Twit
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Shove your facial tattoo up your ass
You're not a badass, you're an idiot. It's a thin line, I know.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Monday, October 26, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
K-mart
So, I just went into kmart for the first time in nearly a decade. I'm conducting what has turned out to be a nationwide survey for cheap goggles. Yes, you guessed it, as dorky as it may be, I'm going to start wearing goggles while cutting onions. It's really the only way to keep the acid from meeting your sweet eye juice.
Target doesn't carry such things after the summer because people never swim indoors at their local gym. That is why I've ended up at kmart. You can almost hear the death rattle as you walk into this depressing little shit hole.
Before I could finish thinking "who the fuck would go here" the answer was already obvious. Mexicans. Why? I do not know.
You guys know that you're allowed at target right?
Now that I think of it I rarely see my secretly short brothers when I'm at target every weekend (sometimes twice.). I never see a bunch of adults riding child-sized walmart bicycles on the sidewalk around there. It's usually almost entirely Asians and whites. Not that I have anything against Asians and whites... well nothing against whites anyway.
This ain't fuckin' Whloefoods man, it's target!
Anywhere they sell TGI Friday's frozen food, Mexicans should feel welcome.
I WELCOME YOU!
Get the fuck out of K-mart so it can die already.
There must be another reason, though I couldn't be bothered to see if they had crazy good deals on Flamin' Cheetos and urine flavored beer. I was too busy trying not to yarf seeing obese women eating what could only be referred to as pizza if you wanted to piss off anyone with a taste bud.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Target doesn't carry such things after the summer because people never swim indoors at their local gym. That is why I've ended up at kmart. You can almost hear the death rattle as you walk into this depressing little shit hole.
Before I could finish thinking "who the fuck would go here" the answer was already obvious. Mexicans. Why? I do not know.
You guys know that you're allowed at target right?
Now that I think of it I rarely see my secretly short brothers when I'm at target every weekend (sometimes twice.). I never see a bunch of adults riding child-sized walmart bicycles on the sidewalk around there. It's usually almost entirely Asians and whites. Not that I have anything against Asians and whites... well nothing against whites anyway.
This ain't fuckin' Whloefoods man, it's target!
Anywhere they sell TGI Friday's frozen food, Mexicans should feel welcome.
I WELCOME YOU!
Get the fuck out of K-mart so it can die already.
There must be another reason, though I couldn't be bothered to see if they had crazy good deals on Flamin' Cheetos and urine flavored beer. I was too busy trying not to yarf seeing obese women eating what could only be referred to as pizza if you wanted to piss off anyone with a taste bud.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Terminator Salvation and Stinkfuck
Another unchronologically posted movie going nightmare (from now on they'll be all chrono)
This guy wasn't as self absorbed as most, he just smelled like he didn't give a fuck, and you know what?
That's fine!
If you don't leave the fucking house. If and when you do leave the house IN SWEAT PANTS that have probably never been washed you're a fucking cunt. In fairness to Stinkfuck, he probably doesn't leave the house very often. A 46 year old, unloveable, jobless, alocholic has little reason to commune with the clean. Unless, of course, there's a shitty director buttfucking a somewhat respectable movie franchise, then by all means, slap on the sweatpants from hell, dig up the bus money, and venture in the world of the employed and curious.
We were sitting in front row of the main area where you can put your feet on the railing, it's wonderful. This guy had either figured out the same thing or just has bad eyes from years of mainlining tequila directly into his eyes, because he sat right there, one seat away from the very showered, very excited, and very annoyable writer of this shit blog.
The worst part of this experience was that I had a way out. A friend of his stopped by to talk for a minute and he smelled like a
dewy
fucking
meadow
A very large back man (i think it's relevant) that must've ran directly from the shower to cinema. He smelled heavenly. His short conversation ended with a "No, I don't want to sit with you. I want to go smell good over there in the front row" and joined some other brothas in the front section where I bet he used his massive neck rolls to rest his head while he craned his neck up.
My olfactory punishment was so sever that I did something that I normally wouldn't because I would hate to hurt the person's feelings. I got up and moved. One more seat away. I made my party of six all move down one seat. It didn't help.
The breeze blowing in from the entrance hallway would only exacerbate the situation. I believe they call it "wafting." Yes, his unwashed, stale cigarette smokey, body odor was wafted to me. Fortunately for the wife, I acted as a very effective smell barrier.
