolically exaggerated stories about it the day after. I’m known for such phrases like “guys, how come we never do anything of substance?” and “let’s do something different this weekend.” My trademark, however, is dropping the ball, as my motivational pleas are normally followed by a 7-hour midday nap, waking to a marathon of My Super Sweet 16 on MTV. Eventually, after a million calls from friends saying “pussy, why don’t you stop being a bitch and come out,” I am overwhelmed by love and decide to shower up and get ready for another night of National Treasure. The hardest part of the night is choosing the striped shirt that best reflects my mood. Normally I’m money. But sometimes, I delude myself into thinking I can pull off peach or pale purple. I realize how wrong I am when I get to the club and the only one taking notice of me is the creepy gay guy in the corner who’s eyeing to jump me like I’m the last chopper out of Nam! On most nights though, I actually have a good time, but complain both before and after anyway. This cycle repeats weekly. Of course I’m being a bit hard on myself. Ever since I started asking myself the Bruckheimer question, I haven’t gone out much. Wish me luck; for soon, I will be better than you.

104.01: The Look-at-me-my-t shirt-is-so-tight-you’d-think-Urban-Outfitters-had-a-toddler-section Guy

I love seeing Look-at-me-my-t shirt-is-so-tight-you’d-think-Urban-Outfitters-had-a-toddler-section Guy at the club. First of all, we’re lucky to even get the t-shirt because were it up to him, he’d be shirtless. For him the tight T is a good compromise because he’s clothed, but can still show you how often he lifts. No, he’s not a minimalist; his lack of clothing is offset by the copious amount of hair product on his head. What’s interesting about this guy is that he never really puts his muscles to use. If you’ve ever seen this guy on a basketball court or football field, you’d see that he’s about as athletic as the tape dispenser on my desk. Those muscles are usually just for show. As far as actual skills, talent, or athletic ability is concerned, he might as well be paralyzed. I know this because I’ve played against and with most of these guys. One of my favorite anecdotes about this involves Kevin McHale, former coach and current GM of the Minnesota Timberwolves. In the 80s when McHale used to play, he was known for his work ethic, hustle, and toughness. You wouldn’t have been able to tell that by looking at him though; he looked like a beardless Abe Lincoln in Celtic shorts. Anyway, one day his Minnesota players were studying film, watching him play in an old finals game from ‘86. One of the players couldn’t help but laugh at McHale’s appearance and started joking around about his “lanky-ass” physique. Hearing this, McHale comes back with, “hey dumbass, you know all those hours after practice that you spend in the weight room, well I spent those same hours and then some on the basketball court working on my game down in the post and shooting a higher percentage; that’s why I’m in the Hall of Fame and you’re the 10th guy down the bench!” White boy can drop some serious knowledge. I guess my point is that it’s important to be strong, but not for the sake of vanity. Remember, people were more annoyed by Vanity Smurf than they were by Brainy, Jokey, or even Clumsy. My two cents: the quality girls are the ones who come after the book and not the cover. Just be sure you’re worth the read.

I fear this has gotten way too long. But I still haven’t talked about The I’m-rich-but-I-have-no-game Guy, The I’m-touchy-feely-and-think-I’m-smooth Guy, The I’m-mysterious-and-it-turns-you-on-but-the-real-reason-I’m-mysterious-is-because-I-have-a-girlfriend-you-don’t-know-about Guy, and The I’m-the-nice-FOB-who-no-one-will-talk-to Guy. More importantly, I haven’t begun to talk about the desi girls, and that’s the fun part. I hope y’all check back for part II. Thanks for reading. Maybe I’ll see you out, but not if I can help it.

What Size Would Jesus Wear?

2005-07-25T13:21:00.000-05:00

I bet Jesus would gladly beat you with a fucking shoe.

Thanks to my sister for bringing me this one.

It's not a horrible blog. It's just a horrible idea.

Sandals that leave "Jesus prints." For only $21, you can own a pair of sandals that annoy the shit out of everyone at Dewey Beach. As soon as someone figures out who's leaving these gay footprints behind, rest assured someone (if not actually me) will come along and kick sand right in your Jesus-loving eyes until you scream for Jesus to save you from the gritty disaster that is your life.

Celebrity of The Week - Adolfo Quinones - 7/17-7/24

2005-07-20T00:43:00.000-05:00

Shabba-Doo hooked me up with a sweet tee time, and even "locked in" an extra bag of tees for me...

You've seen him act...you've seen him dance...and now, ANK G saw him in the flesh - Adolfo "Shabba-Doo" Quinones - as the head starter at a local Chicagoland golf course...

As I warmed up my swing on the first tee, we spoke of his past prowess as a street-dancer-turned-Broadway-performer in "Breakin' ", as well as his on-screen romance with Lucinda Dickey (from Ninja III: The Domination, where she plays a breakdancer possessed by the spirit of an evil ninja)...I also told him how much I respected him for standing up to that evil land developer in protecting the neighborhood Recreation Center in "Breakin' 2, Electric Boog-a-loo"...

He then explained to me that the fairways were playing a bit dry today, and that the pin placement for the day was position #3...

I couldn't resist, so I asked him where was his partner in crime, Michael "Boog-a-loo Shrimp" Chambers...he got a sullen look on his face and said "Me and Shrimpf ain't all dat no mo'...I holla'ed at him about 4 years ago to meet me at this Swap Meet I was at signing copies of some old polaroids I had, but he said he had to head over to a birthday barbecue at his cousin's daughter's boyfriend's son from another mom....said something about how he had to entertain the kids by doing his robot act"....

I asked him if performing in Chaka Khan's video "I Feel For You" was the high-point of his career, defeating Electro-Rock in that infamous dance battle, or choreographing "All Night Long" for Lionel Richie...he pondered for a moment, and to my obvious surprise, he stroked his sultry mustache, and responded, "While all those were epic moments in my career, I feel that my greatest achievement used to be landing Lela Rochon as my wife for 3 years...It was because of me that the b**** got to dance with Lionel Richie in 'All Night Long'...I'm not bitter though, because after she left me in '87, my work as a greenskeeper has kept me quite fulfilled...in fact, when I water the 7th tee box each morning, I pop-n-lock around this oak tree that ain't no easy task, blood!...[he then did a little freestyle for me to show me that he still gots it...and believe me, he does!]"

Why is this important for you? Easy - without Shabba-Doo - who started the Lockers crew which featured Re-Run from What's Happening, and a bunch of other guys who are dancing at State Fairs across the Plain States - you would never have done the wave, the worm, the roger rabbit, or the running man...

Mad Love to Shabba-Doo - who shortly after I parred the 18th hole - moved to France, where breakdancing is finally making its way over there...once he squeezes all the fame there, he told me he is looking forward to progressing from greens to botanical gardens...

The Job Interview.

2005-07-19T21:23:00.000-05:00

"Let me give you some advice..."

So I think I've mentioned to you guys that I've been interviewing for jobs lately. The dilemna I face is that quite a bit of what happens during an interivew is blog-worthy; unfortunately, blogging about a prospective employer runs the risk that I do not get the job.

Well, let it never be said that I let my career stand in the way of entertaining you fuckers. I just had to share this.

I had an interview at a technology company in Northern Virginia. The guy who contacted me is a VP who it turns out is an ex-military guy. He seemed nice enough during the initial phone screen, although a little...how shall I put this?...not in touch with this era? The following conversation took place at the end of the phone screen.

VP: "So...it was great talking with you...Sa-lil. Salil...Man-ik-taaa-la. Is that Indian?"

Me: "Yes. Yes it is."

VP: (thoughtfully) "You know, I knew an Indian guy once. (note: this is a technology company in Northern Virginia. An Indian guy...once?) He used to work here. His name was Nishant XXX (I swear to god he told me the dude's entire name, and then also waited for me to be like, "oh yeah, Nishant! He's Indian, I'm Indian, I know him!") (of course, in reality there was about a 50-50 chance that I did know him if he was in the DC area, but whatever, he don't know! HE DON'T KNOW!). Yeah, he didn't work out so well. We had to let him go. He was kind of...paranoid. Once we sent him down to Florida with a U-Haul of equipment and then I got a call from the U-Haul place. The guy was like, yeah, your friend has been here for two hours. He's going over the contract and he's scratching out parts and initialing stuff and arguing over it all."

Me: "Umm...well. I'll try not to do anything like that."

VP: "Oh no, no, no. Of course not! Hahahahaha! That's not what I meant."

Me: "...okay."

So then I set up a time to come in for an interview. Again, the interview seems to go fairly well, with one small exception. He asks me if I've got experience with NIST-800 work, which I do not. He looks at his notes (from our phone screen, I assume) and says, "That's odd. I believe you said you had experience with NIST-800."

I told him that I was familiar with NIST-800, but I never claimed to have actually done an implementation. What I knew was from the classroom. I'm fairly certain he was mixing me up with someone else.

Anyway, after the interview is over, he tries to make small talk again. Again he starts with my name. "Sa-lil. Manik-tahla. Am I saying that right?"

Me: "Yes. You are." (I do not point out that I prefer people to simply say it all in a go, rather than inserting awkward pauses throughout the middle)

VP: "Hmm. Well, you know what? I'm going to be blunt with you, since you're an American citizen just like I am. Is that ok? Ok, great. You know, you really should consider getting a nickname."

Me: (after a pause) "Yeah, well, actually I do have one. It's Jay."

VP: "Ah, excellent!"

Me: "But I prefer going by Salil."

VP: "Oh. Oh yes, of course. Of course. Well."

We then walk out to the elevator. At the elevator, he hits the button and then I guess he decides to go three for three. "So. You know how you get a certain image of someone when you talk with them on the phone? I mean, it's always surprising to see what they look like in person because you never get it right, right? I'm sure you had an entirely different picture of me in your head after you talked with me on the phone (note: No, actually my image was pretty spot-on. See above). Well, I sort of thought you'd be about three inches taller."

Me: "It was nice meeting you."

And then God finally let up on me and opened the fucking elevator door. I practically dove in like Sarah Connor avoiding the Cop in Terminator 2.

Seriously, does this shit happen to anyone else?

Awful Blog of the Day: BrownEyedGirl

2005-07-18T00:59:00.000-05:00

Arrrgh! My eyes! My eyes! Will the Bible save my eyes?

Special thanks to Yummy Mummy for submitting this to us. Weird Bible quotes, horrible grammar, and a color scheme that makes me hate my own retinae. Who could ask for more?

Got a Shitty Blog of the Day? Send it to us! I'm starting a new feature because I'm basically really lazy, and this concept seems to work great for SomethingAwful.com.

"I Was Stalked for An Hour-and-a-Half."

2005-07-17T22:46:00.000-05:00

I'm pretty sure this is her, because I Google-image-searched "crazy indian chick."

So a few weeks ago I had one of the weirdest online dating experiences ever. For those of you who know me, you know that this means it was fairly significant.

It all started because I have a profile on that most shameful of desi dating sites, Shaadi.com (or, as I like to call it, Shady.com). It's shameful, yes, I know. I don't really much care.

So I get an email on Shaadi.com saying that a certain individual is interested in me. I check out the profile, and here are some aspects that just sort of jumped out at me:

1. No picture.
2. Body type? "Average."

Yeah, right. That's what I thought, too.

So I write her the following email:

Hi, thanks for taking a look at my profile, Sarika. Would you mind sending me a pic of yourself? How long have you been in Jersey City? I have some cousins who live there. And what do you do? Ever make it down to DC?

Here's her reply:

i dont mind sending you my picture but would like to talk first...can you tell me a little about yourself.
sari

We exchange a few emails, and then she says, "do you mind if we talk on the phone? I promise I don't bite."

Yeah, right.

Well, I don't think anything of it, except that I forget I've got my phone number in my signature file. So imagine my surprise when, a few days later, my cell phone rings. I pick up, and a female voice I don't recognize says, "Hey."

Me: "Uh, hello?" (also checking the phone number frantically to see if I recognize the area code. It's Boston).

Her: "Hey."

Me: "Um, who is this?"

Her: "It's Sarika from Shaadi.com. How are you?"

Me: "Oh. Hi, how are you?"

We make small talk for a bit, and then suddenly things take a turn for the bizarre. She mentions that I'm divorced, and I say I am. She say, "Yeah, me too." So ok, she wants to talk about it. A bit intimate for the first conversation, but that's cool. No secrets here. Let's wade right in, shall we?

She tells me she had an arranged marriage, but she got a divorce because her husband "wasn't a man." I blink at this, but decide to sidestep that one and instead ask her when she got her divorce. "Oh, in March."

Umm, but wait, wasn't that just a few months ago? When was she separated? "In March." I'm like, wait. Hold on a second. You were separated in March and you were divorced in March? She says, "I was married in India. It was an arranged thing, and it was just for a few weeks. I'm not married now."

(Oh, and her accent is the weirdest thing I've ever heard. It's a combination of flat-Boston, fobby-desi, and ghetto-ass-hispanic. It's really impossible to describe properly, and even more difficult to understand. About every two sentences I would have to ask her to repeat herself.)

I realize that she thinks denial is more powerful than law. I decide (in retrospect, quite wisely) not to pursue that line any further. She, on the other hand, has more to share. A lot more. "Yeah, my husband? He wasn't a man. He wouldn't fuck me."

If I had been drinking coffee, I'd have spit it all over the place. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, he wasn't a man. He wouldn't fuck me. He'd send me out with his friends and stuff and we'd go out, but he wouldn't fuck me."

Aha. "Well, did you fuck them?"

"No!!!"

Hey, I think...it's a legitimate question, considering how willing she is to come across as a total psycho. It is at this point that things swerve from kind of odd to totally fucking Twilight Zone. Suddenly I hear a parent chattering in Gujurati in the background, she replies irately, then she tells me to hang on...and then I hear a vacuum-cleaner. For, like, several minutes. This is also about the point where I sit up and really start trying to chronicle this mentally, because I know it's going to be blog-worthy.

She comes back and she's like, "Sorry. I work at Dow Chemical as my regular job, but I have my own business." I ask her about it. After some pressing, she reluctantly admits, "it's a hotel."

Me: "A hotel? What kind of hotel?"

Her: "Umm...it's a motel."

Me: "Your motel?"

Her: "Well, it's my whole family's."

Me: "Of course. So...you're...vacuuming?"

Her: "Hang on again." And then more vacuuming, again for several minutes. I'm trying to decide how to hang up when she comes back again. "So, what do you do for Dow?" I'm thinking chemical engineer, IT person, product management, something along those lines...

Nope. "I'm in customer service."

Me: "Ah."

Her: "Hang on." And then more vacuuming noises. Fuck this, I think, and I hang up. I have to meet a friend for lunch, it's about 11am, and I need to get showered up and head out. While I'm in the shower, I hear my cell phone ring, and it goes to voicemail. Then I hear it ring again. Then I hear it ring again. Then my land line rings. Then it rings again. Holy mother of all that is holy. I need to put an end to this right away.

After I'm all dried off, I call her back.

Me: "Hi, Sarika?"

Her: "No."

Me: "Uh...I'm sorry, I'm looking for Sarika. I got a call from her from this number."

Her: "No, that was me. But my name isn't Sarika."

Me: "What? Uh...ok...what is your name, then?"

Her: "Nisha."

Me: "Ooooookay. Why did you tell me it was Sarika?"

Her: "I'm afraid of identity theft on the Internet."

Me (in my head): But this is a phone call, dumbfuck. It has nothing to do with the Internet.

Her: "So where were you?"

Me: "I was in the shower. I have to run. I'm meeting a friend for lunch."

Her: "Oh. Well, when can we talk again?"

Me: "Actually, I'm going to be leaving town for a long, long, long time." And I get off the phone and leave the house as fast as I can.

When I check my call log on my cell phone and my land line, all her weird stalker calls are caller-ID blocked. As if I couldn't figure out who it was.

Seriously, does this shit only happen to me? I mean, what the fuck was that?

Oh, and after that? She sends me her picture and the following email:

hey salil
Happy Birthday

neesh

attach is my photo i am in pink..i promised you i aint no monster..

I would share it with you, dear reader, except I do have some minor amount of respect for her privacy.

No, waitaminute, I don't. She's bizarre and fucked-up, and that's what I'm fighting, so screw it. Here's the picture she sent me.

Guess which one of these is "average" body type?

So I told her on email that I didn't think I was interested, and thanked her for taking the time to get to know me a bit better. She replied with:

i was thinking the same thing but i think we can be friends if you dont mind.
not everything has to lead to marriage sometimes friendship is cool too.
what do you say to that..if you not interested in being friends just let me know..

This came as quite a blow to my ego. I mean, I didn't make the cut for her. That's rather demoralizing. Maybe she's just looking for someone as insane as herself. Anyway, if you know this girl or something, I'm sure you'll let me know. If I do hear from someone, I'll be happy to share both sides of this. From my standpoint, it was one of the most fucked-up conversations I've ever had with anyone, ever.

