RIP God
For nearly my entire life I have believed in a higher power and much like how my dad could beat your dad up (if he weren't stricken with the crippling handicap of being dead), I believed that my God could beat up your God, especially the Jew God. Seriously guys, read the New Testament, I mean I love the metal band Testament's old work and their new work, really good stuff if you ask me. So just relax at home and read the full Bible. Anyways, it has been a long time coming but I will break the news to the world that not only is God dead, but has been dead for over 16 years.
Our higher power was declared dead on March 4th, 1994 with the birth of a creature so villainous that it has captivated our youth, particularly our young girls. (Perhaps the fact that God died allowed for the New York Rangers to win the Stanley Cup 71 days after His death. Then again I would like to believe that God gave The Rangers the push and with the remaining 71 days Godless won it entirely on their own and not by the grace of God for Him in his all mighty passing.) The birth of Justin Bieber signified the fact that God was indeed dead by allowing a bastard spawn of 23 homeless men and 3 dogs to walk the earth plaguing the airwaves with his filth and mixed sexuality messages. His rise was ever so delicate growing up in the most peaceful and least likely of places for the nail to be driven into God's coffin, in Ontario, Canada.
I'm sure that when most of you think about places for the anti-Christ to be delivered would either be in Detroit, New Jersey or Japan due to it's ability to blend in with some of the most screwed up societies in the universe. So why Canada? It's the perfect place to raise this thing, molding it into a wholesome innocent being, look at Avril Lavigne after all. Had she been from South Central L.A. She would be going down the Lindsay Lohan route shoving everything up her nose, including Michael Jackson's withered corpse. Regardless of the wheres and whens, we must look deeper into the who's, what's and why's dissecting this thing that surly will destroy this world from the inside out.
Who is Justin Bieber?
According to the great Wikipedia; Justin Bieber's plight to end mankind began “In early 2007, when he was twelve, Bieber sang Ne-Yo's "So Sick" for a local singing competition in Stratford and placed second. Mallette posted a video of the performance on YouTube for their family and friends to see. She continued to upload videos of Bieber singing covers of various R&B songs, and Bieber's popularity on the site grew. ” Therein part of the blame must fall upon Youtube, however Youtube itself had no idea just how big they would become upon launching. Upon his growing fame unbeknownst to us about our impending doom, he was given permission by his mother to go to Hotlanta, Georgia to begin recording. All of this happened after she sought guidance from her peers at her local church, to which they gave her encouragement to do so. Had God been still alive, he would have sent so many signals and signs to the congregation that Justin Bieber, then 13, would have been crucified upside down and all of humanity saved. Sadly, God's not here and Bieber-Mania has snowballed into a force to be reckoned .
Why?
Why now? Why this? It's all because of YOU! Yes I said it, you all are responsible for our demise. With all of you watching and listening to awful garbage such as “Jersey Shore”, “Dancing With The Stars”, “30 Rock”, “24”, “Avatar”, “Scott Pilgrim vs The World”, “Jim Rome Is Burning”, obsession with auto-tune, “American Idol”, “Guitar Hero/Coc...Rock Band”, “Twilight”, “Glee”, and last but not least, those fucking E-Trade baby commercials”. You single handedly kept God from coming back because though he may have been declared medically dead, God's spirit still walked the earth, and if he felt we were worth saving, would have sent his Son back to take care of business. His son coming in the form of Ted Nugent's child to be precise. God took one look at our society and what a Godless world hath became and said peace. He created us all in His image and this is what we did without him. Therefore we are getting our just deserts and I will be drinking as much as possible until the end, as I plan on going down with the ship.
What Can We Do?
Clearly nothing. Nothing at all can be done because he has gotten too powerful. Over the summer I, along with my associates met at Pippin's Pub and discussed what was to be done, and as seen in early August of this year (2010) we put our plan into action. In the footage (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0e50vqY7Szo) go ahead, watch it again, I'll wait....
We clearly see what appears to be a water bottle hit him in the head, and though many of us cheered this feeling that's what he deserves, it wasn't supposed to go down like that. A man and brother in arms by the name of George William Bluthe who attempted to assassinate him with a bullet dipped in holy water from February of 1994 to put an end to Bieber. Sadly his power has grown too strong and he was able, in his evil ways to transform the bullet for true freedom into a water bottle.
I have risked my life in writing this paper as I'm sure that upon its upload to the internets, I will surly have to face his army of 16 year old minions to silence me, but I dare not fear one bit for I feel that YOU, those responsible, now know what needs to be done. Any and all help will be needed in what will be the final battle. I'm making a call to arms in the fight for humanity, ALL MEMBERS OF THE KISS ARMY, DEAD HEADS, AND PARROT HEADS (I'll forgive Jimmy Buffet for your assistance and will put all differences aside for a greater cause) RISE UP AND SILENCE BIEBER!
Friday, November 19, 2010
Saturday, December 5, 2009
“Robots; Mankind’s assistant or Threat to Mankind’s Existence?” From the deranged mind of Thomas L. O’Connor
Before I start this paper regarding a serious matter I would first like to dedicate this paper to Robert Williams who was the first person killed by a robot and hopefully one of the last.
“Robots; Mankind’s assistant or Threat to Mankind’s Existence?”
From the deranged mind of Thomas L. O’Connor
The year is 2029 and thanks to Skynet; the world is in ruins as mankind struggles to fight the robots and their endless mass produced army. Whenever judgment day begins, the bottom line is that robots and super machines cannot be taken lightly and must be considered as valid of a threat as Kathy Griffin to society. Although (for the moment) robots are manmade; with more advancements in artificial intelligence we can potentially lose control of what we made rendering us “the creators” and not “the masters” of this new metal species. Robots have come a long way throughout the 20th century and have made production on a grand scale cost efficient and steady. Long since have the days of the Spinning Jenny have passed where now we have machines that in order to work some douche bag in a union pushes the button and there it is, magic!
As the robots and machinery intelligence grows and begin to operate independently what will happen when a robot watches reruns of “Happy Days” and see the Fonz hitting the jukebox and getting upset at this apparent man-machine hate crime? What’s the robot to do in a world that sees him as a second class citizen just because he isn’t natural? This all plays into the entire movie that was AI which was about a robot child with the capability of loving and having genuine emotions even though the movie went batshit crazy at the end when Spielberg got his hands on it after Kubrick died throwing in aliens and crap, but regardless, great movie dealing with robots living in a human society. Once robots gain complete independent control of themselves and their actions they will have to endure humans and their prejudices. Surly independent robots will not be completely accepted which creates the threat of them turning on men.
A fine example of this threat comes from the film “2001: A Space Odyssey” where HAL, the ships brain controls and regulates all that goes on in the ship, HAL, incapable of making mistakes given his intelligence makes a minor slip and places the crew in question of HAL’s abilities and two crewmembers speak privately of what to do with HAL and speak of shutting HAL down. HAL reading their lips in one of the space pods goes on the defensive killing most of the crew to preserve the Orion’s mission to Jupiter feeling that he is far superior than the crew and they alone are not capable of completing the mission. With superior intelligence, machines can possess the idea that they are better at making decisions than man. They can then shift the balance in their favor under the notion than mankind has made countless errors in the world since the dawn of man and lionize themselves above man feeling a machine in charge would make fewer mistakes than a man ran world.
In the event of this happening what is to stop the machines from taking complete control of everything that goes on deeming humans unfit to rule regardless as to whether or not the machine(s) are incapable of errors? With the creation of such supercomputers/machines man must install a failsafe termination plan to shut down the machines when deemed fit, however in doing so you open the option for a third party to shut down the machines creating slight anarchy pending on how much faith is put into these machines and everything.
The battle of man against machine will be one the machines have the great advantage to in a sense that you can manufacture a machine and send it straight off the assembly line and off to battle whereas us humans must reproduce and wait years before the next wave of human soldiers are set against the machines. The machines will greatly outnumber men tenfold within six months of judgment day. Therefore if we continue the trend of making more intelligent machines and dabble into the field of super intelligent robots we must also venture into methods of a complete global mechanical shutdown that would indeed set mankind back a couple of generations but will ensure the survival of the human race, so long as Kathy Griffen is claimed victim to the machines be it during the war, or as a parlay where we sacrifice her for the entertainment for both man and machine.
Machines will only be as powerful a threat as we make them via what we input into their systems. It is imperative for the creators of this new wave of machines to severely consider limiting its abilities. Do not create a machine capable of anger. Do not create a machine with weaponry. If you desire to go the whole Robocop route, remember Robocop II and the machines created that went haywire and had it not been for the efforts of Robocop Detroit would surely be in shambles…oh wait. To continue on Robocop the provisions placed in his database prohibited him from harming children and a strict conduct of maintaining the law. This proved to be a problem in Robocop II and III where he couldn’t stop the baseball team looting the electronics store, the doucheface kid in II and fighting OCP in III. It was programmed into him that he could not take action against the evil OCP until it was corrected by one of the doctors that built him.
