Deadpool Is Awesome - RTOTD #881

Day 881

How has this movie not happened yet?

  

How did Van Wilder not grow up to become Deadpool? Because fuck you, FOX. MAKE THIS MOVIE HAPPEN NOW!

And if you want to see it in hi-res, go HERE

How To Tell If You're Dating A Stripper - RTOTD #880

Day 880

A man in Houston is suing a stripper for his Harry Potter DVDs (as well as some cash & a laptop or something). He claims they were a loan to a girlfriend. She claims that they were gifts from a regular.

Ok guy... look... I know that you should know this shit by now, but I'm just gonna have to learn you a thing about strippers.

They are human beings doing a job. Some are great people and some are no better than a common con artist. Either way, their job is partial wish fulfillment & ego stroking. Their goal is to get you to think that they're interested in you and get whatever material goods from you that they can. So if you think a stripper is into you because she spends time with you at her place of employment and you give her lots of gifts & money that she thanks you for, then you've done nothing but prove that she's good at her job. That doesn't mean that you're dating her. If she gave you a sob story about her rent or phone bill or kids and you picked up the tab for her for a month, that doesn't mean you're dating her. It means you've got more money than brains.

Which brings up something else... dating strippers. I can comment on this because I've had both the fortune and misfortune of doing this a few times. I generally don't give a fuck what a girls profession is, as long as she's not a money sucking leech. And money sucking leeches come from all walks of life. As far as I'm concerned, that she's a stripper is no different than anything else. It's no different than meeting any other broad at her work since she's in a service/entertainment industry and I was there to be served/entertained. No different than a waitress or a bartender or a yoga instructor... who am I kidding... there's no way I would ever meet a yoga instructor at her work. That would involve me going into a yoga studio. HA! Not gonna happen.

But still... you're meeting a girl at her job. That her job involves taking off her clothes for money is irrelevant. It's no different than being a regular with the same server. Just because the same girl brings you your burger and coffee twice a week doesn't mean you're dating. And just because she accepts your 20% tip with a thank you doesn't mean you're dating.

So with that said, let's examine a few way to determine if you're dating that stripper or not:

First, if you are NOT 100% sure that you're dating that stripper... you're not dating that stripper.

Second, if you ARE 100% sure that you're dating that stripper, there's a 90% chance that you're still not dating that stripper.

Third, if you have never spent time with that stripper outside of the club, then you're not dating that stripper. And if you've paid for her company outside of the club, then you're only dating her if you also think you're dating the slutted up girl that walked up to your car at a red light & asked if you want a date.

Fourth, if you've ever paid for anything more than on-stage tips or MAYBE a lap dance, you've got fuck-all chance. Sorry man. Just the way it is. You're a wallet now. You might be a wallet with a good sense of humor or a nice personality, but you're just a wallet. A regular and a set amount of money they can rely on when they see you walk into the club.

Fifth, unless she's been to your place for a holiday, you've met family or pets, or hung out with friends and none of these outside-of-work interactions that anything to do with money, you're not dating that stripper. Note: meeting any or all of these requirements do not guarantee that you are dating that stripper. If so, then there's probably another half dozen strippers I've "dated" and not realized it. In fact, if you can't pick up the phone and make plans with her like you would anyone else you're friends with, I can guarantee that you're not dating.

Sixth, sorry... there's a 99.9% chance you're just not dating that stripper. Why? Because you're one of a thousand dudes that they've met in the club to in the past few months and assuming they even date customers, they're likely only dating 1 or 2. And the math says that probably ain't you.

And on a personal note, I've always had a litmus test for determining the interest level of a stripper that I've met at a club & is down to meet up off-the-clock to get to know each other better if there's some chemistry: if on the first "date", she doesn't at least demand to go dutch on drinks/coffee/dinner, I immediately decide that there's no potential for anything else. Sorry ladies, but that's just how I do it. I can guarantee that I've been wrong a few times in both directions and it's not fool-proof, but it's a pretty good litmus test and has worked out reasonably well for me to this point.