Ank G's Celebrity Sighting of the Week

2005-07-14T13:29:00.000-05:00

Starting next week, I will end my prolonged absence and reinstate myself to Blunt Instrument and begin a new column which I will designate "Ank G's Celebrity Sighting of the Week"...I will discuss where I was when I saw them, why it is important, and why you should feel luky that I did all the legwork to find these celebrities...

...stay tuned for celebrity #1...My goal is to add some missing structure and continuity to BI, even though its success relies on the chaos and idiocy that engulfs 96% of the human population...

I Don't Want to Kill Black People.........I Just Want to Lynch Them a Little

2005-06-24T12:33:00.000-05:00

I love black people; black people are my motherfuckers.

The other day I remarked to a co-worker that the nation is so polar that I wouldn't be surprised if Republicans and Democrats started arguing on whether the Earth really revolves around the sun. Though both parties have allowed Copernicus to rest peacefully in his grave, it seems they can't agree on another topic as ridiculously obvious as heliocentricity. What's the topic I'm referring to: LYNICHING BLACK PEOPLE! Needless to say, "resting in their graves" is not the phrase I'd use to describe Malcolm X and MLK; those two brothers probably hopped out of their coffins like extras from the thriller video. If you think I'm making this up, here's what happened recently in the U.S. Senate.

Last week there was a resolution on the floor apologizing for the failure of the Senate to make lynching black people a federal crime. Considering they let it slide for several decades, you'd think no one would object and that the resolution would pass unanimously. It didn't. Apparently, 11 republicans still have not signed on as co-sponsors. I must point out that initially, the number was a lot higher and included some Democrats. However, their reasons had to do with not being present when the resolution passed during a voice vote as opposed to a roll call vote. Immediately after which they signed on as co-sponsors. Now the 11 republicans who have not yet signed on were not only absent during the voice vote, but aren't interested in seeing their names on the resolution. Some of them have gotten by with excuses suggesting the resolution was a political tool, or that they are co-sponsoring a different but similar resolution. But the excuse I will take issue with today belongs to Senator Thad Cochran (R-Mississippi), who said that he didn't want to apologize for "something I did not do."

Now that's the dumbest reason I've ever heard! It's not surprising that the sound "cock" is in this fucker's name. Is this man a member of society? Has he ever been in a relationship with a woman? Well if the answer is yes to either question, then apologizing for things you're not directly responsible for shouldn't be anything new. Apparently he and I don't date the same women, and he obviously hasn't met my sister. Saying "I'm sorry" is not that hard motherfucker. And it can save you a lot of time and pain. The following is a short list of things I've been man enough to apologize for, despite not being directly responsible:

1. I've apologized to people because of their inability to pronounce my last name. How about them apologizing to me for being illiterate inbred bastards.

2. I've had to apologize to an ex for my cell phone reception. Yeah, I'm really sorry that I couldn't adjust the satellite or build a better network........bitch!

3. I've apologized to my boss for my flight being delayed. I guess as I get older I can't control the weather like I used to.

4. I've had to apologize to an angry overbearing client for being on time when she was early. Maybe if she had a life, that dry, barren wasteland she calls her vagina would see more action.

5. I've had to apologize to an indian aunty for not being hungry enough to eat her food. Maybe if I didn't see her picking her nose and ass as she added the veggies to the sambar, I'd reconsider.

So there you go Cockface! If I can do it, you can too.

You want to know something else about this asshole? Previously, he had signed resolutions apologizing to Native Americans for stealing their land as well as Japanese Americans for the events that occurred here during World War II. Now unless he and Madeline Stowe were involved in some kind of cyclical 12 Monkeys plot, I'm pretty sure he wasn't directly responsible for their suffering either. So why does this hypocrite hate black people? Maybe he got his ass kicked by some girl named Shaniqua while he waited for his Cialis at the local pharmacy. Maybe it's penis envy, in which case he would hate me as well. Regardless, he can't give me a reason good enough to explain not signing an anti-lynching resolution.

Is it a coincidence that all 11 members who chose to not co-sponsor the resolution were Republican? Maybe. I understand that not all Republicans are racists, perhaps not most of them. But Thad from Mississippi sure is! And even if the rest of them aren't into burning crosses, they know how to play the game of symbolic politics; and what they're saying is they don't really give a shit how black people feel. If that's the case, how can they represent their interests? Vote D ’08.

C'mon! Did you Really laugh out loud there?

2005-06-09T11:04:00.001-05:00

LOL! What can be worse than this?

You know what *really* annoys me? Possibly more than spam or spyware, even. I visit message boards and read emails or IM with many people 5-15 years younger than me as well as folks who don't consider English as their primary language. And after chastising my own cousin about this during an instant message yesterday, I figured I'd blog about it too.

But I can't STAND SMS/Instant messanging speak (also called Netspeak, or from what I understand, just "sp33k".) You all know what I'm talking about and I suspect some of you are guilty of it (a lesser percentage of the greater population of course since you are intelligent BI readers). But still, this blog entry is directed at YOU.

"OMG ur sooo gr8! LOL!"

Inexcusable.

This has evolved out of necessity somewhat, I realize, due to situations where you have limited characters you can type or you're in a situation where it's difficult to type such as on a cell phone or when you're trying to keep with the flow of a "live" conversation and your typing speed is a hinderance from keeping up.

My response to you is "take a typing class" or get off SMS and just call the muthafugga.

Heh. I also understand and can excuse (well, maybe) shortened forms of phrases or emoticons when they're used appropriately (such as when you type "g2g" or "brb" during an IM conversation because your supervisor walked into your cubicle right at the second where you were messanging a joke about the midget and the one-legged whore) as a perfect substitute for "I need to close this window and pass myself off as a productive employee right NOW!"

I just think it's really idiotic when people use 'em reflexively, without really thinking about what they mean anymore.

The worst abuse in my opinion (notice I didn't use "IMO") is "LOL." Because I rarely find that it would be appropriate for the perpetrator to sub in "I'm laughing out loud" at that moment. So why the f**k did you type it? (or alternately I s'pose, "WTF?")

I dunno. I'm showing my age, I guess.

I think I just find this kind of crap irritating because I see it corrupting people's formal writing (papers for school or worse yet, professional business writing). Mostly from kids under the age of 22 who started IMing with their friends in middle school or before.

I'm 31. And I didn't start using email until college and even though Instant Messenging in it's current form didn't exist, the precursor to it was around back then (UNIX talk function) and Salil, I, and our friends used it widely on campus. Still, I don't remember any of us communicating like this.

Bottom line: If you want your email note or bulletin or message board posts to be taken seriously by me or by anybody born before 1978 (or even read for the REALLY bad ones), how much extra time does it take you to type out the full word? Does it take you exponentially longer to type "great," "love," "your," "right," and "to" compared to "gr8," "luv," "ur," "rite," and "2?"

Yes, I'm trying to beat back an avalanche with a teaspoon, I know. But even a teaspoon can be considered a "Blunt Instrument," no?

OMG! LOL!

"So What Tribe Are You From?"

2005-06-08T22:55:00.000-05:00

Various members of the tribe try out for the sole spot in the Village People.

Vijay and I were watching "Dances With Wolves" on TNT tonight, and there was a character with possibly the worst Indian name ever: "Smiles-A-Lot."

What, there's no Sioux word for "Fucking Fag?" I mean, how can this kid become any kind of self-respecting scalp-collecting slayer of white people if he gets stuck with a name like this? It's at least as bad as "Sukdith Punjasthitkul."

(Sukdith Punjasthitkul is the absolute Marianas Trench of Really Bad Names for my friends who went to Wash. U with me. I mean, there is not part of that name that doesn't sound dirty. Yes, he's a real person. Read all about him here)

Anyway, we've thought of a few other Native American warrior names we think are at least as bad. We're open to suggestions, though. And if you happen to be Native American and got saddled with one of these, you might need to rethink your lifestyle choices.

10. Bends-Over-For-Men
9. Loves-Rainbows
8. Who-Wants-A-Hug
7. Dances-With-Boys
6. Pees-While-Squatting
5. Sits-On-Carrots
4. Crust-At-Corners-of-Mouth
3. Smells-Underwear-of-Squaws
2. Makes-Love-to-Tatonka
1. Clips-Coupons-and-Drives-Neon

Lost in Translation? Star Wars hits India

2005-05-20T22:13:00.000-05:00

"Hey Shankar, I'm not Dark. I'm 'wheatish.' Now, where's the rasam?"

"As a fan of Star Wars I have seen all the episodes of Star Wars and I've always waited for this part. This is the one where Dark Raider has become an evil man. I've waited all my life to see it,' said Shankar Bannerjee, a diehard Star Wars fan."

Down and Out in Washington, DC

2005-05-18T21:53:00.000-05:00

I have seen the future, and it looks stinky.

Some of you seem to have noticed that the frequency of posts to Blunt Instrument has dropped off dramatically of late. "Salil," you may have moaned to yourself in a seriously annoying way, "dos this mean stupid shit has simply stopped happening?" To which I must say, you are the living embodiment of an answer. Oh, and just in case you couldn't figure it out, that answer is NO.

The actual reason for the recent lack of posts is because I am unemployed, and studying for the CISSP a lot, which is an information security certification. And also, apparently Vijay, Alok, Ankur and those other two fuckers are totally useless and lazy, so if I don't post, apparently no one posts.

How did it happen that I wound up unemployed? Well, it's a long story, involving a fight at a biker bar, a bunch of hallucinogenic toadstools, and a bald black man asking me if I want the red pill or the blue pill, "beeyatch."

I think I chose the wrong one.

This is me, only Hispanic, with a briefcase, contemplating the legislation from the steps of the Capitol Building that I'd like to say put me out of work, but didn't. Oh, and clean-shaven.

At any rate, I'm now contemplating various career moves. Here is what I've come up with, based on what people have told me I'm good at:

10. Sarcastic Bastard
9. Ill-Treater of Women
8. Too-Fast Driver
7. Reader of Books
6. Sous Chef
5. Bodyhair and Beergut Model
4. Altercation Engineer
3. Fuckin' Spazz
2. Refrigerator Vacuum
1. Blunt Instrument Intern

Based on these choices, I think it's a toss-up between "Reader of Books" and simply committing suicide.

So if you and yours have a good tip on a job that does not involve working for Fran Drescher or sophisticated forms of nose-picking, send me an email. God, please send me an email before I lose my mind.

Behold Salil, Detroyer of Worlds

2005-05-10T10:55:00.000-05:00

Oh, I own all you fuckers today. Who wants some of this?

I logged into Friendster today and...there it was. The trifecta of good omens: my Friendster horoscope is maxed the fuck out. They even refer to my shit-eating grin, and they say how much you want it. Read that and weep, motherfuckers!

So today I am going out and blowing all my cash, even though I am currently sans job. Look, baby: 5 dollar signs! That shit don't lie. Also, I'm calling every girl I see "bitch" and showing them my pee-pee. If I don't get sex today, something is seriously wrong. If they get mad, I'm going to start waving the printout around in their face. It's my Friendster horoscope! It can't be wrong. If I were to start doubting it, then there'd be no reason for my five fucking smileys for attitude.

Glad we got all that straight! So tonight I make the following offer: the first three lovely ladies who come over and have sex with me will get a split of the proceeds from my lottery ticket.

Evolution Does the Hokey-Pokey in Kansas

2005-05-08T19:34:00.000-05:00

Only a highly evolved primate surfs one-handed and naked.

So Kansas is totally taking the lead in deciding what's hip and cool with education and what's not. And they've got this whole evolution scam totally covered. They're having hearings so the scientists can say some crazy mumbo-jumbo that only makes sense to other scientists and people with brains and those of us who will be left behind during the Rapture.

But the scientists are too cagey for these silly Kansans (like Vijay). No, the scientists smelled a trap, and instead of getting dropped into pits filled with acid like the Kansans planned, they escaped and are now on the lam, hiding in cornfields or something. Well, I wish them well and hope they survive to see their families again.

I have serious issues with the state of my soul. I want Kansas to set me straight! Especially because if I want to go to Heaven, I better be surrounded by people from Kansas! They're swell. Did you know Kansans have supernatural powers? They can smell fear, and also apple pie. They know everything about that shitty shit Mr. Smarty-Pants-Fucking Science. Radioisotope dating, the fossil record, years and years of painstaking zoological research up against the word of a group of people who are selectively interpreting a book that gets the freakin' value of pi wrong.

How could they be wrong? How? HOW? It's just unpossible.

It's not Friday the 13th...

2005-05-07T20:38:00.000-05:00

The true face of the Post-Modern Condition.

Holy cow, I don't check the mailbox for a week or two, and look at the fun we all miss! It's not Friday the 13th, but Jason's back anyway. Well, I guess I gotta be Freddy, then. Wait, does that make me a child molestor? Eh, I've been called worse.

jason bulluck to me
Apr 17
checked out your whack-ass (colloquial/black parlance m. sub-par) blog,wherein, I discovered your (as a group) tendency to not only use thecontemporary blck slang device of interposing the sound 'izz' between primary consonant-vowel combinations, but also to photograph yourselves with 'actual' blacks in some sort of attempt at ironic witauthentication.It's offensive. Not just to me, but to a number of African-americansthatDon't necessarily look forward to, find humor in, relate to the need forNon-blacks to copy black cultural forms minus the requisite respect,Candor, intelligence our lives deserve. It's just like performativity, and it's you that spins poor old lyotard,or at least you would if he hadn't predicted you and yours would do what it is that you do.I wish I could express myself in a more productive manner, seeing as my main goal here was to say to you and your friends, hey stop that.

Jason:
far be it from poor little ol' moi to ever dare to OFFEND anyway. As a master of inductive reasoning, you have stumbled upon the true raison d'etre for this blog: we seek only to mock black people by inserting "izz" in the middle of words. That, in a nutshell, is the basis for my entire sense of humor. It's even how I earn money. I go out, paint my face black and dance while wearing a top hat. Sometimes Ted Danson helps out. It's great fun.

Oh, and Jason? You're a fucking moron. Just because you know who Lyotard is doesn't make you smart. Read another book. When you're through, come back for another helping of "shut the fuck up."

Bee-izzz-NATCH.

"I'll Write For You Guys!"

2005-05-03T10:53:00.000-05:00

Unfortunately, there are always vacancies.

Lately we've been getting a lot of requests to write for BI (by "a lot of," I mean like three). Most of these fall into this odd category of people who think they're funny or bitter, but they're not.

In case you haven't noticed, Blunt Instrument is bitter and vindictive. It is mean. It is sarcastic. IT TARGETS IDIOCY! It has no pictures of smiley happy anything on it.

But you...you are happy. You have a good job. You drive a Civic. You characterize the American Dream, or at least its cousin, the Glassy Stare. If you aren't at least capable of being mildly bitter and vindictive yourself, don't ask. It just gets awkward. Then I have to make fun of you in person, and then there's the tears and the recriminations and it's just no good. So stop already.

Here is my handy checklist for if you are Bluntworthy. Please keep it folded in your purse or wallet at all times so that if need be, I can call on you to produce it and then slap you in the head with it:

Do you talk to your grandmother on your cellphone without an earpiece while driving 42mph in the far left lane?
Do you think you're creative because you write whitepapers about cabling...for the government?
Do you talk incessantly about the weather?
Do you shop at K-Mart and exclaim out loud about the wonderful bargains?
Do you think the floating Wal-Mart smiley is "cute?"
Do you sound like Fran Drescher?
Have you ever gotten into a non-ironic debate about who is a "better artist," Christina or Britney?
Do you think The OC is the best show on TV?
Do you have trouble opening beer bottles with corkscrews?
Have you ever made anything Martha Stewart suggested (outside of prison)?

If you answered yes to any of the above...god, please get help. And also, listen, you wretched hairless little happy parcel of herd: You are the antithesis of free will. Also, you have very poor taste, and your friends should mock you in public. They may actually already be mocking you in public, but you just aren't getting it.

The Blunt Instrument Mascot...because deep down, we're all very nice people.

AND NO, YOU CANNOT WRITE FOR BLUNT INSTRUMENT, DAMMIT!

Which way to Norway?

2005-04-29T21:58:00.000-05:00

Norwegian Court Convicts First Woman for Rape - Yahoo! News

Before you plan your Scandanavian jaunt, THIS very well may have been the defendant!

Yowsa! Can you imagine being the plaintiff in this case? Talk about capitalizing on the system. He was the recipient of an effortless blow job AND got PAID for it.

World's first Hindu theme park

2005-04-28T15:14:00.000-05:00

Check out that tag line! "Based on T.V. Serials!" Whooo! That means QUALITY!

Thanks, Shripal, for bringing this one to us.

Wow, what can I say? A Hindu theme park?