Should such methods to control the machines be in place then it may not be so bad but the threat will remain. It only takes a party, directly or indirectly to tamper with the mainframe of the machines to turn them against us. Yes this may be a farfetched plot from many bad movies like the piece of shit airplane movie and the robot from Mission to Mars with the great Gary Sinise. It may be greatly possible that a severe blow to a robot could short the system, reset it and as in Mission to Mars set the robot into survival mode, as well as in 2001: A Space Odyssey as mentioned earlier.
The grand issue at hand here is not so much how the Robot rising judgment day may occur, but what methods are in place to end it before it begins. Obviously you can not place a halt on production and technological advancement. I feel that the problem will come from Japan when robots are not used for business manners but for personal recreation as servants where they’re in an open environment roaming free amongst us willingly. I must confess that I would love a robot to do my evil bidding, but the robot I want is GIR from Invader Zim and GIR is retarded but loves tacitos! If robots are made for personal usage the sky will be the limit, independent companies will further the advancement of machines and machinist sympathizers will seek to have more emotions placed into the machines which generations feelings of resentment and angst towards men should men treat the machines like women, or something like that. When machines are capable of judgment calls who is to say what is the right call? Suppose one little element is overlooked in programming such as grey areas of culture where some things are tolerable in one culture but punishable in another. For example, in many states you cannot smoke in bars. What if a robot bouncer was created and accidently shipped to western Pennsylvania where smoking is allowed, five minutes into the turning on of Bouncer-bot 6996 a bloodbath would ensue. Judgment calls are a paradox that robots cannot nor should not manage since they are creations without learned morals on top of the programming which is set in stone, do calculators make judgment calls? Hell, even look at chess computers; they are programmed to play the smartest move, what do most of us do when playing chess? Generally make one move that’s off and sit at the computer cursing it out and hitting “undo last move”. If you made a robot to shoot darts, obviously it would be ridiculous with a British accent kicking everyone’s ass which should never even be conjured up given the fact that a FUCKING ROBOT WILL HAVE SHARP OBJECTS. The whole purpose for creating machinery is to achieve perfection and ease of labor. If you believe in God, we are all born with original sin and are indeed not perfect, why would we even try to create a being superior to ourselves that could realize how badass and great they are and decide to take over. TRON!
Man is not like the animal kingdom, we do not have sharp claws or severe strength to survive. Mankind made its way to the top of the food chain via intelligence. We learned to create primitive weapons to hunt for food, we used our intelligence to communicate with each other and operate as a unit, to instill this knowledge into a machine shall indeed be our demise. Heed the warnings from Terminator, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Tron, and that shitty airplane move. Robots and intelligent independent thinking machines are a valid threat to mankind’s survival. Next time you put on G4 and see a robot just think, that robot can and possibly will tear your arms out.
“Robots; Mankind’s assistant or Threat to Mankind’s Existence?”
From the deranged mind of Thomas L. O’Connor
The year is 2029 and thanks to Skynet; the world is in ruins as mankind struggles to fight the robots and their endless mass produced army. Whenever judgment day begins, the bottom line is that robots and super machines cannot be taken lightly and must be considered as valid of a threat as Kathy Griffin to society. Although (for the moment) robots are manmade; with more advancements in artificial intelligence we can potentially lose control of what we made rendering us “the creators” and not “the masters” of this new metal species. Robots have come a long way throughout the 20th century and have made production on a grand scale cost efficient and steady. Long since have the days of the Spinning Jenny have passed where now we have machines that in order to work some douche bag in a union pushes the button and there it is, magic!
As the robots and machinery intelligence grows and begin to operate independently what will happen when a robot watches reruns of “Happy Days” and see the Fonz hitting the jukebox and getting upset at this apparent man-machine hate crime? What’s the robot to do in a world that sees him as a second class citizen just because he isn’t natural? This all plays into the entire movie that was AI which was about a robot child with the capability of loving and having genuine emotions even though the movie went batshit crazy at the end when Spielberg got his hands on it after Kubrick died throwing in aliens and crap, but regardless, great movie dealing with robots living in a human society. Once robots gain complete independent control of themselves and their actions they will have to endure humans and their prejudices. Surly independent robots will not be completely accepted which creates the threat of them turning on men.
A fine example of this threat comes from the film “2001: A Space Odyssey” where HAL, the ships brain controls and regulates all that goes on in the ship, HAL, incapable of making mistakes given his intelligence makes a minor slip and places the crew in question of HAL’s abilities and two crewmembers speak privately of what to do with HAL and speak of shutting HAL down. HAL reading their lips in one of the space pods goes on the defensive killing most of the crew to preserve the Orion’s mission to Jupiter feeling that he is far superior than the crew and they alone are not capable of completing the mission. With superior intelligence, machines can possess the idea that they are better at making decisions than man. They can then shift the balance in their favor under the notion than mankind has made countless errors in the world since the dawn of man and lionize themselves above man feeling a machine in charge would make fewer mistakes than a man ran world.
In the event of this happening what is to stop the machines from taking complete control of everything that goes on deeming humans unfit to rule regardless as to whether or not the machine(s) are incapable of errors? With the creation of such supercomputers/machines man must install a failsafe termination plan to shut down the machines when deemed fit, however in doing so you open the option for a third party to shut down the machines creating slight anarchy pending on how much faith is put into these machines and everything.
The battle of man against machine will be one the machines have the great advantage to in a sense that you can manufacture a machine and send it straight off the assembly line and off to battle whereas us humans must reproduce and wait years before the next wave of human soldiers are set against the machines. The machines will greatly outnumber men tenfold within six months of judgment day. Therefore if we continue the trend of making more intelligent machines and dabble into the field of super intelligent robots we must also venture into methods of a complete global mechanical shutdown that would indeed set mankind back a couple of generations but will ensure the survival of the human race, so long as Kathy Griffen is claimed victim to the machines be it during the war, or as a parlay where we sacrifice her for the entertainment for both man and machine.
Machines will only be as powerful a threat as we make them via what we input into their systems. It is imperative for the creators of this new wave of machines to severely consider limiting its abilities. Do not create a machine capable of anger. Do not create a machine with weaponry. If you desire to go the whole Robocop route, remember Robocop II and the machines created that went haywire and had it not been for the efforts of Robocop Detroit would surely be in shambles…oh wait. To continue on Robocop the provisions placed in his database prohibited him from harming children and a strict conduct of maintaining the law. This proved to be a problem in Robocop II and III where he couldn’t stop the baseball team looting the electronics store, the doucheface kid in II and fighting OCP in III. It was programmed into him that he could not take action against the evil OCP until it was corrected by one of the doctors that built him.
Should such methods to control the machines be in place then it may not be so bad but the threat will remain. It only takes a party, directly or indirectly to tamper with the mainframe of the machines to turn them against us. Yes this may be a farfetched plot from many bad movies like the piece of shit airplane movie and the robot from Mission to Mars with the great Gary Sinise. It may be greatly possible that a severe blow to a robot could short the system, reset it and as in Mission to Mars set the robot into survival mode, as well as in 2001: A Space Odyssey as mentioned earlier.
The grand issue at hand here is not so much how the Robot rising judgment day may occur, but what methods are in place to end it before it begins. Obviously you can not place a halt on production and technological advancement. I feel that the problem will come from Japan when robots are not used for business manners but for personal recreation as servants where they’re in an open environment roaming free amongst us willingly. I must confess that I would love a robot to do my evil bidding, but the robot I want is GIR from Invader Zim and GIR is retarded but loves tacitos! If robots are made for personal usage the sky will be the limit, independent companies will further the advancement of machines and machinist sympathizers will seek to have more emotions placed into the machines which generations feelings of resentment and angst towards men should men treat the machines like women, or something like that. When machines are capable of judgment calls who is to say what is the right call? Suppose one little element is overlooked in programming such as grey areas of culture where some things are tolerable in one culture but punishable in another. For example, in many states you cannot smoke in bars. What if a robot bouncer was created and accidently shipped to western Pennsylvania where smoking is allowed, five minutes into the turning on of Bouncer-bot 6996 a bloodbath would ensue. Judgment calls are a paradox that robots cannot nor should not manage since they are creations without learned morals on top of the programming which is set in stone, do calculators make judgment calls? Hell, even look at chess computers; they are programmed to play the smartest move, what do most of us do when playing chess? Generally make one move that’s off and sit at the computer cursing it out and hitting “undo last move”. If you made a robot to shoot darts, obviously it would be ridiculous with a British accent kicking everyone’s ass which should never even be conjured up given the fact that a FUCKING ROBOT WILL HAVE SHARP OBJECTS. The whole purpose for creating machinery is to achieve perfection and ease of labor. If you believe in God, we are all born with original sin and are indeed not perfect, why would we even try to create a being superior to ourselves that could realize how badass and great they are and decide to take over. TRON!
Man is not like the animal kingdom, we do not have sharp claws or severe strength to survive. Mankind made its way to the top of the food chain via intelligence. We learned to create primitive weapons to hunt for food, we used our intelligence to communicate with each other and operate as a unit, to instill this knowledge into a machine shall indeed be our demise. Heed the warnings from Terminator, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Tron, and that shitty airplane move. Robots and intelligent independent thinking machines are a valid threat to mankind’s survival. Next time you put on G4 and see a robot just think, that robot can and possibly will tear your arms out.