So sorry, Guy-In-Houston... you are either an idiot, a total mark, or fell down the naiveté tree and hit every branch on the way down if you think giving gifts to a stripper that she accepts makes her your girlfriend. You just fell for the oldest stripper trick in the book. Also, you failed Common Sense 101.

The Opposite Of Anger - RTOTD #879

Day 879

I've realized something recently that (I guess) I've always kinda known, but not really acknowledged before now: I've been an angry motherfucker for most of my life. I rant. I berate. And in the process, I can be kinda funny sometimes (if you don't have a stick up your ass).

But the thing is, I'm not nearly as angry anymore. I don't know if it's because I'm not as depressed as I've been in the past. Or if it's because I'm not single since I've spent so much time in my life generally single. Or if it's because I'm just getting older and mellowing the fuck out. Or if it's just that I've become so cynical that it's morphed into apathy that I can't even muster up the energy to scream about anymore.

So I guess what I'm saying here is that I'm kinda happy anymore. I'm getting to that age where the stupid shit that I used to scream about doesn't even phase me anymore and I just don't even really care about all the silly shit out there that I used to.

I don't give a fuck about community politics anymore because I've realized that everyone is a fucking moron and that won't change even if the idiots in charge today get replaced tomorrow.  They'd just be replaced by other idiots with ego-boosting agendas to compensate for their... fucking whatever.

I don't care about making friends with new people or finding new play partners because I've got the few friends that I really care to spend time with and I've got a great girl that I'm happy with, even when she drives me up the fucking wall.

I don't care about whatever bullshit "causes" that everyone seems to get up in arms about and I don't care about some stupid god damned airplane that crashed on the other side of the planet. In fact, I don't even turn on the news anymore because I could tell you everything that happened without watching it. You just have to substitute the date and location and I guarantee that it's yesterdays paper all over again.

The downside to all of this is that it's killed this blog. Yelling about shit and making fun of idiots has been the whole point of this thing since the beginning. And being happy pretty much murdered the source of my content. And I'm sure as shit not going to fake outrage.

With that said, I have no idea what the future holds for this formerly-daily insight into what's pissing me off on any given morning. I also don't know what the future holds for writing the 2nd book either. I'm considering just cancelling it at this point because I don't think I even really care enough to dig back into it since I hat virtually everything that I've written this point. And I can't fake that either.

They say that comedy often stems from depression and maybe that's the case with this. Because while I'm still occasionally stressed about shit, I'm no longer depressed about anything. I'm no longer angry and I'm no longer in a place where I give 2 tugs of a dead dog's cock about what anyone else is doing. Hell, I don't even care if anyone reads this. I just felt compelled to write it. And since I rarely feel compelled to write much of anything anymore, I also decided that it should get posted.

I don't know how to end this blog so I'm just going to stop writing words now.

Up Is Down & Black Is White - RTOTD #878

Day 878

Oh Chicago, how much I loathe you. There is nothing about you that I like. You're a 3rd world city that has never understood its own stupidity and this is yet another example of it.

It has come to my attention that you've decided to re-invent the philosophy of transportation in your city. And who, might you guess, gets the highest priority when designing roads? Cars? No? Why? Oh, I guess you're right. Of course not. That would be silly. I mean, it's not like paved roads were essentially invented to accommodate cars or anything. No.

So if it's not cars, it must be buses, right? I mean, I can see that. If you want to put bus routes in then the roads have to at least be able to accommodate the buses that you're using then because sometimes a tight turn prevents a bus from making that turn, so if you design a road with buses in mind, then cars obviously can also navigate them pretty well. But wait, what's that? No? Not buses either? Wow, that's weird.

So if it's not cars and it's not buses, then it must be bicycles then, right? I mean, you're one of those "progressive cities" that thinks that bicycles are the pinnacle of enlightenment because "environmentalism" or "sustainability" or "insert your favorite pseudo-scientifically-proven cause that will get rebuffed next week but come back en vogue in a few years before we repeat it all over again", right? But you also think that banning all firearms will cut down on crime but somehow always end up being the firearms murder capital of the country. Weird. So it's gotta be bicycles, right? Even though it doesn't make a fuck bit of sense, bicycles HAVE to be the top priority when cars and buses aren't. There's not many things left that it could be. So it's bicycles, right? What do you mean "no". If it's not bicycles, then what the fuck is it?