"The aim of the 25 acre park, called Gangadham, is to recreate great moments in Hindu mythology through hi-tech rides, an animated mythological museum, a "temple city", food courts and a sound and light show. "

"People come to take a bath on the bank of the Ganga river because it is a Hindu belief that this cleanses a person...But after they take a bath there is nowhere for the pilgrims to go to learn about Hindu stories."

This one conjures up all sorts of hilarity in my mind. Gather the kids round and treat 'em to laddoo-flavored (sorry, I mean "flavoured") sno-cones, and some awesome readings from the Upanishads!

Seriously, if Six Flags Over Jesus can fly, there's no reason why desis should suddenly try and be more tasteful about their religions. I can't wait until Osama plans "MuslimWorld" or the Dalai Lama gets crackin' on "Buddhistland."

Where the Hell is My Valentine?

2005-04-28T03:39:00.000-05:00

"...Guess what I'm reaching for?....and no, it's not for a career..."

Anyone know what happened to Scotty V?....I was at work, and it hit me that I was unaware as to his whereabouts...

Please help...

Rasika Mathur takes lead in "Ankur's Friend Who Has Been in the Closest Proximity to Pam Anderson's Mammaries"

2005-04-20T19:46:00.000-05:00

What, you wanted a picture of Pam Andersen's tits or something?

(Sorry Jeff, but you sitting at the next table at a club in LA is no longer in the lead)...

So B.I. Readers - Take a moment to watch "Stacked" tonight...Rasika's dad and my dad are buddies who go way, way back...she makes her sitcom debut tonight on FOX...I've spent 14 years trying to get close to PaM's MaMs, and tonight I live vicariously through Rasika...

I've included her note below...Visit http://www.rasikamathur.com if you require more...

From: Rasika
To: Ank G

This Week, Y'all! Don't blink, because this Wednesday, you can see Rasika on
Pamela Anderson's brand new comedy, Stacked! Only on FOX! Check your local
listings and shit, but I'm pretty sure it comes on before American Idol :-)

So that's 8:30pm-PST

And that's 7:30pm-CST

And so that's ... not sure-EST!

{Editor's Note: Rasika, that's 8:30 EST}

I appear in the first 5 minutes of the episode, so dinner can wait! I get a
close-up and one line! Actually, three words! Well, not even! More like two
words and an article! And my dad just told me this morning that for this
week's show, my bit appears in the weekly promo! So once you see it, you can
scream and shout 'Oh my God! That Indian girl across from Pamela Anderson's
chest was Rasika!'

Check it out: http://www.tvguide.com/listings/index.asp? For the byline and
storyline of the 2nd episode. When you make it into TV Guide, that's when
you've truly made it!

The show also stars Christopher Lloyd! And tons more Starbucks-bookworm'
lovin' humor!

Also, East Coasters-look for me in a commercial for PNC Bank! I think I
sound off to a blue microphone about ATM fees! I think I get in one question
and a dangling participle.

Feel free to write me back with your news! :-)

Love,
Rasika

Sorry, no boobies here. Move along, move along.

Better Luck Next Time...

2005-04-18T17:42:00.000-05:00

Salil, sorry to report that Jody doesn't have anything for you - let's try again when you learn to collate... ;)

From: F****, J.
Sent: Sunday, April 17, 2005 11:02 PM
To: Gopal, Ankur
Subject: Salil Maniktahla

Dear Ankur,

As a follow up to a note you received from our Employee Referral team, I specifically reviewed your referral's resume against open opportunities and unfortunately there is not a suitable role which matches their skills at this time. Please feel free to review the open profiles on the U.S. Job Posting database and suggest a specific role that you feel is a best match for your referral. Should you find an appropriate role for your referral in these databases, please let us know, and we would be more than happy to consider your referral's resume for further consideration.

Regards,

Jenny F*****
Recruiting -- D & K Capability Group
*********, St. Petersburg, Florida
octel *********
direct *********
Fax *********
AIM: *********

Both Forrest and I are so Proud....

2005-04-12T13:23:00.000-05:00

Ladies, these eggs cost me $2.19...so I've still got $47.81 left to splurge at Wal-Mart. Speaking of eggs, can I get yours over-easy?

...no, not Whitaker (Deacons for Defense, Good Morning Vietnam, North & South, Phone Booth), not Landis (Cheaper By the Dozen), and not Frederic (the army surplus store clerk in Falling Down)...but we're talking GUMP...

In true "stupid is as stupid does" form, my little brother broke hearts and manipulated minds while winning his 17th consecutive Table Tennis Tournament...

The following email is a note he sent out to the entire Student Body in lieu of a post-tournament press conference...

From: Shank G
Subject: a message from The Ping Pong Tournament Champion!

The rumors are true. I won the much heated KWC Ping-Pong tournament.

Because I was not allowed to hold a press conference after my stunning
victories, I thought I would share my thoughts with the student body
regarding my championship.

First and foremost I would like to thank God for blessing me with the
talent that got me where I am today. My lucious topspin forehand and my
supple backhand slice cuts through the air like a pelican swooping for
its prey.

I would also like to dedicate my win to my athletic trainer, one Mr.
Mario Boetzenaelli. You see, I have spent many a year overseas in Italy
training in their style they call Muasho-Peeroalagna - a passive
aggressive approach to the game of ping pong which I admire.

I will put my winnings to great use. The $50 gift card for Wal-Mart
will not be used in vain. I will donate half of my earnings to a Ping
Pong charity called "Table Tennis for Troubled Toddlers" and the other
half will be invested.

With that said, I have attached some pictures of myself and my paddle.
I hope you enjoy looking at them as much as I had making them.

Thank you all so much for your kind words and support. It definitely
does not go unnoticed. Take care, have a pleasant tomorrow, and
remember: An escalator can never break. It can only become stairs. You
would never seen an "Escalator Temporarily Out Of Order" sign, just "Escalator
Temporarily Stairs - Sorry for the convenience."

Much love to everyone who participated in the tourney. Cheers.

--Shank--

From the Blunt Instrument Mailbox...

2005-04-10T02:22:00.000-05:00

Not just anyone can use a computer.

We here at the BI really get to see the shinest part of the dullest part of you, the fucking cretins of the world. I mean, you guys are just the cream of the goddamn crop, since you're not just idiots, you're idiots with computers, and not only that, but you've discovered blogs and learned to surf the interweb and make email dooky and pick your nose and rub your eye and complain about how the conjunctivitis itches and shit.

But now and again, you manage to surprise me. And no, it's never with your intelligence.

Consider the following, taken verbatim from our mailbag. I have no idea what it means.

jason to me

Mar 22

I hizzate when fuckholes write blizz-ack and fucking poseur with us homes.Bitchez.You'll forgive me should I have the wrong idea.
"We will have to content ourselves with a glance at the balance sheet, which is possible for us to tally today now that their fate is known: in countries with liberal or advanced liberal management, the struggles and their instruments have been transformed into regulators of the system; in communist countries, the totalising model and its totalitarian effect have made a comeback in the name of Marxism itself, and the struggles in question have simply been deprived of the right to exist. Everywhere, the Critique of political economy (the subtitle of Marx's Capital) and its correlate, the critique of alienated society, are used in one way or another as aids in programming the system."

Lyotard

Boy howdy, that Jason sure is one smart guy. I mean, he only made totally awesomely complete and utter sense, and shouldn't be institutionalized immediately. Hey Jason, here's a newsflash: remove the "Lyo-" from the attribution in your quote, and it'll be far more accurate. Because I know good ol' Jean-Francois wouldn't want his quote at the end of your email.

Anyway, if this is spam, or a message from Jesus or aliens or whatever, please understand: not only do I not care, but also...you are fucking stupid.

Let's Try this Again: BI's SECOND Photo Caption Contest (involving dogs)

2005-04-07T09:13:00.000-05:00

Concessionaires at RFK Stadium still have to work out a few kinks before the Washington Nationals first ever home game next week.

..."You Might have Chronic Acne, but at Least People Look at you on the Street!

2005-04-06T17:48:00.000-05:00

The Illini came so close to the dream season, but hey!...At least Tendulkar and Dhoni combined for over 200 runs against Pakistan!

My Illini came so close - and what a great ride the season was...the loss hurt - especially when you were as close to the court as I was...seeing fouls on Sean May not called, seeing touch fouls that fouled out James Augustine in 9 minutes (you can see my disappontment in the photo - 2 minutes after the game)...

But nothing heals pain better than a little laugh and a little idiocy...and I thank my fellow U of I grad Nitin for that...

Now - nothing against cricket - I root for India and know the scores and what not...I am not the hugest fan, and it's hard to watch the games without 4 satellites on your roof...but, the day after the road trip to St. Louis, the day after the loss, the hurt, the pain....this was what Nimit threw at me...

me: they are rebroadcasting the game on ESPN classic on Saturday
Nimit M: ah i see
Nimit M: thats one game i don't want to watch again :P
me: yep
Nimit M: so close man
me: yep
Nimit M: damn, only if luther had hit one of those threes
me: still stings, but a great season
Nimit M: yeah...it didn't sink into me until this morning actually
me: same here - I'm in a bad funk...
Nimit M: though india kicked some serious ass in cricket last night, so that was positive
Nimit M: but still what a crock of a ending. still an amazing season though, at least we made it to the final game
me: India? cricket?
me: hahaha
me: Nimit, that was hilarious
Nimit M: why?
me: the sting of the Illini loss left me for a moment ;)
Nimit M: hahaha, well it did help me cope
Nimit M: so i'm just offering what i got ;)
me: fair enough
me: that's like me saying....
me: ...I just had my meat and two veg cut off...but I *did* save 15% on car insurance..."
Nimit M: hahahaha
Nimit M:i was wondering what you'd come up with
Nimit M:good one

Something hokie, here

2005-04-06T12:46:00.000-05:00

Apparently, Christmas cheer isn't the only thing he's been spreading lately.

Ron Mexico has to be the coolest name in the whole wide world.

I now want to get a Falcons jersey with "Mexico" on the back. I'll pass on the Herpes, tho'.

And the #1 Pick of the 2001 NFL Draft is...

The Turd Burgler

2005-04-01T18:50:00.000-05:00

It's called "Brown Gold."

This guy's friends are never going to let him live this down. I'm not sure a life of crime is really right for him. Then again, I'm not sure anything's really right for him.

Happy "Get Seriously Abused" Day

2005-04-01T13:27:00.000-05:00

Never leave home without your Fucking Moron Pass on April Fool's Day.

Happy April 1st. I hope our visitors today were not utterly flummoxed by the number of websites playing practical jokes on their visitors. I mean, that didn't get old in like 1994 or anything.

Since April Fool's Day is a day totally at odds with the stated mission of this site, it seems as though we should say or do something to help you go about your daily routine of being fucking stupid, rather than simply mocking you for it. You twat.

So I've compiled a list of things you can do to help you ring in the day with a rousing bout of idiocy at someone else's expense!

10. Call up a friend and tell them how sorry you are to hear they got fired. Pretend to be surprised that they hadn't heard about it yet, and hang up quickly.

9. Do what Vijay did to me this morning. He left me a voicemail: "Hey man, I was walking through the parking lot and I saw your car. It looks like someone slashed your tires, kicked your door in, and smashed your tail-lights. Call me when you get this!"

I hate my roommate. He got me with that one.

8. Sign someone you hate up for the nastiest porn you can find. I'm talking about a subscription to "Loose Older Transsexual Tits and Kneecaps" or something like that.

7. Go around the office and tell people that your supervisor said for them to stop by at 4:30pm for a "quick meeting." Do this with like 30 people. Then go home.

6. What I did last night: some cheeseball fatass bought Sun a bunch of roses. When she went to the restroom, she asked me to hold them. I went up to various tables and became the pushy flower guy with the thick accent: "You want flower for beautiful friend? Yes? Buy flower. Your friend, she is beautiful. Why no? Buy!"

When I'd get tired of hearing them say "no" enough times, I'd say, "oh, ok. Well, I'll catch y'all later then. Take it easy!"

5. Ask your admin to find you a box of "double-sided transparencies." When she comes back with normal ones, get mad and yell. "NO! I SAID DOUBLE-SIDED! DUH!!!" Then throw them in the air in frustration.

4. Grape jelly in the coffee machine.

3. Advertise your supervisor's job on craigslist. Put his or her phone number as the contact person.

2. Sprinkle salt into your own hair. Stand behind a coworker while he or she is working and lean forward and start talking about how much your scalp itches. Make sure some flakes fall all over their neck.

1. In highschool this one was legendary: a friend walked into his buddy's place with a hot-water bottle tucked into the sleeve of his jacket, filled with chunky vegetable soup. He kept complaining about he wasn't feeling well and how his stomach wasn't doing too hot. At eactly the right moment, he leaned forward and "puked" all over the counter. His friend immediately grabbed a spoon and began lapping up the soup from the counter. My buddy's parents' had to leave the kitchen, and supposedly his mom threw up in the bathroom herself.

Owned

2005-03-31T15:29:00.000-05:00

Nate performs his Dharma by helping up Gregg.

A Week of Kindness Blog: Laura K. Krishna is a Plagiarist.

Thanks Molly for this nugget. Hysterical. For "blunting this chick," This guy Nate is my hero.

Well, at least one of them now. Read the initial link and then all of the fallout afterwards. This guy has captured the EXACT reason you all come over to Blunt Instrument.

This ties in with Salil's Monument of Stupidity, really. Nate shoulda just written a paper about how the Taj Mahal (without any name changes) is a tribute to the the chef hat Ram wore while making a feast for the Ewoks after 14 years of fasting in the forest of Endor.

The Forecast Calls for You to Shut the Fuck Up!

2005-03-31T15:25:00.000-05:00

Goddamn This is Fascinating!

While Salil's post about his torturous work place is still fresh, I'd like to tell you a little bit about the fuckers who bring misery to my work week. This is basically what I refer to as a "piggyback blunt," which is a post that is more or less a really long comment for a previous blunt. Where I'm employed there's not much incompetence or stupidity, or even annoying voices. What there is is a complete lack of individuality, and more disturbingly, gratuitous discussions about the weather. "Hey Ace, chill," you'd say. "That's not as bad as hating what you do, getting paid next to nothing, and putting up with incompetence." And THAT'S where you'd be wrong, like Hitler wrong! And don't ever call me "Ace."

Now imagine being subjected to the exact same boring conversations, by the exact same cast of dull-witted fools, every day for 2 years. It's subtle, but it has produced such intense hate inside me. I feel soulless and a step, if that, away from Samuel Jackson-like rage. My sanity hanging by a thread, I did what most people would do; I started interviewing for other jobs. It was either that or kill them all. Don't think I hadn't considered the latter. I think you'll better understand my pain if I explain a bit more about the cast of characters I work with. Of course their names have been changed for my protection. Come to think of it, I shouldn't be using "vijay" on this blog either. From here on I will blunt under the alias, Baron Von Awesome. Please read The Baron below as he explains why homicide may sometimes be justified.

First, there's "Joy." Joy is our office librarian. This bitch has apparently spent numerous years mastering the perfect combination of awkward behavior and perkiness needed to annoy the ever-living fuck out of me! I commend her for her level of commitment in making my life hell. Joy has a standard remark for every possible change in weather. And these remarks don't change, not even a bit. I don't understand why it is necessary for her to constantly corner me with this shit, but day by day I have developed an enormous amount of disdain for this woman. What amazes me about her is that she cannot see the blatant apathy in my eyes as she's speaking. One time, I went so far as to say, "I don't really like talking about the weather." To which she replies, "oh I wouldn't either the way it's been the last couple of weeks." She then proceeds to describe the climate the past few weeks and let's me know that it may rain today, leaving me with her staple rain remark, "hope you brought your umbrella cause it's gonna rain cats and dogs later." About 5 minutes afterwards, I daydreamed about it raining, but instead of cats and dogs it was raining Joy's limbs; I smiled to myself like a baby being rocked to sleep.

Though Joy is a pain, this next guy is step below chemo. Let's call him Mark. Why Mark? Because that name is about as interesting and original as he is. Mark is a heavy-set fellow who is treated like a god because he always knows the extended forecast. Whenever someone in the office needs to know about the weather to come, "ask Mark!" This asshole normally follows Joy and chimes in with, "you know, later this week it's supposed to.............; that's just what I heard." Following this statement, the rest of the office oooohhs and ahhhhs like he just conjured LeBron James out of his ass. They then chat about how bewildering it is that Mark always knows the weather 5 days from now. The entire 8th floor refers to him as "The Office Meteorologist." I tried referring to him as "The Office Fat Fucker Who Clicks on the 5-day Forecast on Yahoo Weather"; it never caught on. Apparently, my co-workers prefer to continue believing that Chubs has some kind of Dopplar Radar System operating out of his cubicle, which is quite a feat; way to go, Nostradumbass!