The Ho-Mohawk
Think you're a real tough badass, a real rebel rouser, fighting against the oppression of the capitalist pigs, anti government and establishment? Why not rock a mohawk, or as I will always refer to it, the ho-mohawk. Nothing screams douchebag to me louder than when I see people in this day and age representing a ho-mohawk. It's just a step above people who will swear up and down that their shirt is salmon not pink. Well assholes, salmon is not a color, pink however is, so therefore, you're wearing a pink shirt, and just like wearing white after labor day, men should not wear pink, unless of course there is a vagina on your head, then that's acceptable. By wearing a ho-mohawk you are telling me that you think you're going to change the world, or that your hair us uber cool. If as you will read later on, rock the mohawk and are of the punk genre, cudos to you for keeping it alive, but then again, you must rock it true and shave the head, not the trend now of buzzing the sides. If you wear it true, fucking a.
The history of the mohawk as far as my understanding is badass, originating with those pesky cowboy killer Indians or, Nieve Americans as taught in school. Mr. T rocks a mohawk, as did the 101st Airborne Unit in the WWII, it was a staple for many fans of the punk genre during it's development when punk music actually meant something. So let us assess the persons above who represented the true mohawk.
Native Americans had it first, but they can not reap the blame on this one, afterall, they went to war and it was their symbol, as was the same with the 101st Airborne, they were at war and it was a nifty idea for a squad to partake in. As for the punk followers, it was a sign of change, with their uncommon against the rules way. Lasty as for Mr. T, it's fucking Mr. T and you all do not to be pittied any more than he already has and forever will.
However the persons stated above in slight detail had a true mohawk, at least they had the balls to shave their head enhancing the mohawk in all of it's glory. Unlike the douchefaces today who are too afraid of getting yelled at by their mother or being made fun of in school, who do not shave their heads, but trim the sides to create a bullshit mohawk, or as it is known in the world of TOC, the ho-mohawk. Another thing that us Americans stole from the Brits as they felt the need to go apeshit with their hair and fuck with it more. "Hey, that mohawk looks like the shizzy, but oh man, I can't shave my head, what will I do when it's out of style in a couple of months?" So just puss out completely and trim the sides and let the top grow out like an out of date mullet with AIDS, poof there you go, now you can proceed to bang emo girls and cry about it to your circle of friends as you touch each others cuts and like your ho-mohawk's with joy.
The hairstyle itself can be proven, by SCIENCE fact that it is, for lack of a better term and not meant in the derogatory way, kinda gay. Super-duper stars such as Brandon Flowers (tough guy name) from the Killers, Joel Madden from Good Charlotte, Tre "not so" Cool of Green Day (now ruining hair and music at the same time), Mikey Way of My Chemical Romance, Jack Osbourne, David Beckham, and Bruno the gay fashion reporter from Ali G. Sound like a group of people you'd like to have behind you in times of war? Hell no, in a good old fashioned street fight, I'd put Mr T against all of the people above and Mr. T would come out victorious with a lot of fools pittied, especially Beckham, god damn is his wife double o oogly, and should I even reference the thee bands above who are involved in this sharad of a hairstyle? Good Charlotte? My Chemical Romance? Green Day? Shit God Dan Akroid, they were all mentioned in my soon to be released bit about how they, namely Green Day are ruining music as we know it, what a f'n coincidence that they too make my list of douchebags with ho-mohawks.
It's clear cut that I have won yet again and have bested even myself, my girlfriends dog looks at me with approval and the cat can personally give a fuck since he's a cat. The mohawk was once a thing of pride, now it is a target for my amusement, for all of those old school punk persons who rock the true mohawk, wear it with pride because that is who you are and it is your style, balls to you for shaving your head. As for you faux mohawk clear cut defined ho-mohawk wearers with your trendy hats, suit jackets over t shirts, clip on tie wearing, leather bracelet, vegetarian broccoli eating, dating men or women because their hair is scruffy and looks rugged, when in fact rugged is my god damn Brooklyn Mountain man goatee, ring in the lip, lisp speaking, star tattoo wearing, GED role models, you all can kick a brick and by the grace of god, move to Eastern Europe and become victims of the human trafficking ring picking the diamonds for me to give to my girlfriend. Hear me Chief? This goes out to my man Sheriff Broadie, I think we need a bigger boat to put these fucks on and allow you to sink it and swim off in the distance with Richard Dreyfuss. Thank you, God Bless America, and get your dick sucked, except if you have a ho-mohawk.
The history of the mohawk as far as my understanding is badass, originating with those pesky cowboy killer Indians or, Nieve Americans as taught in school. Mr. T rocks a mohawk, as did the 101st Airborne Unit in the WWII, it was a staple for many fans of the punk genre during it's development when punk music actually meant something. So let us assess the persons above who represented the true mohawk.
Native Americans had it first, but they can not reap the blame on this one, afterall, they went to war and it was their symbol, as was the same with the 101st Airborne, they were at war and it was a nifty idea for a squad to partake in. As for the punk followers, it was a sign of change, with their uncommon against the rules way. Lasty as for Mr. T, it's fucking Mr. T and you all do not to be pittied any more than he already has and forever will.
However the persons stated above in slight detail had a true mohawk, at least they had the balls to shave their head enhancing the mohawk in all of it's glory. Unlike the douchefaces today who are too afraid of getting yelled at by their mother or being made fun of in school, who do not shave their heads, but trim the sides to create a bullshit mohawk, or as it is known in the world of TOC, the ho-mohawk. Another thing that us Americans stole from the Brits as they felt the need to go apeshit with their hair and fuck with it more. "Hey, that mohawk looks like the shizzy, but oh man, I can't shave my head, what will I do when it's out of style in a couple of months?" So just puss out completely and trim the sides and let the top grow out like an out of date mullet with AIDS, poof there you go, now you can proceed to bang emo girls and cry about it to your circle of friends as you touch each others cuts and like your ho-mohawk's with joy.
The hairstyle itself can be proven, by SCIENCE fact that it is, for lack of a better term and not meant in the derogatory way, kinda gay. Super-duper stars such as Brandon Flowers (tough guy name) from the Killers, Joel Madden from Good Charlotte, Tre "not so" Cool of Green Day (now ruining hair and music at the same time), Mikey Way of My Chemical Romance, Jack Osbourne, David Beckham, and Bruno the gay fashion reporter from Ali G. Sound like a group of people you'd like to have behind you in times of war? Hell no, in a good old fashioned street fight, I'd put Mr T against all of the people above and Mr. T would come out victorious with a lot of fools pittied, especially Beckham, god damn is his wife double o oogly, and should I even reference the thee bands above who are involved in this sharad of a hairstyle? Good Charlotte? My Chemical Romance? Green Day? Shit God Dan Akroid, they were all mentioned in my soon to be released bit about how they, namely Green Day are ruining music as we know it, what a f'n coincidence that they too make my list of douchebags with ho-mohawks.
It's clear cut that I have won yet again and have bested even myself, my girlfriends dog looks at me with approval and the cat can personally give a fuck since he's a cat. The mohawk was once a thing of pride, now it is a target for my amusement, for all of those old school punk persons who rock the true mohawk, wear it with pride because that is who you are and it is your style, balls to you for shaving your head. As for you faux mohawk clear cut defined ho-mohawk wearers with your trendy hats, suit jackets over t shirts, clip on tie wearing, leather bracelet, vegetarian broccoli eating, dating men or women because their hair is scruffy and looks rugged, when in fact rugged is my god damn Brooklyn Mountain man goatee, ring in the lip, lisp speaking, star tattoo wearing, GED role models, you all can kick a brick and by the grace of god, move to Eastern Europe and become victims of the human trafficking ring picking the diamonds for me to give to my girlfriend. Hear me Chief? This goes out to my man Sheriff Broadie, I think we need a bigger boat to put these fucks on and allow you to sink it and swim off in the distance with Richard Dreyfuss. Thank you, God Bless America, and get your dick sucked, except if you have a ho-mohawk.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Check Out My Salmon Shirt Guys
Over the years in this metro sexual age, society has formally accepted men wearing pink shirts as a cultural norm despite my best intentions to have this trend reversed. When a couple gives birth to a child you will more often than not see a stork outside of their house stating “It’s a boy” or “it’s a girl” with baby blue representing the boy and girlish pink for the girl. Simple color association is not up for interpretation as that we all know that green is go and red is stop/danger. Why then do people across the board feel that pink is an acceptable color for men to wear? Am I from a much older school of thought that men wearing pink says something about their personality and physical abilities? I look at the color pink as a girly color that should only be represented by women and the pornographic industry I cherish oh so much, keep up the good work LA and feel free to send Lexi Belle to my hometown for a real good time. Colors such as black and red represent hell on earth, the kind of colors that say I’m going to break into your house, break your pussy soap holders, piss on your toilet seat, burn your techno cd’s, and for an encore leave a firm double decker in your toilet tank after a day and a half of eating nothing but pumpkin seeds because I am a man who wears black, listens to Rollin’s Band and enjoys relieving himself in the shower on demand.
