Yeah, so, as you may have noticed, my recent posts have taken a turn towards the crappy. Or, given your perspective, have taken a turn towards the crappier. And, I’m not really interested in anything I write. I’ll come back when I have something I feel like saying. In the meantime, you can use the blogroll as a roulette wheel of fun and adventure.
Archive for June, 2007
I found the Counterpoint exchange below at Supermasterpeice. As a native Marylander, I’m inclined to agree.
Today’s Topic: The Best State
Point: Maryland is the Best State
by Chris Messick
Maryland Is the Greatest State in the Union, Hands Down.
Don’t beleive me? Ask yourself this question: did your state donate ANY land to the federal government for it’s capital city? No? Well MY state donated the whole damn thing.
A lot of famous people are from Maryland, including William Paca, John Barth, David Hasselhoff, and Dasheill Hammett. Also, Barry Levinson, John Waters, and Montel Williams. Like painfully unlistenable music? Maryland was once home to Phillip Glass, John Fahey, and Mama Cass. Let’s see you top that, North Dakota! You suck!
Here’s another great thing about Maryland: There’s this island called Chincoteague where all of these wild ponies live. It’s true!
Maryland is also notable for its varied natural terrain. Fans of swamps and flat farmland can spend hours ogling the eastern half of the state, while Urban Sprawl enthusiasts are sure to get a kick out ot the Western half. I think there are some mountains in there somewhere, and also possibly more swampland, but I’m not positive.
Another thing Maryland has that sets it apart is the DelMarVa Peninsula (aka “Sportsman’s Paradise” or “This DelMarVa-lous Land”), which is a giant peninsula that includes the entire eastern half of the state. DelMarVa is short for DELaware, MARyland, and VirginiA. Hey, Michigan… what’s your upper peninsula called? The Upper Peninsula, you say? Real creative, assholes!
Finally, I think it’s cool that our state bird (the Baltimore Oriole) is also the name of our Major League Baseball franchise (the Baltimore Orioles). What other state can say that?
Shut up Missouri. I wasn’t talking to you.
Mr. Messick is a co-founder of Supermasterpiece.com and a resident of Cincinnati, OH.
Counterpoint: You Fucking Stupid Asshole
by Shek Baker
“…Greatest state in the union, hands down?” You piece of commie bullshit. The Republic of Maryland, as a geographical and political entity, is so vastly superior to any other place known to exist that if you stop believing that fact, your brain bursts into flame and explodes out of your rectal orifice literally screaming the glory of Maryland, my beloved terra maria, like it was blasted out of a gun…ever notice what Maryland is shaped like? That’s right: the gun of truth and justice, and incredible sexual climax, and shit tons of filthy money, you worthless punk.
We are more patriotic than you. We were so committed to the North during the Civil War that we suspended the rights of the citizens and elected a pro-Union government under the protection of gunpoint (or Maryland-point, as I like to say)! Ever heard of the United States Naval academy of the United States? How about the Star Spangled Motherfucking Banner? 1) It’s here, and 2) we wrote it.
We are smarter than you. We decoded the human fucking genome. All of it. Think that was easy? Okay, smart stuff, we’ve got F. Scott Fitzgerald’s decomposing corpse…yes, that would be F. Scott Goddamned Fucking Fitzgerald, literary genius.
We’re more athletic than you. The last time four Major League Baseball pitchers won twenty or more games for the same club? 1971, for the Baltimore Orioles. Palmer, McNally, Cuellar and Dobson destroy you all. Guess what else? We got Cal Ripken, baseball’s all time Iron Man. Guess what else? We got Babe Ruth. The bambino. The greatest baseball player of all time, and he was a native son of Baltimore. Look it up, fuckface. Even our horsies can run faster than you at The Preakness race, which is only part of the, oh I don’t know, Triple Crown of horse racing.
Not convinced yet? Even our asses are badder ass than yours. We built this state on the backs of British convicts. You’ll remember some of their descendants as the National Guardsmen who gave those ‘innocent’ Iraqi Abu Ghraib prisoners what was coming to them. We’re the Free State, because we told Prohibition to fuck off. And we’re the Old Line State, because our boys stood in Brooklyn to be slaughtered by the Redcoats as George Washington turned and hauled his candy ass over the East River. We got John Wilkes Booth, and we got Linda Hamilton…we killed the greatest president we ever had, and then for an encore we bumped off two terminators. You cannot touch us.
Our mascots kick your fucking ass inside out. State fish: rockfish, the fish that rocks. State fossil: Ecphora gardnerae gardnerae, a snail that could bore holes through your shell and slice you up with its radula. State dinosaur: Astrodon johnstoni, an immense herbivore that eats all your plants, you suffocate, you die. State tree: the White Oak lives to be 500 years old and provides outstanding shade.