Finally, we come to the "Forecast Groupies." They are a pack of 3 or 4 girls whose combined brain power is less than that of any office supply. I've vacuumed pieces of lint and dingleberries off my bathroom rug with more personality. These whores are the primary oooohhers and ahhhhers mentioned earlier. They'll practically sleep with you if you give them a weather update. I guess it requires a doctor to read a newspaper, watch the TV, get on the net, or LOOK OUT A FUCKING WINDOW! Everyday, they wait for Prophets Joy and Mark to tell them the future so they can make their lunch plans. One day, after hearing the prophecy, they asked me if I wanted to join them for a walk during lunch. I said no and began praying that a midday drunk driver would hit them; they returned safely. God is not on my side.

I hope all this gives you a better idea about what I endure daily. I would really like to leave this place. And I may be doing so soon, as I was recently offered another job. However, "the weather channel" has asked what it would take for me to stay, as they plan on making a counter offer. I told them it would take at least a 15% raise and a written statement from everyone to never discuss the weather in my presence. They came back with 12% raise and an agreement not to talk about cyclones, snow, drizzle, veering winds, cold-air funnels, and humidity. I don't think so bitch! That still left sleet, warm currents, rain, heat, thunderstorms, temperate zones, cloud cover, hurricanes, tornados, squalls, staccato lightning storms, and possible flooding. So I guess chances are I will be gone before too long, and they can go on talking about their weather. Anyway, some day it will rain on their parade. And when it does I'll be happy knowing I'm not there to talk about it.

Guest Blog: Nathan - The Whole Trailer Shook...

2005-03-30T21:46:00.000-05:00

For Christ's Sake Already, Git 'Er Done!

Hello All - Nathan here. I'm a friend of Salil's in Memphis.

You'd think that because I live where I do, I would've become innoculated by the day-to-day white-trash cracker shit with which I routinely come in contact. And to a certain extent, I have been. I mean, you can't be white & live in TN & not become at least somewhat impervious.

However, it's stuff like this that really gives me pause.

Monumental Stupidity

2005-03-29T14:01:00.000-05:00

Oh yeah, that's some Hindu architecture.

Special thanks to Apul and Anna from Sepia Mutiny for blogging this one.

The Hindustan Times reports, "BJP leader Vinay Katiyar on Wednesday claimed the Taj Mahal in Agra was actually a Shiva temple built by Raja Jai Singh and and named 'Tejo Mai Mahal' "(and yes, I know the real reason for why he said it. But it's still stupid as shit, and being stupid to combat stupidity...well, that's what Blunt Instrument is all about).

But did you know how many other monuments and landmarks around us were actually built for other purposes by other people entirely? Read on. Inquiring minds want to know, and all that shit.

For instance, did you know:

A side-by-side comparo of the actual existing Washington Monument vs. the way it was intended, even on a cold winter day.

The Washington Monument was actually not created for George Washington, but rather for George Washington Carver, famous African-American chemist? It was also supposed to be black, and quite a bit taller.

"Crap, where did I hang my fedora?"

The great "moai" statues of Easter Island were actually meant to serve as hat-mannequins for a race of obscenely-large-headed people who went extinct after a game of tag-football gone hideously awry?

"M-I-C!!! K-E-Y!!! M-O-U-S-E!"

The Statue of Liberty was actually designed not by Bartholdi, as some would have it, but by Walt Disney as a prop for a movie about very serious and tall blue pyromaniac women in nightgowns...and the men who love them. Lady Liberty originally had a huge smile on her face, until Britney outgrew the Mouseketeers.

These are actually not boobs at all, but a power plant in San Onofre, CA.

I just put this picture in here for fun.

There are no spics on the right side of this picture.

The Great Wall of China was the world's first attempt at a gated community? It kept all the dotheads, fags, wops, niggers, kikes, crackers, and camel-jockeys away from the mandarins' zero-lot, circular-driveway, gaslamp-lit new developments. It was so effective that it's been emulated by Texas, East Germany, and Israel.

Well, that's all I've got today. Wasn't that informative? And here you thought people just did things for simple reasons. But truth is far more retarded than fiction, isn't it?

A Change of Policy

2005-03-25T10:12:00.000-05:00

"I said my niggaz don't dance, we jus' pull up our pants, now lean BACK, lean BACK."

Today I am dispensing with my existing policy of not blogging about work, no matter how stupid it gets or how much material there is. I work for the federal government, and while it's notoriously difficult to get fired from the government, it's not impossible, so why risk it?

But today...I have to change all that. Because, you see, on Monday I turned in my two weeks' notice. And since I'm outta this joint in 5 days, I don't really know if there's any risk or issue with someone stumbling onto Blunt Instrument now.

So what the hell. Caution to the wind. Because I just can't hold this shit in any longer.

First, a bit of background. I am the only I.T. person in a sea of economists at work. The economists seem to like me just fine; I think I do a pretty good job of helping them get their work done. Management, on the other hand, has had it in for me since this one crazy bitch tattled on me to our Director last year, saying I was "running an enterprise" from my cubicle.

I wasn't running any "enterprise." I was elected President of an all-volunteer non-profit, and I made the mistake of making phone calls relating to that from my work phone. Fine, I should have known better, and I quickly created a hard divide between work / work property and other / personal / non-work time or efforts. But not before I got chastised, pulled in front of an ethics committee (yes, that's right) and moved from my cubicle to a cubicle just outside my director's office.

And the worst? I was now reporting to a woman who is basically the office manager, and oversees the admins. But see, I am not an admin. I'm an I.T. guy. So she has / had no idea what I do, or what anything I.T. related means. In fact, I am reporting to a lady who asked me if Deloitte & Touche is a lawfirm.

To make matters even worse, she sounds like Fran Drescher crossed with Janice on "Friends," but with the volume turned up to 11. It's that bad. If you'd like to hear how bad she is, and how deranged and stupid she is, here are some files I recorded surreptitiously on my PDA from a fucking retarded meeting (that no sane human who holds a high-school degree should ever have had to sit through) involving copying machine codes, fax machine phone numbers and other stupid, stupid shit that had me literally (and silently) banging my head against the table after just 5 minutes.

(note: I am not speaking in these files. The male voice is a really nice elderly gentleman we work with, who is also an admin. During this meeting I was busy fiddling with my PDA, trying not to stab myself in the eye with my stylus).

File 1
File 2
File 3
File 4
File 5
File 6
File 7
File 8
File 9

I actively challenge anyone to listen to all of these, one after the next, and not immediately start fantasizing about suicide.

At any rate, that's some background on my supervisor. She's not bright, she's not easy-to-listen-to, and she also (I just found out this interesting nugget of information, which is quite enlightening) snorts antihistamines every 30 minutes. For like, the last 20 years. So basically she's a speed-freak, which explains her inability to understand anything more complicated than Dr. Suess books, coupled with this manic, frantic, utterly neurotic "goddammit-I-am-right-and-you-should-listen-to-me" attitude. And oh yes, she blows her nose every 30 seconds.

It all kind of quietly came to a head yesterday when this fucking retarded workgroup I'm chairing decided to assign me more work, even though they know I won't be around by the end of next week. I decided that rather than make waves or a big fuss, I'd just throw together the presentation as fast as possible and try and wrap up any loose ends now so that whoever inherited this work would not curse my name. During the course of that meeting, my supervisor repeatedly said the following (or words to this effect): "You know, this is all great, but I think we should focus...really focus... on the who, what, why, when, where, and how of it all."

Yeah, it didn't really make much sense to anyone in the room. She said that at least 3 times in the meeting. We all politely ignored her like you'd ignore a 4 year-old pulling down his pants and playing with himself in front of company. Some things it's best not to remark on.

At any rate, after the meeting, I throw together this crappy little presentation. It really won't make a lot of sense to anyone not involved in the workgroup. It's about how to create these "key topics" pages on our website, with a little visual help for what we envision. Very mundane. The presentation is for our division directors, too...these people are smart and have some common sense, so going overboard on explanation is kind of counterproductive. Not that the average government employee will ever get that concept.

Of course, the first person to offer me feedback on my emailed first draft is my supervisor. Here is her email, verbatim.

Hi Jay, thanks for doing this so quickly.
I think the briefing title is something like NCEE's Website-Next steps
1st point-- when we last briefed NCEE on the Website, we discussed the topics page-- Please put in a sentence or two on what info, why the info, how we want the info, and when we want it. You already have a lot of this in there but I think it needs some refining. Then provide the definition of major items, as discussed in our meeting today using Alan's suggestion. Please do another cut on this assuming they don't remember or know as much as you do. I don't know how the others feel. You may want to wait for their feedback.
02 5xx-2xxx

Note a few things. First, what she is asking for is already in the presentation: who, what, when, how. Also, the definition she asks for is in there, as well. And finally, she doesn't actually get her own phone number right at the end. She leaves off the first digit of the area code. Never mind that she works right around the corner from me, and I know her phone number by heart. She's just that stupid. Or maybe high.

So I had to reply. Because I just don't give a shit anymore.

The definition of "major items" is on the 4th slide, 2nd bullet point.
I'm not sure what you mean by "what info, why the info, how we want the info, and when we want it."
Feel free to tell me what you mean, who you mean, why you mean it, how you mean it, and when you mean it, though.

She never replied back to me. But I am anxiously awaiting the other shoe to drop. Mainly so I'll have something else good to blog about next week. :-)

The Life of Brian

2005-03-24T11:31:00.000-05:00

For some of you who read my last post (anyone? anyone?) about former roomie, JP, you may have been wondering what ever became of our other former housemate, Brian.

Here is an update on his life, in his words, as he's taken his circus cross country from Atlanta to LA. Thanks to Trock another of the former housemates for providing the visual accompaniments:

--- Original Message ---
From: Brian
Date: Wed, 23 Mar 2005 09:02:46 -0800

As most of you know, I now live in a 2 bedroom/ 2 bath apartment

in Marina Del Rey until June. Sometimes my boss will utilize the other room for co-workers in town and occasionally for friends of his. He's my neighbor and the place is nice, so I don't mind.

On the other hand, sometimes things go over the line. This story is one such incident...

Imagine Guns n' Roses partying during their Appetitie For Destruction tour in 87'.

That's what weekends are like when the owners friends are in town. It's crazy.
This weekend, a 43 year old hairdresser (friend of bosses wife) was visiting and he stayed at my apartment.

I didn't say peep about Friday or Saturday nights binging, but Monday night he came in about 3AM and started making a ton of noise in the kitchen.

By 5:45AM I stormed into the kitchen to beat this guys ass.

He had been coked up for 3 days straight and I was through with it.

When I got into the kitchen, I realized somebody must have given this guy Angel Dust or something.

It was like Alice In Wonderland exploded in my kitchen.

Every pot and pan had been taken out of the cupboards and was on the floor. There was coffee everywhere and coffee grounds too.

(By the way, this is all my food he was thrashing) There was a tin of Sour Cream in the coffee pot, two mugs in the icebox, a tv remote in the Sargento Shredded Cheese package! There was something that had boiled over all over the stove but the stove irons were in the living room. He told me he thought the boiling water was a toaster oven and he was trying to toast muffin mix.
He had taken out my frozen pizza and was using it as a cutting board to try to cut into my frozen chicken nuggets which were everywhere.

He was biting into a frozen burrito, (which he thought was cooked), and he asked me where the sour cream was when he saw me. I said "it's in the coffee pot".

Oh, one last thing, he was wearing nothing but thong underwear.

I'm not making this shit up. If I would have had a pumpkin in the house, he would have been wearing it as a helmet.

A 43 year old bald man in thong underwear managed to trash my entire kitchen. The story of what had gotten him to that point is almost as stupid as this one, but I'll save it for another time.

Just another Monday night bender I guess....

Brian

"Too Bad."

2005-03-23T12:20:00.000-05:00

It's all so worth it. It really is.

So a serious post for a change, because I saw this article and I want to scream.

As an avid motorcycle rider, this really caught my attention. We motorcycle riders tend to fall into two camps: the militant and slightly demonic "I am a biker who will put the loudest pipes on my bike possible and dress in crimson, yellow, blue, and green so that you must notice me when I blast past you at 145mph while tearing a wheelie and lane-splitting," or else us...the other, saner riders who don't want to attract undue attention because we know we share the road with big steel SUVs that suffer from the same exact road rage we do, but are in a better position to crush us.

But the safer riders are getting punished for what the stupid ones do.

First, an update on motorcycling. Whether you know it or like it, it affects you, the non-motorcycling public, because you share roads with us. I own a car and a motorcycle, and I can attest that I am about 10,000 times more aware than the average driver of approaching motorcyclists since I started street-riding at the age of 22. An accident that would be considered a "fender-bender" in an automobile can be lethal to a motorcyclist. I'm assuming that you, as a reasonably-sane person, do not want to kill someone on a motorcycle any more than you want to kill someone in a car or on foot. If you do, you have your own set of issues that needs to be dealt with, and I'm sure I can round up some volunteers with lead pipes to help you straighten them out. To help you understand how you are a part of motorcycling, consider this: in the year 2000 over 50 percent of all motorcycles involved in fatal crashes collided with another motor vehicle in transit. In two-vehicle crashes, 76 percent of motorcycles involved were impacted in the front, and only 5 percent were rear-ended. Of these crashes, 35 percent (459) of the other vehicles were turning left while the motorcyclist was traveling straight, passing, or overtaking the vehicle. In 25 percent (328) of the cases, both the motorcycle and the other vehicle were traveling straight.

So that's how cars and motorcycles tend to interact with each other. Big slow heavy thing meets small light fast thing. Guess which one wins?

I'm going to head off the "well, why the fuck do you ride, then?" and "Aha, so you admit motorcycles are inherently unsafe!" idiocy right now. If guns don't kill people, then neither do motorcycles, fucknut (not that I ever bought that argument). No, motorcycles rarely kill anyone but their owners, unlike handguns. Nor is the sport inherently unsafe. A sizeable percentage of people who get into accidents on motorcycles are not experienced riders. Nor are they wearing proper protective gear.

Consider some of the following figures from that same 2000 Deptartment of Transportation survey that I quoted from earlier:

27 percent of all fatally-injured motorcycle operators in the US in 2000 were intoxicated. An additional 11 percent had lower alcohol levels. The intoxication rate was highest for fatally injured motorcycle operators between 40 and 44 (42 percent), followed by ages 35 to 39 (39 percent) and ages 45 to 49 (34 percent). 49 percent of young motorcyclist who were fatally injured in motorcycle accidents were not wearing helmets at the time of the crash. 28 percent of young motorcycle drivers involved in fatal crashes were either unlicensed or driving with an invalid license at the time of the crash.

Survival of the fittest in action. Darwin would be proud, provided he wasn't driving nearby.

That draws a much clearer picture of the idiocy that surrounds motorcycling and motorcyclists. If you drink and do not wear a helmet or other protective gear, and you climb on a motorcycle, you are risking death or serious injury. But the same holds true for cars, too! Motorcycles are highly-responsive and performance-oriented machines and thus tend to exaggerate the effects of being a dimwit, but often allow the quick-thinking and the careful to survive. You could say the same for Ferrari-owners and F-16 pilots, too.

For me, there is simply no earthbound joy like winding up the throttle of a well-engineered sport bike on a twisty back road and feeling the wind in the company of some like-minded friends. It begins and ends with that sensation. If you're never felt it, you'll never understand. Ride, then speak about whether it should be allowed. To the millions of us who love it, there's no going back.

But this is not the perception of a safety-minded conservative public. "Why do something so dangerous?" and "I would never do that" are comments I hear all the time. Others go something like, "You know we call them donor-cycles in the ER," and "I thought you were smarter than that." And this is the same kind of thinking this nimrod state trooper had, too. If a 19-year old on a motorcycle was involved in a serious accident, that's a bad time to start pointing fingers, especially if you're sitting behind a desk answering a phone and dispatching cars. Even assuming that this kid was acting like a moron, popping wheelies on a stolen bike and various cops and troopers reported him as a jackass before he got into an accident...that still does not excuse this trooper's conduct.

"Too bad?" Too bad that a kid lost his life for climbing on a motorcycle? Too bad that his parents lost their son? Too bad that he wasn't wearing good gear, or wasn't a trained rider? Yeah, too bad. Too fucking bad.

More like "too bad" this asshat cop was ever allowed to deal with the public. Too bad people can't seem to understand that kicking a person when they're down is just the most fucking weak thing. The tragedy is that a public servant could ever become so jaded to death and loss that he would dare to respond to a caller so caustically and then HANG UP THE PHONE.

Can you believe that? "Too bad," my hairy brown ass.

Congress: We'll Address the Issues That Are Really Important to You

2005-03-21T12:45:00.000-05:00

The Showdown: This Time We Finish It.