Men who wear pink do not intimidate me in the very least. These alleged “macho” motherfuckers can generally be seen wearing their pink shirts with the collar popped drinking Heineken or top shelf liquor because they enjoy throwing their money around all while wearing their sunglasses at night. I for one have the Austin Powers syndrome of calling out people in pink shirts as he does to people with moles. Chants of “pink shirt pink shirt” reign from my vocal chords whenever I come across one whether in public or when seen on tv. Defenders of the “men can wear pink too” will state that it’s just another color and actually their shirt isn’t pink but salmon. Excuse me? Salmon? The fucking fish is now a color? Oh yeah well Crayola made mac n cheese a color so I guess then we can put anything to a color. On those grounds your shirt is not salmon, it’s pussy pink. Also if you feel that you must inform people that your shirt is “salmon” you’re admitting that pink is a girly color and shouldn’t be worn by men. Let’s just go to the greatest website ever wiki for this one (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pink). Hmm? Common connotations; girls, love, health, breast cancer, fairies, valentine’s day, homosexuality, bisexuality, spring, easter, beauty and air. I don’t see anything there about pink being a man’s man color so what happened to lead us into this false entitlement that men can wear pink? Where did we go wrong as a society that would allow grown men to walk the streets wearing pink boasting at how badass they are?
We can always blame those dirty hippies with their flower power and disregard for personal hygiene, but that’s too broad. I however feel that this is due to two groups dropping the ball on this one and they are the parents and bullies of schools. New age parents who were disciplined as children growing up vow that they will never be like their parents and not hit their kids but sit them down and talk with them and have them express their feelings. I’m not suggesting to beat the piss out of your kids but I knew as a child that if I fucked up I would have to embrace my mother’s wicked backhand I knew I deserved. Bullies play their role in this as they work on a “give me a reason” basis. For example if they see a kid smelling the roses, they will shove their face into it cutting them in the thorns with a valuable life lesion, don’t fucking smell the roses in the company of MEN. Also if there wasn’t this pussification (RIP George Carlin) of this society that severely frowns upon learning how to survive we now even focus on “cyber-bullying” which totally throws out the whole “sticks and stones will break my bones but names will never hurt me.” We all know how tough we are on an internets battle and that it’s stupid gay and pointless. Yet apparently the mere text of “I’m going to kick your ass” is now considered as bad as the act itself. So we should now rephrase it to “sticks and stones will break my bones but names are just as bad too and I shall need to go through years of psychology sharing my feelings about how much being called a dildo hurt my feelings.”
For ages the vast majority of men did not wear pink and all was well in the world since that any kid who wore pink in the school yard was singled out, made fun of and generally resulting in not only that kid never wearing pink again but a loud and clear message to the masses; men do not wear pink. With the pussification and babying of children teaching them to just walk away from fights, tell a teacher, and the bully really is just jealous of you has made it possible for it being acceptable for men to wear pink amongst other stupid trends such as over usage of tanning salons and painting your nails. It’s gotten so bad that schools are babying kids to the point where they are not suitable to live in the real world. Sure fighting is wrong and shouldn’t happen, but people are going to get all up in your shit from time to time and one must defend themselves. There’s a word out there for such instances, it’s called being on the defensive. If someone strikes you, you’re allowed to defend yourselves, afterall if say you are rendered unconscious who knows what they will do to you. So in schools now and have been for well too long, all the participants in a fight are suspened regardless of the situation. Therein theory, if I were a bully and didn’t like the super smart kid and his glorious science fair was coming up, pick a fight with him, make him throw a punch and boom, he’s done and his project he spent so much time upon is never going to see the light of day.
To translate this into a conclusion; the babying of our children and sense of “feelings” has made men weaker than we have ever been before. True men like John Wayne, Babe Ruth, Andrew Kehole, and George Washington are surly doing heavy RPM’s in their grave at the site of men carousing the streets wearing a woman’s color and even worse, the women who are with them. Listen up pricks, this pink shirt trend has to end, the time has come and has been waiting for all too long. Men are men and do not wear pink, salmon, whatever the fuck you want to call it. Throw out your pink shirts and buy something manly like last month’s issue of Muff magazine.
Men who wear pink do not intimidate me in the very least. These alleged “macho” motherfuckers can generally be seen wearing their pink shirts with the collar popped drinking Heineken or top shelf liquor because they enjoy throwing their money around all while wearing their sunglasses at night. I for one have the Austin Powers syndrome of calling out people in pink shirts as he does to people with moles. Chants of “pink shirt pink shirt” reign from my vocal chords whenever I come across one whether in public or when seen on tv. Defenders of the “men can wear pink too” will state that it’s just another color and actually their shirt isn’t pink but salmon. Excuse me? Salmon? The fucking fish is now a color? Oh yeah well Crayola made mac n cheese a color so I guess then we can put anything to a color. On those grounds your shirt is not salmon, it’s pussy pink. Also if you feel that you must inform people that your shirt is “salmon” you’re admitting that pink is a girly color and shouldn’t be worn by men. Let’s just go to the greatest website ever wiki for this one (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pink). Hmm? Common connotations; girls, love, health, breast cancer, fairies, valentine’s day, homosexuality, bisexuality, spring, easter, beauty and air. I don’t see anything there about pink being a man’s man color so what happened to lead us into this false entitlement that men can wear pink? Where did we go wrong as a society that would allow grown men to walk the streets wearing pink boasting at how badass they are?
We can always blame those dirty hippies with their flower power and disregard for personal hygiene, but that’s too broad. I however feel that this is due to two groups dropping the ball on this one and they are the parents and bullies of schools. New age parents who were disciplined as children growing up vow that they will never be like their parents and not hit their kids but sit them down and talk with them and have them express their feelings. I’m not suggesting to beat the piss out of your kids but I knew as a child that if I fucked up I would have to embrace my mother’s wicked backhand I knew I deserved. Bullies play their role in this as they work on a “give me a reason” basis. For example if they see a kid smelling the roses, they will shove their face into it cutting them in the thorns with a valuable life lesion, don’t fucking smell the roses in the company of MEN. Also if there wasn’t this pussification (RIP George Carlin) of this society that severely frowns upon learning how to survive we now even focus on “cyber-bullying” which totally throws out the whole “sticks and stones will break my bones but names will never hurt me.” We all know how tough we are on an internets battle and that it’s stupid gay and pointless. Yet apparently the mere text of “I’m going to kick your ass” is now considered as bad as the act itself. So we should now rephrase it to “sticks and stones will break my bones but names are just as bad too and I shall need to go through years of psychology sharing my feelings about how much being called a dildo hurt my feelings.”
For ages the vast majority of men did not wear pink and all was well in the world since that any kid who wore pink in the school yard was singled out, made fun of and generally resulting in not only that kid never wearing pink again but a loud and clear message to the masses; men do not wear pink. With the pussification and babying of children teaching them to just walk away from fights, tell a teacher, and the bully really is just jealous of you has made it possible for it being acceptable for men to wear pink amongst other stupid trends such as over usage of tanning salons and painting your nails. It’s gotten so bad that schools are babying kids to the point where they are not suitable to live in the real world. Sure fighting is wrong and shouldn’t happen, but people are going to get all up in your shit from time to time and one must defend themselves. There’s a word out there for such instances, it’s called being on the defensive. If someone strikes you, you’re allowed to defend yourselves, afterall if say you are rendered unconscious who knows what they will do to you. So in schools now and have been for well too long, all the participants in a fight are suspened regardless of the situation. Therein theory, if I were a bully and didn’t like the super smart kid and his glorious science fair was coming up, pick a fight with him, make him throw a punch and boom, he’s done and his project he spent so much time upon is never going to see the light of day.
To translate this into a conclusion; the babying of our children and sense of “feelings” has made men weaker than we have ever been before. True men like John Wayne, Babe Ruth, Andrew Kehole, and George Washington are surly doing heavy RPM’s in their grave at the site of men carousing the streets wearing a woman’s color and even worse, the women who are with them. Listen up pricks, this pink shirt trend has to end, the time has come and has been waiting for all too long. Men are men and do not wear pink, salmon, whatever the fuck you want to call it. Throw out your pink shirts and buy something manly like last month’s issue of Muff magazine.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Out With The Old
If you’re over the age of 65 and well known in the public eye then odds are you were a candidate for a pick in the dead pool currently going on. It has been nearly 5 months since the dead pool began and to this date only one person (Bea Arthur) has died in a pool with 140 different famous people over the age of 65. (Paper written before McMahon, Jackson, and the rest have died).Old people are good at two things; finding good deals and dying. Sadly this year the elderly have decided to live on and linger the streets finding the proper size ravioli and being the “hip” old person in modern comedies. I recall a time where the elderly were dropping like flies giving funeral homes a reason to do the Irish jig and a place where the elderly were living in fear of their pending death thinking that death was just a step outside of their door and would say inside where they belong along with their morbid old people smell.