I always tell her how lucky she is to have me, and that day it was inarguable.
Ps.
Why would the machines make a motorcycle that a human could ride. With all the controls there for a human to just hack and jump on and ride like a regular bike?? WHY!
Pps.
Mcg (Poindexter McGurkenstein I assume) is a douche. I'm so sick of movies for adults aiming for a PG13 rating so they can make optimal profits. Why not make something with the intention of it being good? A movie about robots killing people and using them in experiments should be violent as all fuckout.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
This guy wasn't as self absorbed as most, he just smelled like he didn't give a fuck, and you know what?
That's fine!
If you don't leave the fucking house. If and when you do leave the house IN SWEAT PANTS that have probably never been washed you're a fucking cunt. In fairness to Stinkfuck, he probably doesn't leave the house very often. A 46 year old, unloveable, jobless, alocholic has little reason to commune with the clean. Unless, of course, there's a shitty director buttfucking a somewhat respectable movie franchise, then by all means, slap on the sweatpants from hell, dig up the bus money, and venture in the world of the employed and curious.
We were sitting in front row of the main area where you can put your feet on the railing, it's wonderful. This guy had either figured out the same thing or just has bad eyes from years of mainlining tequila directly into his eyes, because he sat right there, one seat away from the very showered, very excited, and very annoyable writer of this shit blog.
The worst part of this experience was that I had a way out. A friend of his stopped by to talk for a minute and he smelled like a
dewy
fucking
meadow
A very large back man (i think it's relevant) that must've ran directly from the shower to cinema. He smelled heavenly. His short conversation ended with a "No, I don't want to sit with you. I want to go smell good over there in the front row" and joined some other brothas in the front section where I bet he used his massive neck rolls to rest his head while he craned his neck up.
My olfactory punishment was so sever that I did something that I normally wouldn't because I would hate to hurt the person's feelings. I got up and moved. One more seat away. I made my party of six all move down one seat. It didn't help.
The breeze blowing in from the entrance hallway would only exacerbate the situation. I believe they call it "wafting." Yes, his unwashed, stale cigarette smokey, body odor was wafted to me. Fortunately for the wife, I acted as a very effective smell barrier.
I always tell her how lucky she is to have me, and that day it was inarguable.
Ps.
Why would the machines make a motorcycle that a human could ride. With all the controls there for a human to just hack and jump on and ride like a regular bike?? WHY!
Pps.
Mcg (Poindexter McGurkenstein I assume) is a douche. I'm so sick of movies for adults aiming for a PG13 rating so they can make optimal profits. Why not make something with the intention of it being good? A movie about robots killing people and using them in experiments should be violent as all fuckout.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Stupid toilet planner
Anything wrong with this picture? Yes, you fucking idiot.
First, notice the handrails.
This place (the McDonald's in San Mateo near the Ihop) is obviously concerned with the safety and comfort of it's senior citizens. If you've ever been to a MiccyDee's at 6am you'll know that it's always some weird group of men over 65 talking about the weirdest shit. What the hell is NATO?
Now check out the TP dispenser. Notice the distance from the bowl, and the height at which it is placed.
Forget the fucking old timers I, a spry (and handsome) 30 year old man, had a hard time bending over from my seated poopy poo position to steal 5 inches of that sweet 40 grit public potty toilet paper.
"Whooooooooaaa there skintags, what the hell are you going to do with 5 inches of ass wipe?"
Good question, only reader of this blog.
I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!!! but that's all you're getting because the motherfucker is so close to the filthy public floor tiles. That grout absorbs AIDS and keeps it there. That's a fact.
That's right. I had to adopt this, up up down down left right left right method of extracting the paper to get the 14 foot length ANYONE with doodie on their firm fanny would require. This paper is simultaneously the thinnest and roughest material that man can devise. It's the only thing that you can read through but still take paint off of your '67 Nova with. If you don't bunch it up enough you MIGHT get a middle finger peek-a-boo. Or stink-a-boo if you wanted to be cute about it. Or peek-a-poo if you wanted to make me uncomfortable. I don't believe in hell, but if it's real, I'm going to the bad pun level.
McDonalds, you're ass fucking America with your terrible food at affordable prices. The least you can do is give a hard working attractive citizen a good place to make brownies.