Now that the United States Congress has shed light on the game of baseball, they will continue to show that no topic is too sticky for them by holding a congressional hearing on whether or not Lindsay Lohan's boobs are real. That's my Congress! I'm so proud that they are determined to tackle the toughest of issues in their search for the truth. It seems they've already subpoenaed Lindsay Lohan, and though we haven't heard from her, her boobs have indicated that they will comply. Also subpoenaed for that panel are Pamela Anderson, Meatloaf, and Soleil Moon Frye, of Punky Brewster and breast reduction fame. Tentatively, Congress has scheduled the hearing for the opening round of the NBA playoffs. In the meantime, the following is a transcript of how things may go down at the hearing.

Chairman Tom Davis: Miss Lohan, what are your thoughts on breast implants?

Lindsay Lohan: I think they are bad.

Chairman Davis: How would you know that?

Lindsay Lohan: I'm not here to talk about the past. I think there is a lot of negativity here. And I'm here to talk about the positive, if you'll allow me.

Chairman Davis: [exasperated] Do you think that fake boobs should be tolerated by the American public?

Lindsay Lohan: I'm not here to talk about the past. Hilary Duff is a royal bitch. And that's all I have to say.

[Rep. Mark Souder starts in]

Rep. Souder: Miss Lohan, I have watched "Parent Trap," and more recently I watched "Mean Girls." Now you can't sit there tell me that shit is natural. The American people have a right to know. I mean, a fake personaity is one thing, but we have to draw the line somewhere........I have an 11 year-old son who worships your breasts. As a matter of fact, he has a picture of them under his mattress, which he looks at every night before bedtime. What would you have me tell him?

Lindsay Lohan: I'm sorry Congressman, my lawyers have advised me not to answer that question.

[Rep. Souder now turns to Pamela Anderson]

Rep. Souder: Miss Anderson, what do you think about breast implants?

[Pamela Anderson has brought an interpreter because the members of Congress don't speak whore. After thinking for 30 minutes, Pamela Anderson finally answers]

Pamela Anderson: I never gave Tommy Lee Hepatitis.

[members of Congress then realize they would've had better luck subpoenaing Buzz Lightyear for relevant information]

Chairman Davis: [turning back to Lindsay Lohan] Miss Lohan, at this time, I'm afraid the members of this committee have no choice but to ask you to take off your shirt.

[Lindsay talks with her lawyer and proceeds to take off her shirt]

Chairman Davis: uh....the committee will take a five minute recess.

[committee members all run back to their private quarters, then return 5 minutes later sweaty and disheveled]

Chairman Davis: That was good. Miss Lohan, and other members of the panel, we thank you for coming. Gentlemen, I think we're done here. Committee members will reconvene next on Super Bowl Sunday for a congressional hearing on whether or not Frosted Flakes are really ggrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaattttt!

Welcome t'Bliznut Instrument, yo.

2005-03-21T11:03:00.000-05:00

You Best be Keepin' Yo' Stank Hands out my fro!

Thanks Anj, for introducing us to yet another Google inspired time suck, Gizoogle.com.

Sounds perfect for white suburban wanna be homies looking for some place to find street cred (and sadly, which will eventually get them their ass capped if they think this is where they'll find it.)

Of course, this spurred me to immediately Gizoogle our very own BI. However, if you want more than just a summary, check out the tried and true, Rinkworks Dialectizer.

Thanks to Gizoogle, I have new found street cred, and some bona fide Homies of my very own!

Hours of fun for the whole family! Just copy n’ paste any text, or better yet, an entire URL to see how Snoop Dogg or Elmer Fudd woulda posted it.

Again, I had to go with BI first!

Well, slap mah fro'!

Blunt Instrument's First Photo Caption Contest

2005-03-17T16:38:00.000-05:00

"The ability to destroy a bathrobe is insignificant next to the power of the Force."

It's St. Patrick's Day, and what better way to celebrate is there than by going out and getting shitfaced at some smoky wood-panelled "irish pub" in a stripmall near your house? I personally can't think of any, but if you do, share it with us after taking part in our St. Patty's Day Photo Caption Contest! I plan on being too drunk to really care by 6pm.

Can you top this caption? Send us your best ideas for a caption and you'll win a...well, you won't win anything much more than the recognition that you are one funny motherfucker (and a tip 'o me hat to ya, wee bairn. How's that, then?).

Funnier than Alok, Ank G, Vijay or myself.

At least today, anyway.

Have fun!

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

2005-03-17T12:37:00.000-05:00

Even though they failed to make the field of 65, the Toucans find reason to celebrate today

Rumor has it that after St. Pat ran all the rats off the island, they immigrated to Manchester. In fact, I think one of them just became the parlimentary representative for Burnage.

Heh.

Wow.

St. Patrick's Day and the first day of the NCAA Basketball Tournament. What a terrific combination. Though it must be a conundrum of sorts for Notre Dame fans. Anyway, I give myself until, oh, 2pm to be completely shit faced. Especially if the Bearcats can pull one out today.

Yeah, yeah. I don't want to hear any shit about the Illinis (31-1), Ank. They lost to an Ohio team.

JP, I Never Knew Thee

2005-03-16T18:00:00.002-05:00

"I woulda had nothing to wear for my hot date tonight, if it weren't for you JP. Thanks a ton. I'll get it back to you next week after I get it dry cleaned?"

Jay chides me for my tendency for recycling old crap, but this is THE funniest email, I’ve ever received. So “fuck you,” Jay. Besides, you posted your response to an annoying forward too.

So Nyah!

And although this thread is six years old, I honestly cannot remember receiving another Forwarded chain letter like this from my boy “JP” ever again after another former housemate of our’s, Brian set him straight the summer before we all returned to Atlanta from our respective summers away.

All of the principals who were involved with this bring it up every twelve to eighteen months or so for a renewed chuckle, but BI is the perfect opportunity for wider circulation, fr’sure.

(and let it be known for those of you who'd be wondering, that JP is now happily married....

....to a girl.)

-----Original Message-----
From: JP
Date: Monday, June 28, 1999 11:34 PM
Subject: Fwd(2): A Story to Live By: A STORY TO LIVE BY

My brother-in-law opened the bottom drawer of my sister's bureau and lifted out a tissue-wrapped package. "This," he said, "is not a slip. This is lingerie." He discarded the tissue and handed me the slip. It was exquisite; silk, handmade and trimmed with a cobweb of lace. The price tag with an astronomical figure on it was still attached.

"Jan bought this the first time we went to New York, at least 8 or 9 years ago. She never wore it. She was saving it for a special occasion. "Well, I guess this is the occasion." He took the slip from me and put it on the bed with the other clothes we were taking to the mortician. His hands lingered on the soft material for a moment, then he slammed the drawer shut and turned to me. "Don't ever save anything for a special occasion.

Every day you're alive is a special occasion." I remembered those words through the funeral and the days that followed when I helped him and my niece attend to all the sad chores that follow an unexpected death. I thought about them on the plane returning to California from the Midwestern town where my sister's family lives. I thought about all the things that she had done without realizing that they were special.

I'm still thinking about his words, and they've changed my life. I'm reading more and dusting less. I'm sitting on the deck and admiring the view without fussing about the weeds in the garden. I'm spending more time with my family and friends and less time in committee meetings.

Whenever possible, life should be a pattern of experience to savor, not endure. I'm trying to recognize these moments now and cherish them.

I'm not "saving" anything; we use our good china and crystal for every special event - such as losing a pound, getting the sink unstopped, the first camellia blossom. I wear my good blazer to the market if I like it.

My theory is if I look prosperous, I can shell out $28.49 for one bag of groceries without wincing. I'm not saving my good perfume for special parties; clerks in hardware stores and tellers in banks have noses that function as well as my party-going friends.

"Someday" and "one of these days" are losing their grip on my vocabulary. If it's worth seeing or hearing or doing, I want to see and hear and do it now. I'm not sure what my sister would've done had she known that she wouldn't be here for the tomorrow we all take for granted.

I think she would have called family members and a few close friends. She might have called a few former friends to apologize and mend fences for past squabbles. I like to think she would have gone out for a Chinese dinner, her favorite food. I'm guessing - I'll never know.

It's those little things left undone that would make me angry if I knew that my hours were limited. Angry because I put off seeing good friends whom I was going to get in touch with - someday. Angry because I hadn't written certain letters that I intended to write - one of these days. Angry and sorry that I didn't tell my husband and daughter often enough how much I truly love them.

I'm trying very hard not to put off, hold back, or save anything that would add laughter and luster to our lives. And every morning when I open my eyes, I tell myself that it is special. Every day, every minute, every breath truly is .....a gift from God.

If you've received this it is because someone cares for you. If you are too busy to take the few minutes that it would take right now to forward this to ten people, would it be the first time you didn't do that little thing that would make a difference in your relationships? I can tell you it certainly won't be the last.

Take a few minutes to send this to a few people you care about, just to let them know that you're thinking of them. May love litter your life with blessings.

JUST SEND IT!!

"You've got to dance like nobody's watching, and love like it's never going to hurt."

"People say true friends must always hold hands, but true friends don't need to hold hands because they know the other hand will always be there."

-----Original Message-----
From: Salil
Sent: Tuesday, June 29, 1999 10:26 AM
To: JP; Alok; Vee (list culled)
Subject: RE: Fwd(2): A Story to Live By

Hey JP,

Are the chicks in New York just not digging you or something?

What is up with this saccharine pap you're forwarding? Are you trying to tell us you have lingerie you've been saving for a special occasion? I'm worried.

Alok, buy soap on a rope.

-----Original Message-----
From: Vee
Sent: Tuesday, June 29, 1999 10:47 AM
To: Salil, JP, Alok; (list culled)
Subject: RE: Fwd(2): A Story to Live By

Jay,

Lay off the guy. Can't you tell he is emotionally a wreck right now and needs some TLC.

That's ok JP, some boys will always be mean. You go ahead and play with your lingerie ... and don't mind what they say about you.

Don't forget, you ARE special.

xxxooo

-----Original Message-----
From: Salil
Sent: Tuesday, June 29, 1999 10:59 AM
To: JP; Alok; Vee (list culled)
Subject: RE: Fwd(2): A Story to Live By

What's all this business about holding hands, too?!? Yeah...down there. At the end. That's right.

Scroll down there and read all that....uh-hunh.

Right. Well. So.

I tell you, it's you softy namby-pamby friends that made him like this. Take the boy out back and make him play football, dammit!

He doesn't need love. He needs a good whuppin'! Dang frilly lace dress wearin'...why, I orta...talking about slips and such...

-----Original Message-----
From: Alok
Sent: Wednesday, June 30, 1999 2:23 PM
To: Salil; JP; Vee
Cc: Adam; Trock; Brian
Subject: JP's Dirty (Victoria) Secret

Ohmygoodness!

Damn, JP. I guess I'm going to have to sleep with my doors locked when we move back to Atlanta into our house this fall.

Yie.

And here I thought all along that all of that lady's underwear you had lying around was because of your lady killin'!

I NEVER woulda imagined that you WORE that stuff.

Brian, Trock, Adam! Be afraid. Be VERY VERY afraid.

-----Original Message-----
From: Brian
To: Alok
CC: Adam, Trock, JP
Subject: JP's Dirty (Victoria) Secret
Date: Wed, 30 Jun 1999 15:55:08 -0400

JP,

I for one want to thank you for taking the time to change my life.

I've really taken to the whole part about not saving anything. Lately, if I'm sitting around and I have to take a piss, I just go. Normally I'd wait till I was about to jump in a friends pool, but now I think that might never happen, so I just wet myself whenever.

And with my girlfriend. When we argue, I could try to work it out, but we might never resolve the issue. That's why now, as soon as I'm mad, I just smack her in the chops.

I do everything now cause everyday could be my last. I beat off in public. I trip old people and the blind. I kick strangers in the nuts, egg peoples houses, defecate in phone booths, cut myself for fun, inject transmission fluid in my nutsack with a basketball pump, smoke crack, get $5 blowjobs, the whole nine yards.

I can't wait to move in with you man, we're gonna live everyday like maniacs! Incidentally, have you ever tried to put a gerbil in your ass?

I hope not.

Brian.:)

"Vanessa, That's not mine. I'm telling ya , I don't even know what that is! This sorta thing ain't my bag, baby!"

I'm Lazy Today

2005-03-14T16:51:00.000-05:00

You know it's going to be good when you see "Subject: FW: FW: RE: FW: RE RE: FWD: FW: RE: haha 2 fun-e"

My apologies, but I used up my limited originality in replying to Mitesh's idiot email forward. You want to know me better? Fine, here you go. Don't say I didn't warn you. You guys have all gotten one of these. And aren't you glad? Because now you just know everyone sooooo much better.

How sweet.

Anyway, here are my answers. On occasion, when the question was just too boring to answer, I went ahead and changed that, too. So after this, let us put this fucking email to bed once and for all.

1. Ever been so drunk you had sex with an animal or inanimate object?
No, but Tanuj has.

2. Missed work due to heavy flow / digestive "issues" / just too hungover?
I won't lie. No.

3. Set an ex on fire for amusement?
No, but I've considered it.

4. Been hurt with a sharp stick?
Yes. Luckily, they saved the eye.

5. Kept a secret?
Hell no. For instance, did you know Mitesh likes to fill his bathtub with lime jello and sit in it while mumbling, "I'm a fruit" once a month?

6. Had an imaginary friend?
Unfortunately, no. All you fuckers are real.

7. Wanted to hook up with a friend?
That's inane. Who would ever want to hook up with a friend? I prefer the anonymity of hooking up with
total strangers, like prostitutes or travelling saleswomen.

8. Had a crush on a teacher?
No, instead I orchestrated stuff like this:
http://www.flynnfiles.com/archives/american_scene2004/pagan_lesbian_teacher_marries_middleschool_girl.html

9. Ever thought an animated character was hot?
I lusted after the RoadRunner's innocence and purity of purpose.

10. Had a New Kids On the Block tape?
What an awesome question. Oh, the shame, the horror! But no, I didn't.

11. Been on stage, dancing naked on a pole?
No.

12. Favorite shampoo:
Seriously, what the fuck is that supposed to tell you? Whether I have dandruff or not? Whether I'm too lazy to buy a separate bottle of conditioner? What? Will I get recommendations from you fools on what to buy for my HAIR?

13. Soap:
Oh, holy shit. Seriously. What is this obsession with my hygiene habits?

14. Day / Night?
So now I have to exhibit a preference for day vs.night? "You know, I just hate it when the North America faces awayfrom the Sun. That's so...disrespectful."

15. Summer / Winter:
Shut...the fuck...up.

16. Lace or Satin:
Please kill yourself without further delay.

17. Fave cartoon character:
Hans Blix on Team America. Technically, he wasn't a cartoon, but if you really care that much, see my answer to#15 and #16.

18. Fave food:
Ah, typing out "favorite" in its entirety is getting difficult, huh? So much for the American work ethic.

19. "Fave" movie:
When your mom made that German scheizer video.

20. Chick flicks:
suck.

21. Love Story:
what, am I supposed to provide one? That's not even a question.

22. Comedy:
yes yes. Funny stuff, ha ha, yes, it's good. We all like it.

23. Fave Ice Cream:
Peanut Butter Fuck Yo Momma.

24. Fave Subject:
oooh, gym. I loved watching my classmates undress and take showers in slightly unhygenic conditions.

25. Fave soft drink:
It's "FAVORITE!" Type it, you nimrod! TYPE IT! Oh, and Diet Coke with a spritz of lime juice with 4 ice cubes, and two fingers of Jack Daniels.

26. "Fave" person to talk to online:
Garg. Sample conversation follows.

Garg: whats going on
me: not much. at work
Garg: hey man what else is going on
me: nothing, fucker. I just said that.
Garg: u at work?
me: yes.
Garg: i saved $3 on shoes.
me: your parents just called me to tell me how proud they are
Garg: sala kutha harami bhenchot

27. Fave word:
Oh, I dunno. How about..."fave?"

28. Wearing:
leather halter, g-string, fringed chaps.

29. Hair is:
all over my body.

32. Thinking:
how inane the original was, and how about every 5 months, this damn email comes back to me and I have to find a new way to make fun of it.

33. Listening to:
my fingernails growing.

34. Talking 2:
Why, 2Pac Shakur, of course. Or maybe 2 Live Crew. I'm2 Kool 4 Skool.

35: Cried (in the last 24 hours)?
Oh, gosh, every time I meet a pretty girl, I go home in tears.

I'm skipping ahead a bit. This shit is boring as fuck.

Do you believe in:

39. Yourself:
No, that's why I don't exist. Duh.

40. Your friends:
Yes, sadly, they all actually appear to exist. Quite a conundrum when taken with #39, isn't it?

41. Santa Clause:
you mean the movie? "The Santa Clause?" It's "Santa Claus," you fucknut.

42. Tooth Fairy:
Yes, I believe in the Tooth Fairy at the age of 32, dipshit. I also believe that babies come from storks and that Jesus will pick up Dubya in his magic flying Cadillac and together they will shoot M-16's at every evildoer and save the fucking planet. I also believe that saying whether I believe in stupid shit like the Tooth Fairy or Goldilocks and the Three Bears or whatever the fuck will lend you oodles of insight into my private burden of pain.