I feel rather confident that no one of the elderly variety is reading this since they are generally not internet intelligent and strain their eyes looking at their screen in large print and are more concerned with screening their phone calls than reading this epic blog. Their time to go is now and has been coming for a long time. How Gertrude Baines is still alive at the tenderly ripe age of 115 baffles the shit out of me every waking moment of my life. I recently saw a picture of her celebrating her birthday if you really consider someone that age celebrating anything as that her mind is most likely silly puddy being carted around wherever she goes if she actually goes anywhere let alone remembers it. To answer your question, yes I did pick ol Gertrude in my dead pool figuring that by now I would have the two points I deserve in picking a super centenarian. The planets seem to be lining up properly though since within the past month or so at least 5 people 100 years of age or older have kicked the bucket meaning that death is riding his tricycle to her home and easing off touching people with cancer.
This is not to say that old people do not serve some purpose in life, however working day shifts behind the bar I see what happens to the elderly when they no longer have anything to live for which begs the question; “did they ever have anything to live for to begin with?” The elderly serve a purpose in my life for shear excitement hoping that perhaps this time when they cross the street in search for that milk that will not expire until 2014 they neglect to either look both ways or simply walk against the light. Sadly the elderly have seen too many of their kind meet their end via the B16 and B63 and have wised up and ensure to look before they leap. Rainy days also entertain me especially when a storm comes abruptly leaving them wet with their walkers with the distinct possibility they may slip and fall, preferably on the double yellow line and gets run down by an angry bus driver trying to get to the end of her route to pick up his child from the babysitter her husband is banging behind her back, which is a totally different story all together.
Old people used to off themselves inadvertently by slipping in the shower, leaving the gas on the oven, or falling down the stairs of church on a bright sunny Sunday afternoon. It is because of this, and this alone that the elderly have evolved into a smarter breed than those of yesteryear. This new breed of elderly must be watched carefully and should be considered dangerous given their will to live in this heavily overpopulated society. I’m not asking to have the world turn into that of Lois Lowery’s “The Giver” where the elderly are “corrected” to take a page from “The Shining.” There are plenty of old people who should be alive for a long time, but they are few and far between as they slip into Foodtown as soon as they open and take all the Gatorade that is on sale before I can get down there and buy it for it’s intention while I participate in athletic activities. What an old person needs with gallons upon gallons of Gatorate lies solely on the fact that they buy it because it’s on sale and only because it’s on sale and just like tricking the Leprechaun by throwing shoes at him to polish, an elderly person can not turn down a deal, even if it’s a KISS pinball machine. In closing should the time come when I become elderly, if I make it that far; I will be batshit insane to the point where to “correct” me would require enough manpower to take out a small army.
I feel rather confident that no one of the elderly variety is reading this since they are generally not internet intelligent and strain their eyes looking at their screen in large print and are more concerned with screening their phone calls than reading this epic blog. Their time to go is now and has been coming for a long time. How Gertrude Baines is still alive at the tenderly ripe age of 115 baffles the shit out of me every waking moment of my life. I recently saw a picture of her celebrating her birthday if you really consider someone that age celebrating anything as that her mind is most likely silly puddy being carted around wherever she goes if she actually goes anywhere let alone remembers it. To answer your question, yes I did pick ol Gertrude in my dead pool figuring that by now I would have the two points I deserve in picking a super centenarian. The planets seem to be lining up properly though since within the past month or so at least 5 people 100 years of age or older have kicked the bucket meaning that death is riding his tricycle to her home and easing off touching people with cancer.
This is not to say that old people do not serve some purpose in life, however working day shifts behind the bar I see what happens to the elderly when they no longer have anything to live for which begs the question; “did they ever have anything to live for to begin with?” The elderly serve a purpose in my life for shear excitement hoping that perhaps this time when they cross the street in search for that milk that will not expire until 2014 they neglect to either look both ways or simply walk against the light. Sadly the elderly have seen too many of their kind meet their end via the B16 and B63 and have wised up and ensure to look before they leap. Rainy days also entertain me especially when a storm comes abruptly leaving them wet with their walkers with the distinct possibility they may slip and fall, preferably on the double yellow line and gets run down by an angry bus driver trying to get to the end of her route to pick up his child from the babysitter her husband is banging behind her back, which is a totally different story all together.
Old people used to off themselves inadvertently by slipping in the shower, leaving the gas on the oven, or falling down the stairs of church on a bright sunny Sunday afternoon. It is because of this, and this alone that the elderly have evolved into a smarter breed than those of yesteryear. This new breed of elderly must be watched carefully and should be considered dangerous given their will to live in this heavily overpopulated society. I’m not asking to have the world turn into that of Lois Lowery’s “The Giver” where the elderly are “corrected” to take a page from “The Shining.” There are plenty of old people who should be alive for a long time, but they are few and far between as they slip into Foodtown as soon as they open and take all the Gatorade that is on sale before I can get down there and buy it for it’s intention while I participate in athletic activities. What an old person needs with gallons upon gallons of Gatorate lies solely on the fact that they buy it because it’s on sale and only because it’s on sale and just like tricking the Leprechaun by throwing shoes at him to polish, an elderly person can not turn down a deal, even if it’s a KISS pinball machine. In closing should the time come when I become elderly, if I make it that far; I will be batshit insane to the point where to “correct” me would require enough manpower to take out a small army.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
What Is Hip?
“What Is Hip”
Not you hipster scum of the earth plaguing the world with your anti-mainstream everything has to be obscure and not known all too well by the general public, listening to bands no one has heard of or cares for, PBR drinking because trashy is in, novelty hat wearing, t-shirt under a blazer, converse shoes a must, reading garbage books from Urban Outfitters that are overpriced, friendless, skinny jean, shaggy haired pieces of douche. There is a epidemic running ramped in this time of change…change, and by that I mean the new subculture rising from the gutter where it for so long lingered in the hipster. Hipsters are “people” and I use the term loosely who live on obscure trends not set by the mainstream media. In essence hipsters go against the norms of society and live through obscurity and re-vamping retro trends which went out of style for a great reason. A hipster is and should never be a friend to anyone but other hipsters to isolate their numbers in an effort that in time they will be rendered extinct in a couple generations. It’s in ones best interest to avoid eye contact with these things because it is a great possibility that they will attempt to engage you in conversation to which a half hour conversation will be the most boring hour of your life long after you have shunned them away.
As it currently stands, avoid Williamsburg Brooklyn at all costs. It’s similar to the post apocalyptic world of Escape from New York except a little dirtier and not even Kurt Russell would go there. If someone asks you to make the trip out there, remember you may never come back and become one of them and that the one asking you to go may be an agent of recruiting for the hipster community. If you just so happen to have the drive to go there or are dragged there by a group of friends one must remember the basics to surviving their world. Keep to yourself and do not break your habits always be yourself, they will try to push you into their world to claim another as their own but remember that they are not your friends. They will offer you Parliament cigarettes as a sign of peace but be weary that their fag stick may be laced with some unknown to science hipster virus to which there is no cure for and not even all the Led Zeppelin albums in the world can save you from. There are normal people like us in Williamsburg who have to endure this pandemic since they were there before it became ground zero and they are simply holding their ground. When in Williamsburg, don’t drink the water, if you are in a bar get bottled water and make sure it’s sealed upon the purchase! If you make it to their bar scene and are trying to pick up women, this is when you must be most careful, women ruin men and change them, regardless of what subculture they fall into. She may be smoking hot and seem “interesting” but this is all a ruse to get you into their circle. Any woman that has a small bag generally with a skull on it, two sizes to big hoodie and most importantly, a star tattoo on the wrist is a hipster trying to trick you. They’ll talk music with you and agree that Queen rocks and that Bono is a doucheface, but then tell you about bands you “need” to listen to because they’re similar to Zeppelin, only unknown. This is never the case as that the bands generally suck and are nothing more than a novelty act hence why they are unknown. You must always be on guard because there is black magic in Williamsburg and this is how so many of us have fallen into the fate more terrible than Davey Jones’ Locker. I consider Williamsburg “bizarro-land” in a sense that in the times I have endured that place because I was with a group of people, I always noticed people who reminded me exactly of people I knew, only they were different, they were the hipster version. Part of me wanted to run up to these bizarro-people and drag them out of this world, but I realized they were all in too deep and could not be saved, may God have mercy upon their souls.
Williamsburg luckily is a pain in the ass to get to and the only train that will drop you there is the L train. Hipsters generally stay within the confines of Williamsburg but tend to linger aloft in groups possibly scouting for a new home and recruits. They will enter the bar and look at all the selections of beer and nine times out of ten, after much insight into what’s on tap, will order a PBR which has become their Hennessy. PBR is a garbage beer, and was the popular drink to the middle class blue collar workers because you could buy a 12 pack for dirt cheap. Hipsters come from or have money so drinking cheap is not the issue with them. They drink it because it’s deemed the cool beer to be admired because it is cheap and considered trashy. They mainly know only of PBR and Miller High Life as their cheap fix beer and their heads explode when they see me drinking a Mickey’s Big Mouth, Milwaukie’s Finest, or a Genesee Cream Ale. I try to hide it from them so they do not make me dislike that beer as well. The hipster trend has gotten to the point that many higher end bars supply cans of PBR for this clientele. You will see people drinking Stella in the tulip Stella glasses, Hoegaarden in their glasses, and then douchebag hipsters drinking cans of PBR. It’s similar to going to the opera and drinking beer, you must have class and drink something more sophisticated, not cans of PBR in a classy establishment. You drink 40’s on the stoop and pints in the bar. If you’re in a working class area such as New Castle Pennsylvania, it’s expected to have cans of PBR’s, and to my knowledge hipsters have not migrated that far west yet or east from the west coast.