We’re blacker than you (Frederick Douglass, Thurgood Marshall, Harriet Tubman), we’re whiter than you (Ben Stein, Spiro Agnew, Edward Norton), we’re angrier than you (H. L. Mencken, Lewis Black, Dwight “Howlin’ Mad Murdoch” Schultz), we’re more compassionate than you (Clara Barton), and we’re exposing your fucking corruption (Carl Bernstein) and your disgusting business practices (Upton Sinclair).
We’re more talented than you (Eubie Blake, Billie Holiday, Jim Henson, Frank Zappa), and so far less talented than you that we lap you around and become even more talented (Tori Amos, Toni Braxton, Cab Calloway). We are tastier than you (blue crabs, soft shell crabs, muskmelons…that’s right, EAT IT), we are more tolerant than you (colony founded to protect Catholics from persecution), and we are more committed to aviation than you (the College Park Airport is the oldest continually operated airport in The United States of America).
And by the way, Messick? The ponies run wild on Assateague Island (or You-a-teague, you-hole). Chincoteague’s in Virginia, otherwise known as Not Maryland, a place where I will never be caught DEAD.
Shek Baker is alive and well and living in Brooklyn, NY.
A few weekends ago I was attending the bachelor party of a good friend of mine. For the most part, it went pretty well. In fact, I remember it just like this. The problem is that my friend Justin, all of whose scenes were missing, at one point decided to leap onto my back and try to ride me like a horse, or some sort of man-sized dinosaur, presumably all the way to Mexico whereupon I would die from the exhaustive journey, and he would fulfill his lifelong dream of becoming the world record holder in donkey show participation. I have weird friends.
Alas, we didn’t make it to Mexico, but we did make it to the pavement, and said pavement took a sizable chunk of skin out of both of my knees. Justin, of course, had almost no recollection of this, so I have been taunting him about it mercilessly. Anyway, the scab (bleargh) has recently started to come off (double bleargh), but I didn’t realize how much until I got to work yesterday. After sitting at the computer for an indeterminate period of time I stood up to get my mail, or go to the bathroom, or something like that, and I had a painful sensation in my knee. I looked down and saw that my pants were attached to my leg. I tried to gently pull the pants away from my wound, but they were adhered through the scientific power of HEMOSTASIS! My stupid body thought my pants were also part of my body and so the pants were incorporated into the scab. After some tugging I managed to get my body and my pants separated, but the inside of my pants leg looked like the hive from Aliens. It was pretty gross.
So what would happen while my body is trying to bond with my wardrobe? My nose, of course, starts bleeding. But, I had the upper hand in this situation! Because my nose constantly bleeds in the summer and winter, I had previously prepared a nose-bleed plug of wadded tissue for just this type of situation. Well, I wasn’t really expecting to have grafted with my pants, but the nose-bleed I was expecting. Anyway, I jammed the tissue-plug up my nose, grabbed the area of my pants that were in danger of reattaching to my leg, and then hobbled around the office looking for someone with a bandage.
I must have been quite the sight, stooped over and holding my own pants while the tissue jammed up my nose slowly soaked with blood. I am quite the catch, ladies and gentlemen, I assure you. Mrs. ACW must thank her lucky stars every day for being the lucky lady that gets to walk around behind me and pick of the pieces that fall off.
I found a bandage without too much trouble and slapped it on there and my leg and nose seem no worse for the experience.
Hope you weren’t eating lunch.
Gary Esposito is a douchebag.
I’m surprised “cock” and “ass” don’t set off any alarms, not to mention “dumbfuck” and “skullfuck”.
Get yours at http://mingle2.com/blog-rating, but be warned, you’ll also be advertising their crappy dating site.
Holy shit! Thomas Kinkade’s horrible artwork looks like Hitler’s!
What a mean thing to say about Hitler, though.
But wait, the craziness gets crazier!
Apparently Thomas “Batshit Fucking Loco Hack Painter Extraordinaries” Kinkade at some point painted under the “persona” Robert Girrard. What the sweet Jesusly fuck is THAT about? He can’t make enough shitty artwork as one person that he has to farm out work to another personality? Creepy.
First of all, I feel compelled to again point out that Kinkade has a habit of getting drunk, groping the ladies, and marking territory via urination. Now on top of that we have a Garth Brooks/Chris Gainesesque alter ego for this shitpile of a painter? How much crazy can possibly be packed into a single person?
A lot, I guess, if you’re Thomas “What a Monumental Douchebag” Kinkade.
(My post courtesy of these comments at this post.)
It’s been busy (Ha! I just typed “busty”. Tits everywhere!) around here lately, primarily because my class is wrapping up for the semester. I had my group presentation last night, my 5-pages-minimum-with-sources “midterm” essay is due on Wednesday, my final project presentation is due this coming Monday, and my 10-pages-minimum-with-sources final project is due by the 2nd of July.