43. Destiny/Fate:
I think I like Destiny more than Fate. Fate is just so Greek and old. Destiny is the New Hotness.

45. Ghosts:
It's always the amusement park owner. He's such a grouch, that guy. He'll never get away with it, thanks to us meddling kids,though.

46. UFO's:
I believe that aliens speak to me through moonbeams. Thatis why I always wear a helmet made of tinfoil when I go out at night and it's not cloudy.

Guest Blog: Nina's Blind Date Stalker From Hell

2005-03-11T18:26:00.000-05:00

Nina ends her date...once and for all.

Welcome to Blunt Instrument's first guest post, courtesy of Nina. And if you want to submit your own stupid-ass story, email it to bluntinstrument@gmail.com. If it's sufficiently stupid, we'll throw it up here to better humiliate all parties involved.

Anyway, read on. I'm sure you'll be as amused as we were.

so after the first date, you realize it just ain't gonna work with him. he was completely superficial and obnoxious to the point where he insulted not only my friends but made racist jokes about the bartender (who btw, had alot more going on than my date). he actually cared where jenna bush ate dinner, and made sure that i knew it was the exact place we were at, but only after he insisted on getting a glass of "the most expensive red wine on the menu"....oh yah, did i mention he went to wharton? clearly no luv connection for me and no need for a second date...that was my feeling.

the next day, i call out of work cause i feel like ass...it may have had something to do with the alcohol from the night before or maybe I felt like pulling a ferris (as in bueller, yes). so i nyquil myself up and fall into a deep slumber. my cell phone rings but i ignore it...then my home phone rings and i awake to my date’s voice “i’m here at the hospital, i brought you some take-out...i spent 20 bucks on a cab and the food’s getting cold...no one knows where you are...hello?”

first thought was "what the fuck. he’s at my hospital? YIKES." i’ve known this guy for less than 24 hours, and he’s asking everyone and their mom for me...i’m gonna get so busted. i guess it was sorta sweet that he thought to feed me, but it creeped me out more than anything, especially since he went completely out of his way to get to me. so, i did the polite thing- thanked my date for bringing me food, prayed that he didn’t talk to anyone else in my department, had two more shots of nyquil and called it a day...

later that evening, i get a voicemail that says "i had a good time, not sure about you...but if you're not interested, don't worry about calling back...good luck"...perfect i thought...i just won't call back....he'll be okay and it's a done deal...

and then friendster informed me that i had a new message...(actual message below)

Hey......so what's the deal? You completely fliped the script on me. No callback? That's pretty whack. I am thinking two things could have happened -either you have been kidnapped and have not been able to call or you really didn't like me. I am obviously hoping for the second one to be true in relation to the first one. Hey, in the grand scheme of things I could have realllly cared less if you called or not. But, I did want to say your completely going AWOL is pretty low. Best of luck - I am sure with interpersonal skills like the ones you possess - you'll go really far.......(I hope you sense the sarcasm.....) Lastly for the record, since I have a reputation to maintain, coming to the Hospital the next day was COMPLETELY an innocent and friendly gesture with nothing more to it than that. If you were actually there you would have seen the humor in it. I guess I assumed a little more intelligence on your part than I should have..... By the way, you really don't look like your pictures. peace.

WOW...guess i missed the joke...he claims he doesn’t care yet writes this email...riiiight...i thought about all the wicked ways i could respond tohis message, but instead of giving him the pleasure, i ended up forwarding it to all my friends...hee.

the saga doesn’t quite end there...a few days later I receive yet anothermessage from my beloved that goes something like this “ I just wanted to saythat things are going really well in my life and I’m happy right now.You’re a cool person but I guess we’re different people. I still don’t get why you did what you did”.

all i can say is OMG. i guess i left a mark. i’m still trying to figureout exactly what i did so wrong...leaving high school...growing up maybe...? in any case, it made for an exciting tale...

2005-03-10T13:55:00.000-05:00

I wish I had a job in HR.

Saturday Night Feverish

2005-03-08T14:25:00.000-05:00

"This sure is a swank party, huh, guys? Thank gosh for the dress code!"

Note: the following post is pretty damn offensive. It contains concepts that are very dirty, and involves adult (or at least high-school) humor. If you are offended by the words "blow-job," "puke with chunks," or "underage," please do not read any further.

So this last weekend, A.S, A.S.' fiancee, Bab, and their friend (who I now call "Yells From Windows"), plus Steve, May, Brimful, and I all met up to go to this house party. I was something of the social center of this group, since I knew Steve, May, Bab, A.S. and dragged out Brimful (what a trooper...she knew none of these crazy fools, and hadn't even met me before).

We met at YFW's place. It was a bit awkward at first; he's a serious guy (or so I thought). I decided to remedy that by telling a stupid story about myself to break the ice. In retrospect, out of all the stupid and embarassing stories about myself, this one kind of takes the cake. It's a story that Alok loves telling. I'm realizing there's just no sense in trying to hide this one any more, because half my friends know about it, and the half that don't should understand the kind of person I really am.

It involves A.S.' older brother, Alok, and myself and this one weekend in New York in I think 1996. We went to this desi party that was open-bar from 9pm until 11pm. We are the first three people in the place so we might best optimize our intake of free boozage. We look around and decide that this is New York, we are all from out of town, and we must all agree to hook up. It was a very American Pie moment, and speaks volumes for just what sort of state we were already in.

Alok somehow gets kicked out of the party, or possibly removes himself. I am trying to chase down this one rather fetching young lass, but then her boyfriend shows up. Another girl seems interested in me, and since I'm on my 7th or 8th drink, I decide she's hot. Alok usually pipes up right around here to point out that somehow I neglected to notice she was wearing braces, for fucks' sake. I have no explanation or excuse except the aforementioned various--and free!-- drinks. But yes, in hindsight, obviously underage.

She asks me what I'm drinking. I tell her I'm drinking a Long Island. She says she wants one, too. I'm like, "Are you sure?" She is sure. I buy her one drink.

The next thing I know, we are on the top floor of this club sitting in this dimly-lit circular booth. The girl has decided to pleasure me orally in the club. I don't really mind at all. There is no one else upstairs except a bartender who is studiously polishing glasses. Various people come up to look for her. Either they are so drunk they do not notice that she is actually present in the booth, or I am so drunk that I think they do not notice she is actually in the booth. Either way, I am an asshole.

Right about this point, she moans into my lap. "Uh-oh," I think, but before I can get her head totally clear, she pukes what seems to be Campbell's Chunky Beef Stew with Real Bits of Corn and Clams right...into...my...crotch.

Gross, you say? Nasty? Warm, slightly sticky? Too much texture? Smells horrible? If you said any of that, yes, you would be correct.

To make matters worse, I was wearing nice wool pants. I think I had to throw them away later. Yeesh.

Anyway, so I wind up taking care of her. The bartender starts yelling for me to get her out. So I find her friends, and I take her to NYU med school, where the fucker who drove us wants to dump her on the floor in a common kitchen in a dorm. I force him to put her in his room in his bed (or maybe his roommate's bed, I have no idea).

Alok also fulfills his mission in some weirdly twisted way, although you'll have to let him tell it since he's married now and seems to want to stay that way.

And A.S.' brother? We found him asleep in a chair in the club. He apparently fell asleep mere minutes after our pact, and missed everything. The Third Musketeer just couldn't hold his end (or head) up.

So after telling this story, suddenly I've accomplished two things: I've not only broken the ice, but actually gone ahead and served blended Cuervo margaritas with it, and I've also removed any trace of respect anyone might have for me. Suddenly everyone is going around the room sharing retarded stories about themselves. Within 30 minutes we are abusing each other like we're old friends.

The house party was a good long drive away. Steve and I tried to make A.S.' company minivan (yes, you read that right) bounce like it's got hydraulics and spinny-rims. And on the ride over is when YFW earned that nickname. He's extremely quiet and reserved until you put two drinks in him and allow him in a moving vehicle. Then he is compelled to roll down the window and yell incomprehensibly at passerby and pedestrians. Bab said something like, "Yeah, he's always like this when you get a few into him," and A.S.' fiancee quipped, "Dude, I think he's driven past me before."

We roll into this house party like we own the place. The people there seem nice, but mostly sober. We are not. We are, shall we say, rowdy. We decide to regale the people at this party with our newly-collected stupid stories about each other (Brimful did not contribute until I'd left town, whereupon she posted the following to her blog. Wise girl). A.S. and his fiancee had a tug-of-war over one last drink, someone fell down, there was crying...the last I remember is May and I fake-salsa dancing (rather badly), then piling into A.S.' minivan again and going to Steve and May's place to drink more at 3am. Steve passed out on the carpet.

All in all, good times, good times.

Sweeping the Leg

2005-03-08T02:46:00.000-05:00

Uh...Mr. Miyagi...I said it was my leg that needed a rubdown

From: Mrs. LaRusso
Location: Ankur-San's Crib
When: Saturday, March 12, 8:00pm

20 Years ago, a young boy from the Garden State achieved Manifest Destiny by moving cross-country with only his mom, his bike, and a few "kar-ate" lessons from the local YMCA...

Once he reached Reseda, he faced normal problems that any budding young teen would expect...ostracism, love, hate, bonsai envy, and an evil white-collar karate gang...

This young man is no other than Daniel LaRusso - hero to all of us who have ever had our mom to pick us up on a date, befriended an old Asian Maintenance man, or learned the ancient art of karate by working at Home Depot...

In honor of the 20th anniversary of the Karate Kid, we will be having a screening featuring the trying times of Daniel-San, as he seeks to overcome all obstacles to start California Dreamin'...

My younger brother Shankar will act as Sargeant-at-Arms for this movie and outline the final Rules of Engagement, but house rules for this inaugural movie night are as follows:

1) Every time Daniel gets punched, you must take a sip of your drink
2) Every time Mr. Miyagi's name is mis-pronounced, sip
3) Each time Mrs. LaRusso enters a scene....drink...
4) For every wise, sage Miyagi-ism, you must raise your glass and yell "Banzai!" (then drink)
5) Whenever the word "cowahrd" is said - drink (Karate Kid II only)

Please dress appropriately for the occasion - Judo gis, movie costumes, and 80s clothes are highly encouraged - prizes and gifts will be given to those who dress the part...and for those who can answer correct trivia questions...

The curtain rises promptly at 8 for this opus...

Karate Kid 2 will follow - after that, we'll all figure out somewhere to go...

PS...I also have Karate Kid III in case we REALLY want to get crazy...

Cheeseburgers (and Catheters) in Paradise

2005-03-07T12:00:00.000-05:00

Doctor, I haven't taken a dump since 1977.

(Note: Names altered to protect the innocent. Oh, alright, you got me. I didn’t take ‘em. Who cares? Just read the story.)

Okay, so I’ve been absent for the better part of the week, here. But that doesn’t mean I’ve been absolved from witnessing idiocy. Even if this particular episode is rather minor on the audacity scale, here at BI, it’s still inexcusable and therefore, must be exposed.

Last Thursday, Eric, a coworker, and I visited the 401 Diner in Conshohocken (West Philly), after cruising the block our client was on searching for a promising looking lunch prospect.

We parked at a meter out front. Popped in a few quarters, and walked in the front door.

It was everything you’d imagine a Diner to be. A stroll back into the 50’s. A place where Chachi and Potsi would feel at home. Front counter with padded and chrome barstools. A jukebox. Burgers n’ shakes in every direction you looked. A short, stalky elderly woman with a hairnet behind a small bakery counter to the side. If it were 10 pm, you’d expect Michael Jackson to kick in the front door at any moment telling you to “Beat It.” (uh, all of a sudden, a rush of ideas have flooded into my head, but that would take this entry into a completely different direction.)

Even Ralph Malph knew his HDL/LDL ratio.

Yet, as Jim, our young waiter, asked for our order, I lapsed into obtuseness myself and asked him, “What’s good here?”

Well, duh.

In retrospect, If *I* were him, I’d have seized the moment and said something to the effect of, “Did you come here thinking you’d find an exquisite Spicy Ceviche with Yuca root, muthafucker?”

Obviously, I wouldn’t value my job very much. But then again, if you were 30, wearing a paper hat, and working tables at a Steak n’ Shake, you probably wouldn’t either.

But in *my* defense, the menu was four pages long and there were a sizeable number of options besides the usual Diner fare from Cobb Salad to Meatloaf.

However, Jim, a skinny, freckled young chap, either prized his job or isn’t the smartass that I pride myself in being. So he responded bluntly, “Whadyamean?”

Of course, since my own slip into idiocy wasn’t quite over yet, I allowed this continue, “Uh, I mean what are you guys known for?”

“I’m not the right person to ask,” Jim replied, to which I was getting all set to snap back regarding a reminder about his obvious role in this interaction. Yet, he continued on, “I’ve eaten the same thing here every day I’ve been here for five years. An order or two of Mozzarella Sticks and a Double Milk shake.” After a slight pause, he went on, “My manager has to order an extra case each week just because of me. I’ve never really tried anything else.”

Mozzarella Sticks? Every friggin day? For FIVE years?

Now, I hardly live a healthy lifestyle, myself, but this revelation was almost unfathomable to me. My mind went racing. Making modest assumptions of 1.2 orders a day and five sticks per order, that's about Eleven THOUSAND sticks of cheese.

I was dumbfounded. My mouth fell open. How come this dude looked more like Woody from TOY STORY and less like Mr. Incredible crossed with Kirstie Alley? Even more amazing, how come he hadn’t been found slumped over face first in a bowl of chili yet?

After a brief pause, I said, “Hope you know a good cardiologist.”

I looked at him with a Cheshire grin, proud of my quick retort, but it quickly dissipated when I realized he was staring at me blankly.

Nothing.

He had absolutely NO idea what I was talking about. Apparently no concept that I was visualizing his poor heart trying to propel pudding through a stirring straw by now. How can you make it to twenty years old in the 21st century America and not have the slightest idea about things like….uh, cholesterol?

Michael also got in trouble because of his fondness for "cheese sticks."

Eric and I just shook our heads and decided there was no point in wasting any more time and ordered two burgers and chocolate shakes, something we should’ve shut our mouths and done in the first place.

The next 30 minutes during the rest of our lunch went by pretty uneventfully from an idiocy perspective.

Then Jim came out with our check. “Thanks for stopping in guys. Are you guys Doctors?”

If I were Elliott Wilhem in BE COOL, I woulda just turned to him and raised my eyebrow. I doubt in reality, my expression was as dramatic, so Eric and I just looked at each other and then turned back at Jim with what was probably a slight aura of bewilderment.

Apparently he had been chewing on my quip for the past half an hour and after a brief pause, continued, “No. It’s just what you guys said before had me wondering. Is eating cheese sticks every day really bad for you?”

Iye yie yie.

If ignorance is bliss, THAT’s one ecstatic muthafucker.

If "The Rock" had been dining with us, Jim woulda gotten his ass kicked fr'sure.

New Meaning to FAT Tuesday

2005-03-07T11:59:00.000-05:00

As an aside, I came across THIS photo while Googling around for the first image on my next post. I just *had* to share this.

Temporary Leave of Absence

2005-03-04T12:45:00.000-05:00

I'm in San Francisco today through Monday, and am phone blogging, which means I won't really be blogging unless I run into a REALLY retarded situation, and want to give play-by-play updates.

From a blogging perspective, that sort of thing is pure gold. From a vacation perspective, not so much. So wish me luck in one or the other, depending on how selfish your need for entertainment is.

Oh, What Is This Happy Horseshit?

2005-03-02T17:42:00.000-05:00

Required reading for all Friendster users and Live Journal-types. Click the pic for more info.

Suddenly every freakin' Friendster has a blog? Lord God, I pray to you with the utmost sincerity that you do not allow any blogs that contain phrases like "u r" and "WOOOOOOOT" and "mah gurlz" and "peace foreva" and other inane bullshit to despoil Friendster any further.

I mean, there goes the neighborhood. Seriously.

They license the wrong things in this country. I want a state-sponsored program for people to blog, just like learning to drive.

Can't type? Can't blog. Simple as that.

Unfortunately, there is no such simple test for the parenting that allowed this to happen in the first place. Goddamn idiots who think "the maths" and the "the science" is "hokay" for enginerds and doctors, but actively discourage their kids from learning the first thing about the written or spoken word.

You can know both, dammit.