The hipster must not be confused with their cousins the yuppies. Yuppies do not mind spending money and will buy a 12 shot of Oban scotch. Their level of douchebaggary resides on the fact they will spend money, but leave horrible, horrible tips. When I was working in Park Slope, I was infested with yuppie scum and took immense pleasure in raping them via their wallet. My mentality knew that I wasn’t going to make money from them, so I’ll make the bar take all their money and see just how much money they’re willing to spend before tapping out. Yuppies see themselves are beer super experts when they have no clue what they’re talking about since I could slip them a Bud and call it (pronounced) Bood-vis-iear and tell them it’s a French lager. Yuppies are more sociable and can at times provide entertainment; one just has to look past their snobness.
The fashion of the common hipster is clear cut with some grey areas. In this day and age, people have accepted wearing a t-shirt under a blazer with skinny tight jeans. I personally feel that a blazer should only be worn when wearing a dress shirt with the option of a vest. I never wear my trench coat dressed in casual clothes and only wear it when I am dressed up for a night out on the town. This is just my personal opinion and style that is too much for the hipsters to comprehend. Since many people today do not have a natural 20/20 vision like yours truly, glasses are preferred with the hipsters. They do not go for the thin frame reading glasses but the gaudy 1950’s black thick framed with skulls on the side, generally. The glasses they wore are similar to the glasses worn by the Hansen brothers in the movie Slapshot which only worked on them and not on hipster simpletons. Another thing hipsters love is retro clothing, bright shirts and jackets that scream 1974 looking like a walking rainbow almost as bad as men in pink shirts, again, salmon is not a color, or in hipster language, colour. Converse or retro Pumas are a must for footwear to compliment their optional chain wallets and leather bracelets. Big fans of the moustache which died in the 80’s and only looks genuine on older men on in years and seeing it on hipster scum looks nothing more than a Dirty Sanchez.
Filthy hipsters are weak people and can easily be crushed with robot paradoxes which often make their heads explode. They have no frame of reference to sports since sports are mainstream and involve physical activity when they only like to use their minds. I try to get into their minds, but find out it’s alphabet soup in there most of the time and not worth the effort. They attempt to be one of us without being one of us, as stated with their hard on for PBR. They aspire to be working middle class people without being middle class. It would be like be doing habits of a bum just because it was cool and respectable. Hipsters try to downplay their life, making it seem hard as if they actually had real jobs when they most likely have never worked a day in their life outside of stocking shelves at a hipster thrift store selling Vice and Clash magazines with cabbie hats keeping cash in a shoebox which should have been used for one of my dioramas. They are the product of broken homes and everything being shoveled down our throats via tv and radio. To some degree I do not blame them for disliking the mainstream as that I do not myself, but my style is my own and can not be attributed to a specific group, if there were such a group, it would be the greatest group ever but then I would have to change my style because my personality reflects my style, and most people’s personalities suck.
In conclusion, avoid hipsters and shun them away. Make them feel unwelcome wherever they are and maybe, just maybe they will go somewhere else to which they will be shunned some more. Hipsters walk the streets as if they grew up on the streets with an almost tough mindset. In the few altercations I have had with said hipsters the easiest way to win against them is to turn on the old Bay Ridge charm and they immediately back down followed by their apologies. Stand ground to them, and just like vampires never under any circumstances invite them into your house, they will bug your home and sneak their music into your iTunes. They will change your toilet paper so it spins over not under. Anything they touch in your home should be washed in boiling hot water or thrown out having it been contaminated with their dirty hands. Any compliment on a tie or article of clothing means that they will buy that same piece and bastardize it and within a week everyone in Williamsburg will be wearing it. Simply put, do not fuel the fires and give them new things to claim as their own. Hipsters are friends to no one but their own kind, do not associate with hipsters, if you know someone who is falling into their grip, either let them go, or give them the business to keep them from joining their ranks.
Not you hipster scum of the earth plaguing the world with your anti-mainstream everything has to be obscure and not known all too well by the general public, listening to bands no one has heard of or cares for, PBR drinking because trashy is in, novelty hat wearing, t-shirt under a blazer, converse shoes a must, reading garbage books from Urban Outfitters that are overpriced, friendless, skinny jean, shaggy haired pieces of douche. There is a epidemic running ramped in this time of change…change, and by that I mean the new subculture rising from the gutter where it for so long lingered in the hipster. Hipsters are “people” and I use the term loosely who live on obscure trends not set by the mainstream media. In essence hipsters go against the norms of society and live through obscurity and re-vamping retro trends which went out of style for a great reason. A hipster is and should never be a friend to anyone but other hipsters to isolate their numbers in an effort that in time they will be rendered extinct in a couple generations. It’s in ones best interest to avoid eye contact with these things because it is a great possibility that they will attempt to engage you in conversation to which a half hour conversation will be the most boring hour of your life long after you have shunned them away.
As it currently stands, avoid Williamsburg Brooklyn at all costs. It’s similar to the post apocalyptic world of Escape from New York except a little dirtier and not even Kurt Russell would go there. If someone asks you to make the trip out there, remember you may never come back and become one of them and that the one asking you to go may be an agent of recruiting for the hipster community. If you just so happen to have the drive to go there or are dragged there by a group of friends one must remember the basics to surviving their world. Keep to yourself and do not break your habits always be yourself, they will try to push you into their world to claim another as their own but remember that they are not your friends. They will offer you Parliament cigarettes as a sign of peace but be weary that their fag stick may be laced with some unknown to science hipster virus to which there is no cure for and not even all the Led Zeppelin albums in the world can save you from. There are normal people like us in Williamsburg who have to endure this pandemic since they were there before it became ground zero and they are simply holding their ground. When in Williamsburg, don’t drink the water, if you are in a bar get bottled water and make sure it’s sealed upon the purchase! If you make it to their bar scene and are trying to pick up women, this is when you must be most careful, women ruin men and change them, regardless of what subculture they fall into. She may be smoking hot and seem “interesting” but this is all a ruse to get you into their circle. Any woman that has a small bag generally with a skull on it, two sizes to big hoodie and most importantly, a star tattoo on the wrist is a hipster trying to trick you. They’ll talk music with you and agree that Queen rocks and that Bono is a doucheface, but then tell you about bands you “need” to listen to because they’re similar to Zeppelin, only unknown. This is never the case as that the bands generally suck and are nothing more than a novelty act hence why they are unknown. You must always be on guard because there is black magic in Williamsburg and this is how so many of us have fallen into the fate more terrible than Davey Jones’ Locker. I consider Williamsburg “bizarro-land” in a sense that in the times I have endured that place because I was with a group of people, I always noticed people who reminded me exactly of people I knew, only they were different, they were the hipster version. Part of me wanted to run up to these bizarro-people and drag them out of this world, but I realized they were all in too deep and could not be saved, may God have mercy upon their souls.
Williamsburg luckily is a pain in the ass to get to and the only train that will drop you there is the L train. Hipsters generally stay within the confines of Williamsburg but tend to linger aloft in groups possibly scouting for a new home and recruits. They will enter the bar and look at all the selections of beer and nine times out of ten, after much insight into what’s on tap, will order a PBR which has become their Hennessy. PBR is a garbage beer, and was the popular drink to the middle class blue collar workers because you could buy a 12 pack for dirt cheap. Hipsters come from or have money so drinking cheap is not the issue with them. They drink it because it’s deemed the cool beer to be admired because it is cheap and considered trashy. They mainly know only of PBR and Miller High Life as their cheap fix beer and their heads explode when they see me drinking a Mickey’s Big Mouth, Milwaukie’s Finest, or a Genesee Cream Ale. I try to hide it from them so they do not make me dislike that beer as well. The hipster trend has gotten to the point that many higher end bars supply cans of PBR for this clientele. You will see people drinking Stella in the tulip Stella glasses, Hoegaarden in their glasses, and then douchebag hipsters drinking cans of PBR. It’s similar to going to the opera and drinking beer, you must have class and drink something more sophisticated, not cans of PBR in a classy establishment. You drink 40’s on the stoop and pints in the bar. If you’re in a working class area such as New Castle Pennsylvania, it’s expected to have cans of PBR’s, and to my knowledge hipsters have not migrated that far west yet or east from the west coast.
The hipster must not be confused with their cousins the yuppies. Yuppies do not mind spending money and will buy a 12 shot of Oban scotch. Their level of douchebaggary resides on the fact they will spend money, but leave horrible, horrible tips. When I was working in Park Slope, I was infested with yuppie scum and took immense pleasure in raping them via their wallet. My mentality knew that I wasn’t going to make money from them, so I’ll make the bar take all their money and see just how much money they’re willing to spend before tapping out. Yuppies see themselves are beer super experts when they have no clue what they’re talking about since I could slip them a Bud and call it (pronounced) Bood-vis-iear and tell them it’s a French lager. Yuppies are more sociable and can at times provide entertainment; one just has to look past their snobness.