Pedestrians? Are you fucking kidding me? Pedestrians are now the priority to be kept in mind when designing streets? You don't see the stupidity in that? No, it doesn't make sense. Do you know why? Shut up. Do you know why designing streets to suit pedestrians and even sometimes banning cars on a street makes no fucking sense? SHUT UP, I'M TALKING! Do you know why it's fucking stupid?

Because pedestrians already have their own fucking streets. THEY'RE CALLED SIDEWALKS!

So here's the deal, Chicago and every other stupid place that somehow has jammed their head so far up their ass that the whole world is upside down (because that's the only conceivable way that this could make a fuck bit of sense to anyone with more than 2 firing neurons)...

When pedestrians start getting priority in the streets and street design, I'm calling dibs on priority for my car on the fucking sidewalk. Let's see how this works out, since you wanna make all this shit backwards anyway. I'm just going to take it to its logical conclusion.

People in the streets. Cars on the sidewalk. This is going to be SUPER.

Alcohol: The Mother of All Invention - RTOTD #877

Day 877

I've realized something when it comes to sport. Or at least, Olympic sports:

Every single one of them are either games invented (or likely could have been invented) as ways for children to get exercise or they're games that seem like they were invented by drunken assholes because alcohol.

I don't even give a fuck about the summer Olympics. Sorry. But it's lame. 87 versions of swimming is dumb? Some spinning and jumping and flipping on the ground is boring. And running around in a circle track is like an even suckier version of NASCAR where everyone forgot their car. Would you give a fuck if Dale fucking Earnhart and all those other idiots just run around the track? No. Because it's gay. That's what virtually every track event is. NASCAR without the cars.

Winter is so much better. Granted, it's just 147 different versions of losing your footing on slipper surfaces and compensating for it in some way, but still...

But consider most of them:

Downhill skiing? Totally a drunk guy strapping boards to their feet and grabbing 2 sticks to have something to hold onto and then his buddies betting on whether he could make it down the hill. Once they all managed to not die sliding down the hill and the pot was pretty big? We know what happens next: drunk guys betting on which drunk guy will slip down the hill fastest. Instant sport.

Snowboarding was invented just to make it more likely that the drunk guys would see someone kill themselves sliding down the hill. "Oh, you guys all managed to make it down with 2 boards strapped to your feet. How about we make it just 1 and see how you fuckers do!".

How about Hockey? Everything in Canada is frozen for like 19 months a year and they are born with skates strapped to their feet (how that doesn't kill the women coming out is beyond me, but those Canadians are mysterious folk) so they all know how to skate. But skating around all winter isn't even as much exercise as walking to the 7-11, so they invented hockey because they were fucking bored and the kids were getting fat since they weren't getting as much exercise as even walking. So boom. Hockey gets invented to keep Canadian kids skinny. And they can only have 1 John Candy so a bunch of fat Canadians couldn't even be useful.

Curling?  Well... that was absolutely another drunk guy invented sport. I'm pretty sure it went something like this:

Guy #1: "I wanna bowl!"
Guy #2: "I like shuffleboard!"
Guy #3: "I wanna play horseshoes!"
Guy #4: "I'm a janitor and don't sweep enough shit at work!"

All 3 of them then realize that everything is a sheet of fucking ice and their only option is a fucking rock because they can't get to the bowling alley. So they grab the rock, and start trying to hit a spot that they arbitrarily pick about 50 feet away and realize they suck at it so they paint a target on it. They still suck at it so they decide to compensate for friction in their drunken haze. Because games invented by drunk people always get more complicated the longer you play them until nobody remembers how the game works and it essentially leaves every spectator that inevitably stands to watch the drunken fools play their game standing there with that confused-dog head-tilt thing. So they start sweeping shit after shoveling fails and like some strange wintery magic, they can all start hitting the fucking target. Another sport is born.