Or, at least that’s how it was supposed to have happened.
At the beginning of the semester we were broken into groups based on what topic we wanted to present about, and our group was the biggest at 5 people. We were told that we’d have 1 and 1/2 to 2 hours to present, and that we’d need time left over for questions. So we quickly divided 90 minutes by 5 people and came up with 18 minutes per person. That would leave plenty of time for Q&A at the end, and we’d all do an equal amount of presenting.
So I spent the last week and a half working on my presentation. I was making sure my slides were relevant, practicing my timing, making sure that I was right around 18 minutes. I even planned for dropping some stuff if time was short and had some anecdotes ready if we needed to stretch it out a bit.
When the first person in our group spoke for 30 minutes and read each word on every slide, I was a bit miffed but figured that everyone else would make up for it. When the second person in our group spoke for 30 minutes and read every word on every slide, I was starting to get frustrated. When the third person in our group spoke for 45 minutes and brought up every tangent known to humanity, I wanted to punch myself in the face and flip the fucking desk over. When the fourth presenter promised he could do a quick summary in 5 minutes and then used the remaining 20, all the while talking about EVERYTHING in my part of the presentation, I damn near exploded with rage.
Now I have to re-frame every theme in my presentation so that it doesn’t look like we had two duplicate conclusions, and I have to do it while I’m supposed to be working on my fucking midterm.
Seriously, everyone who has presented in my class so far has been horrible at it. Everyone reads off their fucking slides! It makes me want to stab faces! If you are reading off your fucking powerpoint slides you are an idiot and you are wasting everyone’s time and you should dunk yourself in gravy and go play with the lions at the zoo. Either shut your stupid fucking mouth and let the audience read your presentation because you’ve just rendered yourself a stupid sack of meat worth nothing more than the thumb it takes you to advance your slides, or don’t read off your fucking slides you cockthirsty shitfucker! Take an extra THREE FUCKING MINUTES and create a presentation that doesn’t make me want to tear out your eyeballs and skullfuck your screaming face. You know what? Nevermind. Don’t even use powerpoint because you’re just going to fuck it up anyway and end up looking like a retard again and wasting everyone’s time. You’re not allowed to use powerpoint anymore, dumbfuckers.
Here’s an example of a really good powerpoint presentation. Notice that Mr. Lessing doesn’t read EVERY FUCKING SLIDE or FILL THE FUCKING SLIDES WITH A BUNCH OF USELESS SHIT and STUPID FUCKING ANIMATIONS.
So this morning I’m just beboping along on my way to work. Same stupid routine as every other day. Eat breakfast, get my stuff, check the gimp cage, the usual. My drive to work is the same type of tedium; that is, until some vacuous, toffee-nosed, malodorous pervert decided to intervene.
I was at a standard intersection of two four-lane roads intersecting. Each road has a right and left turn lane in each direction. Everyone, of course, knows that the person turning right has the right of way. So, being the person in the right lane, I idiotically decided to take my right of way by making a simple right turn.
Much to the chagrin of the gods of traffic etiquette, I “cut-off” a woman who had been making a left turn from the opposite roadway, so I stopped, rather than letting her obliviously ram into the side of my car and make pudding out of the left half of my body before continuing on to her job as a Walmart greeter.
But then suddenly, as if by some dark and unspoken form of ancient and mystical magic she snapped out of the ambulatory haze that I’m sure has plagued her since childhood and she realized that she almost committed vehicular manslaughter.
Then her lizard brain took over again and she honked at ME and aggressively waved me to proceed. It was like watching a spastic Pillsbury Dough Woman with a bee allergy try to force a swarm of hornets out of her driver’s side window.
I can’t remember exactly what I was doing the entire time, but I can imagine that my face conveyed a look of, “Jesus Fuck lady! Did you eat a big bowl of Drano and Paint Chips as part of your balanced breakfast?”
She continued flailing madly, but there was no way I was letting this monumentally myopic moron drive BEHIND me. She’d be parked in my trunk and frothing from the gaping hole in her face that looked like two salamis fighting to get as far away from one another as possible before the end of the next quarter mile. So I looked directly into her beady little pig eyes and waited for another glimmer of something beyond the primordial instinct to eat and shit to flicker across her countenance.
A few moments passed before I saw my chance, but when I did, I took it. Using as few gestures and syllables as possible, I stuck my arm out of my open window and pointed directly at her while shouting, “You,” and then followed that by pointing down the road we were both about to travel on and shouting, “Go”.
She threw her hands up in exasperation, rolled her eyes, and drove on, finally no longer obstructing MY path, or the paths of the motorists that had been waiting through half of a traffic-light cycle for this glorified shit-factory to get the fuck out of their way.
I, of course, hope she dies in a twisted ball of metal and fire.