The fashion of the common hipster is clear cut with some grey areas. In this day and age, people have accepted wearing a t-shirt under a blazer with skinny tight jeans. I personally feel that a blazer should only be worn when wearing a dress shirt with the option of a vest. I never wear my trench coat dressed in casual clothes and only wear it when I am dressed up for a night out on the town. This is just my personal opinion and style that is too much for the hipsters to comprehend. Since many people today do not have a natural 20/20 vision like yours truly, glasses are preferred with the hipsters. They do not go for the thin frame reading glasses but the gaudy 1950’s black thick framed with skulls on the side, generally. The glasses they wore are similar to the glasses worn by the Hansen brothers in the movie Slapshot which only worked on them and not on hipster simpletons. Another thing hipsters love is retro clothing, bright shirts and jackets that scream 1974 looking like a walking rainbow almost as bad as men in pink shirts, again, salmon is not a color, or in hipster language, colour. Converse or retro Pumas are a must for footwear to compliment their optional chain wallets and leather bracelets. Big fans of the moustache which died in the 80’s and only looks genuine on older men on in years and seeing it on hipster scum looks nothing more than a Dirty Sanchez.
Filthy hipsters are weak people and can easily be crushed with robot paradoxes which often make their heads explode. They have no frame of reference to sports since sports are mainstream and involve physical activity when they only like to use their minds. I try to get into their minds, but find out it’s alphabet soup in there most of the time and not worth the effort. They attempt to be one of us without being one of us, as stated with their hard on for PBR. They aspire to be working middle class people without being middle class. It would be like be doing habits of a bum just because it was cool and respectable. Hipsters try to downplay their life, making it seem hard as if they actually had real jobs when they most likely have never worked a day in their life outside of stocking shelves at a hipster thrift store selling Vice and Clash magazines with cabbie hats keeping cash in a shoebox which should have been used for one of my dioramas. They are the product of broken homes and everything being shoveled down our throats via tv and radio. To some degree I do not blame them for disliking the mainstream as that I do not myself, but my style is my own and can not be attributed to a specific group, if there were such a group, it would be the greatest group ever but then I would have to change my style because my personality reflects my style, and most people’s personalities suck.
In conclusion, avoid hipsters and shun them away. Make them feel unwelcome wherever they are and maybe, just maybe they will go somewhere else to which they will be shunned some more. Hipsters walk the streets as if they grew up on the streets with an almost tough mindset. In the few altercations I have had with said hipsters the easiest way to win against them is to turn on the old Bay Ridge charm and they immediately back down followed by their apologies. Stand ground to them, and just like vampires never under any circumstances invite them into your house, they will bug your home and sneak their music into your iTunes. They will change your toilet paper so it spins over not under. Anything they touch in your home should be washed in boiling hot water or thrown out having it been contaminated with their dirty hands. Any compliment on a tie or article of clothing means that they will buy that same piece and bastardize it and within a week everyone in Williamsburg will be wearing it. Simply put, do not fuel the fires and give them new things to claim as their own. Hipsters are friends to no one but their own kind, do not associate with hipsters, if you know someone who is falling into their grip, either let them go, or give them the business to keep them from joining their ranks.
Friday, August 14, 2009
There's Drunk, Then There Was Last Night.
“There’s Drunk, Then There’s Last Night”
A Tuesday story
The night started off innocent enough, an attractive young lady coercing me to a distant place for Buffalo wings while watching the Boston Red Sox engage in a game of baseball which at the time didn’t sound threatening. Little did I know that over the course of the night events would unfold that would result in an O’Connor classic Irish goodbye. It all began as soon as I left work en route for the subway, the first disappointment occurred when I passed by the beauty salon to see some hot chicks doing shit but sadly they were closed so onward I went to the subway.
Being an avid rider of the subway and personally disliking the public up to and including speaking to people I sit in the last car of the subway as I do in church to avoid human interaction as taught by my grandfather; sit in the back of the church like I do and you don’t have to shake anyone’s hand, you just simply have to nod in acknowledgement to the people around you as they too don’t like people. A strong theory from a strong man that has been tried through and tried true for every time I sit in the middle car some dumb twunt feels the urge to ask me to sign a petition to limit the size of class rooms or a dwindling jerkoff from Idaho feels so compelled to tell me how awesome NYC is. Yes asshole, NYC kicks ass, you live in a shed and grow potato’s that no one buys, I know NYC kicks ass as that I live here, do yourself a favor, get in the coffin and die. I also, as per usual, feel the overwhelming urge to push any male wearing an Affliction shirt onto the tracks, and with my luck this creation of douchebaggary was begging for it as he leaned over the edge to see if the train is coming, to which it was and this nameless douchebag will never know that he was seconds from death saved only by the fact that I really wanted wings and to see the Red Sox game. On a total side note (something I do all the time) I think that anyone who throws themselves infront of a train, regardless if they die or not, are the biggest assholes in NYC since they suspend service but give the motorman a vacation to supposedly deal with the situation, way to go asshole, unless of course it’s all part of your grand plan to piss people off, in that case you will be the American of The Day in my book.
As always without fail I was the lone white guy in a sea of Hispanics on the train and of course one sits directly across from me while I tried to figure out what the fuck to listen to, surly there’s something good that should follow Shock the Monkey god damnit! It was at the moment of clarity that Genesis would suffice as I noticed the Mexican across the way was staring at me the whole time, eye fucking me. I knew right then and there that this man either had something against my “Ramone clean this mess up” shirt or wanted to have sex with me. Ironically enough this doucheface got off at 53rd street along with the rest of Mexico and I had the train to myself, so I did what I always do when alone in a subway car.
The one man screaming contest began as soon as the train departed the station, running up and down the train as people on the platform going home/under the Gowanus for their night shift saw me in my glory. I imagine that they think all white people are crazy, to which we are, and I personally am the man your mother told you about, I am the man that enslaved your great great grandfather, I am the white man, and you should fear me. For those who speak Spanish, soy el Diablo blano y tu miedo mi boca de fuego. Knowing the next stop was coming I ended the screaming contest and picked a seat with my back to the wall since I have a phobia of people being behind me. I was a little pissed off that at 46th street people got on the train since I was really amped up for round two of the screaming contest but I was lucky enough to have it once. I suggest to one and all that the next time you are left alone in a subway car to get up out of your chairs and to start screaming as loud as you can, it’s one of the best kept secrets of the NYC subway line. Take joy at the next stop that what you had just done was a moment shared only with yourself in a public place.
Cursing the only other passenger in the train trying to blow her up with my mind the train pulled into Union Street and I got off, hoping that the now lone passenger in the train would be grateful at the gift I bestowed upon her. Walking up the stairs a Mexican couple walked side by side at a pathetically slow pace angering myself and the fugly white chick next to me, maybe not fugly, but at the very best a 4am hot. Once out of the station making up for lost time in the stairwell I hustled towards 200th 5th to find that Shamus had taken yet another vacation, cocksucker nark. Regardless Steve was working and he put the Sox game on which because of the slow Mexicans, and yes I place blame upon them, I missed the fight in the game. Shortly after my partner in crime Kaite showed up and ordered the wings of fury that would make up for the horrible Domino’s chicken parm sandwich, NEVER GET THEIR SANDWICHES THEY MAKE PIZZA AND DECIENT WINGS! Kaite went out for a smoke break and I joined her thinking I would be safe outside, I was wrong, dead wrong. Not even outside 30 seconds I heard something shitty in the distance, it quickly registered that some jerkass was blasting Bon Jovi in his parked car, I have been cursed from a prior life as that I am haunted by Bon Jovi, but it was alright because the wings were on the way and I’s a love my wings!
Out from the darkness on his bike a man of African descent approached me with incense and said “here, some free samples” which I stupidly took as he said this one was for Barac Obama which amused me and off he went, for I wasn’t giving him any money. Sitting back in the bar I take a sip of my pint of Yeuingling only to realize that my hands smelled of the Obamainscence! Fuck shit ball(s)! Despite my best intentions of washing my hands under scolding hot water, my hands were and still are rendered smelling like shit, thanks Obama, thanks for all the change, you prick. Needless to say I could not enjoy my wings the way they were meant since the smell of changed ruined my all American dinner of wings and beer whilst in the company of said hot chick. Meeting up with her friend Jason straight from bean town we ventured to The Bean Post for a session of drinks which I knew the outcome before it happened as that going to The Bean Post is never a really good idea since I seldom remember being there.