The Biathalon was simply created because too many drunk people snow-stumbling home from the bar thru the woods got stuck and froze, so they slapped skis on their feet. That worked to get them thru but then they all started getting eaten by bears. So they started carrying rifles. Awkwardly slide thru the woods for a while. Stop and shoot the bear that's about to eat you. Lather, rinse and repeat. That's pretty much the genesis of that one.

So there you go. Games by drunks or to keep kids from getting fat in Canada. The winter Olympics are essentially the Canadian version of Hillbilly Olympics, really. So there you go.

Expiration - RTOTD #876

Day 876

I'm letting my FetLife support expire.

It seems weird to do it since I've been a supporter for so long now that I barely remember NOT being a supporter. I didn't even think about it. It was just the way it was.

But I don't really make use of it at this point. Hell, I barely even write this fucking blog anymore (mostly because I couldn't give 2 shits about much of anything anymore and very little actually even registers on my radar at this point) and almost never check Fet more than once or twice a day for like 30 seconds; often going days between even glancing at the site.

I ignore my inbox. I barely feign interest in the couple groups that I "run". And I could not give a fuck about what anyone said more than 10 hours ago.

Not to mention that this place is virtually dead anymore.

Please don't misunderstand me here. This isn't some lame "I'm leaving [insert X website/social media service/message board thing] forever" performance art bullshit. That shit is fucking dumb. This is just a realization that I had.

I have no need to support FetLife at this point. It isn't providing me a service that I'm making any sort of use of, and while I totally support its purpose and John's devotion to making it into a tool that has radically changed the kink landscape and the way that kinksters interact and communicate and organize as a community, it's just not my bag at this point.

In the past, I might have still supported and thrown my money at it just to hope that my couple bucks might help them with expanding that mission or at the bare minimum, keep the lights & servers running for another few hours. But out of a sense of caring for fostering the kind of community that I wanted to interact with even when I wasn't making use of it.

Now though? Something has changed for me. I've just reached a point of apathy for any of it. For writing this blog. For providing time, energy and space. For entertaining and volunteering. Or for working to facilitate the kind of community that I wanted to be a part of, as opposed to one populated by whiny attention whoring tantrum throwing children-of-absolute-tolerance-for-everything-as-long-as-it's-not-something-that-we-don't-agree-with and over-compensating self-important bores that we have allowed ourselves to be content with.

Now I just don't care enough.

I mean, more power to you all that have the energy to keep going. I don't right now. More power to those of you that actually use this place for building something cool instead of the snore-inducing drivel that we have had for far too long now. And more power to you providing an alternative to the status quo milquetoast that is vast majority of the community in this corner of the state.

But who knows? Maybe I'll eventually recharge my batteries and care enough to support again and get back out there, causing ruckus, being a trouble-maker and inducing headaches for people and organizations that I think are bloated, contradictory, over-complicated, sometimes insane (the "don't stick your dick in it" kind; not the fun kind) and generally bland houses-of-cards waiting to tumble down upon themselves.

But for the time being, I don't think I'm going to be supporting shit.

MOAR BEARS! - RTOTD #875

Day 875

Here's some gifs of a guy playing with a motherfucking grizzly bear like I do with my dog. Except for the part where he tries to swallow my head. He's big but not big enough to pretend to swallow my head.

Now I want a fucking bear as a pet.

Here's some more gifs and pictures of bears being awesome and why I need one as a pet:


So I always have something to laugh about!

 

 

 To greet people when they come visit & provide a friendly first impression.

 

 

For home security. Who's going to fuck with a ninja bear?

A snowplow. My driveway is hard to use the snowblower on and I slip a lot when walking down it in the winter, so he can totally just plow the driveway for me, right?

When I've had a bad or long day at work and I just need a hug when I get home.

I'm About To Ruin Your Fucking Day - RTOTD #874

Day 874

I have a problem that's been bugging me for a while and it's getting worse.

ASPCA commercials.

Because they're getting to me more and more. And they're longer. And more depressing. And more... EVERYTHING.

It was bad enough when it was just Sarah McLachlan singing and making you feel horrible that you haven't adopted every dog at the local shelter. But that one only lasted for 45 seconds.