*SCREAMING*If you moved the god damn dispenser just above the rail (which I can contend with better than the floor) I wouldn't be writing this fucking waste of bandwidth I call a blog post. Or maybe get a smaller fucking dispenser. Does it have to be the lalapalooza of the ass paper universe?
Again I walk away from an anal-based experience with my mind boggled.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
First, notice the handrails.
This place (the McDonald's in San Mateo near the Ihop) is obviously concerned with the safety and comfort of it's senior citizens. If you've ever been to a MiccyDee's at 6am you'll know that it's always some weird group of men over 65 talking about the weirdest shit. What the hell is NATO?
Now check out the TP dispenser. Notice the distance from the bowl, and the height at which it is placed.
Forget the fucking old timers I, a spry (and handsome) 30 year old man, had a hard time bending over from my seated poopy poo position to steal 5 inches of that sweet 40 grit public potty toilet paper.
"Whooooooooaaa there skintags, what the hell are you going to do with 5 inches of ass wipe?"
Good question, only reader of this blog.
I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!!! but that's all you're getting because the motherfucker is so close to the filthy public floor tiles. That grout absorbs AIDS and keeps it there. That's a fact.
That's right. I had to adopt this, up up down down left right left right method of extracting the paper to get the 14 foot length ANYONE with doodie on their firm fanny would require. This paper is simultaneously the thinnest and roughest material that man can devise. It's the only thing that you can read through but still take paint off of your '67 Nova with. If you don't bunch it up enough you MIGHT get a middle finger peek-a-boo. Or stink-a-boo if you wanted to be cute about it. Or peek-a-poo if you wanted to make me uncomfortable. I don't believe in hell, but if it's real, I'm going to the bad pun level.
McDonalds, you're ass fucking America with your terrible food at affordable prices. The least you can do is give a hard working attractive citizen a good place to make brownies.
*SCREAMING*If you moved the god damn dispenser just above the rail (which I can contend with better than the floor) I wouldn't be writing this fucking waste of bandwidth I call a blog post. Or maybe get a smaller fucking dispenser. Does it have to be the lalapalooza of the ass paper universe?
Again I walk away from an anal-based experience with my mind boggled.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Friday, October 16, 2009
The Nightman Cometh LIVE and Flipper Von clappmonster
The Nightman Cometh LIVE and Flipper Von clappmonster
This guy was one of the worst.
Worse than th woman that had to have Lord of the Rings translated to her in real time, worse than stinkfuck, even worse than the old Filipino lady that gasped audibly when Benjamin button went from c.g.i. Brad Pitt to a young boy actor.
This fuck. This fuck among an entire Masonic Center full of fratty, drunk, attention seeking professional beer pongers.
This dweeb needed attention. Starting with the full-on gutter punk regalia, to the insanely enthusiastic greeting this asshole was ready to go. He was a humming bird that had found the elusive bacon fat blossom. Short and fat, with enough energy to be a one man fuckfest.
The fine people of Its Always Sunny in Philadelphia gave us a sneak peak at their new Christmas special. Before the first joke or gag had a chance, the human psychotic fuck dolphin started in. The loudest loneliest most inappropriate laugh ever heard. I say lonely and inappropriate because NOBODY ELSE WAS LAUGHING. There hadn't been a laugh out loud moment yet.
From time to time my curse is lifted or I'm just given a little respite or leniency by whatever crazy old gypsy laid down the funk. Tonight the curse was merely transferred to my poor wife. She was right next to him. She had her fingers jammed in her ears for most of the night.
After the quite moments had passed and no more attention could be acquired though freaky porpoise laughs, he moved to the fucking thunder clap. I didn't know that physics would allow for such fat little hands to make so much motherfucking noise. This tiny, chubby handed little punk munchkin clapped like he was trying to get a little stigmata going. Like he could force it if he clapped hard enough.
I feel like some guys force the loud clap as a weird over compensation for obvious shortcomings. Like the way too hard hand shake.
I get it.
You're insecure.
Shake like a mortal and clap like a gentlemen.
Thank you.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
This guy was one of the worst.
Worse than th woman that had to have Lord of the Rings translated to her in real time, worse than stinkfuck, even worse than the old Filipino lady that gasped audibly when Benjamin button went from c.g.i. Brad Pitt to a young boy actor.
This fuck. This fuck among an entire Masonic Center full of fratty, drunk, attention seeking professional beer pongers.