A couple of shots of Jameson’s and Ow I Hurt My Heads later I was in the happy state known as hammeredland. The night then took a turn for the worst when Shaft came in with a couple of his work buddies, one of which knew my friend Jorge which prompted me to berate him with texts to come out and join in the soon to be madness. Upon Jorge’s arrival shots of Jameson’s began flying as I did shots with him, shaft, and with Kaite. That is not to say that it was a round of shots, no, it was a shot with Jorge, then a shot with Shaft, then a shot with Kaite along with another shot with Darrin. It was at this moment that some Peruvian scumbag ordered a round of carbombs, which if you do not know I am much like a gremlin, do not feed me carbombs after midnight because the end result is never good, or so I’m told since I generally do not remember the outcome. Thinking quick on my feet I needed to exit the vicinity and begin my drunken march home so I pulled the ace from my sleeve realizing that saying goodnight would result in Shaft calling me a bitch and me staying to 5am drinking more inevitably resulting in a hangover far worse than the one I’m going through now. I began my Irish goodbye by actually breaking the rules and saying goodnight to Kaite, though I do not recall if I was the one who announced to her that there was an Irish Goodbye adrift or if I was called out on it, end result was that I apparently texted her when I got home along with a text from Shaft saying that my exit was inexcusable. Oops?
A couple of block into my stumble I was wondering why it was taking so long to get home, this walk clearly seemed longer than usual, then I realized I was at The Bean Post and not The Bullshots which is cloer to my home. Upon my realization that this was truly an adventure my shoe became untied, no big deal right? WRONG! Sitting on someones step I tried to fix the knot that by the grace of god turned out to be impossible (which really was a tough knot as that it took my leatherman to get it out this morning reminding me that I walked home with my shoe falling off every left step.)
Awaking in the morning to the screams of Khabiboulin (my cat) most likely still drunk I walked to get my hangover coffee and then off to work where I sit now, dead, writing this paper that has killed two hours of my day and countless minutes of your lives. To complete the circle that was this day, I stupidly crossed the street forgetting to pass by the beauty salon to see hot chicks doing shit, what began with a fail ended with another fail. Fun on a Tuesday night, this is Tom O’Connor signing off saying as always God bless America and get your dick sucked.
A Tuesday story
The night started off innocent enough, an attractive young lady coercing me to a distant place for Buffalo wings while watching the Boston Red Sox engage in a game of baseball which at the time didn’t sound threatening. Little did I know that over the course of the night events would unfold that would result in an O’Connor classic Irish goodbye. It all began as soon as I left work en route for the subway, the first disappointment occurred when I passed by the beauty salon to see some hot chicks doing shit but sadly they were closed so onward I went to the subway.
Being an avid rider of the subway and personally disliking the public up to and including speaking to people I sit in the last car of the subway as I do in church to avoid human interaction as taught by my grandfather; sit in the back of the church like I do and you don’t have to shake anyone’s hand, you just simply have to nod in acknowledgement to the people around you as they too don’t like people. A strong theory from a strong man that has been tried through and tried true for every time I sit in the middle car some dumb twunt feels the urge to ask me to sign a petition to limit the size of class rooms or a dwindling jerkoff from Idaho feels so compelled to tell me how awesome NYC is. Yes asshole, NYC kicks ass, you live in a shed and grow potato’s that no one buys, I know NYC kicks ass as that I live here, do yourself a favor, get in the coffin and die. I also, as per usual, feel the overwhelming urge to push any male wearing an Affliction shirt onto the tracks, and with my luck this creation of douchebaggary was begging for it as he leaned over the edge to see if the train is coming, to which it was and this nameless douchebag will never know that he was seconds from death saved only by the fact that I really wanted wings and to see the Red Sox game. On a total side note (something I do all the time) I think that anyone who throws themselves infront of a train, regardless if they die or not, are the biggest assholes in NYC since they suspend service but give the motorman a vacation to supposedly deal with the situation, way to go asshole, unless of course it’s all part of your grand plan to piss people off, in that case you will be the American of The Day in my book.
As always without fail I was the lone white guy in a sea of Hispanics on the train and of course one sits directly across from me while I tried to figure out what the fuck to listen to, surly there’s something good that should follow Shock the Monkey god damnit! It was at the moment of clarity that Genesis would suffice as I noticed the Mexican across the way was staring at me the whole time, eye fucking me. I knew right then and there that this man either had something against my “Ramone clean this mess up” shirt or wanted to have sex with me. Ironically enough this doucheface got off at 53rd street along with the rest of Mexico and I had the train to myself, so I did what I always do when alone in a subway car.
The one man screaming contest began as soon as the train departed the station, running up and down the train as people on the platform going home/under the Gowanus for their night shift saw me in my glory. I imagine that they think all white people are crazy, to which we are, and I personally am the man your mother told you about, I am the man that enslaved your great great grandfather, I am the white man, and you should fear me. For those who speak Spanish, soy el Diablo blano y tu miedo mi boca de fuego. Knowing the next stop was coming I ended the screaming contest and picked a seat with my back to the wall since I have a phobia of people being behind me. I was a little pissed off that at 46th street people got on the train since I was really amped up for round two of the screaming contest but I was lucky enough to have it once. I suggest to one and all that the next time you are left alone in a subway car to get up out of your chairs and to start screaming as loud as you can, it’s one of the best kept secrets of the NYC subway line. Take joy at the next stop that what you had just done was a moment shared only with yourself in a public place.
Cursing the only other passenger in the train trying to blow her up with my mind the train pulled into Union Street and I got off, hoping that the now lone passenger in the train would be grateful at the gift I bestowed upon her. Walking up the stairs a Mexican couple walked side by side at a pathetically slow pace angering myself and the fugly white chick next to me, maybe not fugly, but at the very best a 4am hot. Once out of the station making up for lost time in the stairwell I hustled towards 200th 5th to find that Shamus had taken yet another vacation, cocksucker nark. Regardless Steve was working and he put the Sox game on which because of the slow Mexicans, and yes I place blame upon them, I missed the fight in the game. Shortly after my partner in crime Kaite showed up and ordered the wings of fury that would make up for the horrible Domino’s chicken parm sandwich, NEVER GET THEIR SANDWICHES THEY MAKE PIZZA AND DECIENT WINGS! Kaite went out for a smoke break and I joined her thinking I would be safe outside, I was wrong, dead wrong. Not even outside 30 seconds I heard something shitty in the distance, it quickly registered that some jerkass was blasting Bon Jovi in his parked car, I have been cursed from a prior life as that I am haunted by Bon Jovi, but it was alright because the wings were on the way and I’s a love my wings!
Out from the darkness on his bike a man of African descent approached me with incense and said “here, some free samples” which I stupidly took as he said this one was for Barac Obama which amused me and off he went, for I wasn’t giving him any money. Sitting back in the bar I take a sip of my pint of Yeuingling only to realize that my hands smelled of the Obamainscence! Fuck shit ball(s)! Despite my best intentions of washing my hands under scolding hot water, my hands were and still are rendered smelling like shit, thanks Obama, thanks for all the change, you prick. Needless to say I could not enjoy my wings the way they were meant since the smell of changed ruined my all American dinner of wings and beer whilst in the company of said hot chick. Meeting up with her friend Jason straight from bean town we ventured to The Bean Post for a session of drinks which I knew the outcome before it happened as that going to The Bean Post is never a really good idea since I seldom remember being there.
A couple of shots of Jameson’s and Ow I Hurt My Heads later I was in the happy state known as hammeredland. The night then took a turn for the worst when Shaft came in with a couple of his work buddies, one of which knew my friend Jorge which prompted me to berate him with texts to come out and join in the soon to be madness. Upon Jorge’s arrival shots of Jameson’s began flying as I did shots with him, shaft, and with Kaite. That is not to say that it was a round of shots, no, it was a shot with Jorge, then a shot with Shaft, then a shot with Kaite along with another shot with Darrin. It was at this moment that some Peruvian scumbag ordered a round of carbombs, which if you do not know I am much like a gremlin, do not feed me carbombs after midnight because the end result is never good, or so I’m told since I generally do not remember the outcome. Thinking quick on my feet I needed to exit the vicinity and begin my drunken march home so I pulled the ace from my sleeve realizing that saying goodnight would result in Shaft calling me a bitch and me staying to 5am drinking more inevitably resulting in a hangover far worse than the one I’m going through now. I began my Irish goodbye by actually breaking the rules and saying goodnight to Kaite, though I do not recall if I was the one who announced to her that there was an Irish Goodbye adrift or if I was called out on it, end result was that I apparently texted her when I got home along with a text from Shaft saying that my exit was inexcusable. Oops?
A couple of block into my stumble I was wondering why it was taking so long to get home, this walk clearly seemed longer than usual, then I realized I was at The Bean Post and not The Bullshots which is cloer to my home. Upon my realization that this was truly an adventure my shoe became untied, no big deal right? WRONG! Sitting on someones step I tried to fix the knot that by the grace of god turned out to be impossible (which really was a tough knot as that it took my leatherman to get it out this morning reminding me that I walked home with my shoe falling off every left step.)
Awaking in the morning to the screams of Khabiboulin (my cat) most likely still drunk I walked to get my hangover coffee and then off to work where I sit now, dead, writing this paper that has killed two hours of my day and countless minutes of your lives. To complete the circle that was this day, I stupidly crossed the street forgetting to pass by the beauty salon to see hot chicks doing shit, what began with a fail ended with another fail. Fun on a Tuesday night, this is Tom O’Connor signing off saying as always God bless America and get your dick sucked.
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