But now? Now it's a 3 minute long commercial with just some lady guilt-tripping you for being alive and not spending your entire day playing with dogs and giving them food.

I was sitting on the couch on Saturday, just watching some TV, when an ASPCA commercial came on that I was half-expecting to be yet another Sarah McLachlan commercial where she sings to pictures of sad dogs and bandaged cats, but this one was different.

It started with a woman just talking over video clips of the saddest dogs ever. And every word out of her mouth made you feel shittier and shittier about being a human being. About beaten dogs and being locked in a cage and left to die.

THE LADY FUCKING SAID THAT! "Locked in a cage to die"

I lasted 10 seconds before I had to get up and walk as calmly as possible over to the chair-and-a-half where Bailey was curled up in a ball, looking pathetic and unloved, and laid down to smother him with a hug.

His expression was of utter confusion. I mean, he does a damned good job of looking pathetic and unloved and basically giving you Bailey Face, but the second you give him attention, he's the happiest dog on the planet.

I then had to make my way around the house and hug the other 2 dogs for a good 20 seconds each.

It was then that it dawned on me: As long as there are ASPCA commercials on TV, I can never be without a dog. Because every single time one comes on the TV, I feel compelled to get up and hug the dogs. And if I didn't have a dog to hug, I would have to go and adopt all the dogs at the shelter just so that I had dogs to hug during ASPCA commercials.

That's their trick. They make you feel so horrible that you have an overwhelming compulsion to hug dogs. And if you don't have a dog to hug when their commercial hits your ears and eyes, then the overwhelming compulsion is to go get yourself a dog just so that you can hug it.

It took me about 2 minutes to get through all of the dog hugging and making my way around the house to make sure there was food and water and toys aplenty for the dogs to play with. I was finally starting to feel good about  myself again. Like I'd done my part in making absolutely sure that the dogs never felt like they were going to be left to die in a cage or beaten and neglected. Like I wasn't a completely horrible human being. And when I walked back into the living room...

THE FUCKING COMMERCIAL WAS STILL GOING!

I had to start all over. Their guilt-trip commercial got to me a 2nd time.

So yeah... I am really starting to hate these commercials because no matter how much I do to try to make sure I'm taking the best care of the dogs that I can, I feel like shit whenever these damn commercials come on.

Or just be always ready with a remote in hand to make sure I can change the channel FAST.

Bad Signals - RTOTD #873

Day 873

A Pimp is suing Nike because their shoes aren't labeled as  "dangerous if used to beat someone with". Because apparently he didn't realize that beating someone with them would cause injury.

I have so many words. So very very many words. But instead, let's go with a list of the best ridiculous warning labels. Because I can guarantee that that's funnier than discussing  whether Nike needs to label their shoes as "not beating implements" or "harmful to face if used to curb stomp" or some such bullshit. Because this shit is as fucking stupid as people that need to be constantly told that their coffee is hot. And it's awesome.


Was there a lot of this going on somewhere?



This is a roof antenna. Drunk people should not be on the roof.

WHO NEEDS TO BE TOLD THIS?!?!?!?!

Feel free to add your favorites as well.

Tire Fires of Nostalgia - RTOTD #872

Day 872

Man, I fucking miss Bugs Bunny and Roadrunner cartoons. And as much as I'd love to see new episodes, I know the kind of tire fire that some jackwagon producer at Time-Warner would turn them into. It would basically end up a somehow even shittier version of Space Jam and essentially rape my childhood and make me hate everything even more. Kinda like Man of Steel. Except worse. Like strange-sounding Muppets after Jim Hensen died.

I guess that's the thing with revisiting nostalgia stuff. You can't quite ever recapture that lightning in a bottle of the original. You can only really hope to get close, not fuck up too much, and keep hitting the "90% of the quality of the original" until it's just hackneyed and I am left writing too many fucking clichés to describe it.

So maybe I just need to go find some old-school Loony Tunes on Netflix or DVD or something and binge on that for a while. Except that fucking skunk. Because fuck Pepe Le Pew and all of France. And the rooster guy wasn't that funny either.