My Name is Yahoo!, Why Don't You Kill Me

2005-03-02T15:50:00.000-05:00

i'm a little lonely

almost everyone and their monkey has google set as their default home page. personally, i've always preferred yahoo. they're quite comparable as a search engine, but yahoo has had the edge, in my book, because they're much more diverse. you can make maps, check local weather, play different games, get the news, listen to music, manage your money........you name it. yahoo was kind of like the wal-mart supercenter of search engines. but today, all of that went out the window when i recently realized what a pathetic loser yahoo was. the edge just went to google.

let's assume, just for fun, that today is my birthday. now, what would you think of me if i had gotten up early this morning, and without my roommates knowing, decorated my condo with streamers, confetti, and a banner that said "happy birthday, vijay!" you'd probably think i was a disturbed loser with no friends, no life, and no prospects. that said, you can imagine my surprise when i went to yahoo this morning to find that it had adorned its own page with streamers, confetti, and a banner wishing itself a happy 10th birthday. oh my god! like, what a tool! i'm gonna go be friends with google.

in elementary school, i knew this girl named corlisa. she was so unpopular that she made this other kid, a newly dysfunctional immigrant named masoud, look like luke perry. why do i bring up corlisa? well, even she had sense enough not to trumpet her own birthday. corlisa paid my friend lamond to wish her a happy birthday during lunch and give her his cinnamon roll. eventually, the teacher found out and gave everyone in class an extra 10 minutes for afternoon recess. just imagine if the previously unpopular corlisa had come to school demanding a longer recess, telling everyone it was her birthday, and festooning our classroom with cheesy birthday ornaments. her loserdom would have reached himalayan highs. but because she had some idea about our social structure, she elevated her status and let masoud replace her as the last rung in our ladder of 4th grade popularity. poor masoud, that bastard remained there till the 7th grade when he was hit by a chevy impala and was hospitalized for weeks. take notes, yahoo. you and masoud have a lot more in common than you think.

i understand that ever since google showed up, things haven't been the same. your old friends like about.com, altavista, hotbot, excite, and ask jeeves are all hangin' out with google now. but don't stoop to celebrating your own birthday. i mean, at least pay someone to wish you a happy birthday or to hack in to decorate your site for you. lycos would've done it; i know that fucker has nothin' to do. adolf hitler could come back to life today, and lycos would be like, "hey, maybe you can come over later and we can play x-box or something and my mom can make us grilled cheese......please be my friend." even lycos is too good for you, yahoo? i mean show some self-respect goddamn it!

the worst was when i felt sorry for you and went to yahoo greetings to send you an e-card. i then noticed that all the cards that normally required a fee were free. gee, i wonder why? you're so fuckin' obvious, you desperate fool. i've had it with you. i'm sorry to do this, but we can't be friends anymore. i like you and all, but i have a reputation to uphold. just to let you know, come september, about.com, altavista, excite, and i are throwing google a "happy 7th birthday" party, and i'm sure you're not invited..........unless you get hit by an impala before then.

House Hunting

2005-03-02T12:01:00.000-05:00

It's in Northwest DC, so it's a fucking steal at $425,000, ok?

For those of you who have never tried to buy a house in the DC area, let tell you now: don't try. Give up. It's futile.

I've been house-hunting for months now. I've made numerous offers on places and gotten nowhere. I read the listings and I think, "hey, wow, a 4BR / 2BA place in the city for $300,000?! That's amazing!"

And then it turns out that a family of crack addicts (Mama Addict, Papa Addict, and two cute little baby addicts) has made a nest in the basement, and only the Orkin Army can clean them out. It'll take $50,000 to make the place liveable, and that means that I sell everything I own. Plus I need to buy enough crack so that we can lure them out of the basement. It's frustrating.

And then I find myself rationalizing how cool it would be / how it could be done: "If I just sell all my furniture, my motorcycle, and my car, I'll be able to fix the floors up. And the kitchen. And then I can turn around and sell it for GOD ONLY KNOWS HOW MUCH!" Because people in this market are insane, I tell you.

Are you familiar with the escalation clause? This is the most moronic thing ever. It works like ebay: you put in a maximum amount you're willing to pay for a place, and then your contract and another can be bid against each other until one of you wins. So a place that lists at $320,000 will probably go for $345,000 if it's any good, because of all the morons trying to outbid each other.

The true idiocy is that if you do not play this game, you will never own a home. My last offer was for a 3BR condo in the development where I currently live, in Alexandria, VA (about 15 miles from the city). I put in an aggressive escalation clause ($25,000 on a $370,000 property!)(to shore up the fact that there is just no way for stupid hard-drinkin' me to save up the $35,000 downpayment, and so I must take out two mortgages and then the fact that one of them is an interest-only ARM will totally rape me when the rates go up in the next two years), and I did not get the property.

Why?

Because a competing party offered 120 days RENT BACK. For those of you who do not know, that means that they are offering to buy the place, then let the seller live there, rent-free, for FOUR MONTHS. When your house payment is $2400 a month, that is a pretty hefty chunk of cash.

But WHO DOES THAT? I mean...it's a condo, not a "get into Heaven free" card. This market is nuts!

So I'm backing off for a while. I'm going to try and save up enough to fix up a crappy place rather than try and save up enough for a decent down payment (sheesh...good luck). Because I know once I'm chained to the place the market will tank and my awesome townhouse will suddenly be worth $1.78.

But I'm fairly certain then I could pick up a "spacious, loft-like" refrigerator carton behind Circuit City for peanuts. I can see it now. "All natural, environmentally friendly construction! Roof needs some work. Sold strictly AS IS. GREAT STARTER BOX, EASILY MOVED TO A BETTER NEIGHBORHOOD!"

NFL Offseason Gets Set to Begin....

2005-03-01T21:17:00.000-05:00

Hopeful Underclassmen fall short to Senior in the latest NFL Draft Tuneup.

Metro Morons, Part Duh.

2005-02-28T20:03:00.000-05:00

Well, some of them, anyway.

And then I was riding the Metro home. And I saw more idiocy. It was kind of the sad kind, though...and again, a whole train car of people witnessed it. Three black guys, arguing over why the Titanic sank. Yes, I know it sounds racist, but this is just what happened, ok?

One guys is adamant. "It sank 'cuz there was a big hole in it. And alla waters came in. WATERS is HEAVY. Dat shit weighed a lot, and all the waters came in. THOUSANDS uh waters. MORE THAN YOU COULD DRINK, MOFO!"

Another guy: "Naw, man, it hit an iceberg! That's what sunk it. An iceberg! It was a big peesa ice."

This went back and forth with minor variations in wording for at least five minutes. A third guy would just chime in on "iceberg's" side now and again, but not really contribute anything meaningful, i.e. "Yeah! S'right. I saw lifeboats in the movie. They was lifeboats! So how could it be sankin' if they was lifeboats? I tell you what, it was sankin' pretty slow."

This was all discussed at the top of their lungs, at sound levels generally reserved for jet engines spooling up for takeoff, or Nina talking about her bathing suit coming apart when suddenly the music stops playing and the whole room is silent except her. Once again, silent smirks around the metro car (god, I wish I'd had a friend around to witness this...was anyone riding the Blue Line towards Van Dorn around 6pm yesterday?) And it was painful--so painful--to watch these fools go at it and be COMPLETELY UNABLE TO PUT THEIR TWO IDEAS TOGETHER AND FIGURE OUT WHY THE TITANIC SUNK.

I also am just dying to post an entry about some stupid shit that happened to me at work, but that would go against my policy of "wanting to keep my job until I have a better one" so ask me when you catch me out and I have a few beers in me, or better yet, put a few beers in me. I'll share the stories gladly. Catharsis rules.

Following up with Stupid-ass emailZ....(28-0)

2005-02-28T17:04:00.000-05:00

A hypothetical conversation between a new-hire that the idiot might recruit this weekend and thin air.

For those of you who have been waiting with baited breath to see what Matt will do (note: refer to my post last week regarding the eager young chap from work with terrible email and IMing skills); I just wanted to announce that I am on my way (immediately following this post) to head down to the University of Illinois campus and present to/interview some eager young minds...

The latest installment of my communication with him...(less than 34 minutes ago)...

R*****: Ankur
Ank G: yes?
R*****: how many people are going down
Ank G: you and I – then I’ll be conducting a few scheduled interviews following that
Ank G: we'll be in charge of running this presentation
R*****: did you hear from a Minny Byojuy?
Ank G: yes
R*****: I'm coming down
R*****: and i'll be at the presentation
R*****: but she discouraged me from directly presenting
Ank G: what about Minny?
Ank G: she sent you an email?
R*****: no sir
R*****: phone call
Ank G: what did she say?
R*****: The official policy of ACN is that an analyst must be aboard six months before representing the company
R*****: in order to give an accurate description
R*****: etc
R*****: I told her I was still going
R*****: as i had already told people I was gonna be in the spot and presenting
R*****: but that I would try and abstain from direct presentation as much as I could
Ank G: all right
R*****: that said
R*****: if i can help in any way
R*****: let me know – but I will try and be abstaining as much as I can. but if I feel I can contribute, I might give you a signal .
Ank G: I'll direct traffic as needed - you can still do some Q and A relating to what you went through as a new hire
R*****: fair enough
Ank G: I am going to pack up and head out in 10 minutes
R*****: ditto
Ank G: if you need me, call me on my cell phone at *** *** ****
R*****: *** *** **** here
Ank G: otherwise, I will meet you at U of I
R*****: one more b4 i go
R*****: any food coming through for this thing? Some of my friends on campus wanted to know.
Ank G: what do you mean?
Ank G: are we providing food?
Ank G: or do you get food?
Ank G: I guess the answer is the same - we're providing pizza and drinks
R*****: wonderful
R*****: thank u sir
R*****: see u there
R*****: one more thing b4 i jet.
Ank G: go ahead
R*****: what can you catch, but cannot throw?
Ank G: a cold
Ank G: you can catch a cold, but can't throw it
R*****: haha
R*****: tru sir
R*****: very tru
R*****: smart man
R*****: now i have to get another one for ya.
R*****: peace out

Having presented this new piece of information, I'd like to solicit some predictions as to what all of you THINK will happen when I meet this young chap for the first time, and he gets in front of an audience of 150 people...any thoughts?

Tune in tomorrow for the answer..... ;) (maybe even late tonight when I return... ;)

Women Put Up With A Lot

2005-02-28T09:55:00.000-05:00

It was like I was reliving it all on the Metro this morning.

This morning, as Vaughn and I were riding the metro in, a mildly attractive Asian girl in a very attractive Catholic-schoolgirl-type skirt sat down across the way. Right behind her came a Star-Wars-style "uberdork," as Triumph the Dog would put it...bad teeth, too skinny, tall, yet with a vaguely Chihuahua-ish nervous air about him.

I assumed they were friends, from the way he sat down next to her, chatting brightly about how it was supposed to snow (yes, numbnuts, it's going to snow. SNOW! You'd think this city would be used to it by now, what with this happening a few times a year now since...oh, I dunno, the last Ice Age?) and maybe he wouldn't have to work a full day. Well, I could sympathize with that.

Asian girl had her head buried in her copy of the Express, grunting periodically. But then (my ears are finely tuned towards embarassing situations developing) he says, in the same nattering conversational tone of voice (as if he could maybe trick her?), "...and yeah, if it snows, we'll get out early, so would you like to get dinner with me?" and she looks up, and I swear, without hesitating, or even offering further explanation, says, "no."

And that was all.

The guy said, "Oh. Because, I was going to as--because, if it snowed, I'd want to, you know, go out to dinner." Then there was acute embarassment all around the train, and I was trying very hard not to smile, so it my turn to bury my head in the Express and try like hell not to make eye-contact with Vaughn lest I break into uncontrollable laughter at how highschool had suddenly invaded my Metro commute. You think you graduated 15 years ago, but nope, it's still right there.

More of the Same Slop please?

2005-02-27T10:48:00.000-05:00

SRK, surrounded by the Indian versions of the Academy Awards, called the "Bhaskars."

So the topic turns to the Filmfare Awards. And in a landslide, A Yash Raj flick starring Shah Rukh Khan won Best Picture, while the one-dimensional one himself, claimed Best Actor.

Am I talking about yesterday? Or 1995, 1997, or 1998? Maybe 2002?

Seriously, did anybody NOT expect “Veer Zaara” to come home with the gold? Unlike Hollywood’s much anticipated counterpart tonight, which sometimes gets flamed for going OUT of it’s way to not recognize a mainstream blockbuster, Bollywood year in and year out rewards it’s output based on box office appeal alone. Oh, and only a very specific intimate group of recipients.

The industry itself has made great strides putting out some quite thoughtful, diverse, and groundbreaking films the last couple of years. Don’t think so? With movies from “Dil Chahta Hai” to “Company” and “Main Madhuri Dixit Banna Chahthi Hoon” to “Chandni Bar” and “Choker Bali,” I’m actually not ashamed to divulge that I'm a Hindi Movie habitué anymore - as directors and producers seem to finally be deviating from the same hackneyed scripts and formulas (even if many continue to be lifted in the first place). Heck, some actors and actresses actually study and train for months to get ready for a particular character - a requirement for their successful Western Brethren (see Jamie Foxx in "Ray" or Hilary Swank in "Million Dollar Baby."). And some movies have even been forgoing songs altogether like “Ek Haseena Thi.” Oh, and contrary to Aishwarya’s assertions on American TV, they’ve finally dispensed substituting two carnations in full bloom for heated sex on screen.

How mind blowing must that be to those resistant to change?

Oooooh baby. That's where I like it. C'mon. Oh yeah! Oh yeah!

Yet, it’s the same old recycled love-story musical pap that gets all the acclaim each year.

Sure, I understand *why* the mindless themed movies under the same banners do well. It’s well understood that the “masses” drive the turnstiles and they want to escape from the normal drudgery of daily life with something that is comfortable and familiar. It appears "the masses" prefer the leftover sukhi roti-sabji, because it was made by their Mai, rather than venture trying the Jalapeno poppers at that new glossy multinational fast food joint down the street. (Maybe it’s because they don’t know what a “Jalapeno” or a “Popper” is and the restaurant refuses to dumb it down for ‘em? Hmmm…..)

God forbid something that actually elicits thought about a social issue or makes one step out of their understanding of their own little crawl space be put forth in front of their eye balls.

So, if I were in the business, I’d continue to feed ‘em the same crap too.

But what about the Critics and the Academy? Do THEY not feel the need to actually reward creativity and innovation? How about acting ability? Can any of you that actually saw the movie "Swades" tell me that SRK did ANYTHING different than he normally does? Which is horrendously overact?

It’s shit like THIS that proves how far B-town still has to go to catch up and makes me think the International exposure the Industry is getting these days is still quite premature.

And you thought you've had crappy vacations...

2005-02-27T00:44:00.000-05:00

Yahoo! News - Canadian Pair's Final Photos Show Tsunami

I s'pose ANY correspondence from Tanuj at all is blog worthy, but this link he forwarded is especially amazing: A series of photos that were the last taken by a Canadian couple who died in the Tsunami whose memory card was recently recovered...

Forget Georgia. The Devil screws with Boston!

2005-02-25T22:40:00.000-05:00

FOXNews.com - Bostonians May Get 'Derek Jeter' Arena

Ha! This would be hysterical.

Serves 'em right.

"Gee Goly. Gosh, we were proud to have a company like Enron purchasing their naming rights by gouging California grannies on their heating bills, but I don't know about this Jeter thing...."

Attention Boston: You sold your fucking soul! I bet if Haliburton was in there wanting to buy those naming rights, you'd be rolling on the floor like an eczemic labrador begging to plaster their logo on every bleacher you could find.

Actually, many may not mind planting their ass on this Dick 80 times a year...

My Visit to the Big House

2005-02-24T22:05:00.000-05:00

Evil land-raping robber-barons with moustaches getting bent over by cops...I saw it all.

A few years ago I wound up in jail for a night. Don't believe what your stupid peer-pressuring friends say, or those after-school specials that tell you to sell pot; jail is no fun at all.

This, then...is my story.

My friend R. came in town; it was her first trip to D.C. I was really looking forward to it, because R. is one of my favorite friends. She's just a lot of fun and we always have a good time together.

So her flight gets in and I pick her up from the airport. We go to a club here called "Home," (I think it was actually the second night it was open). We get in, and meet up with some friends, make introductions. She insists she's going to buy me a drink. I say sure, get my a vodka tonic. She wants a raspberry vodka. The bartender takes his time. I think he's kind of hitting on her. We drink our drinks...and the night goes pear-shaped.

The next thing I know, we're both utterly plowed. Not plowed as in, "wow, hey, we sure got buzzed fast!" But plowed like, neither of us can tell what the hell is going on. Literally, one drink each. Neither of us is exactly amateurish when it comes to drinking. We'd both had food. Neither of us had had nearly enough alcohol to explain the state we found ourselves in. R. fell down in the middle of the club. A bouncer rushed up and told us I had to get her out of there. Blearily, I hoisted her up and we stumbled for the door.