This dweeb needed attention. Starting with the full-on gutter punk regalia, to the insanely enthusiastic greeting this asshole was ready to go. He was a humming bird that had found the elusive bacon fat blossom. Short and fat, with enough energy to be a one man fuckfest.
The fine people of Its Always Sunny in Philadelphia gave us a sneak peak at their new Christmas special. Before the first joke or gag had a chance, the human psychotic fuck dolphin started in. The loudest loneliest most inappropriate laugh ever heard. I say lonely and inappropriate because NOBODY ELSE WAS LAUGHING. There hadn't been a laugh out loud moment yet.
From time to time my curse is lifted or I'm just given a little respite or leniency by whatever crazy old gypsy laid down the funk. Tonight the curse was merely transferred to my poor wife. She was right next to him. She had her fingers jammed in her ears for most of the night.
After the quite moments had passed and no more attention could be acquired though freaky porpoise laughs, he moved to the fucking thunder clap. I didn't know that physics would allow for such fat little hands to make so much motherfucking noise. This tiny, chubby handed little punk munchkin clapped like he was trying to get a little stigmata going. Like he could force it if he clapped hard enough.
I feel like some guys force the loud clap as a weird over compensation for obvious shortcomings. Like the way too hard hand shake.
I get it.
You're insecure.
Shake like a mortal and clap like a gentlemen.
Thank you.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Thursday, October 15, 2009
District 9 and weird worst couple
Godbless that Internet eh?
Helping the formerly unfuckable find love since the mid 90s. This is the unfortunate tale of the Weird Worst Couple.
They were in their 40s, totally unfuckable (even by German standards), and from the moment they walked in, obviously weird. Socially weird. Weird weird.
Many of my pains have come from theater hoppers. They never seem to know what the fuck they're sitting in on. Like the two teenage Mexican girls who were in the theater (accounting for 2 of the 10 present for that showing) for the first 15 minutes of Appaloosa.
This strange couple of mutants fit the description perfectly. They didn't know what this was and no idear what they wanted to do. This became evident when they sat down (right next to me) and began discussing it. This started just before the previews and right on through them. Full on talking volume, mind you. No discretion, consideration or boundaries.
I bit my tongue.
Ten minutes into the movie I snap.
"if you have something to discuss take it outside!" I quietly yell.
What was their response?
A. "My bad"
B. "Sorry we just..."
C. A look as if I was the rude one.
D. to burst into flaming demons
I was expecting D but got a whole lotta C.
Ever want to stab a stranger in the eyes with your keys? Give it time.
The conversation continued at a slightly less irritating volume and and resulted in the dapper male half of this two headed Siamese shit sculpture leaving somewhere in the first 40 mins. The female aspiring country singer half of this late term abortion of a couple would finally decide to seek out her prince somewhere in the last half of the movie. You know where it started to get really good? Yeah, that part.
Inconfuckingceivable.
Helping the formerly unfuckable find love since the mid 90s. This is the unfortunate tale of the Weird Worst Couple.
They were in their 40s, totally unfuckable (even by German standards), and from the moment they walked in, obviously weird. Socially weird. Weird weird.
Many of my pains have come from theater hoppers. They never seem to know what the fuck they're sitting in on. Like the two teenage Mexican girls who were in the theater (accounting for 2 of the 10 present for that showing) for the first 15 minutes of Appaloosa.
This strange couple of mutants fit the description perfectly. They didn't know what this was and no idear what they wanted to do. This became evident when they sat down (right next to me) and began discussing it. This started just before the previews and right on through them. Full on talking volume, mind you. No discretion, consideration or boundaries.
I bit my tongue.
Ten minutes into the movie I snap.
"if you have something to discuss take it outside!" I quietly yell.
What was their response?
A. "My bad"
B. "Sorry we just..."
C. A look as if I was the rude one.
D. to burst into flaming demons
I was expecting D but got a whole lotta C.
Ever want to stab a stranger in the eyes with your keys? Give it time.
The conversation continued at a slightly less irritating volume and and resulted in the dapper male half of this two headed Siamese shit sculpture leaving somewhere in the first 40 mins. The female aspiring country singer half of this late term abortion of a couple would finally decide to seek out her prince somewhere in the last half of the movie. You know where it started to get really good? Yeah, that part.
Inconfuckingceivable.
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