Outside, I hailed a taxi and we piled in. R. is pretty much incoherent at this point, and I'm not a whole lot better. I lived less than 10 minutes from the club, so I tell the cabbie to take us to Courthouse. We barely get 3 blocks before R. starts moaning. "Oh no," I think to myself. "Hey, cabbie, pull over, I think my friend's going to be sick." (Time, by the way? Just after midnight).

The cabbie starts cursing up a blue streak as he pulls over. He's Pakistani, and apparently really doesn't like Indians. "Get her out of here, get her out!" he keeps yelling. I get the door open, and R. leans out and pukes on the sidewalk. The cabbie gets out of the car, comes over to R, grabs her under the arms, and drags her out of the cab, and dumps her unceremoniously on the sidewalk. I pretty much lose my shit at this point. I jump out and start yelling at him to take his hands off my friend. He yells back at me to stay the hell away from him, then with no warning, he grabs the front of my sweater and punches me in the eye. I put my hand up to my face and when I look at it, my hand is covered in blood.

I am literally seeing red. I go totally nuts. I start chasing the guy around his cab, cursing up a blue streak. Since I'm utterly wasted, I can't seem to catch him, so instead I content myself with kicking the crap out of his cab every time he pauses. I kick out his taillights, I pound on his fenders and the roof of his car. He's screaming bloody murder, and we both look very stupid, I'm sure.

What getting sent to jail looks like when you're 4 inches tall, and visiting in the off-season.

It is at this point that the cops show up. I think there were just driving by, and they saw this bizarre scene: girl passed out on sidewalk, guy covered in blood chasing terrified-looking evil cab driver around a cab. They promptly arrest me and the cabbie, and bundle up R. and take her to...detox.

I know things are not looking good. I try and get her conscious and give her my jacket, my cellphone and my wallet (duh on that last one) thinking she'll be able to get out soon and call for help once she comes to, but she's so groggy and out of it I don't think she gets any of it. The cops drag her away, literally feet bouncing and dragging across the pavement. I felt helpless as hell, watching that.

Then they take me to Southeast waterfront to book me. I wait and wait (we get to the police station at just after 1am or so). After about 2 hours of waiting in the cop car, they tell me the jail is full. They're taking me to Northeast, instead. I should point out that it is about 26 degrees outside, and I gave R. my jacket, so I'm wearing a club shirt and a thin sweater. There is no heat in the back of the cop car. I get tantalizing little bits of heat through the cracks at the sides of the plexiglass screen now and again. I'm shivering like I'm going to die.

We're driving along 395 (I think) north, when all of a sudden, a guy runs out in front of the cop car. He's waving his arms and he's got blood on his face. "Oh, for fuck's sake," I think at God. "I mean, really. Is all this necessary?"

The cop screeches to a halt and jumps out with his gun drawn. "Get on the ground, get on the ground right now, goddammit, freeze right there, hands on your head!" In the meantime, the kid (he's maybe 19) is crying and babbling and saying he needs help can we please help him, he's being carjacked. The cop takes a few minutes to simultaneously digest a donut and what this kid is saying. "You're what?" he manages.

"I'm being carjacked! My friends are stealing my car!" He points across the divider, where a Buick is creeping away at about a quarter of a mile an hour, brakelights just blazing. The cop tosses the weepy kid in the back with me. Then he peels out and takes off at about 120mph, in the process fulfilling all sorts of cop-fantasies. We take an offramp and turn around, get back on the freeway. The sniffling kid is tossed up against me. I push him away before he tries to cuddle or hug me. Fuckin' wuss. I think he mixed his snot with the blood on my sweater.

The Buick has moved maybe 65 feet since we took off and got all turned around. The cop tears up to it like we're in some kind of high speed chase, though. He calls for backup and soon four black-and-whites have the Buick trapped so that it absolutely cannot inch away at all. The sniffling kid keeps moaning "Why did they do that? They said they were my friends," and other ridiculous stuff to himself. It turns out that his three black friends were high as kites and had smoked up a fair bit, then decided they didn't like the white kid, beat the hell out of him and then kicked him out of his own car. Which is when we arrived on the scene (and let this be a lesson to all you Eminem wannabes...it's a hard road, yo).

By the time the dudes have been arrested, led away, paperwork filled out, and the car impounded, it's about 7:30am. There's grey light on the horizon. I am suffering from hypothermia, I'm so cold. I am no longer even remotely buzzed or fucked up. I am just cold. I am so cold that I don't care if they throw me into a fucking gulag, as long as it's slightly warmer than the back of this motherfucking cop car, which also is the most uncomfortable thing in the world when your hands are cuffed behind your back and the seat is this anti-ergonomically designed hard-plastic bench. There's literally no position you can sit in that is remotely comfortable (and I don't know which made my hands go numb first, the cold or the being cuffed for 7 hours straight, but it actually hurt when they took the cuffs off).

Finally, they get me to Northeast DC, somewhere off Mass. Ave. They book me, they take me to the drunk tank. There are two other guys in there, and neither of them is very talkative. I then realize that I look like the scariest motherfucker on the planet: my eye is all swollen, my sweater is caked with blood, and I just look angry. Mainly because I really am angry. I am about as angry as I've ever been in my life, except maybe for the time when Alok's wife got egged (that will be another story, though).

"NO-BODY KNOOOWS...THE TROUBLE'S I SEEN...NO-BODY KNOOOOWS...THE SORROW..."

About an hour later, guess who gets put in the cell right across from mine? Yeah, you guessed it: the fucking cabbie. He sees me and starts babbling on about how he feels terrible, just terrible. "You know who has won tonight? Neither you nor I. The only person who has won tonight is...SATAN." He points up at the sky as he says this. "I know I will have to go to court, and you will have to go to court. But we are brothers. I will drive you, no charge."

I want to throw something at him. I am suddenly very very glad that I pummelled the crap out of his cab. I'll heal, but he's going to have to pay out the wazoo to get that shit fixed, I hope.

I finally get my phone call at 10:30am or so. I call my roommate. He's like, "yeah, I heard you had quite a night. R. called her boyfriend in Chicago, who called my girlfriend, who called me. Everyone's been up all night. R's back at our place. I picked her up from detox at about 9am. We went to Silver Diner for breakfast. She, uh...treated me with your credit card. Hope you don't mind."

No, I don't mind, you fuckwad. Come pick me up after you finish your goddamn pancakes.

I finally got out of jail at almost 3pm. I went home, and slept for the better part of a day. R, poor thing, was sick as a dog all weekend. She couldn't keep anything down. She laid in bed for the rest of the trip while I tried to get her to eat something. She swore she was never coming to DC again, although I did convince her to come again, and this time she got hit by a bus.

No, I'm kidding, she didn't. We had a great time then.

Anyway, we're both fairly certain we got rufied. There's just no way two pseudo-alcoholics like us could that messed up, that fast, off just a drink each. Was it the bartender? Someone else? I have no idea. But listen to your parents, kids. Don't stay out late, don't do drugs, and don't go to jail. It really really sucks.

Actually, There IS Cryin' in Baseball

2005-02-24T21:24:00.000-05:00

....Or not.

As many of you who know me know, I’m a pretty huge sports fan. I have a deep affection for the professional teams from my hometown. Of course because said hometown is Cincinnati(63-145), this love can be, and in fact is, quite laborious. I hope you all appreciate that to the highest degree.

So….the Major League Baseball season is right around the corner and the black cloud fashioned by the BALCO scandal and the unsheathing of the reach of steroids within looms over the classically revered institution of Americana. And it’s wishful thinking that this cloud will just pass on by like the one that came through during the “Kali Megha” song in LAGAAN setting the stage for Bollywood’s version of a Kevin Costner feel good sports flick (except for the fact I don’t give a shit about Cricket and the movie was way too fuckin’ long – but that’s a topic for another day).

Raising the Lagaan to 9% will keep the hometown team from turning into the "West Conshohocken Internationals" where they've promised us some bleachers, a cheerleader, and a pack of hot dogs.

So where were we? Oh yeah, the “Kali Megha” over Bud Selig’s watch. It risks to erode my appreciation for the sport even further.

Much of the romanticism I remember as a kid has been drained from the game over the past fifteen years like Rocky Balboa’s will to box during the middle of Rocky III after getting beat down by Mr. T. (who, in turn was whipped like Kunta Kinte in 1985 by Rowdy Roddy Piper on Saturday Night's Main Event.) Labor discord, free agency, wild cards, stadium financing, and of course the New York Yankees. Yet I remain hopeful that some sort of intervention will rekindle the affinity remotely to levels I once had, or as a new Dad, give my son a reason to develop a passion we can share together and bring us closer during lazy August evenings at the ballpark ten years from now. Or even two years from now when he is badgering me incessantly by whacking me in ass with a whiffle ball bat while I’m neglecting him writing a blog.

Yet Baseball continues to delude itself that all is well.

While the rest of us that care for the game know it’s not.

Therefore, I’m glad that what’s happening is happening. Maybe this whole steroid stuff is the catalyst baseball requires to realize it really needs to take stock in itself and take the necessary measures for self-preservation. I mean it’s the same thing like if Pacino had taken a look inward after getting busted by the Feds for laundering money in SCARFACE instead of snorting a goblet of Coke. Maybe things wouldn’t have progressively worsened for him. Like when he killed his best friend Manny and then his sister Gina got naked and came on to him (which by the way, disturbs me to the core to this very day) minutes before he was climactically capped.

Maybe if Tony Montana had embraced Jose instead, he could have saved himself from the Devil...

Anyway, so I’m a traditionalist when it comes to “The Game.” Most people that have a love that started early in childhood are. Therefore, I’m rather resistant to change (unless of course, they institute points for how many season ending injuries Ken Griffey can accumulate). However, the only way to make baseball well again and give it a fighting chance to reclaim the majesty it once had is to surgically remove the afflicting bodies. You know, call in Noah Wiley, to cut deep into the flesh and expose into the light what makes it ail and excise the fucker(s) completely – even if it means the painful discovery and the toppling of such figures like Barry Bonds or Mark McGwire if they’re culpable.

Sure, the game may come out of this episode with a noticeable limp or an awkward stutter afterward, but unlike the NHL, I still think there are enough people that actually give a shit to stick around through the healing process and the road to recovery, if SOMETHING IS DONE NOW. Otherwise, baseball will continue to alienate its fan base and slide quietly towards extinction, very unlike MC Hammer.

It’s a sad state of affairs, when a low life such as Jose Canseco, who profited as a player by artificially inflating his capabilities to excel in a sport that rewarded his production by closing it’s eyes, is once again profiting by propping open those same eyelids (and our’s) with toothpicks.

Cashing in twice on a Game he never gave a shit about in the first place? Now that's America fer' ya.

But it’s Baseball’s fault for allowing it to come to this.

…and yet this ostentatious institution still condemns Pete Rose because his actions risked tainting the game? At the rate baseball’s reputation is sliding, if I were Petey, I’d give up my pursuit for reinstatement, lest the game taint mine.

Perhaps Rose would be better off hanging out with more respectable company. Like Vince McMahon.

But then, I’ve been a childhood Reds fan. I see that issue quite differently.

24 on race relations........give me a break, mohammad

2005-02-24T15:28:00.000-05:00

tell it like it is jack!

this is my second blog on BI and will be my last involving 24; i refuse to be typeblogged as the 24 guy. after this, i will broaden my scope and begin writing about the numerous other TV shows starring kiefer sutherland.

so i have this friend who has TiVo. and apparently he's been recording all the 24 episodes from season four including the two hour premiere. too good to be true i said to myself. you mean i could watch season four in marathon-fashion without waiting 7 more months for the dvds, AND save myself $70 bucks. oh hell yeah motherfucker!

the primary objective was simple; elicit an invitation to watch all the episodes at his place. this had to be handled delicately. you see, i have this habit of making fun of my friends until they have the self-esteem of an anorexic supermodel. and this guy, by the way, was one of my favorites. of course i love the fool, but i'm sure i drained his self-esteem to where his yellow indicator light came on and the needle almost broke off. anyway, it was time to clog the drain. the trick was to subtly compliment him and get him to like me again, without arousing suspicion. this was harder than i thought. having ragged on him so much, i was unfamiliar with this whole concept of niceness. i found myself saying things like, "i'm really enjoying those shoelaces, where did you get them?" more recently, i said to him, "i really like that donatello band-aid you have on; i thought turtle power was dead, but it's so fuckin' cool that you're trying to bring it back via first aid." he was pleased. we spent the next hour and 50 minutes discussing whether or not a rodent can actually absorb martial arts by occasionally mimicking its master. season four better be fuckin' good!

so yesterday, the call finally came and i heard those magical words, "let me know if you wanna come by and watch season four." i activated my transponder; i was in. it was like i was jack and he was hector salazar..........sucker.

02/23/05

The following takes place between 8:00pm and 12:00am

we began watching season four at 8pm last night and i'm happy to say the 24 formula was alive and kickin'. season four had a promising start and sucked me in with ease. this show is known for its mind-blowing plot twists, but i certainly wasn't expecting anything within the first 4 episodes. it happened early in episode/hour 4. a middle eastern woman is watching a TV news update about how islamic militants had kidnapped the secretary of defense........here comes the twist.........she then remarks how she despises what is happening and that it's people like those terrorists who give people like her a bad name. WHAT THE FUCK? YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THEY'RE NOT ALL TERRORISTS. I DIDN'T SEE THAT ONE COMIN'! up until that point in the show (and in my life), every muslim was involved in some kind of terrorist activity. but then here comes 24 shattering american dogma and preaching to me that maybe, just maybe 1 out of every 70 muslims is not a terrorist. well, i guess it's actually 3 out of every 70; i forgot about yusuf and the imam from season two.

this was a bit much for me. i had to stop and re-evaluate my belief system. could it be possible that 4% of muslims were not terrorists. it seemed a bit high. i mean think about it. even the recent news that hakeem olajuwon funded terrorism through his mosque came as no surprise to me. he's muslim isn't he? in 1994, long before al qaeda attacked new york by sending planes through the twin towers, they attacked new york by sending hakeem to take on the knicks in the nba finals. i remember '94 well; olajuwon declared jihad on ewing and scorched riley's knicks for 27 points, 12 boards, and 4 blocks per game. he took home the finals mvp and our christian american spirit, at once. i guess prior to 9/11, the score was already al qaeda 1, new york 0. if we only knew then what we know now. thankfully, today we have the department of homeland security to monitor the nba. earlier this nba season, they took out shareef abdur-rahim and now he's out for the season. of course, that kills my chances of winning my fantasy league, but i'll sacrifice for the sake of national security.

naturally, you can understand why 24: season four has stirred all this confusion in me. before when jack bauer would block off a building to find the terrorist inside, he would isolate them easily by simply smelling everyone's breath for hummus and counting the number of Zs in their first name. now it's all different and his job has become harder. i understand what they're trying to do by telling us, "hey, if you meet enough muslims, with some luck, you may eventually come across one who is not a terrorist." but in actuality, the show just becomes less real and losses credibility. oh well, at least now the president is white. now if you'll excuse me, i have a cross-burning to attend...........and then it's on to episodes 5 - 8 (or whenever i feel like stopping cause this junkie still thinks the show is goddamn good).

ERIC Gets Shafted

2005-02-24T11:26:00.000-05:00

Why doesn't the media cover this?

This is the second picture I found on Google Image Search for "Eric." I don't think he has much to do with the Bush administration, but he could. Evil-looking fucker, isn't he?

Thanks, Ranju, for the lead. This is somewhat old news, and was reported on only mildly at the time.

I found articles here and here leading up to the purge in 2003, but no reference in a major paper of the actual purge or reporting on subsequent difficulties in conducting research. There is a largish site dedicated to documenting this whole sad state of affairs in non-emotional factual language here.

This is yet another sign of the Bush Administration's hostility to science, conducted on the sly, and somehow not reported on at all. And seriously, evangelicals can kiss my ass, because this is very much their doing. Keep your fucking religion out of my backyard, bitches.

The ERIC database is a huge repository of information, and was recently "purged of outdated information prior to 2001" (which they have every right to do) but ALSO (quoting from a memo here) "purged of information that runs counter to current administration policies."

This is a database of peer-reviewed research. It is not intended to agree with policy. It is a repository of information, and tampering with materials in it is wrong on so many levels.

Since when does the administration get to say what research is allowed to be published, or worse, published and subsequently removed? Will anyone take up this banner and find out what gives?

The Bush Administration's "No Child Left Behind" program relies very heavily on standardized test results and has drastic repercussions for schools that do not meet new federal standards (in some instances, closing them down utterly...not sure how that translates into children not being left behind).

Many of the articles purged appear to be research indicating flaws in either standardized testing approaches, or the NCLB program, or both.

It's 11:15am...do you know where you're being censored?